The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit
H. G. Sansostri
Contents
Maps
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
The Allure of Rivalry
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Siege of Pothole Plains
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
A Brazen Rescue
Chapter 22
The End of a Life
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Dear Reader
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2021 H.G. Sanostri
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter
Published 2021 by Shadow City – A Next Chapter Imprint
Edited by Terry Hughes
All Illustrations Copyright © Adam Pickering 2021
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.
Author’s Note
The Sharpened Fangs of Lupine Spirit has been a personal project of mine for about three years. I started the Vos Draemar series back when I was 16 in 2017, writing a chapter every day after I’d completed my daily studies. It’s been through re-edit after rewrite after redo, alongside the subsequent books in the series, but I am now finally at a point where I am happy enough with Corsair’s story to share it with you.
There is a group of people I’d like to thank for their unrelenting support, not just in regards to Vos Draemar but in my pursuit of writing books as a whole. They have all played their part in getting me to where I am today – whether it be through illustration, publishing or their support.
Thank you to Adam Pickering, my illustrator, who designed the jacket and map for this book. Adam also illustrated the book covers of The Chronicles of Derek Dunstable and The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide. While this may be a very different genre, the talent is still up there. I am looking forward to working with Adam again in the future.
Thank you to Next Chapter for taking me on and helping me publish not just this book but the Vos Draemar series as a whole. They have given me the opportunity to share my stories with all of you and, for that, I am nothing but appreciative.
Thank you to the author Stewart Bint for guiding me through my writing journey since The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide. Your help and advice have been of immeasurable value to me and I am honoured to have your ongoing support.
Thank you to my siblings, Christian and Charlie, for being there for me when I needed it. I can’t even put into words how thankful I am for something as immeasurable and priceless as the bond we have.
Thank you to my dad – Francesco Sansostri – for being the man I want to be. He’s kind, he’s strong, he’s caring and has always been there for me. There’s no person I admire more. There’s no person I’m more proud of than him.
Thank you to my mum – Deborah Sansostri – for being the ninja warrior she’s always been. She has always shown nothing but love and care towards me. I love her to the moon and back.
Thank you to my fans, wherever you are, from The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide and The Chronicles of Derek Dunstable. I know it’s been quite the wait for the next book to come out but I am grateful for your patience. I hope this has been worth the wait!
And, finally, thank you to you – the reader. Without you, the tales of Corsair Sedrid would be unknown. Without the reader, there’d be no need for the writer. I cannot thank you enough for your interest and I hope you’ll be looking forward to the next book in the series.
Grazie di tutto,
HG Sansostri
‘Eternity began at the precipice
of destruction.
The fields, mountains, deserts, seas, forests and
winter plains witnessed unending chaos and bloodshed.
Barbarity and perpetual war purged the
land and preyed on the innocent.
Existence was a grim torture all were forced to
endure.
But a light shone across the darkness,
emanating from the land’s centre.
The beacon of hope was none other than Silas Opulus,
a hero of pure heart and soul.
Surrounded by those like him, he cleansed the land of the barbaric and savage, the wicked and cruel.
Those born of evil fell before them and, in their place, rose civilisation that reached to the beaches and out into the seas.
The People’s Kingdom, born from adversity, ruled with Silas at its throne. He divided the land among the races. The four great nations formed.
To the canine and lupine went the winter plains of the north for their bravery and steel against evil.
To the rabbits went the sun-kissed fields and hills of the east for their intelligence and sophistication.
To the deer went the thick forests and swamps of the west for their undying faith.
To the felines went the scorching deserts and soothing tropics of the south for their devotion and cunning.
All those who enjoyed peace were welcomed to the centre of the People’s Kingdom, regardless of their allegiance or race.
Silas chose his own people, the felines, to serve as the realm’s sworn protectors and formed the mighty Opulusian Legion.
The Kingdom of Opulus entered the world and, holding its paw, a newly-found era of peace followed.’
‘The Origins of Vos Draemar’, 22 (Adgrediom)
Prologue
The sands of the Venada desert stretched out to the horizon, endless.
For tens of miles, nothing but dunes could be seen. Nothing could be heard. Other than a faded stone road that led on for miles towards nowhere, all that remained were the hills of sand, the sun’s unending glare and the occasional scorpion scuttling along minding its own business. A bird of prey flew high above, looking down on the world below.
All was calm.
All was still.
And then, as if revealed from the fanged mouth of hell, chaos spread.
“For the Clan of the Great Lupine!”
“Look out! Incoming!”
“Help! Apothecary! Apothecary!”
“I’ll kill you all! I’ll slaughter you!”
