As Ragnar went to open his mouth to continue the conversation, the door opened behind them and the two brothers turned in their seat. Standing in the open door was Peter, a senior grey wolf dressed in the grey servant attire. A sprout of fur protruded from the back of his head, tied off at the base. He bowed upon greeting the Winter Baron’s family.
“Winter Baron, the food is ready. May we bring it in?”
“Of course.”
He nodded, turned back to face into the kitchen and beckoned with his paw for the culinary servants to enter. Four wolves walked in, each holding a metal plate of food in their paws, and stood beside each of the four occupants of the table. They leant down in unison and bestowed a plate of food on each member of the family, stepping back as Peter approached.
The family waited in silence as he tasted each portion of food, assuring that none of the meals were tainted with poison, and Corsair watched him roll the dice on his life without a falter in his hardened expression. He seamlessly tasted each meal, standing up straight after each one, and nodded seconds later.
“The meals are safe, Winter Baron. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
He nodded and walked backwards towards the wall next to the kitchen door, remaining observant as the rest of the team disappeared into the kitchen. Corsair looked down at the food, examining the meal, and resisted the urge to tuck in immediately and disregard the family prayer.
Sitting on the plate was a fine slab of red meat, its exterior glistening from the layer of sauce that thinly veiled it. A small and neatly-arranged portion of vegetables was clustered on the right side of the meat, transported from the slightly warmer south, and Corsair was barely able to resist the enticing meal set out in front of him.
“Paws together for the prayer,” his father ordered.
Corsair complied, placing his paws together and bowing his head.
His mother began to pray. He listened to her soothing voice, eyes shut as she recited the words. It was calming, sitting in silence with nothing but the fire crackling. He remembered all the songs she would sing when he was a cub to comfort him during the night.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” the rest of the family said.
Raising his head and opening his eyes, Corsair heard the forever fateful words that sealed the fate of the meal in front of him.
“You can tuck in.”
With restrained desire he picked up his cutlery, sliced away a small, thin piece of meat and placed it on his pink tongue. Closing his mouth and chewing, he savoured the sweet taste of the food, marvelling at how hugely different it was from Peter’s dinners. He made a mental note to save half of his meal for Quickpaw, despite the urge to bolt it all down.
“Wow, that’s good,” Ragnar said.
“Five seconds in and you like it already?”
“It’s great,” Corsair said.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” his father said.
He covered his mouth with his paw as he ate, shielding his family from seeing the grotesque sight of meat being mashed into fleshy debris.
“It is very good, Ophelia.”
“Thank you, dear.”
The married couple briefly held paws, lasting a few seconds, before his father gently eased out of the connection and continued to eat.
“How did you even cook this?” Ragnar asked.
“As it has been a while since I have cooked, I did ask Ingrid to help me prepare the meat.”
Both young wolves gave exaggerated gasps.
“You cheated.”
“Cheater.”
“I did not cheat. I still cut the meat and finely cooked it. She just helped me with the recipe, that’s all.”
“I don’t know, Mum. That seems really deceptive,” Ragnar said.
“How about, next time, you go into the kitchen and cook instead?” his mother retorted. “Maybe your food will be better than mine.”
Ragnar fell silent.
“I thought as much, darling, so continue to eat your food before I threaten never to cook for either you again.”
This was enough of an ultimatum that Ragnar immediately returned to eating, smiles growing on both their faces. Corsair shovelled another piece of meat into his mouth.
“So, father, when is our next tournament? It’s been a while. We’ve been training hard,” Ragnar asked.
Corsair looked up to see his father answer the question but saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head. There, he saw his mother’s crestfallen face and he winced at the sight.
His father finished his mouthful and spoke.
“That will be it for the time being. It’s time that we advanced from the sporting career for now and began to focus on how you two contribute to the clan. In times like this, the Winter Baron’s sons need to serve in order to display leadership and loyalty to our people.”
Corsair looked at Ragnar and, while the young Sedrid didn’t understand what he was implying, his older brother’s face showed that he did.
“Surely, it can wait a few years,” his mother said. “They’re young…”
“I was 20 when my father had me enlist in the army.”
Corsair, hearing the plan his father had for them, choked on his food and spat it out. A wet clump of meat came up from his throat, coated in saliva, and the whole family recoiled from the table.
“Sir, is everything okay?” Peter yelled, rushing forwards and assuming a position to resuscitate him.
“Y-yeah,” he nodded, nursing his throat with his paw. “I’m fine.”
“God, Corsair, how quickly were you eating?” his father said. “Chew your food or you’ll choke.”
He nodded. With a sigh, his father turned to Peter.
“Can you clean up this mess, please?”
“Of course, Winter Baron. Right away.”
He hurried off to the kitchen, disappearing through the door and calling out to the other servants.
“Are you okay, Corsair?” his mother asked.
He nodded, hiding the dread that had mounted up inside of his gut.
“I’m fine.”
