The Wolf On The Run (The Wolf of Corwick Castle Book 3)

by Terry Cloutier

  I sagged, unable to comprehend what had just happened as I felt the king’s sword touch me gently on each shoulder.

  “Rise, Lord Hadrack,” Tyden said. He placed a hand on each of my shoulders and drew me to him in a hearty embrace. “Is there anything else you wish?” he asked as he held me.

  I broke the embrace, wondering if I dare ask. Then I decided I had nothing to lose. “There is one other thing I would like, Highness.”

  “Name it and it is yours,” Tyden said without hesitating.

  So, I told him.

  28: A Fitting End

  Three weeks after the coronation, Shana and I stood above the graves of my father and sister. There were no mounds now, nothing to indicate that people had been buried here, but I knew without a doubt that I was in the right spot. I’d worried when we first set out that I might not be able to locate the graves after so long, but it was a concern I needn’t have bothered myself with. This peaceful place where I used to fish and laugh with my sister and friends was forever burned into my memory. I could no more forget it than I could what had happened to the village of Corwick when I was a boy. The stream was wider in places now, and the trees taller, but the bank where I’d laid them to rest appeared relatively unchanged.

  “You would have liked them,” I told Shana. “You and my sister would have been great friends.”

  Shana squeezed my hand. “I have no doubt, my lord.”

  I still hadn’t quite gotten used to Shana calling me lord. It seemed somehow wrong, yet she insisted, as did everyone else in Corwick. All except Jebido, of course. He had tried calling me lord once and I’d almost throttled him, making him swear never to repeat it again. My men and the vassals on my new lands were one thing, even Shana, since it pleased her so, but there was no way I would allow Jebido to call me that after all he had done for me. Our friendship went far beyond any title a faraway king might have given me.

  “It must be close to midday,” Shana said, trying not to sound worried and failing miserably.

  I nodded, knowing that the others would be waiting for us at the old farm. Shana and I were to be married in two weeks, and I understood how upset she was that I’d refused to change my plans for this day. As much as I loved her and understood her concerns, there was nothing she or anyone else could say that would sway me from this final task.

  “Is there nothing that will change your mind, my lord?” Shana asked as if reading my thoughts.

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the graves. “This is how things must be. We have gone over this.”

  Shana breathed in deeply, then let it out in frustration. “You are a stubborn man, Lord Hadrack.” She put her hands on either side of my head and turned me to face her. “Which is one of the reasons I love you so.” We kissed, deeply and passionately, until finally she broke away, avoiding my eyes. “I’m heading back, my lord. I will wait for you at the castle.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to watch?”

  Shana smiled sadly. “Sometimes, men must do things that women have no wish to witness. This is one of them.” She turned to go, then looked back at me. “I’ll be waiting on the battlements for you, my lord. Promise me you won’t be late.”

  “I won’t,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. “You have my word.”

  Shana squeezed my hand one last time, and then she headed off through the trees. I listened to her footfalls receding, the smile on my face slowly fading. Her concern was valid, and I knew there was a chance that I might not survive the day, despite what I’d just told her. I thrust the future from my mind. What would be would be, but right now was not the time to think of it. This moment was strictly for me and my father and sister.

  I knelt and put a hand on each of the graves. “I have missed you both so much these past years,” I said. “Jeanna, I’ve missed your laugh and good-natured ways, and Father, your wisdom and strength. I have tried to be a good man and live up to the vow that I made to you so long ago. But I know at times that I have wavered in that task, putting my needs above yours. For that, I am sorry. I reaffirm that oath to you both once again. Six of the nine no longer walk this world, and soon the rest will follow. I will not stray again. You have my word.”

  I stood, pausing over the graves as I prayed, then I turned and headed back through the trees. I was only eight years old when I carried my sister’s body and my father’s head to the gravesite from the farm. It had taken me hours to make the trip back and forth twice, most of that time stumbling and falling from exhaustion and grief. Now, the journey took less than half an hour as I walked the fields where once our farm had been, my footsteps echoing those my father, brother, and I had taken so long ago as we sowed and reaped our crops.

  The darkened trees that surrounded Patter’s Bog rose in the distance, swaying as they watched me silently, looking just as hostile and sinister now as they had when I’d taken refuge there from the nine. I could see buildings rising far to the north where the village of Corwick had been rebuilt. It was larger now, with a stone Holy House and even an inn, I was told. Horses were gathered where my house had once stood, grazing happily on the long grasses as my men waited for me. For whatever reason, the swathe where the buildings had been was growing wild and unattended, free of crops. An aberration, or a sign of respect? I wasn’t sure. A carriage drawn by two horses also waited nearby. I purposefully refused to look at it as I approached my men.

  “We were beginning to wonder if you were coming,” Jebido said, looking relieved.

  “I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” I grunted. I gestured to the carriage, still refusing to look in that direction. “How does he appear?”