Dozens of soldiers tumbled down the side of a sand dune, knocked away by the combat raging around them. Ictharr steeds, wolves, hounds and felines rolled to the bottom while yelling out, weapons flying from their paws.
Arthur Sedrid, helmet flying off, grunted as he arrived at the bottom of the slope in a heap.
Dazed, he pushed himself up on to all fours. He had rolled down into a depression between two dunes, coming to rest at the base of the first and left metres away from the base of the second. Sand clung to his fur and slipped through into his armour, making the Krosguard suit far from comfortable.
But, as he stood, he knew that was the least of his worries.
Soldiers screamed from all around him. Allied and enemy ranks blurred into one mess, losing all semblance of cohesion and unity. Opulusian legionnaires tackled felines with short swords and daggers, struggling against them and kicking sand into the air. Royal Order knights bellowed orders in New Opulusian to their soldiers, trying to rebuild their formation. Wolves wielded their swords and shields, turning on the enemy and swinging at them with snarls and growls. Others took their chances with their maws, flinging themselves at the enemies and sinking their fangs into their throats.
He looked around, drawing his sword.
His ictharr was nowhere to be seen.
“Reginald? Reginald!”
A battle cry sounded from behind and, before he could turn, someone tackled him to the ground. His sword fell from his gauntleted paw and landed in the sand, out of his reach.
A paw wrapped in leather straps grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him on to his back. Arthur saw a hooded Silverclaw soldier straddling him, one paw holding him down while the other yanked a curved dagger from his belt and raised the blade. With a cry of Sikkharan he stabbed the blade down at Arthur, thrusting it at his throat. His paw flew up and caught the attacker’s wrist, resisting with all his power.
“Reginald! Reginald, help!”
There was no sign of him.
The soldier applied greater pressure, forcing the dagger down as hard as he could. Arthur struggled, growling and snarling, before he overpowered the soldier. He pushed his arm away and punched him across the face, his metal paw sending the soldier stumbling to one side. Arthur scrambled to his hind paws and scooped up his longsword, turning around as the soldier charged him again shouting in Sikkharan.
He lunged, stabbing forwards. Arthur darted to the right and, with one swift move, slashed downwards. The blade tore through the metal cuirass and the dark desert clothing beneath, drawing blood. The soldier yelped and fell on to his side, hurrying back to his hind paws, but Arthur stopped him rising. He thrust his sword down into the soldier’s side, penetrating the cuirass and summoning a wail of pain. He pulled his sword out and turned, blood staining the blade.
Two Silverclaw soldiers rushed forwards, both wielding steel Kabar sabres. Arthur twirled his sword on either side of him, taking up face-on stance.
“Come on, then! Kill me!”
One stepped forward, Kabar sabre swinging back, but came no closer.
A streak of grey shot out in front of Arthur and, with a snarl, tackled the soldier. He stood no chance against the ictharr, who sank his fangs into the screaming Silverclaw warrior and shook his head wildly. The second soldier staggered back in shock, cursing in Sikkharan as she watched the beast tear her comrade’s neck apart.
Arthur seized the moment. He charged forwards and swung with his sword, cutting downwards as he moved. The soldier came to her senses and evaded the swing, slashing through the air with her nimble sabre. Arthur deflected the attack, stepping back. Lunging, the soldier swung for his throat. Arthur darted right and swung at her stomach as she attacked, the broadside of his blade striking the cuirass with a clang. The force brought the enemy to a stop, knocking her to his knees.
Arthur raised his sword and swung at the Silverclaw warrior’s side, cutting into her ribs. She gurgled, going taut with pain, before the wolf kicked her off the blade and left her corpse bleeding in the sand.
Arthur turned.
“Reginald, Reginald! Are you OK?”
His steed turned away from the bloodied corpse of the soldier, crimson droplets falling from the darkened fur around his maw. He growled in the affirmative, ignoring the peripheral slash across his right flank, and rallied to his master.
“I can always rely on you.”
“Come on then! I’m right here!”
Both his and Reginald’s ears stood in response to the familiar voice. He turned to see a hulking white-fronted brown wolf fending off a trio of Silverclaw soldiers, blood dribbling from the stump of his left ear. His dented helmet and two Opulusian legionnaires lay dead at his hind paws, slain by feline blades. One attacked and the lupine warrior knocked away the swing with his shield, kicking his adversary into the sand with a growl.
“That’s the best you got?”
Arthur sprinted towards his comrade, Reginald bounding beside him. He barged past the warring canines, lupines and felines, focused on the brown wolf. Slashing with his sword as he went, his blade cut through the side of a soldier’s neck. The soldier gargled and choked, dropping his sabre and clutching his bleeding throat as he slumped to the ground. A fellow soldier turned to avenge his dying comrade but met the sharp fangs of Reginald, wailing in pain as he was torn to shreds.
