Catch a Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  Not me. Leave me be. Leave me in peace. Go find yourself another savior.

  The rock in my ribs finally drove me upright. Setting the infant wolf on the ground, I scrubbed my tears and the dirt from my face with my hands. Raking twigs and dead grass from my hair, I took a deep shaky breath.

  That was bad. Despite the mid-day sun, I felt chilled. Wrapping my arms about my chest, I sat, rubbing some warm into my flesh, trying to gather my shattered wits. Even the copper band on my bicep felt cold.

  How long have I been gone? Soon Ly’Tana or Rygel would send a search party. If they found me like this there’d be no end to the questions and sideways glances. This was something I definitely wanted kept to myself.

  “Are you there?”

  Silence answered me.

  I waited a quick moment and tried again. Only my own thoughts filled my head. It appeared I was once more alone in there. Gods above and below, it’s about bloody time.

  I stood up, brushing off my clothes, trying to regain some semblance of normality. Normality? What was that?

  I barked a short laugh. For a moment I half-wished for the days before Rygel’s arrival, Ly’Tana’s love and Lionel’s death. As a gladiator, all I worried about was living through the next fight. I wished for the days when I had never heard of Kel’Hallans and the only howling I heard was in my dreams. I didn’t much like this new responsibility for the lives and safety of others, a savior to long-tailed furry vermin and father to a wolf cub.

  I looked down at him, a dark grey fuzzy creature with a plump belly sluggishly waddling about my boots on unsteady legs. Sapphire eyes followed his black nose as he searched for the unknown with utter seriousness. One day those legs would be long, his body huge, his fangs sharp and gleaming white. That she-wolf made a grave mistake leaving him with me, I thought, morose. What the hell was she thinking?

  Perhaps I’ll give him to Arianne, I thought, scooping him up.

  I held him up with my hands under his front legs, peering into the round, sapphire eyes. He gazed back calmly, as though understanding my emotional battle and trusting that I’d make the right decision. What right decision? I hadn’t made a right decision since the moment I decided to let Rygel heal me.

  This tiny wolf could grow up to be Arianne’s protector, much as Bar is Ly’Tana’s, I thought. She adores him. I’ll give him to her. I wanted nothing more to do with any wolves, living or dead.

  Tucking him once more against my shoulder, I started back. While that decision was easy, the thought of facing Ly’Tana, Rygel and the others daunted me. Despite my neutral expression, they’d know something was wrong. Arianne would know instantly, for her keen sight would tell her.

  I needed to get away for a while. I must escape the questioning expressions, the whispers, the subtle finger-gestures. I pondered where I might go, what excuse I might give. A lone hunting trip?

  I remembered Rygel’s monks, the Huhtamaki. Rygel said a small town lay nearby, the place he called Wil Dar. I needed to be alone and we needed to find those monks. My thoughts raced, reaching for a desperate plan. Here’s what I’ll do—mount Rufus, grab Rygel and go. My royal blood would prevent any from stopping me, and only Ly’Tana and Kel’Ratan would dare try.

  I felt lighter, freer once that decision was made. I even managed a small smile.

  “Where were you?” Rygel demanded as I walked back into camp. “I was about to come look for you.”

  Just as I expected, I was the brunt of no few curious stares. Ly’Tana, it seemed, had rejoined the group, for she too looked about to scold me. Her green eyes flashed with irritation, her beautiful lips in her almond skin parted to question. I forestalled her with a raised hand.

  I tried a light-hearted approach. “I’ve been thinking,” I said quickly. “Rygel and I will ride to this Wil Dar. See if these monks are there.”

  “What—” she began.

  “Raine, what’s wrong?”

  Arianne rushed toward me, her skirts hiked, her huge blue-grey eyes wide with concern.

  I shoved the whelp into her arms before she could say more. “Look after him, will you? You know, maybe he should be yours. You need a bodyguard.”

  “My liege—” Corwyn began, worry clear on his craggy face.

  “Oh, you’re not fired,” I said lightly. “She’ll need both of you, I’m thinking.”

  Striding rapidly through the make-shift camp, I grabbed Rufus’s reins. “Coming, Rygel?”

