The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

by H. G. Sansostri

  He scanned the walls.

  There was no legionnaire in sight.

  He looked down.

  He saw his mother and Winter Baron Tiberius directly beneath him. Valour stood near them.

  He looked back towards the door. He had little time before the legionnaires realised the howling from the tower was a diversion and returned to the hall, sealing his fate if he was still inside. He had to act.

  Adrenaline pumping, Corsair leapt over the bannister. The fall wasn’t great enough to cause him any harm and he landed with a grunt, bending his knees before rising to his full height and drawing his sword. Valour and Winter Baron Tiberius whirled around, caught by surprise, and his mother froze.

  “You let her go now!” Corsair growled, taking up face-on stance.

  Valour darted back and slammed his helmet on to his head, drawing his own sword and taking up the same stance as the wolf. Winter Baron Tiberius stepped away, Corsair’s mother standing.

  “Corsair, what are you doing? I told you to go.”

  “I’m not leaving you here. I’m here to rescue you and if either of you two try to stop me I’ll kill you here and now!”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Valour warned. “Drop your weapon! Neither of us want this to get ugly!”

  “Let my mother go or I’ll kill you!”

  “Too much blood has been spilled today already, Corsair! Do not make a second mistake!”

  “The only mistake I’d be making is leaving here without her!”

  The golden armour of the canine glinted in the light of the lanterns, matched by the golden eyes of the doberman. He stared through the holes in his mask.

  Both combatants knew that neither would back down.

  “You are guilty of the murder of an Opulusian legionnaire. I’m giving you one last chance to drop your sword and surrender.”

  “I’m not leaving here without her.”

  “Corsair… don’t make me kill you in front of your mother.”

  “Step aside!”

  Both warriors growled at one another, trying to get the other to lower their weapon, but neither yielded. Valour twirled his sword on either side of him and Corsair did the same.

  With a yell, the prince came forward and‒

  The counterattack was unexpected. Before Corsair could attack, Valour shot forwards shoulder-first and rammed him in the chest, knocking him back. He stumbled, wide-eyed. Valour swung down from above and sliced from the left and right in quick succession, Corsair barely able to keep the sharp blade away from him. He tried to riposte, jabbing at the doberman’s face, but the commander knocked it away and kicked him.

  “You lay a paw on him and I’ll kill you!” Ophelia yelled as Winter Baron Tiberius held her back.

  Corsair rolled underneath a swing, arriving behind the doberman and stabbing at his back. Valour dropped to one knee while turning, knocking the stab upwards from him and slashing back. Corsair staggered away, barely out the arc of the swing. He rebalanced just as the commander surged forwards. A flurry of blows ensued, metal clashing against metal with a crisp clang upon every strike. Corsair was being overwhelmed, lacking the confidence to strike back, until he randomly attacked to alleviate the pressure.

  Corsair attacked with the hilt of his blade, knocking the side of Valour’s snout as he advanced. The commander reeled back from the shock, shaking his head to mitigate the blow, but recovered quicker than Corsair expected. He charged forwards with a slash. The wolf blocked the attack from the left, pushing it away, but Valour swung the sword around from the right and knocked his blade out of his paws.

  Corsair watched as his weapon slid under the benches, leaving him defenceless.

  He dived underneath the benches as Valour’s sword struck the ground where he had been standing, advancing on Corsair as he scrambled under the seats. Corsair looked up to see Valour on top of the benches, sword positioned to stab downwards. He rolled before the doberman’s longsword struck the floor. Valour yanked it back up for a second attempt. Corsair advanced before rolling again, narrowly missing being impaled against the wooden floorboards.

  Corsair dodged one more stab before rushing forwards and feeling his sword’s grip in his paw, clambering on to a bench and standing. Valour leapt on to his bench and swung as he did so. Corsair parried his blow. Overpowering the commander, he pushed him over the side of the benches and into the aisle.

  “Die!” Corsair yelled, leaping at Valour with a swing.

