The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  “But why? For what reason would they have to attack your family?”

  “I don’t know, I’m… I just know it wasn’t him. Others may think he might do it because he wanted to take the helmet back but that’s not Ragnee. He’s not vengeful like that. I mean, think about it. Remember when I told you the legionnaires stopped me?”

  “Yes?”

  “The moment they realised it was me, they let me go. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now… I can’t help thinking that they thought I was Ragnee. They were searching for him and it just… it just feels like they were searching for him before they’d found anything.”

  Rohesia nodded. She lowered a paw on to Corsair’s shoulder, her friend turning his head to look at it before raising his eyes to look into hers. Those green eyes shimmered with tears, rimmed with red.

  “Maybe I could have stopped them.”

  “Corsair.”

  “Maybe I could have… I could…”

  And then he cried.

  He lowered his head into himself and began to sob, tears falling from his eyes and on to the carpet. Rohesia could only stare for a moment, her heart shattered by the sight of the wolf weeping in despair and hopelessness, trapped in a horrible situation with no visible exit. She leant in and wrapped her arms around him, allowing her friend to hug back and cry on her shoulder.

  “What… what did we do? W-what did we do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing, Corsair, nothing.”

  “Why us? Why us?”

  She shushed him.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  He continued to heave up and down as he wept, mourning the loss of both his father and brother. She could only whisper hollow comforts into his ear as he grieved. The feeling was horrible – being confined to the role of bystander, unable to help or mitigate the damage dealt.

  All she could do was hold her friend tight and remember the promise she made to Ophelia Sedrid.

  A promise to keep Corsair safe from harm.

  Chapter Twenty

  Corsair needed to leave the house, otherwise he would go insane.

  He was aware of how bad the circumstances were – they came for his brother and, for all he knew, they were waiting for the right opportunity to take one more from the Sedrid family. It was safer for him to be in his home where the servants kept a lookout for any approaching Opulusians.

  But he couldn’t cope. He was growing increasingly paranoid at home – every time anyone walked past his door he was convinced that they were coming to barrel inside, swords drawn, and beat him to a pulp before dragging him away to jail.

  Or, even worse, pinning him down as they stole his mother away.

  I need to clear my head. I need to breathe in some fresh air. After that, I won’t need to leave. I’ll stay inside. It’s only a few minutes’ walk.

  Corsair, sure he was prepared for his expedition, slid his sword into his scabbard. It sat there, loyal and ready to defend its wielder, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s notice. He gave it a reassuring pat, resting his paw on the grip, before leaving his room and crossing the landing to the top of the stairs.

  Peter stood by the door, a fellow servant beside him. They were both quiet, listening for any sound of an approaching party despite chatter emanating from the kitchen. Corsair could see Rohesia’s makeshift bedding on the floor, left tidy and vacant with clothes folded on top, which was a sign that his exit would go unhindered.

  He glanced down the landing towards his mother’s room. The door was shut, his mother having retired for the afternoon. Satisfied with this knowledge, he turned his head back and proceeded down the stairs, the servants’ eyes on him.

  “Sir?” Peter asked. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “For a walk.”

  “In this situation? Sir, that doesn’t seem smart.”

  “Corsair?”

  Corsair winced as he heard Rohesia’s voice from behind him, turning to face her. The black wolf stood by the kitchen door in a gown his mother had lent her, glaring at him with pitcher of water in paw.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, coming forward.

  “I need to get out of the house.”

  “What?”

  “Rohesia, please, I’m losing it in here. I told you – I can’t stop fearing that they’ll be coming through the door at any moment.”

  “And what makes you think out there is any better than in here? Don’t be an idiot, Corsair.”

  “It’s only a few minutes. A walk down to the centre and back, that’s it. I need some fresh air.”

  “And what do I tell your mother?”

  “She doesn’t need to know anything, Rohesia, that’s the point.”

  She was silent, hesitant.

  “It’ll cause her unnecessary stress. She’ll get worried and the last thing I want is for her to come out looking for me. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve seen those legionnaires raid houses and drag people out. They don’t mess around. They could easily grab you out there where none of us can protect you.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll be in the middle of everyone – they wouldn’t think of grabbing me without starting a commotion.”

  “They did that to other wolves in broad daylight, Corsair, are you not understanding me?”

  “I’ll be fine. I need this. I need to go out and refr-”

  “No,” Rohesia said, stepping in front of him to block the door. “You can’t go out.”

  “Rohe-”

  “At least give me a moment to get dressed and come with you.”

  “No, Rohesia, I want you here protecting Mum.”

  “What about the servants?”

  “You have a bow, they don’t. Please. She won’t even be awake in a few minutes – keep a look out and I’ll be back, I promise.”

  Corsair held her gaze, making her glance away towards the fire, before she sighed and stepped aside.

  “Down the main pathway and back. Nowhere else.”

  “Got it.”

  He turned back to the door and stopped next to Peter, resting a paw on the wooden panelling.

  “You’ll hear me when I come back. I’ll knock, I’ll speak, I’ll do something. But if it isn’t me, do not open the door. You do everything you can to protect Mum if they come for her, okay?”