  I vaulted into my saddle as Rygel bolted for his black gelding. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Keep riding north by northwest and we’ll find you.”

  “Raine!” Ly’Tana called, running toward me, her sword slapping against her bare leg. “Dammit, wait!”

  I pointed. “She stays here.”

  Kel’Ratan moved to intercept her, on my terse command, his face as bewildered as everyone else’s.

  Wheeling Rufus, I kicked him into a gallop. Ignoring her shouted questions, I thundered down the gentle slope. Rufus stretched his legs, carrying me up and over the next hill that would convey me from their sight. Only then could I breathe.

  My chest hurt. I tried to breathe deep, but the air caught in my throat, choking me. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I hoped Rufus was looking where he was going, for I was blind.

  Hearing Rygel whipping his horse, I slowed Rufus to a heavy lope. If I hadn’t, Rygel would kill his gelding and never catch up. I relaxed a fraction. Air seeped into my lungs, easing the ache in my chest. I drew in a few more and if they were ragged only Rufus heard. Rygel hadn’t yet caught up.

  Rufus leaped pale, barkless dead trees, dodged the occasional granite boulder and scrub oak thicket, his pace smooth and easy. Quail and pigeons burst up and out almost under his hooves as his swift legs tossed patches of daisies, buttercups and dogwood into sweet scented turmoil. Down the hill, he crossed a tiny trickle of water burbling over stones and followed the shallow valley up the next rise.

  At last, Rygel rode knee to knee with me, and I braced myself for the expected tirade. Rygel’s sense of compassion was kept only for the sick or wounded. For crazy blood brothers who got a wild hair up his ass and decided to ride away on lone expeditions, Rygel was nothing less than ruthless.

  He surprised me. Not a word passed his aristocratic lips. What was he up to? Maybe he worked himself up to it, planning his insults and acid comments to create the best effect. Every lecture should be well thought out. Tense, I waited for his harangue to start.

  I eyed him sidelong, trying to gauge his mood. A temperamental sort, patience wasn’t his strong suit. Keeping his mouth shut was usually an impossible task. Yet, he sat easily in his saddle, his eyes to the front, his expression serene. Serene? Serenity and Rygel didn’t mix very well. Could he have grown a sensitive side while I was gone?

  When I gave up trying to predict him, he finally spoke. His words almost spilled me headfirst out of my saddle.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head.

  He offered a wry shrug and a half-smile, flicking me a glance from his amber eyes. “Whenever you’re ready,” was all he said.

  Damn, there goes my breath again, sticking in my throat where it didn’t belong.

  Companionably side by side, we rode into the afternoon across the vast green hills.

  “If my geography is correct,” he said, and hour or more later. “We have a bit of riding to do before dark. Wil Dar has walls and they shut their gates at dusk. Unless we want to climb the walls and walk through the town, we need to hustle.”

  “Mine can do it,” I replied simply. “Can yours?”

  He grinned. “Let’s find out.”

  * * *

  We reached Wil Dar just as the sun reached the distant mountain peaks. With our shadows long, we joined the influx of townspeople heading home from the fields. Well-armed, rough-looking guards in pieces of half-armor protecting their vitals looked down at us. Their woolen tunics sewn with the Wil Dar badge, a black bear holding a shield, mark
ed them as the earl’s sworn men. The peasant folk paid us scant attention, and I guessed mercenaries were common in the area. Even the guards waiting to close the gates gave us a quick once over and then ignored our presence as we rode past them and into the city.

  “Wil Dar,” Rygel muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Earl Bertus.”

  “A distant cousin of Lionel’s,” I answered quietly. “I recognized the badge.”

  “He owns a considerable territory around here. The Dales. We’ll be in them for a few days.”

  I glanced around without turning my head, and rode easy and confident in the saddle. As though I’d every right to be there.

  “Let’s find a tavern and wait till full dark,” Rygel suggested. “I have a few gold federates rolling around in my pocket. We can get a meal and an ale or two.”

  I still had the jewels cut from my collar and Lionel’s heraldric sword buried deep in my saddlebags. When I mentioned them, Rygel shook his head.

