“I don’t care if Harangoth is a prize ictharr. I love Harangoth and I love Ragnee, you know I do, but I also love Quickpaw.”
“So do I.”
They both watched him bounce around in the snow, yapping and growling playfully as he slid through it. His fur was specked with white dots and he shook them off with every romp only to add new ones to the ranks.
“He’s not like Harangoth. He’s not from a breeder. He’s not this strong hulking ictharr like he is. And as much as I love him and want to leave him behind so he’s safe… I can’t. I can’t leave him back here for a year.”
“It’s not right to expect you to do that.”
“It’s not. So I don’t know why Dad can’t understand that.”
Quickpaw’s head shot up as a bird fluttered past, nesting in the tree above. He bounded over to the tree it was resting in and stood, placing his front paws against the trunk and yapping at it. Proud of himself, he looked to his master, tongue hanging out.
“I see it, don’t worry.”
The bird, annoyed, flew off into the distance. Quickpaw dropped down from the tree and sat down, watching it fly away.
“I can join with you two,” Rohesia said.
“You haven’t got an ictharr.”
“I don’t need one. The army accepts anyone who can use a weapon. I have my bow.”
“But… you’ll be killing people.”
Rohesia fell silent.
“See? I don’t understand why we can’t do another month or two at Mr Duncan’s. That’s contributing, isn’t it?”
“Maybe your father is thinking of something more impactful. More applicable to leadership.”
Corsair wanted to argue but he knew she was right, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. Being barkeeps would hardly teach the siblings the skills they needed to face the problems of the clan. Even if he never became Winter Baron, he could still move on to be some kind of leader.
But he still didn’t like it. His paw moved up to the left side of his neck, gently rubbing it.
“You do that a lot, you know.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“That.”
She pointed to the paw over his neck. He dropped it down so it dangled between his legs.
“Just a habit.”
“Is your neck all right?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I do it when I’m nervous.”
“If there’s anything you need to say, you know I’m‒”
“Corsair!”
Both wolves and the distracted ictharr turned their heads to face right, spotting Ragnar and Harangoth sprinting through the woods towards them. Corsair got up to his hind paws as Quickpaw hurried to his side, ears standing. The four guards, hearing Ragnar’s yells, rushed over with paws on the grips of their swords.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
Ragnar arrived, out of breath.
“What is it?” Corsair asked.
He shook his head.
“It’s… it’s Dad. He just declared war on the Land of the Sun and Moon.”
The Great Hall of Wolves was a sight to behold.
Inside the grand hall, full of fine wood carvings and supported by stone pillars, all important and political meetings affecting the clan were held. Wooden benches ran from the left side of the hall down to the right, split into two sections by a middle aisle. The front rows were usually taken up by important figures in the military and members of the Winter Baron’s council. Above were two balconies, one placed behind the podium facing the wooden seats, the other above the entrance way opposite. Behind the lectern from which the Winter Baron was speaking, a stone wall ran from left to right on which sat many gold plaques. Each one commemorated a leader from the past. It formed a timeline of Winter Barons and Winter Baronesses, a sacred and eternal legacy reaching back to the clan’s birth.
Now, however, he couldn’t care less about it.
With a meeting being called so urgently, only a few wolves sat in the rows of seats and they were dressed in their everyday clothes. He could see Alpha Tiberius seated along the front bench among the Winter Baron’s council, eyes forward towards the podium.
He shifted his eyes to his father.
Standing behind the lectern was the grey wolf who had hurried away from practice that morning. Atop his head sat the Winter Baron’s helm, a steel helmet with golden angel wings projecting from each side. It was the prestigious mark of the clan’s leader – the one wolf they could rely on to protect them and maintain prosperity. He was addressing the small assembly that had mustered together that morning.
“We have received word via messenger birds from the east that the rabbits have invaded Pothole Plains. This kind of invasion can only be met, and resolved, with force. As much as I dislike the idea of propelling the Clan of the Great Lupine into another conflict, we cannot allow the rabbits to interpret our inaction as indifference, leniency or tolerance.”
A white wolf raised a paw.
“I fully agree with your thinking and reasoning, Winter Baron. We must act and demonstrate to them that their actions will not go unpunished. But do you not have doubts about stepping into conflict immediately?”
“If we do this, we could possibly be propelling ourselves into a third war with the rabbits,” another wolf agreed.
“This is not interfering in foreign conflict like Silverclaw,” his father said. “The issue is on our doorstep. The rabbits, under orders from their Supreme Chamber, swept through the settlement and removed any lupine citizens from it by force. While they were thankfully not harmed or killed, this is a way of testing our boundaries to see what they can get away with. They are defying the 400-year-old legacy of the Raskartz-Amien Pact. It clearly states that rabbits and wolves will live in harmony within one of the many interracial town projects such as Pothole Plains. They have treated our trust with contempt and, for that, action must be taken.”
“And risk a third war, Winter Baron?”
