“Look out!” someone yelled.
Corsair looked over his shoulder and saw a legionnaire racing after him, knocking wolves aside as he advanced. He fell backwards and tried to scramble back, shaking his head and raising his paws up to shield himself.
“Wait!” he pleaded.
A wolf darted across and stabbed the dog in the side, puncturing through his armour plating and making him yelp. Before the legionnaire could react, she drew her dagger out and slashed the legionnaire’s throat, causing blood to spurt from the wound. The legionnaire reeled back and fell. Corsair’s eyes rested on the convulsing corpse of the legionnaire, panting, before he looked up at his saviour.
“Up, get up!” Rohesia bellowed, offering a paw.
He took her paw and pulled himself up, the archer steadying him before putting his arm over her shoulder and guiding him down the path.
“How did you‒”
“No time, Corsair, we need to move!”
He nodded weakly and looked over his shoulder at the chaos. The Opulusians were forging a path after him, stepping over dead bodies as they carved their way into the wolves. More and more legionnaires rushed in behind them, arriving from their posts to reinforce. Corsair watched as one wolf was struck by three crossbow bolts, going down with a shriek.
Then his green eyes saw the Butcher of Tomskon break through the crowd, rushing after the duo at astonishing speed. A female wolf stepped out, a stone in her paw to attack the butcher. Without hesitation, he sidestepped the swing and slashed her down. She screamed in anguish, collapsing on to her side as crimson began to pour.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sedrid?” the Butcher of Tomskon screamed.
“Rohesia, behind!” Corsair said.
She looked over her shoulder and saw the incoming monster. Grunting, she pushed him off her and further down the path.
“Keep going, don’t stop!” she ordered, drawing her bow.
Corsair lingered there for a moment, looking down the path. There, not too far away, he could see a squad of ictharrs waiting. All but two of them waited with a rider in the saddle. A few wolves were standing in front of it, guarding it, and one waved vigorously at the wolf.
“I said don’t stop!”
He began to move forwards, advancing towards the ictharrs, before he looked over his shoulder again. He saw the Butcher of Tomskon charging towards Rohesia, sword ready to swing. She fired. The arrow deflected off his chest, leaving a small dent where the head had struck the plating. He recoiled and slowed momentarily, caught unaware by the shot, but prepared himself for the next projectile. Rohesia fired again and he dodged to the right, pushing towards her. Drawing her dagger, she stabbed forwards at the Butcher of Tomskon’s throat only to have her attack deflected.
“Out of my way!”
He shoved her to the side, knocking her down into the snow, and approached Corsair.
“I should have known you’d run away from a fight, Sedrid!”
Corsair raised his paws to shield his head, stumbling backwards, but could do nothing as the Butcher of Tomskon brought his sword back to swing from the side.
Rohesia charged him, attacking with the dagger. It sparked against the armour and failed to penetrate. He yelled and turned, swinging at the archer and missing as she dodged back.
“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?”
She lunged, snarling as she did so, but he kicked her down on to the ground and brought the sword down. Rohesia jerked her body to the side, the blade eating through the snow beneath her, and she snapped her jaws at the butcher. Without any exertion, he knocked her face away with one gauntleted paw and then placed it over her throat. She gave a cut-off yelp, kicking and struggling against him, her eyes bulging. He attempted to finish her with one swift swing into her side but the archer’s paw shot out and grabbed his wrist, struggling without air.
“All that flair and you can’t even fight back,” the Butcher of Tomskon chuckled.
Rohesia was dying.
“Corsair, come on!”
He looked back at the wagon – he could make it while he was distracted with Rohesia, evading death once more and escaping capture.
But she’ll die.
And that was enough of a reason for him to turn around and tackle him.
He flung himself at the Butcher of Tomskon, knocking him off Rohesia and to the side. Both rolled through the snow, separating, but the butcher quickly got to his hind paws and grabbed his sword from the ground. Corsair scrambled back as the assailant approached with sword raised high.
