The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  “Wipe that stupid look off your face, soldier,” Wiflem commanded gruffly. “Take nothing for granted here.”

  Sim gave Wiflem a dark look. “Yes, Captain,” he said softly.

  The big man began to walk away, his body stiff as he studied the ground. I could see the back of his neck was blood-red with anger. I knew Wiflem was highly intelligent and could be thoughtful, almost philosophical at times, and that he was comfortable in any conversation, be it with a peasant or a king. But when it came to his men, Wiflem was all business, with no time for humor or dissent. So far, the men seemed accepting of it, but I knew I would have to watch things closely and step in if needed. High morale made men fight better, but many a lord had lost a battle because his men despised their captain. I had offered the position to Jebido first, of course, but my friend had declined, saying it was a job that he’d done before and had no interest in doing again.

  Sim paused, crouching less than a hundred yards from where we had first seen the Daughter’s blood-stained tracks. “Look here, my lord,” he said, motioning to the scattered leaves and scuff marks that marred the forest floor. “They caught up to her here. There was a struggle, and then it looks like she broke free again.” He stood and looked north. “She ran that way.”

  “Did she get away?” Grindin asked, sounding anxious.

  I glanced at the bald apprentice in annoyance, then shifted my look to Baine. “I thought I told you to take him back to Corwick?”

  Baine shrugged. “And miss all the fun?”

  “There’s something else, my lord,” Sim said.

  I glared at Baine, then shifted my eyes to Sim. “What?”

  “There are two sets of tracks now, running together.”

  “Two?” I said in surprise.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” suddenly rang out from the trees ahead of us. “You’re hurting her!”

  “That’s no, Daughter!” I growled, jumping from Angry’s back.

  I drew my sword and plunged through the trees and scrub brush, heedless of the noise I was making. The voice I’d heard was that of a child, not a woman. Jebido caught up to me, and we both ducked under a low branch and continued, pushing our way through the trees.

  “That has to be the Daughter-In-Waiting, Hadrack,” Jebido said, panting. I nodded, conserving my breath for what I knew was coming. “I swear,” he added, knocking aside a hanging branch with his shield, “if they’ve hurt her—”

  My friend didn’t have time to finish as we burst out of the trees to find three horses tied along the rim of a deep basin in front of us. I moved to the edge and looked down. The Daughter lay naked at the hollow’s base, her bare feet facing me and covered in blood, while a man stood with his boots on her wrists, drinking from a flask. Another man lay on top of her, his trousers off. He moaned as he thrust into her enthusiastically while he forced his mouth over hers. A third man stood off to one side, holding a young Daughter-In-Waiting with one hand as he fondled her barely-formed breasts through her grey robe with the other. All three raiders were big and dirty, with wild blond beards and long hair knotted down their backs. The men below me were Piths, just as Jebido had warned me they would be. I cursed under my breath and pointed downward with Wolf’s Head.

  “Kill the bastards!” I screamed.

  I plunged over the rim of the hollow with my men taking up the cry as they followed. The soil beneath my boots was loose and gave way in large clumps, and I was doing more sliding than running as I descended. I heard Niko curse to my right as he lost his balance and fell, rolling end over end before becoming entangled in some bushes. His helmet flew off from the impact and kept going down the hill in front of me, bouncing and twisting crazily. I followed the tumbling helmet’s path, leaving Jebido struggling to keep up as I reached the basin floor and aimed for the man holding the child.

  The Pith saw me coming and he flung the girl aside, his sword out and waiting for me. I lowered my shield and kept going, roaring as I crashed into him. I heard my opponent’s blade scrape loudly across the metal boss of the shield, and he staggered backward three paces, somehow managing to stay on his feet. I snarled, visions of the dead at Lestwick stoking my fury as I whirled and swung Wolf’s Head. The Pith warrior brought his sword around incredibly fast, blocking me, but that left him off-balance and vulnerable. I hooked the man’s leg out from under him with my foot and swung for his head as he fell. The Pith anticipated me and twisted sideways and all I hit was dirt and leaves. He rolled safely away and then bounded to his feet. I growled low in my chest as the Pith crouched with his sword held two-handed in front of him, watching me warily.

