The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  Tyris drew an arrow and knocked it, then pulled back on the string in one smooth motion. The blond archer was tall and lanky, but he had enormous shoulders and arms from a lifetime with the bow. He started to shake slightly at the three-quarter mark, the bow wandering off target before, with a determined grunt, he brought it back in line. Tyris’ right thumb finally touched his chin, and cheers erupted from the crowd as the blond archer released, which grew even louder as the arrow slapped with force into the first straw target. Tyris seemed unaffected by the cheers, and he drew another arrow, this time pulling the nock to his ear before sending the shaft spinning through the air into the second bundle of straw. Another chorus of cheers rang out as Tyris shot a third time, with the arrow landing in the grass ten feet to the right of the farthest target.

  “A fine bow, my lord,” Tyris said, turning to me. “One I would be proud to use.”

  “Then it’s yours,” I said. I patted a dejected-looking Baine on the shoulder. “Don’t fret, my friend. Everyone knows you have the heart of a lion.”

  “Maybe,” Baine grumbled. “But it’s surrounded by the body of a fourteen-year-old boy.”

  I laughed and turned to the tall blond archer. “I’m putting you in charge of training, Tyris.” I glanced behind me. “Test every one of these men. I need forty or fifty that can use the bows with some skill.”

  Tyris studied the crowd critically. “That might be a difficult task, my lord.”

  “One you are more than capable of completing,” I replied. “So you had best get to it.”

  In the end, Tyris found forty-eight men who could use the longbows to some degree. All were similar in body type—big and strong, with mighty shoulders and arms. Most of the archers came from my garrison of farm boys, with a few woodsmen, tanners, masons, and one apprentice blacksmith thrown in as well. I wasn’t willing to give up any of my experienced fighters to train with the longbows, so those men were exempt from the trial.

  Tyris worked with the selected men for six hours a day, honing their skills, and by the end of the first week, the newly formed archers—who had been given the nickname, the Wolf’s Teeth—were hitting targets standing a hundred and fifty yards away two times out of four. Anything past a hundred and fifty yards, Tyris had explained to me, and the iron arrowheads would become mostly ineffective against armor. While that was undoubtedly true about mail and plated armor, female Piths usually wore light leather, so once I explained that to Tyris, he agreed that it made sense to push the targets back to two hundred yards. Even if the barrage from my men failed to kill their archers from that distance, I figured the threat alone would be enough to cause concern and uncertainty among the Piths’ ranks, just like it had at Gasterny.

  Seventy men had arrived mid-week from Calban and seemed to be settling in well, though I could tell they viewed my Wolf’s Teeth boys and their longbows with a certain amount of disdain. That would change, I hoped, when my new archers saw action and proved what they could do. I sent riders to patrol my lands, setting up a network of signal fires so that if Piths were spotted anywhere within my borders, we would have some warning. As expected, I had heard nothing back from the southern lords or the garrisons. All I could do was hope that they had taken my words seriously.

  Three weeks after the battle of Camwick, a rider arrived flying the king’s banner. I met him in Corwick Hall with Wiflem, Baine, and Niko. Pernissy had set an elegant Lord’s Chair carved in mahogany and draped in furs on the dais overlooking the hall, but I always preferred to stand on the rush-covered floor below, feeling out of place in the chair.

  “My lord,” the man said, bowing. His name was Braham, and he was richly dressed with an air of importance and arrogance about him that I immediately found annoying. He held a fine helmet with an elegant black plume on the crest under one arm and toyed with the cloth of his red, fur-lined cape with the other. The cape reminded me of Cardians, which made me like the man even less. “The king wishes to see you, lord.” He said my title with what sounded to me like disdain.

  I just gaped at him, then shook my head in anger. “This is not the time to go riding to Gandertown. I could have thousands of Piths rampaging across my lands at any moment.”

  Braham blinked, looking surprised. “Piths, lord?”

  My men began muttering where they sat together on a bench, and I held up a hand to silence them. I felt a coldness settling in my gut like a knife. Braham didn’t seem to know anything about the Piths recent actions, which, if true, meant my messenger hadn’t made it to Gandertown. “I sent a man weeks ago to warn the king that the Piths are planning an attack. Are you telling me that man never arrived?”

