The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  Lord Porten’s borrowed archers were lined up along the riverbank east of the bridge, looking confused as to what their purpose might be. A grizzled soldier in heavy mail stood off to one side of the line, watching me closely. Finally, I nodded to him that I was ready.

  “Archers, nock your arrows!” the man shouted at the top of his lungs. I had selected him specifically for his booming voice.

  I turned to see what effect the man’s words were having, praying that the Piths would be able to hear over the roar of the White Rock. Some of the warriors waiting behind the shield wall shifted over to the riverbank, peering across the water at us. I grinned. Piths were notoriously curious.

  “Archers, draw!” the soldier commanded.

  Thirty-five bowmen drew nocks to their ears while I could hear the Piths laughing and jeering from across the river. Even more of the warriors were moving closer to see what we were doing, including many of the female archers. “Come on,” I grunted under my breath. “Come and join the fun.”

  “Archers, loose!” the man cried.

  A dark flight of spinning shafts hurtled upward, arcing toward the watching Piths before plunging into the swirling water well away from the opposite bank. The river was roughly five hundred feet wide where we stood, which was more than I would have liked, but still feasible for what I had in mind. I just prayed the steady breeze blowing at our backs would remain.

  “Again!” I shouted, ignoring the mockery coming from the opposite bank.

  “Archers, nock your arrows!”

  “Look at that fool,” Jebido said, nudging my arm and pointing.

  A Pith warrior had run down the steep grade and was dancing on the rocky shoreline. He turned and dropped his trousers, pointing at his stark white ass and wiggling it.

  “Archers, draw!”

  “Get ready,” I grunted. I glanced at Baine. “Wait until we hit their line, then up you go with your archers, and keep your head down.” Baine just nodded, his eyes dark and dangerous as he focused on the massed Pith shields bristling on the far side of the gatehouse.

  “Archers, loose!”

  Dark shafts rose in the air for a second time, only to fall short of the southern side again. More Pith warriors were plunging down the opposite bank to join their naked comrade, forming a line and dropping their trousers. One was a woman with a shapely behind, which was causing quite a stir of appreciation among my men.

  “I think I’ve seen enough stinking arseholes for one day, Hadrack,” Jebido growled as he clutched his sword. “Excluding the girl’s, of course. Can we get on with this, please?”

  I chuckled and nodded. I turned and started to curse loudly at Lord Porten’s archers, ridiculing them for their lack of skill as the Piths hooted with delight. I paced back and forth across the bridge, kicking the stone and screaming, promising each man that they would be mucking stables for the rest of their lives after this. I wasn’t sure how much of the tirade the Piths could hear, but they seemed to be enjoying my performance just the same, crowding along the riverbank in their eagerness to watch. Lord Porten’s archers finally turned and shuffled away in dejection as I hurled even more curses at their backs.

  “Is there anyone here that can shoot a damn bow!” I screamed in mock outrage.

  My Wolf’s Teeth appeared in answer all along the riverbank, led by Tyris. “We will try, lord!” the blond archer’s voice boomed out.

  I pointed at the jeering Piths with Wolf’s Head. “Wipe the smiles off those bastards’ faces,” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Or I’ll roast your balls over a fire and feed them to my hogs!”

  I turned, gripping my sword and shield tighter as I waited.

  “Nock!” I heard Tyris’s command ring out. “Draw!” Forty-eight bows drew back and aimed at the laughing Piths. “Loose!”

  I could feel Baine and Jebido tensing beside me as the flight of arrows left the longbows. “Wait,” I called to my men. The arrows were halfway over the river, still arcing upward. I held my breath until the shafts began to angle downward. “Now!” I screamed, waving Wolf’s Head. “Kill the bastards! Kill them!”

  We barreled forward across the stone bridge as the arrows fell amongst the massed Piths along the bank. More shafts were already on the way as the first flight ripped into the astonished Piths. Warriors dropped all along the bank's ridge, tumbling down its length into the White Rock, where the foaming water swept them away. I glanced down as I ran, noticing the first warrior who had bared his ass now lay dead on the stones, his trousers still around his ankles. I grinned as we reached the gatehouse and plunged into the coolness of the building.

