The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  A warrior brandishing a double-bladed axe came roaring up the bank in front of me, the axe held over his head. My right boot was almost ankle-deep in the muck, and I kicked forward without thinking, sending a great gob of ooze into his face. The man sputtered, pawing at his eyes with one hand as I slashed through his leather breastplate with Wolf’s Head. The Pith screamed and fell, dropping his axe and rolling back down the embankment, while the man coming up behind him was forced to leap over the wildly tumbling body. I impaled the off-balance warrior with my sword, sending his corpse after the previous one as two more Piths rushed at me. I kicked one in the face, and he fell while I used the edge of my shield on the other one, slicing open his cheek with the metal-rim before I cut him down.

  The battle raged back and forth all across the riverbank at a furious pace as the Piths desperately fought to drive our line from the crest. My men faltered at times, our wall of shields and spears sagging under the pressure, but other than the odd man who got through and was quickly dispatched by the lancers, the screaming warriors could not break us. I stood closest to the ford where the bulk of the Piths were crossing, shouting encouragement to my men as I fought. I took on all-comers one by one as they surged out of the water, bellowing with the pure joy of battle, while the pikemen to my left and behind chanted my name. Bodies were piling up quickly all along the shoreline and the crest of the bank, with many dead Piths floating along the red-stained river as the current tugged at them. Finally, the endless waves of Pith warriors coming up the incline began to slacken, and those still forging their way toward us through the river hesitated, then began to head back to the western bank.

  “Kill the bastards!” I heard Brock shout from beside me, his eyes alight with battle fury as he hefted his spear over his shoulder, then threw. The missile caught a female Pith in the back, and she fell, flinging her hands in the air as more spears sought out the retreating Piths.

  I took a moment to catch my breath, patting Brock’s shoulder in gratitude. Our pikemen and lancers to the south had made short work of the unarmored swimmers, I saw with relief, but the Pith shield wall at the ford remained intact. I could see warriors there hacking awkwardly with axes at the wood, but they had to lower their shields to do it, and most of them only got in a blow or two before an arrow or spear took their life. I glanced to the north, where a similar shield wall bristled in front of the smaller ford’s barrier. Black smoke and weak flames were welling up from the fortification, as somehow the Piths had managed to set it alight despite the caked mud. The Piths had also gained a foothold on the shore north of the ford, forming a shield wall as more warriors waded out of the water to join its ranks. The entire river from ford to ford was filled with Piths making their way forward through the chest-deep water. Baine and Tyris had wisely drawn their archers back, raking the slow-moving enemy with waves of arrows while my infantry reserves knelt in a shield wall bristling with spears along the shoreline in front of them.

  “Stay here in case they try again!” I shouted at Brock. “And keep your eyes to the south.”

  I located Angry and leaped on his back, heading north. I saw the Piths at the southern ford wrapping ropes around the wooden barrier as I galloped past. I smiled, knowing that they were going to attempt to yank it out of the way with brute strength, though I had expected them to use horses for the task. But I was ready for that. We’d lashed horizontal poles to the base of the palisade when we built it, then tied them to more poles buried in the ground. After that, we attached thick cables to those poles and ran them along trenches that angled up the slope to where the berm would eventually be situated. Then we’d sunk additional poles deep into the ground there, attaching the cables from the first palisade to those sunken poles before filling in the trenches and building the berm overtop. The Piths could pull on that barricade all day long if they wanted, but, unless they could move the tons of dirt pinning those poles down, the barrier wasn’t going anywhere.

  I reached the line of archers, sweeping past Baine and Tyris without stopping. I knew the pikemen protecting those archers could handle the Piths trying to cross the river and that they had things under control here. The smaller ford was another matter, though, and as I drew closer, I could see that the Gander line along the northern bank was in disarray. The Pith shield wall had grown considerably larger, and they had managed to push our flanking force backward at an angle, where they were now becoming tangled up with the last few ranks protecting the fortifications. The Piths had just breached the first barrier at the ford as well, pouring over the smoking ruins of the palisade toward the berm.

