The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  Corsair eased back on the reins. Quickpaw slowed to a halt, stopping metres behind the eastern gate. He threw one leg over the side and dropped down to the ground, landing with a crunch in the snow. He removed his bag of belongings from Quickpaw’s saddle and slung it over his shoulder, stepping forwards and taking his companion’s reins in one paw.

  The gates shut behind him. He breathed in the cold night air.

  He was home.

  Grand Wolf Plains was blanketed by the darkness of nightfall, with mantled lanterns placed to provide weak illumination for the main pathway. At this hour citizens were too busy sleeping to be walking about the town.

  He was alone. He was thankful for that.

  His mind drifted to the idea of returning home immediately, retiring to his bed for the rest of the night, but he knew his father would be surprised first and angered second. He couldn’t bear to see him again, not after their fierce confrontation. He needed time to think, time to prepare.

  Mr Duncan.

  The tavern owner most certainly preferred the sight of his older brother to him, but he didn’t care about his personal opinion. A strong drink and a few hours of contemplation would be enough to clear his mind.

  He hoped, anyway.

  He let out a fog of breath.

  “Come on, Quickpaw.”

  They set off. He looked up as he walked, watching the delicate snowfall. He never thought he would long to feel the icy embrace of the cold after such a short period of relief from it.

  It was only four days since the horror of Pothole Plains.

  Minutes after he killed the rabbit officer, Pothole Plains had fallen. Those who tried to fend off the unstoppable waves of wolves were slaughtered, blood spilled across the fresh grass of the settlement, but most fled in a convoy of wagons drawn by adeuns. The air was filled with celebration and triumph, wolves howling up to the clear blue sky as the banner of the Clan of the Great Lupine flew high in the town centre.

  Corsair, however, had not got up from his knees. He remained there, blinking away the tears, trying to cope with the brutality of the battle he had experienced.

  So many had died around him. He wished he could forget.

  Had it not been for the kindness of Alpha McVarn, he would have been trapped on the front for months on end.

  The town hall’s interior had been ransacked, ornaments and trophies torn down from the walls as an act of reclamation. The hall, where meetings would have been held, was long empty. It was devoid of any decoration and instead housed the wounded. Ragnar and Corsair sat in the entrance hall on a bench spared from the ransacking. Corsair could hear the moans of the injured from deeper within the building. Axel was among the staff seeing to the wounded, lost amongst the chaos, but Corsair felt too disheartened to find him. Quickpaw and Harangoth were left in the temporary stables, given time to rest and recover from the fierce battle they had endured.

  He felt miserable.

  He wanted to leave. All those false hopes he’d had for himself before the battle, all those promises to be a strong warrior worthy of Krosguard service, were gone. He was not a warrior. War was not for him. It never had been. He had never wanted it to be. He had deluded himself into thinking he could charge headfirst into the carnage of battle.

  Yet, there he was, sitting beside his sibling.

  Corsair wiped at his eyes and sniffled.

  “We’ll find a way through this,” Ragnar said. “There’s got to be‒”

  “There isn’t. There isn’t a way through this, Ragnee. I… killed three people and… I’ve got to do it again until this stupid war is over.”

  “We need to stay strong.”

  “I can’t stay strong anymore. I’m tired of staying strong. For once, I want to cry and go home – curl up in my bed and rest.”

  Three wolves walked into the entrance hall, on their way to the door opposite, but stopped. Neither of the siblings looked up initially, lost in their woes, until Ragnar lifted his head and Corsair followed. Alpha McVarn stood in the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm to reveal the three tied-off strands of black fur hanging from the back of his head. Two Krosguard soldiers stood on either side of him, swords in scabbard, with blood spattered across their armour and garments.

  Alpha McVarn spotted them.

  “Son, is that you?”

  Corsair looked away. Ragnar stood to attention.

  “At ease. Is he wounded?”

  “No, Alpha. It’s… been a burden for all of us. It’s bothering him.”