  The doberman yanked his body away and gradually retreated towards the podium at the front, blocking swing after swing from the prince. Corsair grunted with every blow he dealt, rage pulsing through him with the assistance of his adrenaline rush.

  Valour swung at his neck. Corsair dropped to one knee and stabbed at his stomach but his blow was deflected by the dog’s quick reflexes. Corsair blocked his swift counterattack. Both blades were held in a stalemate directly above his head, Corsair struggling with the combined force of his opponent’s strength and the gravity assisting him.

  Valour yelled out and kicked him in the chest, knocking the wolf backwards. He rolled down the aisle and got back up to his hind paws, backing away from the canine as he advanced. Their blades clashed repeatedly against one another, neither combatant giving ground, until Valour smacked Corsair in the side of the head with his hilt.

  He yelped and crashed into the benches to the side, seeing his opponent raise his blade up high and bring it down. His blade leapt to his aid, clanging against the other sword a small distance away from the wolf’s body. Both struggled there for a moment, gravity assisting Valour, until Corsair kicked at his stomach. The slight recoil from the canine was enough to allow him a chance to push away the blade and slash at the commander, forcing him back a few steps.

  “Stop this!” Winter Baron Tiberius yelled. “Corsair, lower your weapon! We can reach a deal!”

  Valour dodged back from Corsair’s swing, remaining motionless a metre ahead of him. The prince remained there, panting with his pink tongue hanging from one side of his mouth. He welcomed with open arms the chance to recover his stamina, waiting to cut down the doberman, and rage caused him to overlook the enemy’s uncharacteristic lapse in offense.

  Without any second-thought, Corsair yelled out and charged forward, bringing the sword down from above with all the force he could muster.

  It was a mistake.

  Valour, without any sign of exertion, parried the blow perfectly. The repelling force knocked Corsair off-balance, making him stumble backwards with his sword away from his body. He had a fraction of a second to see the gauntleted paw hurtling towards his face.

  A clean hit.

  The blow struck the side of his snout, raising a pained yelp from him as he tumbled back. His sword fell from his paws once again, landing behind Valour. He landed on his back hard, groaning as he hit the floor.

  “No!” Ophelia yelled. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare touch my son!”

  Corsair knew he was unarmed and vulnerable. Desperate, he shot up to his hind paws and charged Valour, snarling as he did so. The commander kicked him back as he lunged, creating distance between him and the attacker, before striking him in the side of the head. Corsair fell back down.

  “No!”

  “Ophelia, no!”

  World spinning, Corsair saw Valour raise his sword up to deliver the killing blow. He raised a paw, a futile attempt to beg for mercy, but nothing could be done for him.

  “Wait!”

  With a yell, Valour stabbed the sword downwards.

  Corsair clamped his eyes shut.

  He let out a yelp in anticipation, expecting to be left in agony as Valour’s sword tore into his body before he succumbed.

  But he felt nothing. There was no excruciating sting or agonising burn.

  What?

  He opened one eye.

  The hall was still around him. He lay on the floor, breath heavy and panicked. Nothing made a sound and, for a moment, he thought he was dead.


  Then he looked up.

  Valour’s sword had torn through the back and the bloodied tip emerged from the front. Blood oozed from the fatal ravine left in the torso, drenching the clothes in crimson, and the surrounding fur was turned from white to red.

  Valour’s eyes were wide.

  Winter Baron Tiberius was silent.

  Corsair’s ears folded back.

  Ophelia Sedrid’s face was taut with pain, eyes bulging and mouth wide open. She gasped and, trembling with agony, moved her paws towards the exit point. She coughed once and blood dribbled from her mouth, staining the white fur by her maw.

  She looked up and made eye contact with her son.

  “M-Mum, what…”

  Her eyes shimmered, tears dripping from her eyes, and then all life disappeared from them in an instant. Her arms dropped, her tail went limp, her mouth slackened and her face relaxed.

  The disgusting sound of Valour’s sword being dragged out through the lacerated flesh and bone was the last sound Ophelia Sedrid made, her lifeless corpse flopping forwards on to her front.

