The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  “Uh… it was, uh… Winter Baron…”

  Mr Klement looked unimpressed.

  “Anytime this century, Corsair.”

  “I… I don’t know, sorry.”

  “Fine. Ragnar. Care to answer?”

  “I think it was, uh…Winter Baron Harangoth?”

  “Indeed, yes. Winter Baron Lloyd Harangoth developed the Lanzig tongue during the days of separation between us and the hounds. The Origins of Vos Draemar, written by ancient rabbit scholar John Luxzancque during Adgrediom of the 22nd year, spoke of both wolf and hound being given the north to inhabit. After events in 139, they migrated south and settled in free territory on the border with the Kingdom of Opulus. Throughout the centuries, they underwent a lot of internal conflict, changed their names, language and governments a lot, but eventually stabilised in around the fifth century. They are now known as…?”

  “The United Hound Dominions,” Corsair said with Ragnar, trying to hide his boredom in both his face and voice.

  “Exactly, yes.”

  Corsair rolled his eyes. He could not imagine how those who attended clan academies could sit and listen to old wolves ramble on and on without withering away from boredom. How they could sit there and write for an hour without losing the will to live.

  There’s a whole world out there and I’m stuck in here listening to him talk about dead people.

  “I would like to focus on the First Rabbit-Lupine Clan war of 396, Gelidiom, until 403, Adgrediom. Obviously, we know four seasons equal a year – Adgrediom, Aestiom, Auxiom and Gelidiom – so this war lasted about six years. It was one of the first devastating conflicts of early Vos Draemar and it is important we know about it. Now… any questions?”

  Corsair was not daring enough to ask the tutor to go through the last half-an-hour’s worth of material in order to compensate for his lack of interest so he let Ragnar raise his paw instead.

  “Do you think we’ll be looking at the Silverclaw war?”

  Mr Klement paused, blowing out air in thought.

  “Uh… well, it is a very interesting field to look at. It is a rather integral to our understanding of modern Vos Draemar so I would say at some point we will learn about it. But it is difficult to gather material on the war, considering it transpired only three decades ago. I was your age when conflict broke out. By historical standards it is still rather new.”

  Ragnar nodded. Mr Klement, as if he couldn’t talk enough, continued.

  “But the Urremond Travesty of 551, which I know we have looked at, is a big factor that led to the war’s commencement. The lack of an heir was all it took to jeopardise the stability of the Kingdom of Opulus and, arguably, Vos Draemar. That is something we will revisit soon.”

  Ragnar nodded again.

  “Okay, now we shall advance in our learning. In regards to the events of the war, the first major battle that occurred was the Battle of Verundri. It was fought between the Clan of the Great Lupine and the then Sun’s Eastern Alliance, formed of snakes, rams, rabbits and members of the…”

  Corsair drifted away.

  He was so bored. What even was the point in learning the battles? He was none the wiser as to the answer of the question. Cultural enrichment? What aspect of what he was learning enriched his culture or that of the people around him? No one cared about the First Rabbit-Lupine Clan war. That was hundreds of years ago.

  The world moves on.

  He longed to be out in the open again. To be riding with Quickpaw and preparing for his next tournament. Sword competitions were easy but, with how agile Quickpaw was, races were twice as easy.

  Mounted fighting, however, proved to be the most difficult discipline.

  His ictharr was, in his eyes, the best he could ever ask for. Funny. Loving. Loyal. Endearing. Fast. He loved every quality about him; from his best to his worst. But the riders he faced did not value the same characteristics as much as he did. He faced monolithic ictharrs that could knock Quickpaw on to his side with a single kick or ram. Being agile did nothing against that.

  The fact his father would only glare at Quickpaw did not help.

  He’s not strong like a lot of the others, sure, but I don’t care. Why should I? He’s my companion and I like him. That’s my decision. I’m 20. I’m not a pup anymore.