“I’m not done with you, bastard!” a voice screamed from behind the wolf.
McVarn, bleeding from the head, charged from behind and swung. The insult alerted the Butcher of Tomskon to his presence and made him turn, metal meeting metal.
“I never liked you, you sadistic piece of shit,” McVarn growled.
“Likewise, old timer. Likewise!”
They engaged, swinging and slicing at each other, giving Corsair the distraction he needed. He saw Valour breaking through the crowd, charging towards the alpha.
And, not too far behind him, Thornfang was hurrying towards her master.
“Come on, come on!” Rohesia gasped, helping him up.
The two wolves hurried towards the ictharrs, leaving the raging battle behind them. He heard Quickpaw yap to him as they approached, urging them to move faster. The other wolves rode forwards towards the fleeing duo and enveloped them, eyes peeled for any approaching cavalry.
“We need to move, now, hustle!” Axel yelled from Arwenin’s saddle.
“I’ll help you up, come on!” Rohesia yelled.
They helped Corsair up into Quickpaw’s saddle, Quickpaw lowering his body down to make it easier. He snatched the reins and pulled himself up, feeling Rohesia clamber up behind him. She drew her bow again, fetching an arrow from her quiver.
“We’re ready!” Axel yelled. “Let’s go, come on!”
He looked over his shoulder.
Within a minute, the battle was lost. The remnants of the rioters fled in droves down alleyways and paths, leaving many dead and wounded behind. Squads of legionnaires jogged down the main pathway, converging on wounded rioters to arrest them whilst others chased after the escaping wolves.
Corsair could see Alpha McVarn fending off both Valour and the Butcher of Tomskon. The black wolf struggled under the pressure of defending two sides, shifting his focus from one side to the other repeatedly.
Come on, McVarn.
But it was too much for the alpha to handle. As he fought off the lieutenant, Valour reached forwards and ripped the sword from his paw. The commander tossed it away, forcing him to turn around and surrender with sword aimed at his throat. The alpha froze, confronted by a sharpened blade.
He forgot about the one behind him.
The Butcher of Tomskon, despite seeing him surrender, rammed his sword through the alpha’s back. The blade shot through and protruded from his front, summoning a scream from McVarn.
No!
The Butcher of Tomskon shoved him off the blade. He ignored the commander’s reprimands and hurried away, gesturing to someone.
Then Corsair saw him jump up into Thornfang’s saddle and chase after them, slamming his visor down over his face and drawing a javelin. Three riders broke free from the crowd, joining the pursuit.
Rohesia noticed them, too.
“Corsair, ride! Ride!”
Adrenaline gushing through his veins, he snapped at the reins. Quickpaw bounded forwards, Harangoth to his left and Arwenin to his right. The Krosguard riders around them followed, looking over their shoulders as they rode.
The Butcher of Tomskon hurled a javelin.
“Look out!”
A javelin thudded into a rider’s back, powering through the armour and pushing its way out through his chest. He yelped and slumped off one side of his ictharr, rolling away as his comrades rode on.
“Fire back!” Axel yelled. “Fire back!”
<
br /> Rohesia fired an arrow back at the Butcher of Tomskon. He didn’t even flinch as it flew past him, reaching for another javelin.
“Weave! Move around!”
Corsair drew the reins left and right, ignoring the burning pain of his arms and legs. He felt the air tear beside him as a javelin missed Quickpaw, embedding itself into the snow. Rohesia returned fire alongside the other riders accompanying them, trying to deter the pursuers.
“There’s the gate!”
The eastern gate stood wide open, leading out into the open plains of the Clan of the Great Lupine. Hope burned inside Corsair’s heart at the idea of surviving the ordeal, of escaping his fate.
“It won’t stay open for ever!” Axel yelled.