  The commander backed away, gasping. His paw’s grip slackened in shock and the bloodied sword fell, landing with a clang.

  Corsair’s eyes remained on the body of his mother. The details overwhelmed him; the blood, the bulging eyes, the stiff tail, the taut face, the motionless limbs.

  “M-Mum?”

  And then he screamed.

  “No!”

  He scrambled forwards towards the body of his mother and turned her over, revealing the cruel wound in her torso. He placed his paws on the wound and applied pressure, tears rushing down from his stinging eyes. He shook his head, pleading and begging.

  “No, Mum, no! No, you can’t! You can’t leave me here! Mum! Mum, I need you! I need you! You can’t leave me here – Mum!”

  No response.

  He shook her as hard as he could, trying to rouse her from her sleep, but her eyes remained vacant and she did not stir. Whimpering and pleading, his throat was choked with tears and the words he uttered became unintelligible. He shook his head again.

  “You can’t. This wasn’t meant to happen. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. I was… I was meant to save you. I was meant to escape here with you. I was meant to find Ragnee with you.”

  Closing his eyes, he sobbed and brought his head down, nuzzling his mother. He tried to coax her to wake up, to feel her heartbeat through the fur of her neck.

  Nothing.

  “Please, Mum, wake up! Wake up!”

  Ophelia Sedrid was not waking up.

  Corsair threw his head back and let out a miserable howl, the sound of a soul being extinguished in a single puff. Valour and Winter Baron Tiberius stood there, watching the young wolf grieve as he caressed his dead mother, trying to deny it was even happening.

  Corsair didn’t even care when he heard the door open, followed by the gasps of the returning legionnaires.

  “It’s him!”

  “He killed Sigil, get him!”

  He grasped his mother tightly.

  It did nothing against the torrent that ensued.

  He was struck on the back of the head and his grip loosened, more paws grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him back. He screamed and struggled, trying to fight his way back, but the team of legionnaires surrounded him and separated him from the body. No matter how much he screamed and begged, they did not let him crawl back to his dead mother.

  Instead, they let go of him and began to kick. He yelped and whimpered, reaching out as he was beaten and pummelled, suffering the harsh torture of the husky’s vengeful comrades. A feeble attempt to push them away rewarded him with a greater barrage of blows. All he could do was yell and writhe in pain on the ground.

  The young Sedrid was left alone in the world, his mother’s corpse lying a metre away from him, blood still pouring from the sword wound in her chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Corsair found that the only way to resist the endless pain was to curl up into a ball and cover his head, enduring the agony of the relentless blows dealt. The legionnaires swore and beat him, taking turns to avenge their dead comrade.

  Seconds passed before Winter Baron Tiberius called them off.

  “That’s enough, that’s enough!”

  Corsair remained in his ball and he was smart to do so. One legionnaire got a final kick at his stomach, making Corsair groan in pain as the air was driven from him, before stepping back and rolling his shoulders.

  “Get him up.”

  Two legionnaires sheathed their swords and came forward. They grabbed one arm each and hauled him up on to his knees, Corsair’s body was limp with pain. Everything ached – his side, his back, his front, his legs, his tail, his head. He didn’t dare move a muscle for fear of sparking a chain reaction of agony through his body. Only the two hounds gripping his arms held him upright. His head dangled downwards and he closed his eyes, squeezing two lone tears from them.

  Winter Baron Tiberius came forwards and knelt in front of him.

  “Corsair?”

  Mum. Please wake up. Mum.

  He felt one paw touch the bottom of his snout and gently tilt his head up, his stinging eyes opening to see a blurred Winter Baron before him. A blink revealed the look of sympathy on his face, eyes soft and ears down, but Corsair couldn’t see through the cloud of misery that engulfed him.

  Mum, please… I can’t do this alone. I can’t be the last Sedrid. Please get up.

  “Corsair, I’m so sorry. This was never meant to happen.”