  Braham shifted his feet, looking troubled now. “He may have indeed, lord. I don’t know because the king is not in Gandertown.”

  “Well then, where is he?” I demanded.

  “Less than a day’s ride from here, lord.”

  Now it was my turn to blink in surprise. “The king is here? In the south?”

  “He is, lord, and he has sent me to fetch you to his camp immediately.”

  I glanced at Wiflem’s stony face, then at Baine before turning back to Braham. “At least tell me he’s brought an army with him.”

  Braham shook his head. “No army, lord. He has three hundred of his personal bodyguard along, that is all.”

  I groaned. “The Piths sacked one of my villages, and more are coming. Are you telling me that the king is unaware of that?”

  “The king is not aware of any trouble with the Piths, lord,” Braham said. He lifted his chin and stared at me with cold disapproval. “But I’m sure it was nothing more than a simple summer raid not worthy of his attention. That’s why he made you the Lord of Corwick, after all, to handle minor details like this.”

  “Minor detail?” I said, incredulous. “Do you think that’s what this is?”

  “What I think has no bearing, lord. It’s what the king thinks that matters.” He turned, gesturing with his helmet. “If it pleases you, lord, we had best be going. King Tyden and the First Son are expecting you before dark.”

  I paused in surprise. “Son Oriell is with the king?”

  Braham nodded. “As is Daughter Gernet. They all await you, so please, lord, if you will come with me.”

  I shared a look with Baine. The fact that the First Son had come, as well as Daughter Gernet—who was effectively the First Daughter in all but name now—meant this truly had nothing to do with the Piths at all. This was something else entirely. “Wiflem, Baine,” I grunted. “Come with me.” I started to follow Braham, then, after a few steps, I turned back, leaning over Niko to whisper in his ear. The youth listened attentively, and then he nodded when I was done.

  “What was that all about?” Baine asked as we left Corwick Hall.

  “Just a hunch,” I answered. “We’ll see soon enough.”

  Baine pursed his lips and nodded. “What about Jebido and Sim?” he asked. “Do you think they talked to the king about Pernissy before he left Gandertown?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait to find that out,” I replied, wondering the same thing.

  The king had chosen his campgrounds well, setting up his tents along the edge of a bluff overlooking a deep valley. Other than a few low hills and sparse woodlands, the plains were viewable to the eye for miles. Braham and I had spoken little on the journey, which seemed to suit him just as much as it did me. I wasn’t quite sure what role Braham had in service to the king, but by his attitude and demeanor, it was clear to me that Tyden favored the man.

  We reached the camp and dismounted as several men-at-arms came to take our horses.

  “Please stay here, lord,” Braham said curtly, not waiting for an answer as he strode toward a large tent in the center of the encampment.

  “Is it just me,” Baine said under his breath, “or does that bastard say lord the way that I say turd?”

  “Hadrack!”

  I turned, my face breaking out into a welcoming smile as I recognized Jin running
toward me. The Daughter-In-Waiting flung herself into my arms, staggering me.

  “It’s so good to see you!” Jin said loudly. She pressed her lips to my ear and whispered, “Be careful, Hadrack. Whatever you do, keep your temper in check.”

  I lowered Jin to the ground, surprised but unable to ask anything further as Daughter Gernet appeared, trailed by several stern-faced priestesses and a House Agent that I didn’t recognize.

  “Jin, come away now, dear,” Daughter Gernet said. Her features were cold and unwelcoming as she looked at me. “This is not the place nor the time.”

  “It’s good to see you, Daughter,” I said cautiously. All the priestesses were glaring at me with clear reproof in their eyes. “How have you been?”

  “There! That’s him! That’s the murderer!” A flock of black-robed priests appeared, bustling their way between the tents toward me. I grunted with distaste when I saw that Son Oriell led them. The First Son had grown fatter since I had last seen him, and he pointed his finger at me, his ugly face twisted in rage. “That is the man who killed my apprentice!”

  “What nonsense is this?” I said to Daughter Gernet, ignoring the First Son. “I’ve killed no one.”

