The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  “We’re going to war,” I grunted. “The Piths have laid siege to Gasterny.”

  Baine frowned. “Our Gasterny?”

  “Is there any other?” I asked as I swung up on Angry’s saddle.

  “But Piths don’t lay siege to anything, Hadrack,” Baine said as he climbed nimbly onto his mare’s back.

  I swung Angry’s head around. “Tell that to him,” I said, hooking a thumb at the king’s tent.

  I paused, my eyes narrowing with suspicion. Son Oriell and Grindin—now once again wearing the brown robes of an apprentice—stood together beside a lone tree that grew at the edge of the bluff. Grindin held up an oil lamp, illuminating a wooden cage tied with rope hung from a branch over the precipice. A pale, naked figure huddled inside the cage, shivering against the evening chill. The First Son stood bent over, his hands on his knees as he talked with the cage’s occupant.

  “Wait here,” I grunted to my men. I urged Angry closer to the priest and apprentice, who seemed oblivious of me.

  “But you promised, Uncle!” I heard the prisoner say in a high-pitched whine. It was Jona, now stripped of his robes and station.

  “I promised nothing!” the First Son hissed back. “It’s only going to be for a day or two. Show some backbone, boy!”

  Grindin glanced over his shoulder, and even in the lantern light, I could see his face turning white as he saw me approaching. He plucked at the First Son’s robe urgently.

  “Not now!” Son Oriell snapped, waving him off.

  “It’s Lord Hadrack, First Son,” Grindin whispered. I could hear the fear in his voice, which gladdened my heart.

  I halted Angry ten feet from the two men as Son Oriell turned, a forced smile upon his lips. “Ah, Lord Hadrack, there you are. I was just offering the prisoner one last chance to explain why he felt the need to lie before his king and god.”

  “Is that so?” I said. I shifted my gaze to Grindin, who had suddenly found something on the ground to keep his interest. “And what did your nephew tell you, First Son?”

  Son Oriell sighed. “Sadly, the stubborn fool refuses to answer, lord. I can’t for the life of me understand why.”

  “Oh, I think we both have a pretty good idea why,” I said with a sarcastic chuckle. Son Oriell’s features turned hard as I regarded Jona. The former Son clutched the cage's wooden slats with both hands as he glared at me. “You should unburden yourself, Jona,” I told him. “Carrying the full weight of crimes committed by others must be exhausting. Tell me the truth, and I promise I’ll go to the king on your behalf and have your sentence repealed immediately.”

  Jona blinked in surprise as Son Oriell cleared his throat nervously. “Now, now, Lord Hadrack,” the priest said, glancing sideways at his nephew. “Let’s not be too hasty about offering absolution and false hope. The Holy Law is clear on matters as grave as this, and even the king himself cannot overturn it. Jona may still breathe for the moment, but he is already dead as far as the House is concerned. All any of us can do now is pray that The Father can cleanse the evil from my nephew’s poor, misguided soul.”

  I stroked my beard, thinking as Jona shifted his gaze from me to his uncle, the hope fading from his eyes. “You are right, First Son,” I said. “Forgive me. I just feel the sentence of death might be a little harsh, especially since he is of your blood.”

  The priest nodded, his features twisted in sorrow. “Your generosity and empathy towards my family is staggering, lord. I cannot thank you enough for your kind words. But Jona must suffer the fate required by the House, regardless of my affection for him. To do otherwise would send a message of inequality amongst us in the eyes of the people that I am honored to serve.”

  “That is truly admirable and selfless of you, First Son,” I said, trying not to let the disdain I felt for the man show. “I applaud your dedication to the people.” I hesitated, looking back over my shoulder at the tents. “The king plans on breaking camp in the morning, but I’ll have one of my men sit with Jona until the end. It’s the least that I can do for blood kin of yours, since you tried so hard to get to the bottom of this for me.”

  Son Oriell’s eyes widened and I heard Jona gasp. “That won’t be necessary, lord,” the priest protested. “While your kind offer truly humbles me, Jona was once of my order. I couldn’t ask a stranger to sit with him.” He gestured to Grindin. “I will leave Apprentice Cheny behind to stay with my nephew until he passes into the next world.”