  My lancers were waiting in frustration to the rear of the milling pikemen, unable to get through all the confusion to charge the Pith shield wall. I saw Niko in amongst them and I galloped toward the youth.

  “Where is Renald?” I demanded. Renald was another of Lord Stegar’s sons. I had left him in charge of the lancers here.

  “Dead, my lord,” Niko said.

  I nodded. “And Wiflem?”

  Niko pointed ahead into the mass of sweating, fighting men. “In there somewhere, I think, my lord.”

  “All right,” I said with a grunt. “You and your lancers, follow me.”

  I whipped Angry about, heading back to the east around a small stand of trees as Niko and almost five-hundred lancers and men-at-arms followed. Finally, I cut to the north again and rode until I was far enough, then I swerved back toward the river. The Piths were standing a hundred feet to the south of us now, a dark mass of determined men that were fighting like demons as they slowly gained ground on my forces.

  I lifted Wolf’s Head and pointed at the rear of the enemy shield wall. “Kill the bastards!” I screamed. “Kill them!”

  I could hear the warriors crossing the river shouting at their brothers on the shore in warning, but we were on those Piths too fast for them to be able to react in time. A shield wall can be a formable thing when faced head-on, but it is only as strong as its individual parts. Get behind or flank such a formation and, if even one man falters, it will quickly disintegrate like a straw house in a tornado. We crashed into the back of that Pith shield wall at full speed, with sharpened lances slicing through armor, bones, and shields as easily as if they were made of parchment. I was in the forefront, hacking down at the Piths to either side of me with Wolf’s Head as Angry kicked and butted anyone foolish enough to remain in his path.

  Our initial charge had shattered any semblance of the enemy shield wall, and lancers were now whirling within the midst of the shocked and confused remnants of that wall, slaughtering men at will. It had quickly turned into a complete rout, with no quarter given or asked for as we butchered men trapped between our two forces without remorse. Finally, only a few Piths were left alive on our side of the shore, and I guided Angry away, letting the lancers and pikemen deal with them. The Piths who had been crossing the river had turned long ago, cursing us as they headed back to their side, while at the ford our defenses had contained the attack there, though the surviving Piths still fought in vain to breach the second palisade. Finally, the drums began to sound from the west and the Piths started to withdraw, climbing back through the smoldering remains of the first palisade before crossing the ford as Gander arrows, spears, and cheers sent them on their way.

  “My Lord,” Niko said to me in warning. He gestured to the east, where three lancers had cornered a snarling Pith beneath an oak tree. The Pith was slashing at the lancers’ iron-tipped spears with his sword, while the Ganders laughed, clearly toying with him.

  It was Einhard.

  “Hold!” I shouted, urging Angry forward. “Lower your weapons,” I commanded. The lancers did so reluctantly. I motioned them back as I dismounted and walked toward Einhard. My friend was taking in great gulps of air as he watched me warily. His fine helmet was gone, and his cloak was torn and bloody. I noticed he was putting little weight on his left leg as he shifted toward me, his sword ready. I sheathed Wolf’s Head. “Put that away,” I said in irritation
.

  Einhard hesitated, then he lowered the weapon to his side. He smiled bitterly. “I thought we had you for a moment there, puppy.”

  “You almost did,” I agreed. I glanced to the smoking ruins of the palisade and the bodies littering the shore and ford there, feeling suddenly weary and sick of it all. I shook my head as I turned back to Einhard. “I told you before we don’t need to do this.” I stepped forward and put my hand on his shoulder while Niko called out in protest behind me. Einhard’s sword remained by his side, but it would take him only a moment to lift the weapon and impale me. I focused on my friend’s face. “No more fighting, Einhard. Take your men and go home to Alesia and your son. You’ve lost. Now it’s time for Ganders and Piths to live in peace.”