  “Fit,” Jebido grumbled unhappily. The king kept him healthy and well-fed, just as you asked. He frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

  I unstrapped my sword and handed it to Hanley. “I have never been surer of anything.” I glanced at Finol, who stood waiting by the carriage. The old man seemed nervous and jittery. “How is the babe doing, Steward?”

  “The child does only three things, my lord,” Finol said with distaste. “Shit, eat, and cry.”

  I laughed, enjoying the look on the old steward’s face. “What were you expecting? Pleasant conversation?”

  “Well, I thought he would have enough manners to settle down and be quiet once in a while,” Finol said with a sniff.

  “That won’t happen for a few years yet,” Jebido chuckled. “If at all, so you had better get used to it.”

  I took off my vest, then my tunic, feeling the brisk wind on my bare skin. I motioned toward the carriage, finally acknowledging its presence. “Let the bastard out. I want to get on with this.”

  Finol pursed his lips as he reluctantly opened the carriage door, which squeaked loudly like a wounded bird. A big man appeared and stepped out cautiously, blinking in the sunlight. His hair and beard were longer since I’d last seen him, and not nearly as well-groomed, yet there was no mistaking who he was. Hervi Desh.

  “Ah,” Desh said as he looked around. He smiled at me. “So, back to where it all started.”

  “You recognize the place, do you?” I asked.

  Desh sniffed the air dramatically. “Of course. Even after so long, it still reeks of death.” He stretched and yawned, looking disappointed that I hadn’t reacted to his jibe. “I imagine you plan on adding to that stench with me,” Desh added, looking unconcerned. I had to hand it to him, the man might be a lying, murderous bastard, but he was certainly no coward. “I’m surprised at you, Hadrack,” Desh said. “I’d have thought you would come up with something a little more imaginative than just having your men slaughter me.”

  I said nothing as my men spread out warily around Desh, their weapons drawn. I could tell by the looks on their faces that none of them were happy about my instructions, but I knew they would follow through on them regardless of what happened next. I moved away, finally stopping in the spot that I’d chosen earlier, letting the tips of the tall grass tickle my fingers. Eventu
ally, I turned and regarded Desh, feeling calm and relaxed. I had pictured this moment in my head for weeks now.

  “This is where our house stood,” I said.

  “Is that so?” Desh replied, looking unimpressed. “It just looks like a field to me.”

  “Niko, Sim, please escort Advisor Desh closer,” I grunted.

  My men grabbed Desh roughly and guided him three feet from me. Then they backed respectfully away.

  “The table was right here,” I told Desh, stamping my foot. “Father built it from a huge butternut that had been struck by lightning in the forest. It took him a week to haul all the wood here.” Desh said nothing, though I could tell that he was listening. I pointed. “Over there was the room we slept in, and here, my father’s oak chest.” I smiled, remembering. “It was an ungainly, awful-looking thing, but he never once let us see what was inside. I used to imagine all manner of things lay within it, but I never had the nerve to open it.” I turned to face Desh. “Now, I’ll never know.”

  Desh just shrugged and looked up at the sky as I studied him. The man’s shoulders were thick and heavily padded with muscle, and I saw his knuckles were scarred and battered from a lifetime of scrapping. His nose had obviously been broken more than once, as well. I’d learned that Hervi Desh liked to kill men with his bare hands when he was younger and that he had been very good at it. He may have softened somewhat physically in the years spent in Gandertown, but he was still a fine specimen of a man even so. I was bigger and faster, and perhaps stronger, but he had a lot more experience than I did. All things considered, with his age and my relative inexperience, I thought everything added up to a fair match. Time would soon tell.

  I could feel the hot sun on my chest and I closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth. Finally, I opened my eyes, nothing on my mind now but the task before me.

  “Take your shirt off,” I told Desh, my tone all business now.

  “Why?” Desh asked. He glanced around warily at my men.

  “Don’t worry about them,” I said. “This is just between you and me. No one will interfere.”

  Desh smirked. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes,” I said, flexing the muscles in my arms to get the blood flowing. “My men have sworn that they won’t lift a hand against you, no matter what happens here today. You have my word on that.”

  “So, just us, then?” Desh said doubtfully, though I could see hope in his eyes now. “To the death?”

  “Just us,” I agreed. “Right here, in this spot where my family once lived, with only one of us walking away.”

  Desh thought about that, and then he grunted his acceptance. He took off his tunic and threw it aside. The older man was hairy like a bear, with ropey, thickly-veined muscles bulging along his arms. A long, jagged scar cut through the greying hair on his chest from his left nipple, down to his stomach.

  “I’m surprised that didn’t kill you,” I said, motioning to the scar.

  “It was a near thing,” Desh admitted. He cracked his knuckles and crouched, waiting for me to make the first move.