  “Liar!” Son Oriell hissed. He stopped in front of me and thrust his nose an inch from mine. “You murdered Apprentice Cheny in cold blood, you heathen!”

  “I did no such thing,” I said. I noticed Braham exiting the king’s tent, and he gestured for all of us to come inside.

  “We’ll soon see about that!” Son Oriell crowed, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he stormed toward the tent with the troop of angry priests close on his heels.

  Daughter Gernet paused as she and her entourage moved to follow the priests. “Why couldn’t you have used your brain for once and not your sword, Hadrack?” she said frostily. She sighed, moving away. “I can’t save you from this, even if I wanted to.”

  “Your men can wait out here,” Braham told me gruffly as I approached the tent. Both Baine and Wiflem started to protest, but I just gave them a quick nod of reassurance, then bent and stepped inside.

  “That’s him, Your Highness!” Son Oriell said shrilly the moment I entered the interior. “That’s the man that slaughtered poor, innocent Cheny!”

  King Tyden sat perched on an ornate stool at the back of the tent with his bare feet splayed out on an elegant, furred rug. A servant girl was working oil into his left foot, while a second girl trimmed the toenails on his right. The king waved the servants away as I knelt in front of him.

  “Highness,” I said. “It is good to see you well.”

  “You know what amazes me, Lord Hadrack?” Tyden asked as he absently motioned for me to stand.

  “I can’t imagine, Highness,” I said, rising.

  “How few people bother with proper foot care.” The king lifted one foot, admiring it as his white skin gleamed in the candlelight. I had to admit, it was a fine-looking foot. “I mean, we spend hours tending to our horses' feet, yet give little or no consideration to our own.” Tyden stood, scrunching his toes into the fur. He sighed in pleasure as he faced me. “Our feet are the foundation on which we live, Hadrack, and just like that of a house, if you let your foundation rot, then everything above will eventually crumble as well.”

  “Your Highness!” Son Oriell huffed, stepping forward impatiently. “How can you speak of feet when we have a murderer among us?”

  Tyden fixed his light blue eyes on Son Oriell. I could see no love in them for the ugly priest. Finally, the king sighed and looked away. “Very well, First Son, now that Lord Hadrack is here, you may speak your grievance.”

  “This man,” Son Oriell spat, waving a finger inches away from my face. I had to stop myself from grabbing his wrist and snapping it. “This…this…heathen, rode to Thidswitch earlier this month for the sole purpose of murdering one of my order.”

  “Yes, so you have told me,” Tyden said dryly as he began to pace on the rug. “Yet, you have so far declined to give me a reason for why he would do that.”

  “Who can say what goes on in a heartless savage’s mind, Highness,” Son Oriell said. He lowered his head in sorrow. “Not only did he murder a valued and promising apprentice, he killed an entire colony of lepers that poor apprentice was tending.”

  I gaped at Son Oriell. “That’s a lie!” I said, finally finding my tongue. I glanced at Daughter Gernet and Jin. The young girl had her hands pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide with dread, while her grandmother stood beside her, the priestess’s expression, if anything, even more dour than before.

  King Tyden stroked his finely-trimmed beard as he thought. “Lord Hadrack,” he finally said. “Were you in Thidswitch at the time the First Son claims?”

  I’d managed to get my surprise and anger under control by now, and I nodded. “I was, Highness.”

  “Why did you go there?” Tyden asked.

  “I went to see Grindin, just as the First Son says,” I answered. Tyden’s brow furrowed. “Apprentice Cheny, Highness,” I explained. “Grindin was his name before he took the vows.”

  “Ah,” the king said, understanding now. “Did you announce yourself to Lord Wakerton when you arrived?”

  I shook my head. “I did not, Highness. I meant to, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Because you were too busy killing my apprentice!” the First Son hissed.

  King Tyden lifted his hands as all the priests began hurling accusations at me at once. “We will have order here,” the king said calmly. He gestured to me. “This is not some ruffian plucked from Beggar’s Row. This man is a lord, and he will be treated as such.”

  “This is what you get when you raise scum beyond their station,” I heard one of the priests mutter.