  “Corsair, who were allied with the Clan of the Great Lupine during this period of conflict?”

  Jolted from his reverie, he looked up at Mr Klement.

  “Uh… Opulus?”

  Mr Klement scrutinised his face for any indication that he was unsure of himself. Corsair held strong.

  “Yes, the Kingdom of Opulus. Ragnar, who was the King of Opulus at the time?”

  “King Samuel Nordvasar. A lion.”

  “Very good. King Samuel Nordvasar offered to assist the lupines in their war and send troops to reinforce them. They arrived to monitor the front line while the wolves recovered from the Battle of Verundri. Now, the…”

  To some it would seem interesting. It would to Corsair, too, but Mr Klement often forgot himself. He took the opportunity of teaching to almost parade his own knowledge rather than educate them. It drove him away from caring.

  He glanced over at Ragnar’s dense notes again and realised what a poor excuse that was.

  “When the counterattack came against the Opulusian Legion, they did not expect to see deer Skullmongerers charging their lines.”

  Corsair frowned. Ragnar looked puzzled.

  “Deer Skullmongerers?” Ragnar asked.

  Mr Klement’s face softened in realisation as if he had come across a great revelation.

  “Ah, of course. We have not looked at the Kingdom of Wyndr much, have we?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, the Kingdom of Wyndr has kept itself isolated from the issues affecting Vos Draemar for a long time. After the First Rabbit-Lupine Clan war and a few smaller conflicts with their southern neighbours, they chose to keep to themselves. They do not involve themselves much with the world so, naturally, they would not be very evident in clan history. Interestingly enough, most of what we know about their history is from accounts written in other countries.”

  He continued.

  “Anyway, deer Skullmongerers were fearless warriors of the druidic religion. A lot of details about such matters are kept away from prying eyes by the Kingdom of Wyndr and nothing is specified in the Origins of Vos Draemar but we know for sure that they were soldiers from one of the many different tribes that occupied the forests and swamps of the west in order to fight our clan.”

  The two princes nodded along.

  “Actually, I might have a copy of a drawing… one moment.”

  He turned back to his leather satchel and rummaged around inside with his paw, muttering to himself as he did so, and Corsair took the opportunity to turn to his brother. He caught Ragnar’s eye, who turned his head to look at him, and Corsair put both paws together as if holding a sword and violently thrust them towards his chest. Ragnar snickered before dismissing him with a shake of the head, writing more notes.

  That reminded him.

  I still haven’t written anything.

  He sighed.

  I guess I’ll just have to scribble down some random stuff.

  “Ah, here we go!”

  Corsair and Ragnar both looked up as the tutor approached with a scroll in his paws, kept rolled up by a thin red ribbon. Undoing it delicately, Mr Klement unravelled the scroll.

  “Wow,” Ragnar said.

  Glaring out of the page was a deer, its outline and details etched in ink. It was expertly drawn, verging on the sort of masterpiece that would be up on display in a manor, but the two Sedrids did not focus on that. Their eyes scrutinised every feature of the warrior and Corsair felt a pang of fear as he gazed at him.

  Over the warrior’s face, masking the identity, was the skull of a fallen deer. The antlers of the warrior grew out from behind the mask, points sharpened, and his body was naked except for a leather kilt. Numerous scars
and patterns adorned his body, thin lines drawn across the torso and limbs. One hand held a spear, its shaft adorned with numerous etchings and carvings, while the other held a circular wooden shield. A sword was tucked away in a sheath on his belt, ready to be called upon in case the spear failed him.

  “These warriors usually fought with their torsos bare to show off the patterns, scars and tattoos that represented their tribes and druidic orders. Some wore sashes diagonally across their chest while others wore religious robing, especially during the cold days of Gelidiom. This was because…”

  Corsair wasn’t listening. His eyes were focusing on what was before him, analysing the features of the terrifying warrior. He found himself engrossed somehow. He felt intimidated before he had even come into actual contact with the figure. He dreaded thinking of the idea that he could ever fight such an adversary.