Another Krosguard soldier went down, his ictharr killed beneath him and sent sprawling into the snow. Corsair peered over his shoulder to see Thornfang drawing up close behind, her rider glaring through the holes in his helmet.
“Hit him!” Corsair yelled.
“I’m out of arrows!”
He felt that hope begin to extinguish as he saw Thornfang accelerate up behind him, maw opening slowly as he neared Quickpaw’s hind legs. Those serrated fangs glistened with saliva, prepared to shred through flesh.
Thornfang brought her jaws back and thrust them forwards.
Arwenin’s rear legs shot back as she ran, striking Thornfang in the side of the face. The beast yelped, caught off-guard by the ambush, and stumbled. The Butcher of Tomskon yelled out as he flew forward over his steed and into the snow, rolling across the ground and coming to a halt. Quickpaw glanced over to his saviour, making eye contact as they ran, before looking ahead and continuing to run for his life.
“The gates are closing!”
Corsair looked ahead.
Opulusian legionnaires stood on the east wall, one pulling back on the mechanism to close the large doors. They began to swing shut, creaking back into place.
If those gates close, we’re all dead.
“Faster, Quickpaw! Faster!”
He snapped at the reins.
“Hyah, hyah!”
Quickpaw yowled as he pounded forwards as fast as he could, leading the remainder of the squad towards the door. Corsair closed his eyes as he saw the doors begin to shut, expecting to be squashed as they ran through, but felt the doors breeze past as they barrelled out into the open. The rest of the rescue team were right behind him, barely making it through before the gates shut with an earth-shaking thud. Their pursuers were trapped on the other side, barred from giving chase by their Opulusian comrades.
“Look out!”
Crossbow bolts began to rain down on them from above, legionnaires leaning over the side to take shots at the escapees. Not needing to be urged to do so, they accelerated away from the chaos of Grand Wolf Plains and disappeared into the winter fields of the Clan of the Great Lupine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Valour’s eyes lingered on the closed east gates, knowing that by the time they were reopened Corsair and his rescuers would be out of sight. Cursing under his breath, he slid his longsword back into its scabbard and let his eyes linger on where he had last seen the escapees.
“Comosol!” the legionnaires behind him yelled in New Opulusian.
“What is it?” he turned.
“We’ve dealt with most of the rioters and the others have fled. What are our orders?”
His eyes glanced over the legionnaire’s shoulder and rested on the distant sight of the town centre. Bodies were strewn across the ground, the blood of the wounded mingling with the blood of the dead. Howls of pain echoed along the path, coming from hound and wolf alike.
“How many are wounded?”
“We haven’t got a clue, Comosol.”
“Search the town centre and look for survivors. Get them help from our doctors.”
“And the wounded rioters?”
“Them, too.”
“But they helped Sedrid escape, Comosol,” another legionnaire said.
“Punishing them won’t change anything right now. All that matters is that we save as many lives as we can – go!”
“Of course! Dominus patria regis, Comosol!”
Saluting, the legionnaire turned and beckoned for his fellow soldiers to follow as he rushed back towards the aftermath of the battle. Valour watched them for a moment, wincing as he heard a wail of despair echo from the town centre.
He heard something padding towards him and turned.
Lieutenant Maximus of the Krosguard rode in the saddle of his hellish steed. He came to a stop just before the commander, the trio of riders behind him following suit.
Valour growled.
“You killed him.”
“Is that what you’re concerned about? McVarn?”
“He was surrendering. I had his sword. He didn’t need to be killed.”
“The old fool helped Corsair escape.”
“He could have given us information and, even if he couldn’t, he was surrendering.”
“He tried to kill both of us. He got what he deserved.”
The lieutenant’s expression betrayed him. A look of pride sat upon his face, made ever so annoying by that smirk, and this eliminated any chance that he killed the alpha out of necessity. Valour knew he killed him out of choice.
“Corsair got away thanks to you.”
