The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  His vision blurred from the tears, sniffling, but he refused to distract himself by trying to wipe them away.

  “Everything… everything… I have done was to impress you. This. This stupid Krosguard training. I never wanted to do this. I never wanted to go to war. But now? Now? I’m going to die because of you and your stupid idea of contribution and you don’t even care. A father cares. You don’t.”

  Arthur Sedrid stared at him, eyes wide in realisation.

  Corsair, with all the strength in his heart, said it loud and clear.

  “I hate you!”

  And, clearly, that was enough for him.

  Arthur Sedrid snapped his jaws at Corsair. Corsair fell and yelled out, curling up on his side and covering his neck as he pleaded and trembled on the ground.

  For a moment, everything froze.

  Corsair Sedrid, 10 years old, lay curled up on his side with a paw up his neck.

  Arthur Sedrid stood over him, blood dripping from his fangs. The crimson had not splattered as it would if he had shaken his head to tear flesh, only daring to cover the rows of blades within his maw.

  The sting and the terror paralysed Corsair.

  “You swing this thing around like an idiot. This is not a toy, this is a legacy. You have far more to learn before you even dare to do this.”

  Arthur Sedrid scooped up Corsair’s longsword, almost as tall as the pup was, and walked back to the house.

  Alone, terrified and with paw to the side of his bleeding neck, Corsair lay in the snow beside his father’s betrayal.

  Corsair was dragged out of his doldrums as Quickpaw leapt to his aid. He stood in front of him, snarling at his attacker, receiving support from Harangoth.

  Ragnar shoved him back.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Don’t you lay a paw on me! I’m keeping him in line!”

  “By trying to kill him? Again?”

  “You watch your tone with me or‒”

  “Get away from my pups right now!”

  Their mother rushed towards them, the guards watching from the corner. She wedged her way between Ragnar and her husband.

  “I saw that, you horrible bastard! I saw you try to bite him!”

  “Ophelia, this isn’t your place!”

  “It’s my place if you dare try to hurt my cubs! If you even try to lay another paw on him or Corsair, so help me God I will kill you, Arthur!”

  The couple began yelling at one another, causing a commotion, and a few more wolves began peering around the side of the church to witness it. The guards ordered them away, telling them it was none of their business. Quickpaw began yapping at the argument.

  It was all too much for Corsair.

  Tears flowing, he got up and ran.

  Quickpaw padded around the corner of the church and found his master there, knees up to his chest and arms in front of his face, shoulders moving up and down.

  He was sobbing.

  Momentarily, he was unsure as to how to approach the situation. He tilted his head at his master, trying to conjure up some plan to lift his spirits, but felt reluctant.

  After that moment subsided, though, he padded over with head lowered. Easing himself to the ground, he leaned his head forwards and gave a soft growl, enquiring as to whether his master was all right.

  His master looked up, sniffling. His green eyes were red-rimmed and glistening, and he was blinking repeatedly to bat away the tears. The sight made Quickpaw shuffle forwards and press his snout into his master’s side.

  “Oh… h-hey, Quickpaw.”

  He sniffled and patted him on the head.

  “I’m just… I’m a bit sad, Quickpaw. I…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. He paused and shook his head, wiping away the tears, before looking back to his steed.

  “Thank you… for defending me.”

  Quickpaw didn’t respond. He continued to stare at his master, a concerned look upon his face, watching the tears fall. He was fighting it, furiously wiping his eyes, but he couldn’t hold them back.

  “I don’t get him, I… I won. We won all games so what the hell is his…”

  He stopped himself and looked to the left, ears standing upright. Quickpaw followed his gaze. His mother stood there with eyes focused on her miserable son. She rushed forwards and knelt.

  “Corsair, are you okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You’re not bleeding?”

  “No, Mum.”

  She threw herself at her son and wrapped her arms around him, shielding him from the snow and whatever harm could possibly come his way. He hugged back, closing his eyes as Quickpaw watched.

  “I’d never let him hurt you. Never.”

  “He almost…”

  “Shush, it’s okay, darling.”

  “Is Ragnee all right?”

  “He’s fine. He’s making sure Arthur keeps his distance.”

  He nodded, sniffling.

  “Mum… do I have to go?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I want to bring you home. I want to keep you safe but… I can’t. Only your father can bring you out and…” she stopped.

  “I did this for him,” Corsair said. “I did it so he’d be happy. Now I’m going to die.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  She gestured for Quickpaw to come forward. He did so.

  “Look to your left.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Darling, please. Let go of me and look to your left.”

  Reluctantly, he brought himself away from her and looked to his left. Sitting there, meeting his gaze, was his best friend. The loyal steed voiced his concern with a soft growl, maw hanging open by an inch, and this brought a small smile to his master’s face. Like the first time they met, his master held his paw in front of his companion. Quickpaw nuzzled against it, mewling.

  “I’ll always be there, Corsair. Always. So will Quickpaw. He’ll protect you. You can always rely on him.”

  He nodded, sniffling.