  I heard the familiar thrum of bowstrings from the rim of the basin, and I glanced toward the prostrate Daughter. One of the Piths lay thrashing on the ground beside the sobbing priestess with two arrows in his stomach. The second man stood over the naked woman with a sword in his hand. His legs were bare and dirty and his long chainmail hung almost to his scuffed knees. The raider screamed a challenge just as an arrow sliced through the mail high on his right breast, staggering him. He took a step forward, grunting, then fell back as a second arrow caught him low in the stomach, just above his groin. The warrior sagged to one knee, supporting himself with his sword as my men surrounded him. He snarled, spitting blood and wobbling as he tried unsuccessfully to stand. Wiflem snorted with contempt, then stepped forward and took his head with a vengeful slash of his sword.

  I focused back on my opponent. The man was tall, almost six feet, though he was thinner and less muscular than most Piths that I had known. His nose was long and narrow, and his eyes brown, which was an unusual trait for Piths. My men moved to flank me on either side, and I caught a glimpse of Baine’s black leather armor moving through the trees above me to my right. I knew without having to look that Tyris had taken up a similar position to my left. There was nowhere for the Pith to run.

  I could hear Grindin and the girl consoling the hysterical Daughter behind me, and I felt the haze of the killing-blood starting to fade. I slowly relaxed, lowering Wolf’s Head to my side. There was no hurry now, and I needed to get some answers first before the Pith died.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  The Pith stared at me, his eyes surly, his expression filled with contempt. “My name is too good to waste on a Ganderman,” he finally spat.

  I smiled coldly. It was just the kind of answer that I would have expected from someone like him. The Pith was young, no more than sixteen or seventeen, with an aura of arrogance and cockiness about him that I remembered well from my days among his people. The Pith’s hair was shaggy and tall on top, then twisted into a long pleat behind. His scalp was shaven on the sides, revealing hundreds of thin ridges of black scar tissue formed into identical, dragon-like beasts on each side. I knew the scars had been made using intricate cuts that were then filled with fine charcoal dye. It was a painstaking procedure usually reserved only for Piths of special stature, so whoever this boy was, I realized that he must be important.

  A silver torc hung around the Pith’s neck and I studied it with interest. I’d seen similar torcs before and guessed that the Pith was either one of the Amenti, Tutanti, or Cimbrati tribes that dwelled along the southeastern coast of the Pith homeland. I could see what appeared to be bears carved onto the surface of the torc, and knowing that Amenti meant ‘bear people’ in the Piths ancient language, I assumed he was one of these. I had met only a few Amenti in my time with the Piths, and quite truthfully, had liked none of them. Einhard had not hidden his dislike for the Amenti from me, either, describing them as too blood-thirsty, perverted, and quarrelsome to trust. I remember I had found the description amusing, coming from him, but had wisely chosen not to point out the obvious irony.

  “You have come a long way,” I said. “Are the Amenti so desperate and weak now that they have to travel this far north to prey on innocent women and children?”

  The Pith’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You know of the Amenti?”

  “Enough to kn
ow you are all shit-eating cowards,” I grunted. The Pith’s eyes gleamed with anger, which made me smile. I casually wiped specks of dirt from the blade of my sword. “I am the Lord of Corwick,” I continued. “And you have come to my lands and killed my people. I want to know why? Surely there is easier prey closer to home for vultures such as you?”

  The Pith just snorted in contempt. “When the lands of your cursed kingdom run red with blood from coast to coast, then you will understand why we have come.” He laughed. “But by then, it will be too late.”

  I felt a momentary uneasiness at the Amenti’s words. “What have you done to the Son and his apprentice?” I demanded, hiding my concern from the Pith.

  The boy’s lips twitched in amusement. “We have done nothing to them, Ganderman. They live to serve a higher purpose now. What would have been wasted lives prostrating themselves before your false gods will now bring strength to the Piths instead.”