  If the king heard it, he chose not to react. “Lord Hadrack, can you please explain what it was that you were doing in Thidswitch.”

  I glanced at Son Oriell, whose eyes were burning with anticipation. “I went there to kill Grindin, Highness,” I said truthfully.

  “I told you!” Son Oriell howled, joy on his face. He jabbed his finger at me over and over. “That man is a murderer! He’s admitted to killing one of our order! There can be nothing left now but banishment from the House and execution as soon as possible!”

  “May I speak, Highness?” I said, ignoring the clamoring priests, my calm reflecting that of the king’s. Tyden nodded, though I could see by his expression that he was now convinced of my guilt. “I fully admit to going to Thidswitch to kill Grindin.”

  “Why?” the king asked.

  I sought out Jin with my eyes, sharing this with her. “I went to kill Grindin because he was one of the nine men who destroyed Corwick.”

  Jin’s eyes went round, and gasps arose in the tent. I saw Daughter Gernet’s steely gaze thaw a little, her features turning thoughtful as she studied me.

  “A filthy lie from a desperate man, Your Highness!” Son Oriell snapped. He sniffed, composing himself. “But even if it were true, it does not excuse this man’s actions. Apprentice Cheny was a representative of The Father Himself. There can be no leniency for such a vile act. This man must die!”

  I turned to face the ugly priest. “And what if I didn’t kill him?” I asked. “What if he is still alive?”

  Son Oriell hesitated, and I saw a shadow of doubt cloud his eyes. Then the priest shook off my words and his doubt, facing the king. “We have a witness, lord.”

  Tyden sighed, looking suddenly weary. He waved a hand. “Bring in your witness, then, and let’s be done with this.”

  Son Oriell turned, pushing the priests crowded together behind him aside until he drew one into the open. I hadn’t noticed the man before, but it was Son Jona. The thin priest stepped forward self-consciously and bowed to the king.

  “You claim to have witnessed this murder?” Tyden said, his arms crossed over his chest now.

  “I did, Highness,” Son Jona responded in a soft voice. He glanced sideways at me, and I thought I could see a faint smile playing abo
ut his lips. “I blame myself, Highness. I did not fully appreciate Lord Hadrack’s intent when I directed him to the hills where Apprentice Cheny was selflessly caring for the unfortunate lepers. What occurred in Thidswitch was a terrible tragedy, Highness, and the crushing weight that I bear from witnessing the murders will stay with me until my last day in this world.”

  The thin priest sniffed, wiping at his eyes. I had to stop myself from snorting in disbelief. Son Jona wasn’t much of an actor, in my opinion.

  “What say you to this?” the king asked, focusing on me.

  “Have him swear it, Highness,” I said calmly. I pointed to the Rock of Life hanging from around the priest’s neck. “Have him swear before The Father that what he is saying is the truth.”

  “Do you so swear?” Tyden asked Son Jona.

  The thin priest clasped the dark stone in both of his hands, his face set in comical earnestness. “I do so swear, Highness. Lord Hadrack murdered Apprentice Cheny and the lepers before my very eyes.”

  “Very well,” King Tyden said reluctantly. “I see no reason why—”

  “Excuse me, Highness,” I said, cutting off the king in mid-sentence. “Before you pass judgment on me, I have a witness of my own. If it pleases you, I ask that he be allowed to speak.”

  Tyden frowned, looking surprised, then he bowed his head. “The witness may speak.”

  “What is this nonsense?” Son Oriell sputtered as I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled.

  Niko appeared almost immediately in the entrance, holding Grindin firmly by the arm.

  I gestured to the new arrivals. “Highness, I would like to present Grindin, who is also known as Apprentice Cheny.”

  9: Invasion

  “I haven’t laughed that hard in years!” Tyden gasped, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. He took a long drink of ale, then slammed his mug down on a small chest beside the stool he sat on. Night had fallen, and tallow candles standing in deep wooden bowls were placed around the tent, lighting the interior. “Did you see that fat bastard’s face when you dragged the apprentice in here?” The king stood, his face still red from laughing as he removed his crown and tossed it casually on the stool. “I thought he was going to piss himself!”