  “And there’ll be your brother and Harangoth. You’ll be safe, my love. Nothing will hurt you, I promise.”

  Quickpaw brought his head back and then brought it forward with snout pointed to the ground. His master found his paw gently pressing on the top of his head between the ears.

  “Cheeky,” his mother chuckled.

  “Yeah,” his master sniffled, scratching him between the ears.

  He met his mother’s loving gaze.

  “I love you, Mum.”

  “I love you too. Always.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The wolves had estimated that their journey to the clan’s eastern border would be a few days’ ride. Now, days later, Corsair Sedrid could feel the rising dread as he realised their destination was only a single day away.

  Underneath the black night sky pockmarked with distant stars, the wolves’ encampment lay in a clearing. The Krosguard was to join with battalions of the army before they travelled past the defensive perimeter and launched their assault on Pothole Plains. Most wolves lay within their tents, gerbeast leather flapping in the gentle wind against the poles of their temporary shelters.

  Inside one of the tents, 20 wolves dozed. There was a tangle of limbs and tails stretched out across their sleeping pads, pillowed against the bodies of their comrades. Amid the silent chaos lay Corsair, fortunate enough to have his own section in the corner (though the lupine beside him was on the brink of rolling into his territory).

  Other than the whispers of the wind and the odd snore, it was silent.

  He couldn’t sleep. His mind was whirring with hundreds of anxious thoughts, knowing tomorrow would be his first day of combat. And he couldn’t stop thinking about his conflict with his father at Ignatius’ Mount. How he had argued so brazenly.

  He had never dared to speak to his father like that before.

  He looked across the invasive lupine to the slumbering hulk of his brother, curled up on his side and faci
ng the opposite corner. He slumbered, shoulders rising and falling, lost in a realm that his younger brother was nowhere near accessing. His body was so contorted that all his muscles ached. His tail was trapped beneath his right leg and complained continuously about its position. He adjusted himself in the miniscule ways available but it didn’t relieve the torment.

  I can’t do this.

  Desperate for an escape, he contained his urgency and eased himself up into a crouched position. He couldn’t stand fully upright because of the low ceiling. Carefully stepping over the strewn arms and dormant tails of the slumbering wolves, he snuck his way over to the small mouth of the tent and stepped out into the open.

  The environment was slightly different from how it was at home. He had noticed this over time during his journey. There was a gradual change of climate as they neared the eastern border, with the thickness of the snow melting away significantly with each mile they travelled. With Pothole Plains not too far away, the grass was barely covered by any snow at all. Mere flecks fended off the heat in isolated patches. His hind-paw socks endured the wet grass. He felt no need to pull a cloak over his shoulders. He enjoyed the warmer night air despite the occasional breeze.

  Aestiom is slowly passing. Soon it won’t be so warm out.

  The camp was filled with many tents similar to Corsair’s. Some limbs and tails spilled out from the mouths of their shelters and they acted as furry foliage to the pathway of thinly snow-covered grass that formed the aisle between the tents.

  Ahead of him, down the pathway, was the encampment’s bonfire. It was beginning to die, its bold flames now diminishing as its fuel was gradually consumed. He knew there were logs placed around it to act as makeshift seating so he headed in that direction. A guard patrolled past. His eyes fixed on Corsair for a moment before looking away. There was no curfew in place, seemingly unnecessary when most wolves wanted to sleep and prepare for the day of battle ahead. Reprimanding him would be unnecessary.

  Finally, he arrived at the centre of the camp. As he expected, several logs were set facing the fire to allow wolves to enjoy the warmth it provided while it still burned. He spotted the closest one and approached it, sitting down and gazing into the flames.

  It gave him time to dwell on things.

  Before he could think about anything else, the confrontation with his father pushed itself to the front of the queue. All the things his father said. He had been humiliated, rescued by his brother from the fierce argument, fearing that his father would once more bite down on his neck and pierce the skin. Even thinking about it made Corsair’s paw move to protect the scar that lay hidden beneath the black fur.

  That scar, in its permanence, forbade him from ever forgetting what happened.

  I don’t even know what I did wrong. I won every game. Ragnee let me win the first, sure, but from then on it was us. Quickpaw and me. We did that, not anyone else.

  He felt weak for crying and curling up into a ball in front of his father. He was 20 – it seemed forbidden to behave like that when he was supposed to be an adult.

  I’m stronger now. I don’t need to get Dad’s approval any more. He’s shown that he doesn’t care. Now I don’t.

  Then he questioned the possibility of even coming home alive. He disposed of that question with a shudder.

  “Up late, huh?”

  A familiar voice jolted Corsair to reality and made him whirl around in his seat, ears standing and eyes wide. He saw a white wolf with a braided tail standing there, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and pair of slacks. He saw the red streak across his right eye.

  “Axel, you scared me to death.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw you sitting there and… well, thought I’d say hello.”

  Corsair nodded.

  “Like I said, you’re up late. You don’t feel like getting some sleep before the big battle tomorrow?”

  “I’m…” he began, then hesitated.

