WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Paris was the first one to hold the grandchild who nearly tore apart the Houses of de Wolfe and de Norville.

  He prayed the lad had been worth the trouble.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Year of Our Lord 1291

  Hell’s Guardhouse Castle

  The borders of Scotland

  “You are a prophet, man. I have given you the best food and the finest wine, and now I demand you look into the future and tell us how we are to achieve the wealth and power we desire. Speak, True Thomas!”

  The older man, whose name was barked so savagely, winced. He didn’t like shouting even though he was desperately hard of hearing.

  Standing in the great hall of a dark and stormy castle on the Scottish border called Hell’s Guardhouse, all he could feel were the cold, steely fingers of fear gripping at him as he faced off against a father and son. Men he had found camaraderie and companionship with lately, men who listened to his prophesies even when the church would not. They called him a sorcerer, a blasphemer.

  But not John de Soulis and his son, Nicholas.

  They wanted something from him.

  The great hall was only a hall in the literal sense but, mostly, it was a dark and cavernous hole. The wooden floor was wet and slick and moss grew on the walls because the roof leaked and the water trickled down the walls, making them green and shiny. In fact, the entire north wall was green with moss and the wooden floor was weak in places because of the rot.

  The entire hall smelled of rot.

  It smelled like the name – a gateway to hell.

  “It is not as simple as you believe,” True Thomas said after a moment, seated at the feasting table that was filthy and splintered. “But I told you that I would do this for you, my friends, so I have come prepared. Tonight is the night. Are you prepared to know your fate?”

  Lightning flashed and the storm pounding heavily outside seemed to increase. Standing next to the table, John sighed heavily.

  “We have been waiting for almost a month,” he said. “You told us that it must be a full spring moon, with a hint of dew in the air, and the birds will have come to roost in the pine trees to the east. All of this has finally happened and I will wait no more. You have demanded food and shelter for weeks until the conditions are right and, finally, they are right. Do what you said you were going to do. Tell us what we wish to know.”

  True Thomas knew he’d been living off of the rich lord for the past month. He didn’t feel bad about living like a king while they paid for everything because the pair were an evil lot. Everyone in the western Lowlands knew it.

  Stay away from Hell’s Guardhouse, they’d whispered.

  But True Thomas hadn’t listened. A prophet, a soothsayer, or whatever the church wished to call him, he was all of those things and more. He was an outcast, so it was rare to find comfort and companionship.

  But he’d found it now.

  And he was prepared.

  “Is my iron bowl hot?” he asked.

  He was pointing to the enormous hearth, which was spitting out more smoke than it was evacuating from the chimney. Nicholas, the son, went to the hearth and bent over a thick, iron bowl that True Thomas had placed on the coals. He touched it, drawing back quickly.

  “It is,” he said.

  “Fetch it to me.”

  Nicholas used the corner of his heavy tunic to pick up the bowl and bring it over to the table, where he sat it in front of the old man.

  “And the hen’s egg?” True Thomas asked.

  John produced the egg, handing it over. True Thomas held the egg up over the bowl, but before he cracked it, he looked at Nicholas.

  “Cut your finger,” he instructed.

  The dirty young man frowned. “Do what?”

  “I said cut your finger. I need your blood.”

  Nicholas sighed sharply, looking at his father, who simply nodded. They’d come this far and John wanted his future divined from the man that all of the border region knew as a prophet. He’d spent a month with the smelly, drunken old man and he refused to wait any longer, so Nicholas cut his finger.

  True Thomas cracked the egg, right into the bowl.

  It sizzled.

  Grabbing the finger dripping with blood, True Thomas let a few drops plop into the egg that was cooking from the hot bowl. Once he had what he needed, he spat upon them. Using a dirty, long nail from his little finger, he stirred it up a bit, watching the patterns emerge.

  Nicholas and John crowded closer.

  “I see… a horizon,” he muttered after a moment, watching the egg and blood and spit mingle. “I see great change, but not without sacrifice.”

  John and Nicholas were trying to see what he was seeing. “What sacrifice?” John demanded.

  True Thomas used his nail again, swishing through the mixture. As it settled, he watched the omens emerge.

  “There is a great power on the border,” he finally said. “I see a wolf’s head. The House of de Wolfe rules the border. But I see a new power arising from the gates of Hell. A new power from the west.”

  Nicholas couldn’t hold back his excitement. “Us?” he asked. “Is it us?”

  True Thomas turned the bowl, watching the contents congeal. “It will not be without great cost,” he said. “Blood must be spilled for this to happen. A sacrifice.”

  John looked at the old man. “What kind of sacrifice?”

  True Thomas didn’t answer right away. He kept turning the bowl, watching the patterns emerge, scraping it with his dirty nail until everything was a jumbled mess at the bottom. Then, he closed his eyes and lowered his head as if praying over the bowl.

  John and Nicholas watched curiously. It seemed to them that the old prophet wasn’t even breathing at that point. He simply kept his head down, his eyes closed, and meditated. When they thought they could stand no longer, he lifted his head and opened eyes that were the color of clouds. Normally, the man had brown eyes but, at this moment, they were cloudy and gray. It was enough to cause John and Nicholas to step back, their curiosity now mingled with fear.