  “We’re very anonymous using Federate money. Jewels might make us appear richer than we should be.”

  Wil Dar was about a quarter the size of Soudan, its citizenry made up of mostly peasant farmers and yeomen. I saw few nobles and several merchants. It appeared Earl Bertus was more of a farmer than a military arm of Brutal’s. His people tilled his soil and paid his taxes. His standing army looked to be quite large, from the numbers I saw either on duty or lounging around the hard pan streets. Many eyed us with suspicion, then dismissed us as not worth the trouble.

  “This one looks good,” Rygel commented, reining his horse in.

  I glanced up at the tavern sign, a garishly painted sign of a fat pig covered in mud.

  “The Hog,” I read aloud. “Eh?”

  “Seems like a place where our kind might be wont to linger.”

  “Wait,” I said as Rygel began to slide out of his saddle. He paused, frozen in the act of dismounting.

  “Take another look at the horses.”

  Aback aboard his gelding, Rygel obeyed me, eyeing the row of quiet, hip-shot horses tied to the rail out front. “Nice horses. So?”

  “Are your eyes ever useful, or do you just have them on your face for ornaments?” I asked. “Those are Khalidian cavalry saddles.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Think there are a dozen troopers in there?”

  In a seemingly casual look around the dusty street, Rygel turned his head first to the left, then his right. “Yes, I do,” he replied slowly. “Every inn and tavern on this street have the same nice animals with the same saddles tied out front.”

  “Perhaps we should leave then.”

  Rygel bowed his head and pursed his lips. “No,” he said finally. “Let’s go in. This many of Brutal’s cavalry soldiers in one place is just a little too bizarre. This isn’t a passing patrol looking for an evening on the town.”

  “What then?”

  “How about we go in and find out?”

  Tying our horses to the rail, we went inside. I walked cautiously, on the balls of my feet, my hand tickling my sword hilt. Behind me, Rygel’s tension conveyed itself to my shoulder blades, which itched. Ready, in case Brutal’s men recognized us immediately and pounced, swords waving, seeking our blood.

  Shutting the door behind us, we glanced around the full taproom.

  “How about that,” Rygel breathed.

  No purple and gold uniforms met my swift inspection. The taproom, busy, held nothing but armed men dressed in plain tunics, homespun breeches, tall cavalry boots, heavy swords in plain sheathes. They sported the current merc fashion, much as Rygel and I dressed. Oddly, few, if any, locals drank or dined. Only strangers in town supped at the Hog this night.

  All the men sported short hair. Khalidian soldiers cut their hair, to fit under helmets. Most of the mercs I ever saw wore their hair long. I recognized the blades belted to their hips: the heavy, double-edged, yet slender swords favored by professional horsemen. This lighter sword made it easier to slash an enemy while riding a galloping horse.

  Brutal’s cavalry indeed.

  Despite my imposing size, none seemed predisposed to anything more than a first curious glance. With a quick gesture, Rygel found us a table not far from the door and close to the kitchens. We sat cautiously, expecting at any minute to be recognized and the alarm sounded. If any did recognize us, they kept the matter to themselves.

  “Why are they—” I began, from the side of my mouth.

  “Deserters,” Rygel answered grimly. “From the look of it, I’m guessing a hell of a lot of them.”

  I relaxed. If they were indeed deserters from Brutal’s army, they’d draw no attention to themselves by setting the inn about our ears. I glanced around with more confidence, no longer concerned we’d be attacked.

  The place was cleaner than the Whoring Whale. Our table had been recently wiped, the walls were built of a warm mellow wood with the antlers of various stags hung for decoration. It smelled of roasting meat, ale and the fresh sawdust covering the floor. I saw no pigs. The serving wench who greeted us wore a simple, clean gown with an apron, her hair tied back with a ribbon. She took our order with a quickly bobbed curtsey and disappeared into the depths of the kitchens.

  The moment she vanished, the innkeeper appeared. With a sharp glance around, he found us and made his way to our table. I eyed him with no little concern. What did he want? Had he recognized us and would inform Brutal’s missing men?