  Corsair didn’t care. Sniffling, he didn’t move or react. His eyes lingered on the corpse of his mother behind the Winter Baron, willing her to get up, willing her to rise and hug him.

  But no matter how much he tried, Ophelia Sedrid was not coming back.

  Winter Baron Tiberius lowered his paw, allowing Corsair’s head to droop, and stood.

  “What happened here today is beyond tragic. Ophelia Sedrid was a caring mother and a loving wife to her husband, Arthur Sedrid, while he was alive. This is…”

  He couldn’t finish. Corsair continued to stare at the corpse, unable to avert his gaze.

  “What do we do, Winter Baron?” a legionnaire asked.

  He gave a sorrowful glance to the despairing wolf.

  “If the public finds out Ophelia Sedrid was killed by an Opulusian blade, there would be outrage. The Clan of the Great Lupine would be torn apart. We need to keep this secret. If it gets out, the security of the clan will be at risk. We cannot have our nation torn apart – especially while we’re in the middle of a war. It’ll be all the rabbits need to invade us further.”

  “We can’t just hide her,” a legionnaire said. “Ophelia Sedrid is a well-known figure. People will start to suspect something is wrong if she doesn’t turn up again, Winter Baron.”

  “And that’s…”

  A pained pause.

  “And that’s why I propose we make it so Corsair appears to be the culprit.”

  Corsair clamped his eyes shut, weakly shaking his head to deny the false account, but was too feeble to react with rage or anger. He continued to dangle from the arms of the legionnaires, a shell of a person.

  “No one can know the true nature of Ophelia’s death. We must tell the public when the time comes that Corsair was hiding nearby and, when he knew his mother was telling us his location, he attacked her and killed her.”

  “Understood, Winter Baron,” a legionnaire agreed, nodding.

  “For the time being, speak nothing of it. You two, escort Corsair to the jail. Take two of the Krosguard posted outside with you.”

  “Will he not be trialled?” a legionnaire asked.

  “If we make this an official case as we did with Ragnar, then what truly happened could be revealed. We can’t risk it. He goes to jail and…”

  He sighed.

  “And we execute him. I’ll deal with all the logistical and legal aftermath.”

  “Yes, Winter Baron.”

/>   Yanked up to his hind paws, Corsair was turned around and escorted out through the large doors of the Great Hall of Wolves. Even though he lacked the strength to look over his shoulder, he could feel the murderer staring into his back, the victor in their second conflict.

  The doors opened and Corsair was thrown out into the snow.

  He landed with a whimper, the freezing cold of the snow making the numerous bruises across his body sting. He feebly turned on to his front, trying to push himself up while sobbing, but slipped and fell back into the snow.

  “Corsair?”

  The despairing wolf pushed himself up onto his forearms and cried, looking up at the owner of the voice. He saw the braided tail before the face. Axel looked down at his friend with a look of bewilderment, eyes connecting with his, his helmet held by its rim in one paw.

  “Axel…”

  He tried to reach out for the apothecary but heard someone crunching through the snow towards him. He turned his head and found himself staring at a pair of armoured hind paws.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Corsair knew that voice.

  A steel blade eased down from above, its tip pushing against the bottom of his snout and forcing him to look up.

  The Butcher of Tomskon’s grinning face met his gaze, his free paw resting on one hip. His hellish companion was nowhere to be seen, slumbering in a stable somewhere, but it didn’t make the situation any better for him.

  “There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you, deserter.”

  He removed the blade as one of the two canines kicked Corsair in the side. He yelled out and rolled on to his back, clutching his body, clothes and fur soaked from the snow.

  “He needs help,” Axel said, stepping forward to help him. “He’s‒”

  “Take another step and you’ll be in as much pain as he is, Auryon.”

  Corsair locked eyes with Axel again. The apothecary displayed the urge to intervene in his face, left hesitant by the repercussions he would endure. One paw dangled dangerously close to the grip of his sword. Corsair shook his head at him.

  Axel, grudgingly, understood the message and moved his paw away from his weapon.