  “A child must be sacrificed,” True Thomas said hoarsely. “An infant of de Soulis blood, as that is the blood that must be spilled at the ring of the nine stones. Take the child to the stones at summer solstice and spill the blood upon the stones. Bury the body to feed the stones, to nourish the dominion of demons, and the House of de Soulis shall rise against the wolf. The brimstone of Ba’al Zebub shall be your strength. Do this and everything you seek shall be yours.”

  With that, his head slumped and he pitched forward, collapsing on the table. John and Nicholas simply stood there, watching him with a good deal of surprise at his prophesy but without much concern for True Thomas himself. In fact, they made no move to help him. They simply looked at one another in awe.

  “An infant,” John repeated. “We need a child of de Soulis blood. But we have no child.”

  Nicholas looked at him. “Not now,” he said. “But that will not be difficult. I can create one.”

  John eyed his brutal, lawless son, a man so vile that at forty years and one, he had never married. No decent family would give a daughter to him. But hearing his son’s words, he knew what the man meant.

  Creating a child wasn’t difficult for a determined man.

  If no one would give him a daughter, then he’d find one.

  “How?” he said. “Do you intend to find some hapless woman to impregnate?”

  Nicholas nodded, clearly cooking up at idea. “Grandfather did it.”

  John conceded the point. “He did, but he had other reasons.”

  “And I have mine,” Nicholas said. “It is the perfect solution, really. True Thomas says we need a child of de Soulis blood, so I simply find a woman to bear my child. When it is born, it shall belong to me. It is really very simple.”

  John scratched his head. “Possibly,” he said. “Mayhap a woman we do not know or does not know our family name. Obviously, we cannot tell her what the child is for. Will you mar
ry her?”

  Nicholas snorted. “I do not have to marry a woman in order to beget her with child.”

  That was true, but John wasn’t clear on what his son meant. “Then mayhap it should be something simple, like a servant or a farmer’s daughter,” he said. “Pay her well enough and she will agree to bear the child. Will you bring her here to have the child, then?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “She may have it wherever she wishes, but I will return to claim it. Call it a business transaction and nothing more. She shall be my breeding stock. When we pay for a finely bred horse, the horse does not have born under our roof, does it?”

  John shook his head. “It does not.”

  Nicholas turned away from the table, heading towards the fire as it continued to spit smoke and sparks into the hall. As he stared into the flames pensively, True Thomas let out a groan and lifted his head. John and Nicholas looked to him, somewhat anxiously, wondering if there was more to come.

  “This child,” John said. “This sacrifice – must it come from anyone special? May we select the woman or will we be given a sign as to who it may be?”

  True Thomas’ eyes were still cloudy as he stared at the distant wall, unblinking. “Where the dead and the water meet,” he said. “The dead and the water is her belonging.”

  His eyes closed and his head tilted to one side. When he began breathing heavily, John and Nicholas looked at each other.

  “What does that mean?” Nicholas said, frustrated. “The dead and the water?”

  John looked at him, puzzled. “The dead and the water,” he muttered slowly. “A church? A cemetery? There is one near us, near a brook.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “A woman would not be at a church,” he said. “Unless he means we should find her there as she worships?”

  John snorted. “All we would find at that church are women who know who you are and would never enter into an agreement with you.”

  “I do not need their agreement. I simply need a woman of breeding age.”

  The comment didn’t bother John. Coming from Nicholas, it was normal. It was also truthful. They were literally prepared to make a deal with the devil for what they felt was their due, their right, and a reluctant female wasn’t going to stand in their way. They’d waited quite some time for the prophesy from True Thomas and now that they had it, they were going to make sure they did everything in their power to ensure that it became truth.

  A blood sacrifice meant nothing to them.

  Not even of their own blood.

  Therefore, an agreeable female or a resistant one was all the same to them.

  John suddenly held up a finger.

  “Wait,” he said as if a thought had just occurred to him. “The dead and the water. Do you not understand? Deadwater. He must mean the village of Deadwater.”

  Nicholas’ eyes widened. “Of course,” he hissed. “It is not far from here. But it not on our lands.”

  John shook his head. “Merek de Leia of Falstone Castle,” he said. “He is the lord of Deadwater’s village. God’s Bones… I’ve not thought of him in some time.”

  “That is because he is worthless to us,” Nicholas sniffed. “He should be closer to us than he is, but he refuses any alliance at all. Instead, he is allied with de Wolfe from Rule Water Castle.”

  John’s eyes narrowed. “The Lair,” he muttered, using the term for the massive de Wolfe garrison known as Wolfe’s Lair. “In my quest to assert myself over de Wolfe’s dominance, I’ve overlooked their smaller allies like de Leia, mostly because they mean nothing to me. I can easily quash them. But de Leia… Deadwater is his domain. And he has a daughter, his only child.”

