“Is that so? I never thought your clan was particularly charitable. Then again, years have passed by.”
She knelt in front of Corsair, her face inches from the wolf’s snout. His eyes were half-open and his breathing so heavy that Rohesia could hear it from where she knelt.
“I find his lack of clothes rather… primitive.”
“Ronny ain’t got no clothes beneath those slacks!” a bandit said.
“Shut it, Simon!”
The crowd broke into roaring laughter and Lady Riskar joined in with them while Rohesia’s eyes focused on Corsair. She wanted the wolf to turn and meet her gaze, to show some form of sign that he was with them, but he didn’t move.
Corsair’s in bad shape. I have to do something.
“Any reason why you are journeying north?”
He didn’t answer.
She waved a paw in front of his face.
“Hello?”
Corsair let out a weak groan of exhaustion, not moving. Lady Riskar gave a snort of derision and looked back towards her crowd of minions, shaking her head and leaning in.
“Come on, pup, time to wake up. It is rude to ignore people speaking to you.”
The grey cat placed a paw on the left side of Corsair’s neck.
In a second Rohesia witnessed Corsair become overwhelmed with a new surge of energy. With a terrifyingly loud bark and snarl, Corsair snapped his jaws at the bandit leader and sent her reeling back from the shock, falling on to her rear. The group of minions all drew their weapons and the two guards behind Corsair pulled him back, one drawing a dagger.
“Don’t you hurt him!” Rohesia yelled. “Don’t you touch Corsair! Touch him and I’ll make you regret it!”
The onlookers gasped condescendingly, some patronising her further in Sikkharan and applauding her defiance. Laughter spread from bandit to bandit as her captors hauled her back, smacking her across the head again.
“Speak when spoken to,” the bandit warned.
Rohesia looked back up at Lady Riskar, expecting her to antagonise Corsair further, but was surprised to see an expression of confused shock upon her face. She stared at the archer, eyes and mouth wide, still sitting in the snow.
“Milady?” the canine said. “What’s going on?”
“Whose name did you just utter?” she asked.
Rohesia remained silent, cursing herself for speaking. The cat’s followers shared the same bout of confusion, murmuring to one another.
“What was his name?” she asked, getting up. “Corsair? Did you say Corsair?”
Rohesia was reluctant to answer.
“It is a simple enquiry, wolf. Is his name Corsa‒”
“Yes, for the love of God!” Axel yelled. “Corsair Sedrid, son of Arthur and Ophelia Sedrid, next in line for Winter Baron! God, was it that hard Rohesia?”
She didn’t care about the apothecary’s outburst. She watched the cat turn to face Corsair again, looking up to the guards with a bewildered look.
“Let them go,” she said.
“Milady, what is‒”
“I said let them go.”
The bandits, confused, stepped back from the captives. Kilik removed the dagger from Axel’s neck and the others took their paws off the captives’ shoulders. Corsair somehow remained upright on his knees, body trembling.
“I should have remembered those green eyes.”
Lady Riskar focused her gaze on Corsair, eyes wide in amazement.
“Corsair Sedrid. It’s been 10 years.”
Epilogue
Valour walked through the doors of the Great Hall of Wolves, helmet under his arm and bloodied sword slid into scabbard. His ears perked up as he entered, stopping by the door so as not to disturb the meeting between the Winter Baron and his numerous advisors. He saw a soldier standing up ahead, leaning against one of the benches with arms folded across his chest and an uninterested look on his face.
“The judges are outraged,” one advisor said. “They are claiming there was no trial to speak of. That Corsair was sentenced to death without having his case given a proper review.”
“I understand there is a lapse in protocol regarding Corsair but, right now, we can’t focus on that.”
“When shall we focus on it?” a second said. “You defied clan law, Winter Baron. You are meant to uphold it – not bend it to your will when you see fit!”
“I assure you that this was a mere lapse in protocol. Nothing more. As I said, we must find Corsair. Have messenger birds been sent out?”
“Many. Other towns are carrying out searches as we speak, Winter Baron,” one said.
“And our neighbours to the south?”