  “Lost?” Einhard said with a snort. “You think you’ve won because you have me?” He shook his head. “This is only the beginning, puppy.” He pointed west. “The tribes won’t stop just because I’m dead, Hadrack. They will keep coming until every one of you has been slaughtered and your kingdom falls to dust. The Pathfinders have seen the truth written in blood. That truth does not include peace with Gandermen, ever.”

  “You are a fool,” I said, bitter and angry now. “You could end this war right now, but you’re too blinded by hatred and the need for revenge to see clearly.”

  “And you have become soft,” Einhard retorted. He put his hand on my chest and pushed me backward as he raised his sword. “I’ve had enough of your talk. We end this like men.”

  I just shook my head, knowing nothing I said would ever get through to him. “I will not fight you, Einhard.”

  “No?” Einhard said, mockery in his voice now. “And why not? Are you afraid?”

  I sighed in resignation and shook my head. “No, my old friend, I am not afraid of you.” I stepped out of his way and gestured toward the river. “But I owe you a life, as you pointed out to me not that long ago. Consider that debt paid in full now. All I ask in return is that you don’t send any more attacks today. There are wounded men on both sides of this stupidity who need our help right now more than we need to kill each other.”

  “And tomorrow?” Einhard asked, looking thoughtful. “What happens then?”

  “Then you get your wish,” I said in a tired voice. “And we end this like men.”

  Einhard hesitated, studying me. Then he nodded. “Very well, Hadrack,” he said. “We have an agreement. No more attacks until the morning.”

  I watched the Sword limp away into the river then, feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness taking over me. Whatever friendship he and I had shared once was gone now, I knew, and there was nothing left between us except the promise of more violence and death. It was a depressing thought. I gathered Wiflem and the other leaders together, informing them that the Piths would not be attacking again today. My men were skeptical at first, but while Einhard was many things, I knew he was not a man who would go back on his word once it was given. There would be peace between us, at least for the remainder of this day, anyway.

  The Piths had sent a flanking force south to the bridge this morning just as I’d guessed, but Einhard had erred by only dispatching four hundred warriors. I assumed he had only wanted them to be a distraction, hoping to take our attention away from the river. Culbert had managed to reach the southern bridge first, and he’d hidden himself in the trees, only riding back to warn Lord Stegar once he was certain of the Piths’ numbers. The lord immediately moved to meet the advancing Piths, ambushing them in a dense woodland six miles from the bridge. The surprised warriors had fought ferociously, Lord Stegar told me later, and his men-at-arms had suffered many losses. But in the end, the Gander numbers had been too great and the Piths were destroyed.

  The attack at the southern ford had failed to remove the barrier, just as I had known it would, and bodies lay stacked all around it as a reminder of that failure. We had managed to repulse the Pith attack at all points along the river twice today, but had lost hundreds of men in the effort. The Piths had lost many more, of course, but their numbers still seemed endless. Despite my words of confidence to Einhard, I knew there were no guarantees that we would be able to do it again when the fighting resumed in the morning.

  Saldor and his Amenti returned for the wounded a second time while the Piths retreated to the base of the western foothills to set up camp. This time I chose not to talk to the Cimbrati, sending Jebido in my stead. We had gained valuable time from Einhard, and that time would be spent repairing and shoring up our defenses, as well as caring for our own wounded and dealing with the dead.

  I had become increasingly morose and moody ever since letting Einhard go, and as the sun slowly began to sink behind the foothills, I finally retreated to my tent to be alone for a time. Jebido brought me clean water and bandages, although he was astute enough to sense my mood and leave quickly afterward. I had taken more than one wound during the fighting, though none were serious, and I cleaned and dressed them with methodical movements, not really paying attention. Ganders had defeated Piths twice in open battle today, and I knew I should feel a deep sense of satisfaction and pride in what we had accomplished. But all I could think about was the look on Einhard’s face and the inevitableness of what was going to happen in the morning.