  “Corsair!”

  Jumping, he looked up at his tutor. Mr Klement met his gaze with a face of utter horror and he was aware of Ragnar staring at him from his right. Corsair looked from one to the other, confused.

  “W-what?”

  “My parchment!”

  He looked down.

  He had been holding his quill against the parchment for so long that a large black dot formed at the centre, an abyss that reached downwards forever and sucked in light. He immediately yanked the quill from the parchment and stood, raising it with one paw.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry!”

  Mr Klement snatched the parchment from him and glared at the damage, eyes wide.

  “This is 10 Iggregoms’ worth! And now it’s ruined and…”

  He leant in, eyes narrowing at his lack of work.

  “N-no notes? You failed to write a single note?”

  Corsair stood frozen, mouth left open.

  “What have you been doing for the past 40 minutes, Corsair?”

  “I’ve had enough of these antics.”

  Corsair stood on the landing, back against the wall. His tail curled. His ears fell. His eyes lowered. One paw covered the left side of his neck, hiding the flesh beneath it.

  His father stood before him, half a metre away, with one paw raised up and holding the ruined parchment in question. The black spot had dried on to the material, a permanent stain on the soiled writing sheet.

  “How much do you think I pay for Mr Klement to come here and tutor you both on clan history?”

  Corsair was silent.

  “Answer me.”

  “A lot, father.”

  “A lot, yes. A lot of Iggregoms to ensure that you two should be able to become leaders who know what the hell is going on in Vos Draemar. So the clan can prosper and survive.”

  He gestured to the blank ruined parchment.

  “But you clearly think this isn’t worth your time, don’t you?”

  “I…”

  “Why do you insist on acting like a pup all the time, Corsair?”

  He hesitated, unsure.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I… I don’t really like clan history…”

  His father stepped forward so his snout was inches from his. Corsair pressed his back into the wall, unable to retreat further.

  “This isn’t about your interests. This isn’t about what you like or don’t like. You’re 20. If you ever want to be Winter Baron, you need to start doing things because you have a duty to your clan instead of doing things for selfish reasons like you don’t like it. You have a duty to this clan, to these people, not to frolicking in the fields and woods with that thing you ride.”

  “I just feel as if Ragnee is…”

  “What have I told you about using that nickname? What have I told you about talking like a pup, Corsair?”

  His son bowed his head as far as it could go, looking down at the floor. Silence fell between him and his father, each quiet second increasing the tension in Corsair’s head. He pressed harder and harder on the left side of his neck, closing his eyes.

  He heard his father step back.

  “You’re a prince. Start acting like one.”

  His father turned and stormed down the stairs, leaving him alone on the landing.

  “Where is Ophelia, Peter?”

  “She went out with Ingrid to visit the market, Winter Baron.”

  “I need to speak to her when she gets back. Have her come see me as soon as she’s home.”

  “Of course, Winter Baron.”

  Corsair opened his eyes and looked up. His father had disappeared downstairs, conversing with Peter about his mother’s return.

  In moments of anger, others would have complained. They would have argued back. They would have defended themselves. They would have defied their father to prove they were not in the wrong.

  But, instead, he just let the moment of defiant anger pass and accepted his punishment.

  I’m an idiot. What am I doing? I need to focus and stop being such a fool. I’m 20. Be an adult.

  Repeating that to himself, he returned to his daily routine.

  Chapter Four

  “It has been ages since I cooked and I’m looking forward to seeing how you all enjoy it,” Corsair’s mother sighed as she sat down, taking a seat beside her husband.

  The dining room shared the same space as the living area before the fire. It was all one large hall, stretching from the front door to the back wall. The table was positioned beneath the landing above, a rectangular panel of wood placed on a thick supporting block. Arthur and Ophelia Sedrid sat on one side of the table, holding paws, while Ragnar and Corsair sat on the other.