  “Ah,” I said. “That is a fine idea, First Son.” I casually guided Angry closer to the edge of the bluff. The big horse snorted in warning at Grindin, pushing him easily out of the way with his shoulder as Son Oriell scurried from the stallion’s path. “My apologies,” I said. “This horse of mine has a mind of its own at times.”

  “He is a magnificent creature, lord,” Son Oriell muttered, watching me cautiously.

  “He is,” I agreed. I halted Angry between the two men and the hanging cage, then leaned on the pommel of my saddle. “There is one thing you said that I find most interesting, Son.”

  “Oh, and what would that be, lord?”

  “You mentioned that in the eyes of the House, your nephew is already dead. What did you mean by that, exactly?”

  Son Oriell smiled condescendingly. “The Holy Law on this is quite explicit, lord. Once a Son is convicted of lying under oath to The Father, no one can help him. The moment he enters that cage, the accused ceases to exist in our world and must wait until his soul departs his body, however long that might take. So, even though Jona yet breaths and speaks, he is nothing more than a shadow to us now.”

  “I see,” I said as I glanced briefly at the doomed man before turning back to the priest. “That is a miserable way to die, First Son.”

  “I agree,” Son Oriell said sadly. “Yet, there is nothing we can do but wait and pray that the end comes quickly for him.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I said. Son Oriell’s eyebrows rose, but before he could say anything more, I drew my father’s axe and lashed out at the rope holding the cage. The axe blade cleaved the cable effortlessly, and Jona had only a moment to register what was happening before, with a high-pitched wail, he plunged downward into the darkness. A moment later, I heard the satisfying sounds of the cage striking the rocks in the valley far below. I turned Angry away from the rim as Son Oriell and Grindin stared up at me in horror. “You told me he was a dead man anyway,” I said in explanation as I sheathed my axe. “So why make the poor wretch suffer?” I smiled down at the two men as Angry trotted past them. “No need to thank me, First Son,” I called out over my shoulder. “I’ll gladly do the same for either one of you, should the opportunity ever arise.”

  10: The Battle of the Bridge: Part Two

  One of the first things Tyden did when he became king was establish a standing army that answered to him and to no one else. Before that, wars were mainly fought by conscripts—those from the lowest feudal ranks—as well as mercenaries and whatever professional soldiers each lord had under his employ. It was a shrewd move on Tyden’s part, I thought, since a king is only as strong as the men who support and protect him. A great deal of unrest remained after the civil war, and many of the northern lords who had originally sworn fealty to King Jorquin and then Prince Tyrale openly distrusted their new king. If not for the unswerving loyalty and affection that this fledgling army had for Tyden—due mainly, I suspected, to the generous pay he gave them—I have little doubt that the king’s reign would have been very short-lived.

  The king’s new army numbered almost ten thousand men, but unfortunately for us in the south, most of those forces were too far away to be of much help. There were troops stationed in the garrisons along the border, of course, but Tyden didn’t want to weaken those fortresses by drawing men away, fearing that might be what the Piths ultimately wanted. The majority of the king’s forces remained around his power base of Gandertown, a clear deterrent against any of the ambitious northern lords who might try to seize the crown for
themselves. Tyden had not listened to my concerns about Gasterny, but he had compromised somewhat by summoning a thousand of his men south in case the Pith threat was bigger than expected. For now, though, we would have to deal with the siege of the garrison on our own.

  A call to arms, known as a levy, had been issued the morning after I met with Tyden, with messengers sent to every southern lord within a three-day ride. From there, more messengers working in relays went to every village, town, and hamlet, throwing a garland of straw in the town centers, which signified every able man must report to their lords to fight.

  The king had shifted his camp to the plains that lay to the west of Camwick, which he had decided would be our rallying point. I’d offered him the use of Corwick Castle, but he had declined, saying that he preferred to be with his men. Tyden believed his presence would help with morale and inspire the commoners when they saw him living as they did, which once again I considered a wise move on his part. The king had initially hoped to march to Gasterny’s aid in less than a week, but by the seventh day, some of the southern lords still had not arrived with their men, so we continued to wait. Camwick was doing a brisk business supplying food, drink, and whores to the growing army, though all of it at a greatly reduced price imposed by the king himself. Tyden might be generous with his soldiers at home, but with the royal treasury greatly depleted in the wake of the Pair War, the merchants of Camwick were getting little from their new king other than flowery words and the miserly grip of his hand.