  “With my life, Sir,” Peter said as his fellow servant nodded in agreement.

  “Good. I’ll be back.”

  With that, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold. The snow was strong, carried forward by whistling winds, and he jerked his grimacing face away from the direction of the gust. Shielding his face with one paw and placing his other on his sword’s pommel, he began to walk forwards in the direction of the town centre.

  Town centre and back. That will be enough.

  He could see the shapes of other figures walking back and forth along the path, huddled in groups as they conversed with one another. He could only see their squinted eyes and cringing faces as he passed by, battered by the frosty wind.

  He continued forwards, trudging down the path, when he saw a group of Opulusian legionnaires on the side of the road. They weren’t moving, guarding the entrance to a house with cloaks shrouding their armour. Corsair watched out of the corner of his eye, paw tightening around his sword’s grip, but none of them noticed his presence. Whether or not this was intentional was beyond him – as long as they weren’t approaching him or moving towards his house, there was no reason to care.

  Keep moving forward.

  Forcing himself through the swirling snow, he arrived at the town centre minutes later. Despite the ferocious weather, the market was still packed with customers and traders, money and goods changing paws before his eyes. He could see the odd patrol among the crowds, remaining vigilant for any thieves, so he decided to remain out of their line of sight.

  As he was turning to walk back, his eyes fell upon Mr Duncan’s tavern. Its doors and fiery warmth beckoned him, a place where he could
rest for the time being. He felt inclined to answer its call.

  He looked back down the main path, in the direction of the eastern wall.

  It’ll only be a few minutes more. A drink would be nice for a change.

  Convinced, he hurried forwards through the barrage of snow and entered the tavern. The usual cheery sounds of wolves laughing and drinking filled his ears as he shut the door. Some sat around the fire for warmth. He felt much safer among his people in such a small space. There was no way any legionnaire would try to arrest him here, not when some drunkards would be willing throw a few swings at anyone who disturbed their drinking.

  He walked to the bar and sat on one available stool, taking his place next to an old brown wolf murmuring to himself over his empty tankard.

  “Corsair?”

  Corsair looked up to see Mr Duncan approaching, stopping on the opposite side of the counter.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. As fine as I can be, anyway.”

  Mr Duncan nodded, exhaling.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m sorry about your brother… it’s a shame what happened to him. And, for the record, I don’t believe a word of it. None of us in here do.”

  Corsair grunted, unsure of how to respond.

  “You want a drink on the house?”

  “It’s fine, I have money.”

  Corsair offered an Iggregom up in return for a pint and the bartender nodded. As Mr Duncan turned to provide him with a beverage, he looked down at the counter and sighed.

  There’s got to be some way out of this.

  He had already ruled out their only option – escape. He knew they’d be identified and immediately turned back by the legionnaires but there was nothing else. He couldn’t do anything other than wait for them to come. He and his mother were on limited time and they had to find something before they heard that fateful knock on the door.

  Maybe we could leave through the south. It’s guarded but there would be a chance we could slip through if we used the trees. If it’s dark and we’re quick enough, we could leave and never be spotted. We’d create enough distance by morning.

  But where would they go? Travelling south would only lead them to more occupied territory and closer to the Kingdom of Opulus. Travelling north would lead them into the barren wasteland of Deuvick Feldanas, a desolate tract of snowy nothingness where they wouldn’t survive. Travelling east would lead them towards the war he was trying to get away from and he doubted the rabbits would grant the family who had declared war on them safe sanctuary within their territory.

  Maybe the west. The Kingdom of Wyndr isn’t in conflict with the clan. They’d have no reason to attack us, at least.

  He knew journeying to the west meant he’d be accepting the fact he would never see Ragnar again. He didn’t know if he had it in him to abandon hope in his survival completely. There was a chance he was out there, waiting to be rescued.

  We’ll find him and live somewhere else. A smaller country somewhere on the other side of the land. We’d be safe. We could live.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his order landing on the table with a thud, making him recoil.

  “There’s your drink. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  Mr Duncan turned and walked back to the other side of the bar, tending to the orders of three female wolves. Corsair watched the bustle of the tavern for a moment before taking a swig of his drink. The familiar taste of bitter alcohol made him wince but he drank half of it before placing the pitcher down on the counter.

  He heard the door open behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  Through the door came two legionnaires dressed in cloaks and armour. They were conversing casually, helmets held under their arms as they entered, and all eyes followed them as they approached the bar. The chatter persevered but Corsair saw the glares the legionnaires received.

  His eyes fell upon the face of the first.

  He felt it.

  A slow boil building in his stomach.

  He recognised the husky who helped arrest his brother.

  He turned away, gripping the bar hard.

  Stay calm. Stay calm.

  He considered leaving but knew that his sudden exit would only attract more attention to himself. His best bet was to hunker down by the bar and act as if nothing was wrong, to blend in among the other patrons.

  He faced forwards and kept his eyes focused on the back of the bar, hearing the conversation of the two legionnaires get louder and louder, before they stopped behind the elderly wolf.