“I am willing to postpone military action to use diplomatic methods but I do not intend to rely heavily on them. The Land of the Sun and Moon is stubborn – if they want land, they will take it and keep taking it regardless of other opinion. I will have one of the members of my loyal council write a letter to the Guild Premier warning him that if they do not vacate Pothole Plains and formally apologise to the wolf inhabitants of the town, there will be military action.”
He gestured to the group.
“Does anyone disagree with this approach?”
No one disagreed.
“Good. There is a recruitment drive coming up in three days. Send messenger birds to all towns to convince as many able wolves as possible to enlist on the day. New soldiers will be trained for a month before we launch a counterattack against their invasion while our current forces cordon off the town from the rest of the clan and other interracial projects on the border. This also gives us enough time to attempt to disarm the situation before any action is taken. Before this assembly ends, I would like to speak to Alpha Tiberius and Alpha McVarn – the rest of you are dismissed.”
Some of the wolves began to get up, already moving to leave the hall, while Tiberius and a black wolf approached his father. Corsair ignored the meeting they were having and marched towards him, Ragnar following.
“Corsair, no! You can’t just rush into a meeting and interrupt it!”
He ignored the warnings and pushed on, the conversation of the trio getting louder.
“I’ll be here for the recruitment drive in Grand Wolf Plains,” the black wolf said. “My officers will see to other settlements before we bring back the candidates to Ignatius’ Mount. The Krosguard will be more than prepared to deal with the Land of the Sun and Moon, Winter Baron.”
“So will the army,” Alpha Tiberius said. “We’ll drive them out of our land and remind them what the consequences are for this aggression.”
“I have no doubt. We’ll see to this…”
His father traile
d off as he saw his son storming up the aisle, stepping around the two alphas and confronting him.
“What’s going on?” Corsair said.
“You were told to collect firewood.”
“Ragnar told me that you declared war on the rabbits.”
“That is none of your concern.”
“None of my concern? I’m joining the Krosguard in three days! I’ll be fighting‒”
“You do not march into here and start interfering in matters that are not your own.”
“But‒”
“Be quiet,” his father growled, fangs bared, and it was instinct for Corsair’s paw to move to the side of his neck. Ears going down and tail curling, he averted his gaze as all his bravado died within a fraction of a second. He felt his father’s gaze linger over him, no one daring to speak, before his father eventually looked back to the two alphas.
“I know you two have a lot to see to, especially now. You can go.”
“Thank you, Winter Baron.”
Both the alphas shook the Winter Baron’s paw, bidding him farewell as they walked down the aisle and out through the doors. The Great Hall of Wolves was left empty, except for the three guards stationed in the viewing galleries.
“When I ask you to collect firewood, you follow my instructions. You do not dare to interrupt my meetings, clan-sensitive or not. Is that understood?”
“Father, he was‒”
“I’m not speaking to you, Ragnar.”
Corsair was silent.
“Stop acting like a cub and look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Apprehensively, he looked up.
“Do you understand?”
“I… I understand.”
With no more than an annoyed grunt, his father removed his helmet from his head and walked past them. The guards hurried from the viewing galleries and down the set of stairs to the right, glancing at the two siblings before pushing through the doors.
Silence.
The younger Sedrid sat down in the front bench and leant against the backrest, a look of defeat on his face. Ragnar sat down next to him.
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sounds were the muffled chatter of the market and whirling snow outside the windows.
Ragnar opened his mouth and shut it. He paused, eyes flicking from his brother to the wooden floorboards. He spoke.
“We… we can make this work.”
“How? How can we possibly…”
Corsair was choked with tears, eyes reddening.
“Come on, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.” He growled, trying to steel himself, but he couldn’t hide the tears brimming over. He wiped them away, sniffling and shaking his head. “Ragnee… I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“I don’t want to kill anyone.”
Ragnar hesitated, unsure of how to comfort him with that thought.
“I’m not prepared for war. I wasn’t… even prepared for fighting any criminals. I can’t do this. I can’t go.”
His brother put an arm around him.
“A-and Quickpaw… oh, God, Quickpaw. I don’t want him to get hurt. He’s not ready for it and I can’t just…”
“Hey, shush, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!”
“Calm down. Deep breaths.”
Heeding his brother, he focused on his breathing. He brought in a shaky breath and pushed it out, blinking away the tears as he did so.
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you or Quickpaw, okay? Nothing. I’m here to protect you. No one will hurt you or Quickpaw, no one.”
Corsair didn’t answer.
“I promise you. Trust me.”
With a surrendering sigh, Corsair nodded.
“Okay.”
“Do you believe me?”
“I believe you.”
They drew into one another, united in their brotherhood. Corsair’s snout rested on his sibling’s shoulder.
He could only pray that nothing bad would befall him, Ragnar, or Quickpaw.
Chapter Six
It was only three days before Corsair found himself in a line outside the Great Hall of Wolves, Quickpaw’s reins in paw as he stood beside him.