  I stood, shirtless now and filled with a sudden, restless energy. I started to pace, trying to put myself in Einhard’s boots and predict what he would do next. That’s when a man with three white scars on his face stepped into my tent, and the world that I knew changed forever.

  It was Rorian.

  21: Rorian

  The last time I saw Rorian, I was leaving Sea Dragon to enter Calban and join the Walk with Sabina. The bargain Malo had struck with the scholar to learn the codex's location had been honored, and he had been allowed to return to his own lands with his wife and gold. I hadn’t seen him since and hadn’t once thought about him—until now. I had only known Rorian for a few days, but that had been more than enough for me to develop a healthy dislike for him, though admittedly, it had been tempered by a grudging respect.

  The Rorian that I had known then was big and strong, with a cocky self-assuredness that had annoyed me constantly. But this Rorian was very different. He was thin, almost emaciated now, with long hair and a scraggly beard, both of which were caked with dirt and blood. I might not have recognized him at all if not for the distinctive scars. Rorian was dressed in a tattered, filth-encrusted robe and was unarmed, holding only a crudely carved staff that he used to support himself.

  We stared at each other for a moment—me in surprise, him with what looked like relief.

  “Thank The Mother!” Rorian gasped. “I found you.” He wobbled then and fell to his knees, one hand held out to me.

  I moved to him automatically, grasping his outstretched hand, which felt hot and dry. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, wondering how the man had made it through my camp without being challenged.

  “Water?” he whispered as I helped him to his feet.

  I guided him to a stool and poured some wine instead, since I had used all the clean water on my wounds. “What is this about, Rorian?” I asked.

  Rorian downed the wine first, gasping as he drained the last of it. Bright red liquid dribbled off his beard, but he seemed unaware. He grabbed my wrist and drew me closer. Rorian might be thinner now, but his great strength remained. “I have been trying to find you for a month now, Hadrack.”

  I frowned, pulling my hand away. “Why?” I asked, not hiding my suspicion from him.

  “Because of that bastard,” Rorian grunted. He glanced around before sighting another wine bottle on a table nearby and poured himself a second mugful. He drank it all in one gulp, then sighed. “There, that’s better.”

  “Rorian,” I growled, getting annoyed now. “You had better start talking before I have my guards drag you out of here.”

  Rorian held up a hand. “Trust me, Hadrack. You are going to want to hear what I have to say.” He got up, limping to the entrance to p
eer outside, then shuffled back to the stool. He fished around inside his robe, then withdrew a cloth bundle and set it on the ground. Then he just stared at it, biting his lips and shaking his head.

  “Well?” I finally grunted in exasperation. “Are you going to tell me what that is, or do I have to guess?”

  “Can’t you feel it, Hadrack?” Rorian said, not looking up at me as he stared at the bundle. “Can’t you just feel the heat of the lie burning through the cloth?”

  I snorted. Rorian had clearly lost his mind. “You have one minute, Rorian,” I said. “After that, I’m throwing you out of here on your flea-bitten ass.”

  Rorian looked up at me then. “I think you were always meant to have this, Hadrack. I think it was planned all along. I don’t know which of the gods conspired for you to have it, ours or theirs. But now my part in this is done.” Rorian looked away from me, brushing long hair from his eyes. “Either way, it’s your problem now, and maybe I can get some sleep.”

  “What exactly are you talking about?” I demanded. Whatever Rorian’s problem was, I had a battle to prepare for and had no more time to waste on riddles.

  I grabbed Rorian by his stinking robes, about to throw him out of my tent, when he whispered up at me, “Remember Waldin?”

  I hesitated, stepping back as I looked down at the cloth bundle. “No,” I said in surprise as I realized what Rorian was implying. I looked at him. “It isn’t?”

  “It is,” Rorian replied. His feet were encased in worn leather sandals and he pushed the bundle toward me with a filthy toe. “It’s yours now, Hadrack.” He shuddered. “Good riddance.”