“As I was saying before we were interrupted,” his father said, “it is time for you two to go into the military. I wanted to discuss your entry into the Krosguard.”
“Krosguard?” Ragnar said.
“Yes, the Krosguard. Your fighting ability is far beyond that of the regular army. In order to display your ability to lead you must be a member of the foremost elite. Now, as I was saying, the Krosguard requires recruits to enter with their own ictharrs. Ragnar, Harangoth is perfectly suitable for this.”
Corsair knew what he was going to say before he even made eye contact with him.
“Quickpaw isn’t prepared for military service. There are plenty of stables only a few miles away from here that have adult ictharrs for sale. I’m sure we could find one‒”
“Dad‒”
“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking and call me ‘Father’ when you address me, Corsair. As I was saying‒”
“Father, that’s not fair.”
His father sneered.
“You are not a cub. This isn’t about it being ‘fair’. This is about what works in reality. It’s about your people.”
“Quickpaw is fine. I’m not leaving him.”
“What did we just talk about upstairs?”
“I’m not leaving him.”
Corsair fought the urge to submit when he saw his father’s thunderous face.
“I don’t appreciate that tone. Watch how you speak to your father.”
“Quickpaw is fine. If I… I have to go to the Krosguard, then he’s coming with me. I’m his rider.”
“The hills to the south are not reality. This is military service in the Krosguard. This isn’t a game.”
“I’m not replacing him.”
His father opened his mouth to continue but his mother swooped in once again to intervene.
“Arthur, dear, let him take Qui
ckpaw with him. They’ve known each other for so long – you can’t expect him to leave him behind.”
“I’m his father.”
“And I’m his mother. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”
Corsair watched his mother and father glare at each other from where they were seated, silence falling over the table again. Seconds of quiet agony passed, the two siblings exchanging uncomfortable looks, before their father looked away from their mother.
“The recruitment drive is in four days. I expect you to be down at the Great Hall of Wolves then.”
Doomed, the leftovers from Corsair’s meal plummeted from the plate and towards the floor of the stables. They hit the ground with a wet thud, lasting a second before Quickpaw’s head shot down to the ground and tore it to shreds. Corsair watched his steed enjoy his surplus meal, petting the back of his neck.
“Good ictharr.”
Quickpaw lifted his head to nuzzle his paw before returning to his meal, a gesture that made him smile. He looked over to the neighbouring stable to see Harangoth consuming his dinner in a more reserved manner. Ragnar watched him, leaning over the stable door.
Corsair looked to the right. Beside Quickpaw’s stable was another stall, one that was once occupied by Reginald. It stood empty, last filled with his presence years ago. He contemplated his last memories of the beast before looking back to his own companion.
He was a kind ictharr, Reginald. He lived a long and good life. That’s all you can hope for.
Amid the low-level munching of the ictharrs, Ragnar spoke.
“Hey… I’m sorry about what Dad said tonight.”
Corsair sighed.
“You shouldn’t be the one apologising.”
“I know, but…”
“Seriously, why would he say that? He is always looking for an excuse to insult Quickpaw all the time, every day, every week. He’s a good ictharr. He’s loyal. What else does he want to see?”
“I don’t know.”
“He never takes my word for anything.”
Silence. Corsair sighed again, rubbing his face.
“It’s… it’s not even that, you know? It’s mainly us going into the Krosguard in the first place. It’s so sudden. He said it like it was nothing.”
“We’ve got to contribute.”
“And we can’t do another few months in Mr Duncan’s place? It has to be war?”
“Corsair…”
“I’ve been fighting in tournaments for the past 10 years and now I have to kill people?”
Ragnar turned and placed a paw on his shoulder.
“Corsair, relax.”
The younger Sedrid took deep breaths.
“We are safe. We’re not at war with anyone. There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll be serving for a year and then that’s it – we’re out. Back down here eating Mum’s food and riding in the hills. It’ll go past in no time.”
Corsair looked unsure. Ragnar noticed and gestured towards Quickpaw, who had finished eating and was peering out from his stable.
“You said he’s loyal, right?”
“Yeah, he’s loyal.”
“And you trust him?”
“Of course. With my life.”
“Then you’re fine. You’ll have him with you every step of the way and he’ll keep you safe.”
Providing evidence to his statement, Quickpaw pushed his snout against Corsair’s face. He smiled and pulled his head away, scratching the back of his ears.
“And I’ll be there, too. I’ll look after you.”
Corsair gazed at his companion. Quickpaw gave a low growl, one that promised to stand by him always, and he stroked the bridge of his snout.
“Are you reassured?”
“I think so.”
His brother stepped forwards and hugged him, an embrace the younger Sedrid welcomed. They held one another there, the two ictharrs watching.
“I love you,” Ragnar said. “I’ll always be there for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. One year will pass in no time.”
Chapter Five
Crack.