  With each successive lord who arrived in camp came confirmation of Pith raids on their lands, with many of the village Sons and Daughters being abducted, just as I had foreseen. The king railed against those lords, furious that they had ignored my warnings, though there was little that could be done about it now. Finally, on the morning of the eighth day, King Tyden decided that he’d waited long enough, and his army that had swelled to several thousand strong began to move out, trudging southward. Moving an army of that size is a slow and complicated process, with infantry, cavalry, pack animals, and supply wagons all adding to a long line that stretched for more than a mile along the road that would lead us to Gasterny.

  I rode in the rear of that army, eating dust thrown up by the wagons as I led fifty of my men-at-arms on horseback while my Wolf’s Teeth marched behind us on foot. I didn’t trust the scant information we had about the Piths movements, so I’d left Wiflem in command of Corwick Castle with the remainder of my men. If Lorgen Three-Fingers planned on trying to seize the castle in my absence, then he would learn that the fiefdom of Corwick still had sharp teeth even if the wolf wasn’t home.

  As usual, Baine rode beside me, and it was he who first noticed the two horsemen far to our rear. My friend plucked at my arm. “Unless my eyes are deceiving me, that white horse back there looks like Jebido’s.”

  I turned, watching as two figures on horseback drew closer. “I think you’re right,” I said as a smile of pleasure broke out on my face. I pulled Angry out of line, motioning for my men to continue onward as Baine swung his mare around to join me. Then we waited.

  Five minutes later, with the backs of the Wolf’s Teeth fading in the distance around a bend in the road, Sim and Jebido paused their winded mounts in front of us.

  “I should have known you two wouldn’t miss a good fight,” I said.

  Jebido grinned. “Somebody has to watch out for you.”

  “You spoke with Wiflem?”

  My friend’s face turned serious as Sim nodded beside him. “We did,” Jebido said. “Piths laying siege to a well-defended fortress like Gasterny? This has a smell to it, Hadrack.”

  “I know,” I grunted. “I tried telling the king that, but he didn’t want to hear it.”

  Jebido and Sim rode beside Baine and me as I filled the two in on everything that had happened since they’d left Corwick over a month ago.

  “So, what do you think the Piths are up to?” Jebido asked when I was done.

  I shrugged. I had been mulling that very question over for the last few days, always coming back to the same answer. “The attack on Gasterny has to be a ploy,” I said.

  Jebido nodded. “That’s what I think, too. They want the king’s eyes focused there, but why?”

  “A bigger target?” Baine suggested.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  Baine sighed. “I only wish I knew.”

  Five days later, our army lay encamped across the White Rock from Gasterny. Pith scouts had dogged us most of the way, watching our movements from afar, so it was a great surprise when word came that the gatehouses on either side of the bridge were lying open and undefended. The Piths had set up a camp in the fields a mile east of the garrison, but they seemed unconcerned at our appearance, which made me even more uneasy. I could see Gander soldiers patrolling the fortress's ramparts, but as far as I could tell, the garrison appeared undamaged. The wooden walls that I remembered from my time in Gasterny were gone now, replaced with formidable stone ones. I knew if we’d had those walls years ago, Pernissy’s men would never have gotten to us, and my life would have turned out very differently.

  “All of this seems just a little too familiar,” Jebido grunted as he followed me toward the king’s tent. My friend was dressed in heavy mail, with a conical helmet and dented nose guard that struggled to cover his hooked nose entirely.

  I grunted my agreement as we stepped inside.

  “Highness, this doesn’t make any sense,” were the first words that I heard. The man who had spoken was tall, with closely-cropped grey hair and bushy black eyebrows that always made him look angry. His name was Lord Porten Welis, an experienced warrior who had brought almost three hundred men with him, half of them archers. His son, Fitzery Welis, stood beside him, also with the same bushy eyebrows, though they were light brown, as was his hair. “Why remove the gates and leave the gatehouses undefended like this?” Lord Porten added with a frown.