  “Kill them! I screamed, lowering my shield as my men and I sprinted through the building toward the rear gate where the Piths awaited us. “No mercy! Kill every last one of the bastards!” We crashed into the line of Piths, forcing them to stay under cover as my men hacked and stabbed wildly at their shields. I knew Baine and his archers were following closely behind us, but he would need time to get all the contents of the carts up to the ramparts. “Form a wall!” I shouted, slamming my shield against the gatehouse’s stone floor and locking it over Jebido’s beside me. Berwin was on my left, grinning like a fool as he overlapped shields with me, with more men joining us, matching the line of Piths until we were four ranks deep. The last two ranks of my men held long poleaxes, which they used to try and hook the Pith shields while we searched for openings. “We hold here!” I cried, cursing as a sword blade snuck through a gap and clanged off my helmet. “Tighten up, damn you!” I roared as something heavy pounded against my shield.

  I glanced over my shoulder, but there was nothing to see other than a wall of stinking, sweating men. I faced forward again, stabbing through a gap in the shields and laughing as I heard a yelp of pain. That’s when the horn sounded from the ramparts.

  “Get ready!” I shouted, bracing myself as I put my shoulder to my shield just as the first of the rocks started to fall from above. I could hear the surprised grunts of pain from the Piths as stones bounced and clanged off their armor. I grinned. The Pith archers waiting behind the shield wall could only target what they could see, and Baine and his men didn’t have to show themselves at all to lob the rocks we had collected from the riverbank over the battlements. Berwin started to press forward impatiently and I glared at him. “Wait for the second horn!” I growled.

  That horn came moments later, signaling Baine’s job was done and it was safe to advance. “Now! I shouted. Our wall surged forward in a wedge formation, pushing the stunned and broken line of Piths back from the gatehouse entrance. “Make a hole!” I cried, aiming for the Pith center while slashing at the head of a screaming warrior in front of me. The man defected my blade with his shield, but the iron head of a poleaxe appeared over my shoulder, the spiked end cutting open my opponent’s vulnerable throat. The Pith fell, trampled beneath heavy boots as we pressed onward. I could hear my men chanting, “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” as foot by foot, we pushed the disorganized Piths backward.

  Bodies were dropping all around me, with hardly enough room to swing a blade effectively. A Pith warrior broke out into the open with Jebido, forcing him back with vicious slashes of his sword. I lunged toward the Pith and ran him through, then ducked under a wild swing of a war hammer from another warrior. I smashed the top of my shield against my opponent’s wrist, and he dropped his hammer, then I kicked his legs out from under him and put my boot on his neck as I stamped down hard. I heard something snap, then the warrior shuddered and lay still. I moved on. “Kill them!” I cried as my men screamed my name. “Kill the bastards!”

  “Hadrack!” Jebido called out from beside me. My friend dodged as a Pith swung his shield at his head, then he grabbed the off-balance warrior by the beard and dragged him onto his blade. “There’s too many. We need the horses, now!”

  We had made it through the Piths onto relatively open ground, but more of their warriors were joining the fray now, encircling us and shoring up the shield wall behind my men. We wer
e effectively cut off from our forces in the gatehouse, with enraged Piths battling us on all sides. I knew Jebido was right, and in another moment we would be overwhelmed. I lifted my sword. “Sim, now!” I shouted, hoping the big man would hear me over the sounds of battle.

  I heard Sim’s faint answering call, then a shrill horn before the lancers appeared, clattering through the gatehouse at a gallop. Pith warriors screamed and died as the horsemen rolled over them in a relentless wave, shattering the hastily reforming shield wall before it could be fully locked. Cheering men-at-arms on foot came rushing behind the lancers with poleaxes, hacking and stabbing at any Pith that had somehow managed to survive that unstoppable charge. The untrained levy followed the men-at-arms, pouring through the breaches of the collapsing Pith shield wall as they screamed for blood.