  “Well, it’s good that he’s not hurt. I’m glad to hear that. How about you, son?”

  “I’m fine, Alpha. I’m holding it together. Just.”

  “And your ictharrs?”

  “Sleeping off the stress in the stables, Alpha.”

  “No doubt. You can sit.”

  The older sibling sat down beside his brother. Corsair didn’t look up as the alpha knelt in front of him, placing a paw on his knee. The guards lingered behind their superior.

  “Are you okay, son?”

  No response.

  “Son?”

  “I saw so many people die today. So many wolves, so many rabbits, so… so much blood. I… killed three rabbits.”

  Corsair was so overwhelmed with emotion, barely holding the tears back as they stung his eyes, that he made an appeal to his alpha.

  “Alpha… I’m begging you… I can’t do this anymore. We can’t do this anymore.”

  “Son, I’m sorry, but you took an oath. You promised to serve the Krosguard at least until the end of this war.”

  “I never wanted to be in the Krosguard.”

  Silence followed. He was crying silent tears, trickling from his eyes and becoming lost in his white fur with cunning stealth. He didn’t care.

  “I did it because I didn’t want to argue with Dad. I did it because he wanted me to join this stupid thing…”

  “Corsair,” his brother said warningly.

  “And I did. I hate this. I hate all of it and I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Son‒”

  “That night in the church, Alpha, is a moment I regret. I should have gone home. Ragnee and I should have taken our ictharrs and gone home. I was out of my depth here, I always was. I lied to myself. We don’t belong here.”

  He sniffled.

  “I hate my father with everything in my heart. I hate him. He got me into this. He got us into this.”

  As he cried, he felt McVarn gently rest his paw on his shoulder, an act of comfort that he appreciated.

  “Corsair, son, I can’t let you go. It’s wartime – under any other circumstance, I would. I would let you both go. But I can’t. I know it’s hard to hear, son, and I understand‒”

  The prince growled and shoved him off. Stumbling, the alpha took a step back and his guards drew their swords, wary of Corsair as he shot up from his seat.

  “Don’t lie to me! Don’t stand there and tell me you understand when you have no idea what I’m talking about! If you’re going to stand there and tell me that you’re sending me back to fight them and kill more people, to spill more blood and watch more of my people die, then you don’t understand anything!”

  “Corsair!” Ragnar said.

  “You told me back at Ignatius’ Mount that you were a good judge of character, McVarn, you said that to me! If you’re such a good judge of character, look me in the eyes and tell me that you think I belong here!”

  “Corsair, stop!”

  “I said look me in the eyes, McVarn! Look at me and tell me you’re sending both of us back out there to die, to‒”

  “Corsair, shut up!”

  The younger Sedrid turned, wincing in response to his brother’s fierce reprimand. Ragnar glared at him for a moment before jerking his head back to the bench, ordering his brother to sit back down. Corsair did so, silenced.

  Two soldiers rushed out through the doors of the main hall, paws on the grips of their swords.

  “Is everything all right out here
, Alpha?” one asked.

  McVarn kept his focus on the younger Sedrid. Corsair could see him in the corner of his eye but kept staring at the tiled floor, not willing to meet his gaze.

  “Yes. Everything’s okay out here. Sorry for the noise.”

  The two soldiers nodded and disappeared back inside. Ragnar sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Alpha. He’s stressed.”

  “I can see that, son,” the alpha grunted, unamused.

  “I… I know we both took an oath. We swore to fight for the clan and the Winter Baron. But we can’t‒”

  “I cannot send you both home and force others to stay. I warned your brother that his privilege as the Winter Baron’s son would not be considered in the Krosguard. You are not better than anyone else.”

  “But you see how my brother is right now. You see what a heavy toll this has taken on him. He lied to try to prove himself and he realises it was a mistake. A big mistake.”

  “Do you not understand me, son? I can’t let two soldiers walk away, especially because we are in the middle of a war and especially because you two are members of the Krosguard. We need the skills you two possess more than ever.”