  “Because the Piths know they can’t stop us from taking them, lord,” Braham said. I noticed he said lord with a great deal more respect than he did when he talked to me.

  “It does make a certain kind of sense,” Lord Falway agreed. The speaker was short, with enormous shoulders and legs offset by a bulging gut under his mail. He moved to a small table that sat in the center of the crowded tent as men stepped aside for him. The lord ran his finger across a map that lay on the table’s surface. “They know that any men they place in those gatehouses will be lost when we attack. But if they forget about the buildings and set up a shield wall to box us in right here, our men will be hemmed in by the gatehouse walls to either side. Removing the gates ensures we can’t use the buildings for defense.”

  “With perhaps what?” Tyden asked as he toyed with his beard. “Ten or fifteen men that we can send against them at a time?”

  “Exactly, Highness,” Lord Falway said. “The Piths could hold that position all day long, rotating tired men out for fresh, while our men are jammed into that building with nowhere to go.”

  “But by ceding us this gatehouse,” Lord Porten said, tapping a finger on the map. “They have effectively given us the high ground.”

  “Exactly,” another lord agreed. “Get archers up on the ramparts and they can make quick work of the Pith shield wall.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said, remembering the assault that I had been involved in on the same gatehouse years ago. “Your men will have to lean over the battlements and aim down, which would leave them vulnerable to Pith arrows.”

  “Then my boys will deal with their archers first,” Lord Porten said in a confident voice. I just shook my head as the tall lord snorted. “What? Do you think a bunch of Pith girls can outshoot us?”

  “Yes,” I said bluntly. “If you try to go bow against bow with them, I promise you will lose.”

  Lord Falway nodded his head in agreement. “As much as I hate to admit it, Lord Hadrack is right. To start, we will have to match the Piths shield for shield and push them back with sheer brute stre
ngth. Their archers will be limited in their targets that way, at least for a while. If we can flank the Piths and get behind their wall, it will fold, and then we can slaughter them all.”

  “And if it doesn’t fold?” Lord Porten asked.

  No one answered that question, and finally, King Tyden cleared his throat. “Very well. I appreciate the advice given here today. We will attack in one hour, but not with our best in the first wave. We will throw the levy against the Piths to wear them down first, then hit them with pikes and swords.”

  “That’s a bad idea, Highness,” I said.

  Tyden crossed his arms over his chest, a frown on his face. “How so, Lord Hadrack?”

  I stepped forward. “Sending men with little to no armor up against Piths in that confined space would be madness. They’ll get slaughtered.”

  “That’s what they’re here for,” one of the lords said, raising a chuckle from the other men.

  “Really?” I snapped. “Because I thought we came here to win. Wasting lives like that is just stupid. It will do nothing but bolster the Piths’ morale and tear ours down. How do you think the men waiting on the bridge are going to feel watching their brothers getting hacked down and ripped apart in front of them?”

  “Do you have another option, Lord Hadrack?” Tyden asked.

  “Yes, I do, Highness,” I said. “But I’ll need more than an hour to get ready. Probably two.” I glanced at Lord Porten. “I would also need some of your archers, lord.”

  The tall man shrugged. “If the king agrees to this plan, then you can have them.”

  I nodded to him in gratitude. “Good,” I said. “Then this is what I propose we do.”

  Just over two hours later, I stood with Jebido and Baine and my fifty men-at-arms in the center of the bridge. Six carts pulled by mules waited behind my men, with sixty archers and two hundred heavily armored mounted lancers led by Sim lined up behind the carts. The Piths had formed a shield wall outside the southern gatehouse when they saw us move onto the bridge, positioning themselves exactly where Lord Falway had predicted they would. More warriors waited behind the wall, with hundreds of female archers making a cordon behind them. The Pith archers were shooting over the gatehouse at us, but I had been careful to stop well out of their range. The shafts cracked harmlessly against the stone in front of me, and finally, the Piths gave up wasting arrows and just watched us.