“Official envoys have been sent to warn them of Corsair. There’s no doubt that our allies will comply.”
“What do you think our chances of finding him are?”
The advisors all hesitated, unsure of how to calculate the odds. One spoke for them.
“There is every chance he is already miles and miles away, Winter Baron. Those who rescued him may have taken him south, east, west or even north to the Deuvick Feldanas.”
Winter Baron Tiberius shook his head.
“They wouldn’t journey south into more allied territory. Nor would they go east towards a warzone. Either they’ve gone north or west, which means we cannot pursue them. The Kingdom of Wyndr will not heed our words and I will not send soldiers into the north. We focus on searching our land and the south for now.”
“And if we don’t find him, Winter Baron?”
“Let’s not focus on that. We will find him, one way or another. If that is all, I would like to adjourn our meeting.”
“We adjourn meetings, Winter Baron,” one of the advisors said as they stood. “Do not forget your place.”
Without another word, the group of advisors stood and walked away. None acknowledged the commander as they left, not uttering a word.
“There he is,” the soldier scoffed. “Our murderer in shining armour.”
“Quiet, Maximus.”
Lieutenant Maximus sneered and pushed himself off the bench, glaring at the doberman. Valour ignored him, focusing on the Winter Baron.
The brown wolf sighed and stepped down from the podium. Weariness clear in his face, he turned and sat down on the front bench, placing his head in his paws. Valour stood for a moment, watching in silence, before he decided to come forward. The metal plating over his hind paws caused each step to echo through the empty hall, emphasising how vacant it was.
He stopped by the end of the bench Tiberius sat on. Lieutenant Maximus watched.
“I take it the situation is under control?” the Winter Baron said, rubbing his face.
“Dealt with to the best of our ability, Winter Baron.”
A pause.
“How many people died?”
“Fifty-two, Winter Baron.”
“How many of them were civilians?”
“Forty-two, Winter Baron.”
“And wounded?”
“Seventy-eight, Winter Baron.”
Winter Baron Tiberius sharply inhaled and gently let the air out, leaning back against the bench and looking up at the Opulusian commander.
“You dogs have royally messed this one up, eh?” Lieutenant Maximus said. “Couldn’t even catch the little runt while he ran to his friends.”
They ignored him. The Winter Baron continued.
“What did McVarn do to‒”
“He’s dead, Winter Baron.”
Valour glared at Lieutenant Maximus from over his shoulder.
“Your trusted lieutenant here made sure of that.”
Lieutenant Maximus chuckled.
“For a commander, you’re way too hung up on one dead wolf.”
“He was surrendering.”
“He was a traitor, Winter Baron,” the lieutenant said to Tiberius. “I did you and this clan a favour killing him. He would have just been more trouble down the line.”
“Because killing a military leader during wartime is anywher
e close to a smart move? Don’t act like you know what you’re talking about, Maximus, you killed him because you wanted to. There was no need for it.”
“Don’t talk to me about killing as if you know nothing, mutt. You don’t think I know about Ophelia?”
Valour stopped. The lieutenant grinned.
“You slaughtered an innocent wolf. She was in custody – your custody. Unarmed. She couldn’t have even put up a fight.”
“Lieutenant,” Winter Baron Tiberius warned.
“At least I killed someone who had it coming. Someone who wasn’t innocent. You just went and murdered the late Winter Baron’s wife for no good reason, even though she was unarmed. She had already surrendered. And yet you killed her.”
“Lieutenant.”
Silence. Winter Baron Tiberius stood and turned to the quarrelling lieutenant and commander.
“This situation is already enough of a mess without your antics getting in the way. Make sure everything is under control outside and that all the corpses are being disposed of.”
Lieutenant Maximus sighed.
“Fine, Winter Baron. All I’m saying is that McVarn is dead and buried for good reason. That vacancy is gonna need to be covered. I mean… Alpha Maximus Verschelden has a better ring to it, doesn’t it?”
The Winter Baron ignored his claim of succession in the Krosguard, glaring at him. As the lieutenant turned to walk to the door, he stopped by Valour’s side.