  “Then send Corsair home. I’ll stay.”

  Corsair’s ears stood to attention. He shook his head, standing.

  “No, Ragnee…”

  His brother silenced him, holding out an arm for him to not draw closer. Ragnar held the alpha’s pensive gaze.

  “I can endure this. I can stay. But he needs to go back home. War isn’t for him.”

  “I feel horrible treating him differently from all the others who want to go back to their families, too.”

  “I ask that you make an exception this once. Let him go home. He doesn’t belong here among trained killers, you can see that.”

  Alpha McVarn looked at Corsair. The prince stood there, waiting for him to deliver his verdict.

  “We’ll have a wagon heading back to Ignatius’ Mount to deliver the severely wounded along a trail back to their homes. It’ll be heading back tonight. If he’s ready to follow them on his ictharr, I’ll permit him to leave. Only him.”

  “I understand, Alpha, thank you.”

  “You can’t be serious, Alpha,” one of the guards said.

  “If I wanted your input on my decisions, I’d ask for it, son.”

  The soldier grumbled, shaking his head and looking away.

  “T-thank you, Alpha,” Corsair said.

  Alpha McVarn patted him on the shoulder, giving him a soft smile and shaking paws with Ragnar before walking past them and towards the main hall. He turned as he left.

  “Wash that paint off your face when you get back. Safe journey, son.”

  The alpha turned into the hall and vanished, his guards following. Corsair confronted his brother.

  “Ragnee, come with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Just ride back with me. He doesn’t need to know.”

  “I could go to jail if I deserted, Corsair. You heard what he said – we don’t get treated any different from the rest of them.”

  “Please, Ragnee. I can’t go home alone. I can’t leave you here to get hurt.”

  His brother sighed.

  “I’ll look after myself. Harangoth will look after me. I can survive.”

  “Promise me you’ll come back unharmed.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise, Corsair, that I will come back as you see me now.”

  The younger Sedrid hugged his brother, pulling him in, and Ragnar hugged him back.

  “Stay safe.”

  “I will. Tell Mum not to worry about me. Make sure she doesn’t get stressed, okay?”

  Corsair nodded, stepping back out of the embrace.

  With the desperation now gone, part of him felt guilty.

  There were many others who were as scared as he was, who had seen friends and comrades cut down and pierced with arrows, bleeding to death on the ground and screaming. Unlike him, they had the bravery to carry on for their clan.

  And there Corsair was, a little pup who ran home because he was too scared of the big, bad rabbits.

  I looked like such a coward.

  Miles away, his comrades might have been engaging in another battle. They were out there dying while he was there safe and sound, shielded and protected from what his clan considered a duty.

  A patrol of two soldiers walked past him, one of them holding a lantern in his paw. Corsair saw the lantern holder turn.

  “Uh, excuse me, Sir? What are you doing out at this hour?”

  The prince turned.

  “I’ve come home.”

  For some unknown reason, the guards’ eyes widened. They glanced at one another, suddenly unsure of him, and Corsair shifted his eyes from one guard to the other.

  “Uh, Sir, something has happened.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. Leave me be.”

  “No, Sir, it’s urgent.”

  “Just do your stupid jobs and leave me alone!”

  Corsair didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone. He didn’t care if it was their job – he needed time to himself, he needed time alone. Whatever was going on could wait.

  He arrived at the town centre. It was unnerving to see what was always a bright and lively trading space barren and desolate, left to the devices of the dark. Even though he knew it would be filled with life the next day, the deathly silence of the place felt unnatural and eerie.

  He looked up. The silhouette of Julian Krosguard loomed over the desolate town centre, remaining vigilant during the hours of the night. The imposing monument looked terrifying in the dark, as if its eyes were following him as he moved, and Corsair shuddered.

  He led Quickpaw down to the entrance of Mr Duncan’s tavern, turning into the stables and taking the first free stall. One lone ictharr was positioned further down, staring at the stall in front of it, but the rest were empty.