  “Excuse me,” the husky said. “Can we just slide in here?”

  The old wolf looked over his shoulder and saw the two legionnaires standing there, steel armour glinting in the light of the fire. He grumbled, shaking his head, before getting up.

  “Sir, you don’t have to…”

  The husky’s voice trailed off as the elderly wolf slid past them, hobbling towards the exit. The two legionnaires exchanged looks, shrugging, before the husky sat down.

  Corsair didn’t dare to glance in their direction.

  In the corner of his eye, however, he could see the husky frantically patting his pockets. Sighing, the legionnaire turned to his compatriot and spoke in New Opulusian. The other legionnaire, a labrador, carried out the same investigation before turning to his colleague and shaking his head.

  Corsair tensed.

  If he turns to me to ask for a coin, I’m finished.

  Fortunately, the legionnaires decided otherwise. The husky muttered in New Opulusian before he stood and walked back towards the door. Corsair peered over his shoulder as they left, watching them carve a path between the tables.

  That slow boil had risen into a fierce bubbling concoction of rage in the pit of his stomach, summoning a low growl from him.

  He remembered how the husky had forced the muzzle on to Ragnar’s snout.

  He remembered how the husky had helped whisk away and banish his brother.

  And now he just gets to walk in here and play innocent? He gets to be all polite and friendly?

  Caution was no longer a concern. The pure hatred he felt in every ounce of his flesh, from head to hind paw, overpowered any consideration he had to not risk confrontation. One paw did its best to crush the grip of his longsword, ready to summon it from its sheath.

  He shot up from the bar and turned, storming towards the door.

  “Corsair?” Mr Duncan called. “Corsair, where are you going?”

  He ignored the barkeep and pushed out through the doors, stepping back into the icy cold of the day. He saw the two legionnaires strolling ahead of him, only a few metres from the entrance.

  Glaring at the husky, he did not allow them to go any further.

  “Hey!”

  The duo stopped and turned, the labrador’s paw instinctively moving to the sword on his belt while the husky remained calm.

  That relaxed demeanour faded as the legionnaire realised who he was looking at.

  “Corsair Sedrid?” the husky said.

  Corsair stepped towards them.

  “You helped frame my brother.”

  The husky frowned.

  “Frame him? Sir… with all due respect, we had evidence of‒”

  “Don’t give me that. The only evidence you had was the forged journal that bastard gave to you.”

  “It isn’t our place to question the authenticity of it. We had our orders, Sir, from the Winter Baron himself.”

  Corsair took another step. The labrador winced, nervously glancing at his comrade.

  “Just because you were told to arrest him and condemn him to death doesn’t make you innocent! You still did that!”

  “Sir, I understand you hate me.”

  “You don’t understand how much I hate you right now.”

  Corsair unsheathed his sword.

  The husky reached for his, stepping back.

  “Sir… if come any closer then we
can’t help you.”

  Corsair snarled, baring his fangs.

  “I don’t want your damn help…”

  He twirled his sword, taking up face-on stance.

  “I want you dead!”

  Corsair shot forward with a yell. He sliced downwards. The husky yelled a command in New Opulusian before he drew his short sword, darted right and swung with his free paw. The blow struck Corsair in the side of the head, sending him stumbling. With no armour to protect him, he knew that he could only rely on dodging and blocking – failure to do so would lead to his death.

  The legionnaire came forwards, swinging from multiple directions with the pommel of his sword. Corsair knocked it away and swung back, snarling as he did so. The longsword clashed against the short sword’s steel. Corsair jabbed forwards from an angle, aiming for the husky’s head, but the husky deflected it and kicked forwards. The bottom of the dog’s hind paw struck Corsair in the stomach and he staggered, maintaining his balance.

  “You need to desist, now!” the husky yelled. “Do not make me hurt you!”

  “So what? So you can just arrest me and exile me? So my mother is left vulnerable and defenceless? Nice try!”

  Corsair swung forwards. The husky weaved and made an attempt to rip the weapon from his paws, grappling from the side. The labrador moved towards them, sheathing his sword.

  “Get off me!”

  Corsair turned and swung upwards with the hilt of his sword. The hilt struck the husky on the underside of his snout, left exposed by the metal of the helmet. The dog yelped. He stepped away, teetering backwards.

  Corsair aimed the sword for his flank.

  As he thrust it forwards, Corsair caught a glimpse of a gauntlet swinging at him from the side.

  The world spun as the labrador intervened with a punch to the side of the head, knocking him down to his knees and causing his sword to slip from his paw. He grimaced, his head aching from the blow, but the pain quickly ebbed away when he saw the husky returning. Arms outstretched, the legionnaire rapidly approached to tackle him.

  Corsair shot up and wrestled against the legionnaire, frantically trying to pull his sword away.

  “Sir, you need to stop!”

  The labrador arrived behind him and wrapped his arms around Corsair’s midsection, using all his strength to attempt to rip him away. Corsair struggled and writhed, fighting a battle on two fronts, before he swung an elbow back in desperation and struck the labrador in the jaw.