  The female archers were in full retreat behind the Piths, trying to gain higher ground where they could shoot effectively without striking any of their brothers. But they had forgotten all about Baine and his men on the battlements. Waves of Gander arrows hissed toward the lightly-armored Pith archers from the ramparts above our heads, dropping more than a dozen women on the first volley.

  “Kill the bastards!” I screamed as my men took up the call.

  There is no feeling quite like the mixture of fear and ecstasy a battle can bring, and I reveled in it, taking on all challengers with cold-blooded joy. I fought with a mindless fury, heedless of my wounds as first a sword nicked my cheek, and then a thrown spear tore a gash through my mail. I moved forward, bellowing like a man possessed as my men paced me, driving the Piths back. I slashed, blocked, stabbed, kicked, and gouged my adversaries, doing whatever was needed to beat the man opposing me before I moved on, hungry for more.

  A huge Pith with tattooed arms appeared in front of me, growling as he swung a one-handed battle-axe for my head. I dropped to one knee beneath it and slashed upward with my sword, cutting across the man’s right thigh and groin. The warrior screamed, dropping his weapon as he stumbled away, clutching at himself. I released Wolf’s Head, picked up the fallen axe, and then flung it, catching the man between the shoulder blades. I didn’t see the warrior fall, as his body was suddenly hidden by the press of swirling bodies that blocked my view. I took up my sword again and stood just in time to see Niko drop to the ground with a Pith towering over him. The youth looked panicked as the warrior smashed his shield apart with two mighty swings of his war hammer. Then he drew the hammer back to strike again. I bounded forward and grabbed the Pith’s fur-lined cloak before he could swing, dragging him away from Niko as I cut open the warrior’s throat with a quick slash of Wolf’s Head.

  After that, the battle became a blur of hacking, slashing, cursing, and killing as we continued to force the Piths backward along the road that led to the garrison. Men-at-arms fought side by side with farm boys, merchants, and traders who wielded hammers, cleavers, mauls, or whatever else they had brought with them for weapons. We outnumbered the enemy almost three to one, and though the levy were not trained fighting men, they swarmed over each Pith like rabid wolves, piling onto the armored warriors and holding them down while one of them plunged a knife into their eyes. It was a slaughter like I have rarely seen—a beautiful, glorious, bloody slaughter.

  Finally, I paused, with no more Piths in front of me to kill. I looked around, confused. Gandermen were shouting and waving their weapons all around me, and it took me a moment to realize that they were cheering. Incredibly, the Piths were running away, streaming up the road to the south as they fled from our fury. I sagged in relief, leaning on my sword as I watched our lancers skewering the backs of the fleeing Piths. I saw the drawbridge to the garrison begin to lower, with eager horses massed at the gates. There were only fifty or so men stationed at Gasterny, and they would have mattered little at the beginning of the battle. But now that we had won, those men who had been trapped for days behind the walls clearly wanted to share in the victory and bloodshed. A horn sounded behind me as more mounted horsemen streamed around my exhausted men, led by King Tyden himself.

  “It’s a great day for killing Piths!” Tyden yelled at me, grinning broadly as he swept past, waving his sword. Lord Porten rode on the king’s right, his eyes alight with excitement, while Braham rode on his left carrying Tyden’s red and gold eagle banner.

  I just waved, too tired to bother replying as the men of the levy cheered their king, following in his wake up the road.

  “He fought well,” Jebido said as he came to stand beside me, motioning toward the king.

  My friend had lost his helmet and his silver hair was streaked with blood, but he seemed unaware of it. “I hadn’t noticed,” I said. I shrugged as I watched the king smash his sword on top of a fleeing Pith’s metal helm. “Somebody should tell Tyden that he needs to strike a running man across the back, not the helmet,” I grunted. “Swords break on helmets.”

  Jebido laughed, then his face drained of blood. “Mother’s tit!” he whispered in disbelief.

  I felt a jolt of cold dread wash over me. A mass of horses were barrelling out of Gasterny, but they weren’t Gandermen like I had thought.

  The riders streaming out of the garrison were Piths!