The wolf held eye contact with the doberman for a moment. In that look, Valour saw a disturbing concoction of intense maddened excitement and furious anger, all brewing behind his terrifying gaze.
“You’d think with all that polished gear and all those markings you’d know how to make sure an execution doesn’t go wrong,” Lieutenant Maximus scoffed. “Guess they make just anyone commander nowadays.”
Valour didn’t waste his breath on him. They held each other’s gaze before, eventually, the lieutenant padded out of the Great Hall of Wolves.
“I apologise for the lieutenant,” Winter Baron Tiberius said. “His bitter and cruel attitude can be disturbing for most people.”
“Disturbing is a hell of a way to call him a soulless bastard. How the hell is he even a lieutenant?”
“He is a skilled asset.”
“Skilled asset? He is a detriment and a liability. He should not be within a mile of military leadership.”
“Decisions were made to have him in the army as a result of his sentence and he proved himself during the war.”
“Well I hope nothing comes of that ‘Alpha Maximus Verschelden’ suggestion.”
The Winter Baron didn’t answer.
Valour snorted in contempt.
“You can’t seriously be considering it.”
“That decision is my prerogative, not yours.”
“He kills without second thought, Winter Ba‒”
“I said that decision is my prerogative. I do not want your input.”
Silence. Valour held his tongue. He watched as Winter Baron Tiberius bowed his head in thought, thinking of what to say.
Finally, he spoke.
“Jonah McVarn. He was never the one to let orders get in the way of what he thought was right. A blessing and a curse.”
A silence fell between them. Neither dared to break it, the events of the past day too tragic and unfortunate to comment upon for the moment. Valour bore a great deal of this guilt and he cast a shamefaced look down at his sword. The blood was still spattered along the blade, reminding him of the life he had taken in a vain attempt to kill Corsair.
“I failed you, Winter Baron. You and my king.”
“The blame is not yours to bear,” Winter Baron Tiberius said. “You can only do so much as an outsider to this clan. It was my responsibility to have coordinated this process better.”
“I killed her.”
The Winter Baron paused, caught off-guard by the sudden mentioning of her demise.
“Not intentionally. That was… that was Ophelia’s own unfortunate and tragic choice.”
Valour didn’t answer. He remembered what Ophelia Sedrid had said to him in defiance, standing up to protect her son.
I can assure you that you will never, never, overcome the love I have for my son.
“Those who have been wounded are being treated by apothecaries and doctors, Winter Baron. We’ve decided to give amnesty to those who were involved in the riot. The last thing we need is to punish them – it won’t do anything but widen the divide between my people and yours.”
“I can agree to that. Make sure they’re well-kept, well-fed and looked after.”
The Winter Baron met Valour’s gaze, eyes sullen with misery. He sighed.
“It’s a black day for the Clan of the Great Lupine.”
Outside, in the centre of Grand Wolf Plains, stood Julian Krosguard. Forever frozen in stone, the founder of the clan could only weep in silence as he gazed down on the slain bodies of the innocent, listening to the howls of despair echo across the plains.
…
The figure stood in the silence of the cave.
The cavern was illuminated only by a single torch on the wall opposite, casting light over the shattered relics of their imprisonment. Nature’s architecture formed mouths in the walls that lead into adjacent dimly-lit rooms and chambers.
Nothing stirred.
The figure stood there, motionless and patient, facing the wall.
Silence all around.
The end of the year was still far away.
They needed to be patient.
They needed to wait.
For everything would be as it was in the beginning…
…erased and renewed.
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About the Author
Harrison Giovanni Sansostri is a 19-year-old student from North London presently studying psychology at university. HG is also an actor and has done film, theatre and commercials for many years. HG started writing at a very early age with his first book published at just 12 years old, The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide, and his second book, The Chronicles of Derek Dunstable, published at 14 years old. He spent many years touring primary schools and promoting his books. He was also invited to participate in the Manx Literary Festival on the Isle of Man. He then took a creative break to focus on improving his writing skills and created the Vos Draemar series, writing the first in the seven-book series, The Sharpened Fangs of Lupine Spirit.
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