  I frowned. “What does that mean?” The warrior just smiled. “Tell me what I want to know, Amenti,” I finally said when he added nothing further, “and I promise your death will be quick and painless.”

  The Pith just shrugged. “All men die, Ganderman. If this is my time, then so be it. I am not afraid.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed. “All men do die. But some die old in their beds, while others die in horrible pain screaming for their mother.” I grinned. “Which death do you see coming for you?”

  The Pith looked unaffected by my threat as he glanced at the twisted corpses of his companions. “You have killed my brothers, Gander, and soon you will kill me. But hear my words before my tongue is silenced. My people will return for me, and when they see what you have done, they will burn your mighty castle to the ground and slaughter your people. They will rape your woman and whatever foul children you have sired while you are forced to watch, then they will geld you and drag you home behind the slowest ox. You will spend your last miserable days being tortured by Pith children, begging for the sweet release of death.”

  I turned and shared a look with Jebido, knowing that the young Amenti wasn’t just talking bravado. What he said was the truth. The savage Piths had been known to travel for weeks to retrieve a fallen brother and take them back to the Ascension Grounds. They would ride back to Corwick looking for these men, just as the warrior said. Once the Piths found the bodies, or even if we got rid of them, I knew they would turn vengeful eyes on my people and strike back the only way they knew how—with death and destruction. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “What do you think, Jebido?” I asked, moving closer to him and lowering my voice so that the Pith couldn’t hear.

  Jebido shrugged. “They will come back. No question about it.”

  “That might not be a bad thing,” I said thoughtfully. I had seventy soldiers garrisoned at Corwick, with twenty more stationed at Knoxly Manor, a small holding of mine forty miles to the north. “If we can choose the time and place to meet them,” I added. “We can wipe the lot of them out and get the Son and boy back at the same time.”

  “That’s risky, Hadrack,” Jebido said. “We don’t even know for sure how many Piths are out there. And even if they go where you want them to, most of your troops are still young and raw. They can’t even grow a proper beard yet, let alone go up against warriors like the Piths.”

  Jebido was right, of course. I had dismissed most of Pernissy’s men when I’d become lord, unable to stomach the idea of anyone working for me who had sworn an oath to that bastard. The garrison’s replacements were mostly strong village lads from my lands I had hired to serve alongside the more seasoned men that Wiflem had brought with him. We were training the youths, and some showed great promise, but it would still be some time before they were ready.

  I glanced at the Amenti. It would be useful to know what the Piths' actual strength was, but I knew the boy wasn’t going to tell me. I could try torturing the information from him, of course, but even though the Amenti was young, he was still a Pith, and I knew I would get nothing. The raiders would come back, that was certain, and when they did, I needed their full hatred focused on me and not the villages of Corwick. The only way I saw to do that was to send them a message through the boy—one that couldn’t be ignored.

  I turned, my mind made up. “Wiflem.”

  “My lord?”

  I pointed to the dead men. “Take the heads of those two raping bastards and put them on poles right there. Make sure you take out the eyes. Then strip the bodies of their mail and throw the stinking carcasses in the river.” The Amenti was staring at me in confusion. I smiled as I took several steps closer to him. “You can’t Ascend a soul if you can’t find the body,” I explained cheerfully. “And a head without eyes isn’t enough to find the Path.”

  The Pith’s features twisted ugly with hatred, and his sword wavered and then dropped as he spat angry curses at me. The boy’s reaction was exactly what I had been hoping for as I launched myself forward. I crashed the hilt of my sword into the young warrior’s face even as I rammed the edge of my shield down on his foot. The Pith yelped in surprise and pain, yet still had the presence of mind to bring his sword back up. I slashed the weapon out of his hand, then kicked him in the chest, sending him reeling backward to the ground. I tossed my shield and sword aside and dropped my full weight onto the Amenti’s chest, then began pummeling him with my fists until he stopped struggling. I stood, forcing myself not to take his life right there. He wasn’t getting off that easy. One of the Pith’s eyes was swollen closed and seeping dark blood from the side, but the other glared up at me with naked hate.