  While he, too, dressed plainly but with obvious care, he had cooking stains down the front of his apron. Obviously, he was a busy man. Unlike the tavern owner of The Whoring Whale, this man was of a solid, athletic build, his dark hair cut short. As he moved with a quick competence, I guessed he may once have been a fighting man.

  Arriving at our table, he offered a short, courteous bow.

  “I humbly beg your pardon, good sirs,” he said in a quiet yet firm voice. “Dare I offend you, I’ll see the color of your money before I dispense your order. These are dangerous times. As you are strangers to me, I collect first.”

  Rygel nodded. “I can understand that, my friend. We’re not out to cheat you.”

  He dug into the small pouch at his belt. “Will that cover our expenses?”

  The innkeeper held up the gold federate Rygel gave him. He bowed low. “Do you wish to bespeak rooms and stabling?”

  “No, sir, we’ll dine and depart.”

  He bowed. “I’ll bring your change with the meal.”

  I glanced around as the innkeeper vanished into the kitchen. The exchange caused hardly a hiccup. I reckoned all of those present, not familiar locals, were asked to pay up front.

  I hunched my shoulders. “If we’re not staying here, where do you intend us to sleep? In the streets?”

  “I don’t know about you,” Rygel murmured. “But I’m not too comfortable with the idea of staying in Wil Dar. I don’t care much for the idea of sleeping near Brutal’s men, deserters or not.”

  “Will you teach the horses to fly?” I asked, brow quirked. “They locked the gates if you hadn’t noticed.”

  He waved a negligent hand. “I’ll put the guards to sleep and unlock the gates. If we shut them behind us, no one will know anything.”

  “Hssst.”

  Rygel shut his mouth instantly, taking a swift draught of his ale. Without making it obvious, I tilted my head toward the voices that caught my attention. A quick, sliding glance showed me five of them, at a larger table in a darkened corner, out of the torchlight. Their voices, hushed and quiet, murmured under the general babble of the room.

  I listened carefully, my heightened hearing picked up their words. I dismissed the unimportant sounds from around me.

  “—didn’t sign up to fight no wolves, nor bloody flying lions, neither.”

  “Wolves, I ask you,” said another, his voice not much above a mutter. “Big bastards, too. I all but pissed myself, but they ran right by me. Buggers never even looked my way.”

  “That’s because you didn’t t
ry to kill them,” said a third, his voice slightly louder. “Didn’t you see? They didn’t kill none that didn’t try to kill them.”

  “What the bloody hell were they doing there?” a fourth said. “Wolves? I don’t get it.”

  “They fight for her.”

  “Not right, Tom,” said the fifth, a low, frightened, quavering voice from the man in the deepest shadows. “They fight for him.”

  “Him?”

  “The Bloody Wolf, you ass. He’s a damn wolf, right enough. Anyone with eyes can see it. They’ll fight for their own, mark my words.”

  I froze, Rygel’s eyes locked on mine. For now he caught the conversation, and his expression tightened. In a swift glance, I took in the rough faces of the tavern crowd. Beneath the light banter and conversations, fear rode in every eye. I scented it, gusting under the odors of hot beef, frying peppers, ale and sweaty bodies. That’s why they deserted. If being in Brutal’s army meant death by wolf fangs, they wanted no part of it. These boys were common soldiers, trained to fight men. They’d no clue how to fight wolves as big as ponies who came out of nowhere and slaughtered their brothers.

  “I didn’t sign on for this,” the first voice repeated. “Tomorrow, I’m for Arcadia. Scoot across the border, turn merc. Plenty of work there for an honest merc with a good horse.”

  “Too bad the Kel’Hallans won’t let us across the border,” said another glumly. “Good work there, I hear. Good people.”

  “I can’t follow a commander who runs at the first sight of the enemy,” said another, slamming down his ale mug a little too hard. Ale splashed over its brim. “The B left us there to die, while he ran like a rabbit.”

  “He’s a bloody coward,” the third voice said, his tone full of contempt. “Why should I die for a coward? He abandoned us.”

  “If I thought he’d take me,” the fifth man said. “I’d sign on with him. He’s a foreign prince they say, a real blue-blood. I’d follow a leader like him. If even wolves fight for him, he’s a leader to follow. Nigh into hell itself.”