The head of the axe came down hard on the wooden block, perfectly slicing the log into two chunks. The pieces fell off either side of the chopping block, landing in the soft white pillow of snow covering the ground. Corsair leant down to pick them up. He threw the firewood into the basket and placed down a new log, raised his axe up and brought it down again.
Training had been going normally that morning. Corsair had arrived on time and began practice with Alpha Tiberius, alongside his brother, when a soldier rushed forwards and urged the alpha to make his way to the Great Hall of Wolves. Both the alpha and his father left, ordering the brothers to prepare firewood in the meantime. Ragnar kindly volunteered to scour the woods at the back of the house while Corsair took up the easier duty of chopping them into smaller pieces.
Quickpaw sat in the snow, watching his master work away, but Corsair ignored him.
Three days.
The shadow of recruitment loomed in the distance, drawing closer and closer by the second.
After another axe swing, he gave himself a moment to draw his cloak closer around him. The morning’s snow was quite harsh, a peak in its usual capacity to hinder those who ventured outside. Corsair would have been lying to himself if he did not admit that the interior of his house and the warmth of his cosy bed appealed more than chopping wood in the cold. Quickpaw seemed unbothered, his thick white coat shielding him more than the wolf’s cloak.
He looked to his left. Four guards stood vigilant by a tree, longswords in scabbards and heads held high. They were positioned to defend him if anything happened. They had offered to deal with chopping the wood but Corsair turned their offer down. The work would at least keep him warm and he didn’t want his father coming back to the sight of him not following orders.
“Good morning.”
He looked up, expecting to see his father or Alpha Tiberius, but instead saw Rohesia standing there with her usual attire draped over her. Quickpaw spotted her and leapt on to all four paws, bounding past his master and rolling over before her. He watched as his steed abandoned him.
“You love appearing out of nowhere, don’t you?”
“At least I didn’t hit you with a snowball – that’s got to be a bonus.”
He didn’t answer. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the guards staring at the black wolf.
“It’s okay. She’s a friend. Give us some privacy, please.”
“Yes, Sir.”
They turned and walked in the opposite direction, stopping several metres away. Quickpaw rolled on to his front and rushed off behind a group of trees, throwing himself into the snow and thrashing around in it.
“He’s very energetic today.”
“I couldn’t take him on a run this morning. I had training.”
“You have training every morning.”
“I wasn’t late this time.”
She looked at the graveyard of wood by the chopping block.
“And part of your training is… cutting wood?”
“Dad and Tiberius rushed off to the Great Hall of Wolves for something important. This is our work in the meantime.”
“Trying your paw at carpentry?”
He ignored the joke, bringing the axe up and slamming the head down against the log. It splintered and fell into two, joining the pile of its comrades. Rohesia’s eyes focused on the axe in the block, thinking.
“Are you okay?”
He hesitated at the idea of answering. Seeing this, she sat down on a nearby stump of a fallen tree and tucked her tail between her legs, leaning forward to listen. He contemplated telling a lie.
Why should I lie to her? She’s my friend. I can trust her.
He tore the axe out of the block’s surface and placed it by its side, sitting down on top of the block and facing his companion. Quickpaw shot past behind him, throwing himself into a mound of snow by the b
ase of a tree.
“Dad’s sending us to the Krosguard.”
Rohesia didn’t respond. She waited, expecting more, until she blinked and said a single word.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’ is a word to describe it.”
“I thought you’d be going into another tournament.”
“That’s what we both thought. Dad made this revelation last night, so wise and insightful that I brought up some of my din‒”
“Too much information, Corsair.”
Quickpaw ran past Rohesia and skidded, crashing into a tree and falling on to his side. He got up, shaking his head and sniffing the offending tree.
“Fine, sorry. Then, next thing, Dad starts trying to convince me that I should get a replacement for Quickpaw because he doesn’t think he’s ready for it.”
On hearing the word ‘replacement’, the white ictharr padded over to his master and whimpered. Corsair felt him push his snout against the side of his head, making him lean away and raise his paws up to pet him.
“I won’t replace you, don’t worry. You’re my best friend, aren’t you?”
He yapped while being stroked, satisfied with the treatment he was receiving.
“Do you think he’s ready?”
Corsair hesitated.
“I don’t understand it, Rohesia, I don’t. We’re being pushed from years and years of experience into something we haven’t seen before. It’s… scary. I don’t think I could… you know…”
She understood.
“I’ve been raised all my life to try and make sure I don’t badly injure someone and now that’s all out the window.”
“It sucks.”
“It does. You know what else sucks? Dad trying to push Quickpaw out of the way at every opportunity.”
Quickpaw tilted his head, long ears standing, before he looked to the right. He skulked off towards a tree, sniffing around its base.
“He tries to convince me to replace him, to put him up for adoption, to keep him but only train with a new ictharr from a breeder. He has a grudge against him and he doesn’t understand that he can’t just expect me to leave him. I’ve had him all these years. I love him.”
She didn’t say anything. She listened, wanting her friend to get it all out.
The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit Page 6