The brown wolf dispatched the third, stabbing her in the stomach and knocking her down with his shield.
He looked at Arthur, panting with tongue hanging from his maw.
“Thanks, Arthur… I thought I was a goner.”
“Your ear, Duncan.”
Either delirious from the pain or the adrenaline, the wounded Duncan just scoffed.
“At least it’s not my head.”
Arthur looked around for an apothecary, scanning the dunes above and the chaos below him, but saw no available wolves to aid his friend.
“I’ll get you help.”
“I’m okay Arthur.”
“Apothecary! Apothe‒”
A mighty howl sounded from above, one that he recognised immediately. It cut through the battle like a blade through flesh, drowning out the deafening sounds of war all around him. He cast his gaze up to the dune.
On its peak stood Winter Baron Elias Sedrid, mounted on his trusted ictharr. Krosguard armour clung to his body, the resilient plating and extra chainmail layer beneath the suit providing excellent protection against blade and arrow. He slashed away at three Silverclaw soldiers, sending their corpses rolling down the slope into the depression. The winged Winter Baron helmet sat upon his head, a combat version that came with a protective metal mask covering the snout and face. He thrust the banner of the Clan of the Great Lupine into the air in triumph.
“Victory shall be ours! Fight on! Fight on!”
This rallying cry summoned strength to the wolves and hounds battling the enemy, driving them to victory in the brutal conflict. Arthur looked around him and saw the Silverclaw soldiers beginning to retreat up the opposite dune, leaving behind their dead comrades.
And then he saw him.
Among the retreating ranks scrambling up the dune, one feline was aiming a crossbow. He knelt and brought the weapon up to his shoulder, closing one eye and pressing a gloved digit of his paw against the trigger.
Too far away to intervene, Arthur could only warn his father.
“Dad, look out!”
The Winter Baron heard the despairing cry of his son and -immediately - found him among the chaos. He saw his son standing there, blood dripping from his sword and spattered over his armour.
He noticed the crossbow aiming at him too late.
Arthur Sedrid’s soul was cleaved in two as the crossbow bolt whizzed up the slope and struck his father in the right eye.
Elias Sedrid slumped down from the saddle and fell, disappearing in silence.
A decade later, Arthur Sedrid found himself in a hurry.
The whole of Grand Wolf Plains had gathered around the Sedrid residence. The crowds occupied all of the main pathway and stretched through the gaps between adjacent houses, held back by the perimeter of servants and soldiers in front of the door.
His second cub was on the way.
On his right was Reginald, his personal ictharr. The grey beast padded alongside him, the fur around his snout turning silver with age. His seniority did not damage his status or ability, however. Nearby ictharrs looked on in awe as he strode along with youthful vitality, looking straight ahead with a determined look in his eyes.
On his left was his firstborn, Ragnar Sedrid. Arthur dragged him along by the paw down the snowy path to the house. The snow mingled with his w
hite front while other snowflakes stood out against the coal-black fur across the rest of his body like stars against a night sky. The cub was bewildered, wide-eyed, and lacked any knowledge of what was happening. A cloak several sizes too big covered his shoulders. It verged on engulfing him.
“Daddy? Daddy, where are we going? Why is everyone around our house?”
“It’s a surprise, Ragnee,” he said, using his nickname. “It’s a surprise for everyone.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes, yes. We’ve got to hurry though, okay?”
“Is it a good surprise?”
“Yes, it’s a very good surprise.”
He could hear the yells and shouts of good will to his wife, Ophelia, from the crowd. Army soldiers patrolled past the gatherings, forming a barrier between them and the house. Krosguard soldiers repeatedly circulated among the crowd, able to see over everyone from their elevated positions on their ictharrs.
The weather was kinder at this time; the snow fell softer and the temperature had ever so slightly increased. Arthur smiled.
“Stay strong, my dear. Stay strong.”
“What did you say, Daddy?”
“Nothing, Ragnee. Just talking to myself. Come on, let’s be quick now.”
As he waded into the crowd, he saw people turn and yell to one another.
“Make way!” the guards yelled.
“Move, the Winter Baron is coming!” the crowd bellowed.
The sea of bodies parted before him. He kept a tight hold of his son’s paw as he slowly guided himself through the maze of bodies. The onlookers waved and cheered, wishing the Winter Baron and his wife good luck. Paws reached out and petted Reginald on the sides. The ictharr thanked them with growls of approval. Ragnar looked up and scanned the faces of the people, still maintaining his bewildered expression.
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