  “I am Nedo,” the Amenti finally managed to say through cracked and broken teeth. “A better man than you can ever hope to be. I am not afraid to die.”

  “Oh, I know you’re not,” I growled as I stood over him. “But the real question is, are you afraid to live?” I held out a hand to my men. “I need a knife.” Wiflem stepped forward and wordlessly slapped the worn hilt of his blade into my palm. “Make a fire,” I told him. “A small one.”

  Wiflem paused for a heartbeat, then he nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Jebido,” I said, glancing at my friend. “Get the Daughter and the girl away from here. This isn’t for their eyes.”

  “Hadrack, are you sure about this?”

  I just glared without saying anything until Jebido finally shrugged and walked away. Nedo was trying to sit up, and I placed a boot on his chest and shoved him back down. “Hold him tightly,” I grunted to my men. Then I knelt, and with several quick slashes, cut open his trousers. The Pith struggled ferociously in the arms of Sim and Berwin, spitting and cursing me, but he was helpless in their strong grips. I locked eyes with the young warrior as I grabbed his ball-sack and pulled the sweat-slicked flesh toward me. “I am the Lord of Corwick,” I growled, “and this is what happens to raping bastards on my lands.” Nedo’s eyes were wide with fright as he pleaded with me for mercy. But after what I’d seen in Lestwick, I had none to give. The knife flashed, and the boy screamed as I took that which made him a man. His body contorted as dark red blood splattered over the both of us before it began to pool in a black puddle at my feet. I stood, ignoring the Pith’s pitiful whimpering as I held the dripping mass of flesh up for him to see.

  “Consider this an offering to your Master,” I said as I threw the boy’s severed balls into the hungry flames, where the juices, blood, and flesh immediately began to sizzle. “Maybe someday the both of you can be reunited with your precious Master.” I stooped and set the knife down with the red-stained blade lying directly in the fire. “Now you have a choice, Amenti,” I said as I stood over him again. “You can lie there and whimper like a dog as your lifeblood spills on the ground, or you can drag yourself over to that knife and staunch the flow and live.” I shrugged. “I don’t really care which choice you make.”

  I turned away from him then, motioning for my men to follow me as I headed up the incline of the basin. No one said anything, and other than
the agonized sobbing coming from the Pith below, the woods were silent. Finally, we reached the rim where Jebido waited with Grindin, the Daughter, and the girl.

  “You’re a monster,” Grindin said in a horrified whisper as I stalked past him.

  I paused, then came back to tower over the apprentice as he shrunk from me. “Count yourself lucky if that’s all I do to you when the time comes,” I said. The apprentice began to tremble, his lips twitching as white sticky mucus formed at the corners of his mouth. I turned away in contempt. “Niko!”

  “My lord?”

  “Stay here and watch that bastard down there. If he dies, put his head with the others and dump the body in the river. If he survives and gets on his horse, follow him until his stench no longer stains my lands, then let him go.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And Niko.”

  “My lord?”

  “If he does die, make sure you take his eyes.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  I nodded in satisfaction. That should do it, I thought, regardless of whether the boy lives or dies. Jebido fell into step beside me, his expression filled with worry. “What?” I grunted at him.

  “Nothing.”

  I snorted. “I know that look on your face, Jebido. Do you think what I did was wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Jebido responded. “I’m just afraid you might have kicked a hornet's nest, that’s all.”

  I nodded, feeling suddenly weary and homesick. “I expect you might be right about that.”

  And he was.

  5: Corwick Castle

  We live in a ruthless world filled with cruelty, indifference, and pain. There are good men and women among us, to be sure—people like Jebido, Baine, Wiflem, and my dear wife, Shana. But for every one like them, there are ten more like Pernissy, Hervi Desh, and First Son Oriell. For men like that, mercy and pity are considered weaknesses—fatal character flaws that make a man feeble and easy prey. Woe to the lord who shows timidness and vulnerability around any of those baying wolves. You either show your teeth early and fight, or get pulled down by the pack as they feast on your still-warm flesh.