“I’m not going to shift blame like a pup. I think you should return to your duties and report to your Winter Baron. Do something useful with your time instead of waste mine.”
Lieutenant Maximus growled. They held each other’s gaze, the other Krosguard soldiers waiting behind their superior, before the lieutenant muttered something under his breath and snapped at the reins. Thornfang padded away, grunting at the commander, with the other Krosguard in tow.
Valour, following them with his gaze, focused on the distant chaos of the riot.
This wasn’t meant to happen.
He looked down at the Krosguard alpha’s body, the crimson pooling from his stomach as it oozed from the grievous wound he had sustained. The snow was stained with the black wolf’s blood, blossoming beneath him. His eyes stared up to the sky.
That’s when he saw the lupine’s eyes move, his eyelids slowly closing and opening.
Valour gasped and dropped to his knees, placing a paw on his shoulder.
“McVarn, can you hear me? Can you see me?”
Alpha McVarn let out a wounded wheeze.
Sounds like he’s hurt bad.
But then, a second later, Valour realised something.
He was laughing.
The commander knelt in silence, listening to the scorned laughter of the black wolf, his head slowly turning to look into the doberman’s eyes.
“I call… myself a good… judge of character… but I let that sack… of twisted shit kill me…”
“You’re not gonna die, Alpha, don’t worry!”
Valour looked back down the path.
“Medicalis! Medicalis!”
Alpha McVarn patted Valour’s leg.
“S-save it. I don’t want…any charity from you. I’d rather die… than let you Opulusians…be the one to save me.”
“Why, Alpha? Why all of this? All of this bloodshed for one wolf?”
Alpha McVarn met his gaze.
“You’re one to talk… all of this bloodshed… for one legionnaire.”
Valour didn’t respond. Alpha McVarn spluttered and retched, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Valour could see his life leaving his body. It ebbed from him like the blood from his stomach, the brave heart in his chest slowing.
The dying Krosguard alpha held eye contact with him, meeting the dog’s pair of golden eyes. He moved his paw up and closed the gauntlet around Valour’s paw, trying to squeeze it with all his might. He used this to lift himself up slightly, leaning in to his face.
“Long‒”
He coughed.
“Long… live… the Sedrids.”
With that, Alpha Jonah
McVarn of the Krosguard let himself drop back to the ground.
He lifted his vacant eyes up to the sky and, with a final breath, died.
Silence.
Valour stayed crouched by his side for a moment, still holding the alpha’s limp metal paw. With a deep exhale, he lowered it on to the snow, standing and looking back to the east gate. The doors were now open, a group of Krosguard soldiers rushing out on the backs of ictharrs, but he knew their search would be fruitless.
He looked down at the corpse of the alpha.
“I’m sorry.”
He closed the alpha’s eyes. Giving one last look at the deceased body of Alpha McVarn, he turned and hurried in the direction of Julian Krosguard’s statue.
An hour later, the ictharrs trudged along after the adrenaline-fuelled sprint had depleted their stamina, pink tongues drooping from the corners of their mouths. Their riders were equally tired, weathered by the cold winds.
There was nowhere in the clan where it was safe to take refuge. After the escape, Rohesia knew that orders would be given out to scour the clan’s territory until Corsair was found. She couldn’t risk trusting the people to hide them, yet, she struggled to think of where to go next. War raged in the east. The south led towards the Kingdom of Loxworth and the Allied Procyoni States – countries that wouldn’t hesitate to paw them back over to their clan. There was no guarantee the west was any different.
They couldn’t trust anyone – they had to travel to the barren wastelands of the Deuvick Feldanas, where few people would dare to go.
Quickpaw panted with every step, heaving himself through the snow. Arwenin was in an equally exhausted condition and Harangoth was only a bit better, wincing as he carried his weary body forwards.
“We need to stop,” Rohesia said. “They’re exhausted.”
“No one’s following us?” Axel asked, pushing up his visor and looking over his shoulder.
The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit Page 33