  11: The White Rock

  One of my biggest regrets in life—now that I am old and near the end of that life—is that I didn’t protest enough to the king about what I believed the Piths were up to at Gasterny. Had I done so with greater conviction, it’s possible that many good men who died that day might have gone on to live much longer lives. Now, in my dotage, I understand why I didn’t. But at the time, if someone had told me that I was secretly intimidated by the king and his lords, I would have reacted with both outrage and fury. All of those men were born into their titles, wearing them just as comfortably as they would a warm cloak on a cold winter’s day. Yet I had not been. In my mind, my cloak was torn and grubby, reminding me constantly that I had no right to stand among them as an equal. The king and those lords were all part of an elite class that had always seemed unattainable and, down deep, I knew I was just a commoner in their eyes who had only been raised by chance and a strong sword arm.

  The Piths, I learned later, had sent two of their women dressed as Gander peasants into Gasterny a week before they arrived in force. The girls were young and pretty, and they became an instant sensation within the fortress, where even one attractive girl was a rarity, let alone two. The Pith women, being Piths, quickly began to flirt and rut with anyone who showed even the slightest interest, including the garrison commander and his officers. In my opinion, that alone should have been a warning sign to them. But garrison duty on the border is a lonely affair, and the Ganders had clearly been blinded by lust. On the second night of the siege, the girls slipped from their beds and killed the guards at the gates before lowering the drawbridge, allowing the waiting Pith warriors inside, where they proceeded to slaughter the inhabitants. After that, they simply waited for our army to arrive, keeping the fortress sealed and walking the walls to complete the illusion it remained in Gander hands.

  Now, those Piths thundered out of Gasterny and over the drawbridge, screaming their war cries while Jebido and I watched helplessly, too far away to stop what was about to happen. All I could do was hope that the king would understand his danger before it was too late and flee. More Piths appeared along the road to the south, with some breaking out of the forest behind the garrison. There were hundreds of them, I realized with dismay as they converged on the king. We had stepped into a carefully planned trap, I now understood, designed to draw our entire army over the bridge before it was sprung. The Piths had initially been caught off-guard by our unexpected tactics at the gatehouse. But despite our early success, it seemed the gods had now abandoned us, snatching what had seemed like a sure victory away and turning it into what would soon prove to be a rout.

  The lead Gander lancers—perhaps eighty strong at best—saw the mounted Piths descending on the king, and they swerved to block them, the heavy iron points of th
eir spears leveled in a bristling wall of death. The Piths came on, heedless of the lances, snarling as the two forces met. Gander spearpoints hardened in forges across the kingdom impacted steel-rimmed willow Pith shields, shattering many of them. Yet the Piths didn’t waver as they hacked and smashed their way through the riders blocking them. I saw Sim in the midst of the battle, his great axe flailing about him, emptying first one, then a second enemy saddle before a Pith brought his war hammer down on Sim’s unprotected head from behind. The big man arched his back and his fine hat fell off, then he tumbled from his horse before disappearing from my view.

  The mismatched battle didn’t last long after that, as hundreds of Piths swarmed over the remaining lancers like locusts. Tyden had his men bunched together in a defensive knot fifty yards away from the wild melee, and both Jebido and I were shouting at him to turn and run. But the king didn’t flee like any sane man would. Instead, he launched his men forward into the eye of the storm. I cursed, though my words were salted with grudging respect. Whatever else you could say about the man, Tyden was no coward. The two forces crashed together in a collision that sounded to me like the end of the world itself. I saw Braham and his horse go down immediately with the king’s banner still clutched in his hand. Then Lord Falway and Lord Porten fell as they desperately tried to protect the king from the howling Piths hammering away at them from all sides.

  The remaining Ganders of the king’s guard put up a valiant defense around him, but they were overmatched and died quickly until Tyden was left to stand alone as the Piths boxed him in from all sides. The king slashed and hacked at the Piths in desperation, trying to break free, but the warriors just used their shields to deflect his sword thrusts as they laughed. Finally, one warrior using a dead lancer’s spear cracked the butt end across Tyden’s chest, knocking him from his saddle. Two Piths immediately leaped to the ground and grabbed the king by the arms before throwing him face down over his horse. Then they headed south over the ridge with their prize, waving their weapons in triumph.