  Something in Nicholas’ eyes flickered, like a flame of evil igniting. “A child from a de Wolfe ally would surely fulfill the prophesy better than any other woman,” he said. “Think of it, Father – we have often spoken of this moment, the moment when we obtain the necessary alliance to rise against de Wolfe and push back. We have watched them encroach upon the border, drawing closer to us, swallowing up our eastern lands and daring us to challenge them. This is our moment, Father. Do you disagree with me?”

  John shook his head. “That is why I kept True Thomas here,” he said. “That is why I sought him out to begin with. The House of de Soulis has been on these borders longer than the House of de Wolfe, yet de Wolfe and his connections have gradually swallowed up everything. Soon, they will swallow us if we do not resist. Nay, more than resist – defeat. And this child will give us the power to do that because we shall have the greatest ally in all the world. God would not help us, so let Lucifer have his due. I will gladly give him a sacrifice of de Soulis blood if it will rid us of de Wolfe.”

  Now, it was spoken plainly, the very reason they had summoned True Thomas and kept the man close until the conditions were right for his prophesy.

  Now, they knew what had to be done.

  A child of de Soulis blood and a de Wolfe ally.

  “I will go to Deadwater and I will continue to return until I can discover information on de Leia’s daughter,” Nicholas said, feeling some excitement now that a plan was set. “Deadwater is on her father’s land, so surely she is not a stranger to the village.”

  “Assuredly not,” John said. “But you must be cautious. If her father hears you are looking for her, he will keep her safely tucked inside the walls of Falstone.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I will be careful,” he said. “I have not been to Deadwater in years, so I will not be recognized. But make no mistake, Father – this is a hunt. And I shall be very careful in my hunt.”

  “As you lie in wait.”

  “Exactly.”

  That was exactly what John wanted to hear. The prophesy had been delivered. Soon, so would a child.

  A child that would cause the fall of the House of de Wolfe.

  PART ONE

  LONDON

  CHAPTER TWO

  Year of our Lord 1292

  London

  The Pox Tavern

  “Dray! Down!”

  A very big man in the midst of throwing a punch suddenly fell to the floor as another man, who had rushed up behind him with a chair held aloft and intending to smash it on his head, went sailing over his head and crashed into a wall.

  It was time to get out.

  Andreas de Wolfe, his two cousins, Thomas “Tor” de Wolfe and William “Will” de Wolfe, and his close friend Theodis de Velt, had come to the legendary London tavern known as The Pox. It was a rather large establishment, situated in a seedy part of London, and nestled down by the riverbank where the cogs would come to shore and anchor. The Pox had been around for over one hundred years and, in those years, had established a reputation as a lively place with a deadly underbelly.

  But The Pox was unique.

  So unique, in fact, that it drew a massive crowd from the lowest of the low to princes and kings. Everyone wanted to spend time in a place that wasn’t fashionable, or beautiful, but had reputation built on two distinct things – excellent food and drink, and a gambling reputation that was second to none.

  At The Pox, anyone could bet on anything – literally.

  That’s exactly what Andreas and his cousins had been doing. They had come into the tavern to sample the good food and drink that they had heard so much about, but they ended up in a drinking game that had become quite revolting.

  It had all started because Theodis had purchased several different medicaments from a local apothecary, stuff that was difficult to find in the north. He’d purchased ingredients that were guaranteed to ease a fever, some to cure a cut or a puncture, some to fortify the blood, and yet another that guaranteed to evacuate the stomach at an alarming rate. It was called a “purge” and it was used when men ingested poison or rotten meat, or something that needed to come out of the body quickly.

  And that had given the knights an idea.

  The premise was simple – one of them added a tiny bit of purge to the cheaper ale th
ey were drinking. The glasses were then shuffled and distributed, and the men bet on who would be drinking the glass with the purge.

  There was an element of danger as well as an element of hilarity. Too much purge could kill, but a small amount would do terrible but recoverable things to a human body. Whoever got the drink with the purge in it would know very quickly, because within a minute of drinking it, everything would come right back up again.

  At first, it was just the four of them indulging in the game, but then others began to see what they were doing and they wanted to join in. Very quickly, there were ten to twelve men indulging in the vomiting game that was becoming the focus of the entire tavern.

  Andreas was a man who would be considered the strong and silent type. He wasn’t one to say much, but when he did have something to say, it was worth listening to. He’d built a reputation for giving sage advice and a fighting skill that was one of the very best in England. His particular attributes made him quite dangerous because he was adept at hiding his emotions and his expression would maintain a neutrality even if, inside, he was plotting a man’s death. One could never tell what Andreas de Wolfe was thinking at any given time, and that included during the stupid drinking game.

  He had gotten the purge once during the entire game. He had vomited so hard and so far that, now, they were taking bets on just how far men would and could vomit. They had cleared away several tables while they passed around the drink and waited to see who would erupt and just how far they could go with it.

  It had been messy, but it had been quite funny. There was an added benefit to drinking the ale with the purge in it because it evacuated the alcohol out of the stomach, meaning the person drinking was delaying their path to drunkenness. But those who couldn’t hold their liquor very well were already quite drunk, regardless of having the misfortune of the purge in one of their cups of ale, and the bets were flying fast and furious as vomit covered the floor of the tavern.