  “Have a rest. You’ve been walking all day.”

  Quickpaw was too tired to argue. He padded into the pen and turned as the door shut, curling up on the ground.

  “If anything happens, yowl. I’ll come out.”

  Quickpaw mewled, exhausted, and Corsair let him be.

  As he neared the doorway to Mr Duncan’s tavern, he glanced over at the Great Hall of Wolves. He stopped as he saw light shining through the windows, with an entourage of guards positioned outside.

  Dad must be holding a meeting.

  He was tempted to return to the house and sneak into his room now that he knew his father was away, but he had already covered the distance and passed his home already. Deeming it useless, he turned back to face the door and pushed it open, stepping inside the tavern.

  Corsair expected Mr Duncan’s to be empty. He was partially correct. At the bar he could see a drunken wolf slumped over his drink, barely conscious. A pair of lupine maidens were drinking together at a corner table, whispering, and the owner of the tavern stood behind the counter with arms crossed over his chest.

  Mr Duncan’s eyes fell on Corsair, his face immediately softening.

  “Corsair?”

  He didn’t answer. He approached the bar and took a seat, face drained of all energy, and met the bartender’s worried gaze.

  “A pint of Stronbeniz, please.”

  “But why are you‒”

  “I’d rather not talk about it, Mr Duncan.”

  Mr Duncan kept his eyes on him but Corsair looked away. Sensing that he was not in the mood to talk, the barkeep turned and proceeded to prepare his drink. The prince leant back in his chair and let his eyes wander. Thankfully, he found that the drunk was too distracted with trying to remain awake to care about him, and the two female wolves were too busy talking to notice.

  Mr Duncan turned back to him, a full pitcher in paw. He lowered it on to the counter and slid it over, golden liquid swishing from left to right, and Corsair concluded the transaction by passing an I
ggregom to him.

  “No, no, you keep that. On the house.”

  Without a word, the wolf tipped back the pitcher and drank. He felt the strong alcohol purge his throat, making him wince, but he kept drinking until he needed to breathe and placed the pitcher back on the counter. He let the fur around his mouth drip for a moment, not bothering to wipe it, before he lifted one arm and cleaned away the beads hanging from his maw.

  Mr Duncan was still looking at him.

  “Is your brother all right?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Corsair couldn’t meet the barkeep’s eyes. In truth, he didn’t know how his brother was. He left him behind to run away, to hide from the war they faced, and for all he knew Ragnar and Harangoth were charging headfirst into swords and arrows.

  “Why are you back? Is the war over?”

  “Mr Duncan, I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Mr Duncan nodded.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Another swig and the wolf felt the bite of the mead, enduring it and drinking down every last drop until his pitcher was dry and he was sipping at air. He placed it down and gestured for another drink. Mr Duncan nodded and turned away without a word.

  There was a temptation to drink away the worries he had, to forget about it all and let himself float away into the ecstasy of drunken fatigue despite inexperience at doing so. He had never been drunk, never felt the surge of jovial energy he had seen other wolves experiencing, never felt the ache of the aftermath the next day.

  The door opened behind him and he looked over his shoulder.

  Two soldiers stood at the door, both in chainmail shirts with flecks of snow decorating them. Corsair immediately felt irritated, grunting. They had followed him even though he told them to leave him alone. He hoped it was by coincidence that they arrived there.

  Don’t talk to me. Leave me alone, don’t talk to me.

  “Uh, Sir?”

  Corsair growled and this was enough to get the barkeep to turn around. The growl imposed silence on one of the soldiers, taken aback by his aggression, but the other persisted.

  “Sir‒”

  “I told you two to leave me alone, didn’t I?”

  “But, Sir, it’s‒”

  “Oh, it’s important, it’s important! If it’s so damn important, go and bother my father! He’s the stupid Winter Baron anyway, why are you here talking to his son about it if it’s so important?”