  “We’ve been looking forward to it all day,” Ragnar nodded. “Haven’t we, Corsair?”

  “I’m having to stop myself from drooling right now.”

  “You drool on this table and I’ll give your food to Ragnar,” his mother said.

  The two sons chuckled. Corsair’s gaze shifted across his father’s face, making eye contact with him, and he could only hold it for a second before he averted it. He could feel his father’s gaze pass over him every few seconds, sweeping back and forth, and he was reluctant to look up and risk eye contact again.

  “How was training today, Corsair?” his mother asked.

  “It was good. We got soaked but it was good.”

  “I saw this afternoon. Arthur, dear, can you not find an alternative method that doesn’t get them so wet?”

  “Dominik sees to their training regimes. I watch.”

  “Well, you really must tell him to ease up. These two came in soaking wet earlier.”

  “Dominik is more than experienced. His teaching gives them resilience.”

  “And they have to be soaked in order to understand that?”

  “It helps the process.”

  “Well, if they were soaked, I don’t even want to know how Harangoth or Quickpaw were.”

  “They were fine,” Corsair said. “He was rolling around in the snow when we went to Mr Duncan’s.”

  “Oh, Duncan! How is he doing?”

  “He’s doing well. His tavern seems to be doing pretty good.”

  “We must invite them around soon, Arthur. It has been months since they last came for dinner.”

  “It would be nice for me to talk to him again,” his father said. “How was he with you two?”

  “Oh, really nice. Gave us three pints and everything,” Ragnar said.

  “Three pints?” his mother said.

  “No, I didn’t have them all, Mum. Rohesia came with us, we had one each.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I’m not having my son grow up a drunkard.”

  “Agreed,” his father said.

  “Mr Duncan probably wouldn’t have let me, anyway. Not in the middle of the day.”

  “Duncan is very kind. When did you meet him again, my love? In the army?” his mother said.

  “No, years before. A lot younger,” his father said.

  “And then you went to fight in Silverclaw, didn’t..?”

  Ragnar trailed off.


  “Sorry. Didn’t think about what I was saying.”

  Corsair didn’t hear his father accept the apology. A silence fell between the family members, filled with the sounds of the servants preparing the food in the kitchen, before his mother swooped in to save the dinner.

  “So, Corsair, how is Rohesia?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “I haven’t seen her in ages. She should come around to our place soon. She’s a delightful wolf.”

  “I do find the fur decoration around her jaw to be a weird statement,” remarked Arthur.

  “It is not a weird statement, Arthur, other wolves do it all the time. I’m sure Duncan used to have those things on the back of his head.”

  His father mumbled something in response. Ignoring him, his mother turned her attention back to her two sons.

  “I’ve never seen her parents, though. Have you ever met Rohesia’s parents, Ragnar?”

  “No,” Ragnar said. “I haven’t. She does live on the other side of the city.”

  “Did you ever go to play at her house when you were younger, Corsair?”

  “No. She always came here or we played in the woods.”

  “And she doesn’t have an ictharr?”

  “No. Harangoth and Quickpaw might as well be hers, though,” Ragnar said.

  “They go crazy for her,” Corsair said. “Have you seen them around her, Mum?”

  “No, I haven’t. What do they do?”

  “We were walking to Mr Duncan’s and she came up behind us. Both of them were walking by our sides but the next minute they rushed towards her to get petted.”

  “I’m guessing Quickpaw was the first one to run towards her.”

  “They both went,” Ragnar said.

  “Harangoth?”

  “Yeah, Harangoth.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. Quickpaw I can see running towards her but Harangoth? Never.”

  His father grumbled something but his mother ignored him. Corsair always marvelled at how well she dealt with him. There was no doubt that she loved him with all her heart and was devoted to her marriage, but behind her loving and caring exterior there was a fiery and firm side to her that seemed impossible to conquer. His father rarely challenged her on anything.