  “Having trouble sleeping, huh?”

  “Y-yeah, I guess.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Corsair opened his mouth to answer, wanting to say yes, but he held his tongue.

  “I, uh…”

  “I understand if you don’t want to. Don’t lose sleep over it. Well, don’t lose any more of it than you are now, anyway.”

  Corsair snorted with laughter. Axel continued.

  “If you don’t want to talk, I can go‒”

  “No!”

  He winced at how desperate he sounded.

  “I mean… you’ve probably heard rumours, right?”

  “Of the shouting match between you and your dad? It’s circulated a bit.”

  “If it doesn’t bother you, then… I’d like to talk about it. Maybe it would help me sleep better.”

  “No problem. Sleep’s for the weak, right?”

  He chuckled as the apothecary walked over and sat down beside him, crossing his arms and sitting upright.

  “You’re fine talking about this?”

  “I want to.”

  “Then fire away.”

  Corsair sighed, nodded to himself, but hesitated again. Axel was patient, looking into the fire, ears up to listen to his story but eyes averted so as not to pressure him. He appreciated the gesture – it made talking about his father easier.

  “Back at Ignatius’ Mount, my father wasn’t happy with my performance. He said that it was like I’d forgotten about everything he and Alpha Tiberius taught me.”

  “The alpha of the army taught you himself?”

  “Yeah. He and my father are friends. Whenever he had a spare hour or two, he’d teach us.”

  “Right. But anyway, you won every game, right? Apart from your brother letting you win the first one, you did it all. Any sibling with a heart would do that for their younger sibling – even my demon sisters, as much as I claimed otherwise.”

  “Exactly. He got angry at me and then he started yelling at Quickpaw and then he started yelling at Ragnee and then I started arguing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe it sounds normal to anyone else but with my father you don’t argue back. Ever. In 20 years, that was the first time I put my hind paw down.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “He… stopped. For a moment, he just stopped, like he didn’t know what was going on. Then he tried to bite me and Ragnar held him back and then… I don’t know, I ran. I just ran.”

  Axel turned to look at him. “Your dad tried to bite you? Where?”

  “On the neck.”

  Axel blinked. “Wow.”

  “I’m not saying it’s normal. It wasn’t.”

  “No, of course. Just didn’t expect to hear that.”

  “Did I ever tell you about my scar?”

  “Your scar?”

  “On the left side of my neck, look.”

  Corsair craned his neck in a way that exposed the scar tissue beneath the fur. Axel hissed in response, wincing.

  “He did that?”

  “When I was 10. It was… something, honestly. I almost died.”

  “God, Corsair, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s nothing you have to apologise for. Ever since I was 10, he just… became weird. He stopped being close with us. It was like we didn’t know him. I tried my hardest to get his approval – I tried the hardest I could during my tournaments. I didn’t win as many as Ragnee did in jousting and stuff but I still tried. And I did well in other areas.”

  “You told me. Longswords and races. And, regardless of how good you were, you’ve got to respect trying.”

  “Yeah. Dad didn’t do that.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire. Axel decided to speak.

  “My dad has done some bad things. Not damning things but, you know, mistakes we all make. But, I got to say, your dad… sounds a bit like a bastard.”

  “We share the same opinion, don’t worry.”

  “You’ve talked to your brother about thi
s, right?”

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “Then why am I the one hearing this? If you’re still worrying, talk to him. He’s your brother.”

  “I know but… I’ve talked to him five times about this since we left. He’s got his own things to worry about without carrying my worries, too. Besides, he’s sleeping right now.”

  “He’s a good brother, Corsair, I can tell. You could tell him the same thing, word for word, and he wouldn’t care if it was the thousandth time he heard it.”

  “Really?”

  “Okay, maybe not 1,000 times, but you get what I mean. He’s there for you.”

  “I know he is. Right now isn’t the time, anyway, especially before tomorrow.”

  They fell silent again. Corsair growled, feeling anger mount inside him.

  “I don’t even want to be here, you know? I was happy living the life I had. Yeah, my father sometimes made it unbearable, but I had my mother. I had free rides with Quickpaw. I had afternoons off. I had tournaments. I had Rohesia to speak to. Now all I’ve got is some stupid paint over my right eye.”

  “You did it for your dad?”

  “Not voluntarily. He made me. He even told me to leave Quickpaw and pick another ictharr and that’s what got to me most of the time. He’d pick on him for doing nothing. For not being bred like Harangoth was.”

  “I didn’t see any of the ‘bred’ ictharrs stand up to Thornfang like he did.”

  “Exactly. And now we’re here because of him. I could die tomorrow.”

  “Hey, come on‒”

  “Quickpaw could die tomorrow. I don’t want him to get hurt and I don’t know how I’d even cope if something happened to him. What if Ragnee died or Harangoth died or Rohesia? I don’t even know where she is right now and I just don’t want to be in this stupid situation where…” He could feel his eyes stinging, tears trying to push their way out, but he shook his head and wiped his eyes. The fiery anger subsided.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. It’s something important to you.”