News of the outbreak of war had swept throughout the clan like wildfire. Dozens of messenger birds had come and gone from the watchtowers, relaying information back and forth. Countless recruits and veterans arrived from nearby towns to enlist in the army, forming a line that stretched from a temporarily requisitioned tavern all the way to the east wall. There was an eager atmosphere surrounding them all, many lupines conversing in an excited tone. Corsair couldn’t believe it. They were all lined up to fight a horrible war – what was there to look forward to?
Is there something I’m not understanding about this?
The line to enlist in the Krosguard was noticeably shorter, drawn parallel to its longer counterpart and separated by the sea of bodies that was the city market. Traders and customers often glanced at the long queues, smiling at the brave wolves who volunteered to defend them from the rabbit menace in the east.
“You okay?”
Corsair looked forward. Ragnar was standing in front of him, Harangoth to his side, and looking over his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Corsair said.
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I know.”
There was plenty to worry about but he didn’t want to force his brother to give another reassuring lecture. Ragnar had his own worries to confront, which he did with a stronger face than he could. Corsair felt embarrassed about the tears he shed three days ago, scolding himself for acting like a cub.
I’m stronger than this. I’m stronger than this.
“Next!”
The line shifted forwards. He was not too far away from the front.
Peering around Ragnar, he could see that an inspection area was positioned in front of the Great Hall of Wolves. A few soldiers were conversing casually by the base of the stairs, watching as their comrades waved Krosguard hopefuls through. They inspected their ictharrs while asking the riders numerous questions.
He felt the reins tug in his paw and looked back to Quickpaw. He was gently pulling away from his master, whimpering with head hung and eyes aimed at him. He shushed him, stroking his head.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Quickpaw was satisfied, glancing around himself. Corsair looked over his shoulder at the recruits behind him. His eyes fell upon a line of stoic ictharrs, a range of different colours but all bearing the same hardened expression as their masters.
At least he’s not running around and annoying them.
“Next!”
The wolf was rejected, sent back in the opposite direction, as another came forward with beast in tow. She faced a series of questions as relentless as the day’s snow, giving answer after answer, until her entry was declined. She walked away, mumbling to herself as her ictharr padded behind her in shame.
“Next!”
Ragnar gave a smile to his brother and patted him on the shoulder before stepping forward.
“I remember you. You came into the hall three days ago, right?”
“I did with my brother, yes. I’m Ragnar Sedrid.”
“Ah, I definitely know you then, son. I’m Jonah McVarn, alpha of the Krosguard. The pleasure’s all mine.”
Corsair caught a glimpse of McVarn’s face as he stepped around the side of Harangoth. He was the same black-furred lupine from three days ago, the one summoned to the podium alongside Alpha Tiberius, except he could now see three large sprouts of fur protruding from the back of his head. Thick string was knotted around the bases, holding them in position. The same streaks of bright red that Alpha Tiberius wore across the eye and down the bridge of his snout were on the face of Jonah McVarn.
“And you’re Corsair, right?” he said, pointing to the younger Sedrid.
“I’m Corsair, yes.”
“Well, nice to meet you,
son. I’ll be right with you after I’ve seen to your brother.”
The leader of the Krosguard moved towards Harangoth, examining his flank as he walked. Two soldiers followed, dressed in full suits of armour, longswords slid into scabbards.
“So – what brings a champion rider like yourself down here, son? Did you get bored with tournament life?”
“Our father wants us to contribute to the clan. More than serving drinks at the local tavern, Alpha.”
“You’re definitely helping the clan when it needs it most. Your presence here is noted.”
He eased his paw on to the bridge of Harangoth’s snout, eyes level with the beast’s. The ictharr didn’t even flinch, eyes staring forward.
“A few entry questions, son. Have you ever fought in a war before?”
Ragnar frowned.
“I’m 24, Alpha. I haven’t lived long enough to serve in anything.”
“I know, I know. Dumb question. I have to ask them. Have you ever served in the army before?”
“No, Alpha.”
“You’ve held weapons before?”
“Yes. Lances, swords, javelins, shields.”
He paced around to the other side of the ictharr, nodding.
“What’s his name?”
“Harangoth.”
“Right. Commemorating one of the earlier Winter Barons, son?”
“He shaped the clan to be what it is today. I don’t think that’s something to be forgotten.”
“Not at all. How old is he? He’s male, right?”
“He’s male. Eleven years old, Alpha.”
“I would ask you if he follows commands well but that’d be like asking a champion archer if they can aim with a bow.”
Ragnar chuckled.
“Show me how you hold a sword, son.”
Corsair watched as his older brother drew his longsword from its sheath and held a face-on stance – sword held horizontal, high enough that it was parallel with his snout, and his hind paws shoulder-width apart. Harangoth waited patiently as his master’s stance was scrutinised by McVarn’s vigilant eyes, muttering to himself.
“Good. A few tweaks here and there but they’re minor. It looks good.”
Ragnar relaxed from his stance as he drew around to Harangoth’s front, making eye contact with him.
The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit Page 7