  I began to circle warily with my hands held low in front of me. I would have rushed forward in a rage in years past, but now I took my time as my men ringed us, urging me on. I was almost twenty-one years old and stood four inches over six feet while weighing close to two hundred and sixty pounds. I was no longer a boy, but a fully grown man—one bent on vengeance. Desh was shorter than me, but just as wide and looked as strong as an ox. I knew the fight would be bloody and prolonged, which was exactly what I wanted.

  “You’re a fool for doing this,” Desh said, looking confident. “And now you are going to pay the price for that foolishness.”

  Desh lunged forward without warning, lashing out with his right fist. The blow caught me on the cheek as I staggered backward in surprise, feeling blood start to flow. I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand, then came forward. Another blow landed, this time with Desh’s left fist. I hadn’t seen it coming at all and it caught me on the jaw, twisting my neck painfully around just as Desh’s right fist slammed into my stomach. I grunted, wobbling as Desh hooked a foot out from under me. I fell, rolling over in the grass as Desh tried to cave in my skull with his boot. I grabbed his foot and twisted, tumbling him to the ground as I bounced to my feet.

  Desh was already rising when I reached him and I struck him hard in the face with my right fist. Blood sprayed from Desh’s nose, but the older man surprised me by ignoring it. He bellowed like a bull and grabbed me around the midsection, lifting me off the ground before throwing me over his head with a grunt of effort. I landed on my side awkwardly, stunned as my men screamed at me in warning. I rolled over onto my back, both feet poised above me as I kicked out blindly, catching Desh unprepared. The older man groaned as my heels sank into his belly. He fell back, gasping for air.

  I rose, blood streaming into my left eye from a cut on my forehead. I blinked it away, closing on Desh and shrugging off the man’s off-balance punch that still had enough force to numb my left shoulder for a moment. I struck at him with savage precision, pummeling his face with three powerful, rapid blows that sent him reeling in desperate retreat, his face a bloody, swollen mess. I could see panic in Desh’s eyes as I stalked toward him and I screamed a challenge, certain that I had him now. The older man continued to back away from me, until finally he stumbled in the long grasses and fell. I growled in triumph, standing over him and reaching for his throat just as his knee caught me soundly between the legs. I howled in agony.

  Now it was my turn to retreat on shaky legs as Desh rose and came for me with ferocious speed and power, punching and kicking anything he could reach. I protected myself from his blows as best I could, fighting to breathe and trying to block out the searing, biting pain from my groin.

  “You are weak, boy!” Desh hissed at me as he struck. “Weak and slow.”

  The older man grabbed my hair, pinning my head between his arm and body as he squeezed relentlessly. I began to gag, fighting desperately for air. I only had moments, I knew, then it would be over. I reached desperately for Desh’s legs and lifted him as high as I could, then I turned and slammed him into the ground. Desh’s grip on me weakened and I spun away from him, retching as I hunched over on all fours.

  I watched Desh rise ten feet from me, his face twisted with hatred as he came for me. I waited, knowing what he was going to do. The kick came, quick and vicious, heading for my stomach. I dropped beneath it, my back to the ground as I grabbed his boot and jerked upward. Desh cried out, landing on his ass, then I was up. I grabbed the older man by the hair and dragged him to his feet, slamming two lightning punches into his stomach. Then, as he sagged from the blows, I picked him up by the neck and legs, wobbling from his weight as I held him over my head.

  “For Corwick!” I shouted at the sky.

  I lowered myself to one knee in a smooth, fast motion, smashing Hervi Desh’s struggling body heavily onto my upraised leg. Desh screamed in agony just as I heard a sharp crack ring out. I knew instinctively that his back had just broken as he went limp in my arms.

  It was over.

  I lowered Desh to the ground, where he lay sprawled on his crippled back, unable to move. I thought for a moment that he might be dead, but then he blinked, his mouth working as he fought to speak. I waited, kneeling as I stared at him with pitiless eyes.

  “Kill me,” Desh finally managed to say, his hand tugging weakly at my arm.

  I shrugged him off contemptuously. That would be too easy. I slowly stood and looked up at the sky as several birds flew overhead, calling to each other as they headed north toward the new village of Corwick. The wind rose, sweeping my hair from my face, while the grass began to dance as though possessed by the souls of those long dead celebrating Desh’s fall.

  I closed my eyes. Everything seemed so peaceful now, so different from the last time that I had been here. I remembered the smoke and the smell of burning flesh, with bodies lying everywhere, torn and shattered.
I’d had to walk through those bodies, looking for my father, while all manner of scavengers plucked and ripped at the corpses. It is a memory that I have never been able to shed from my mind, no matter how hard I have tried. I don’t expect that I ever will.

  Finally, I turned away, heading toward my horse while ignoring Desh’s feeble pleas to end his life. I paused and looked back as Jebido motioned over my shoulder toward Patter’s Bog. A lone wolf sat watching from in front of the stone wall that ringed the bog that I’d helped build as a child. Overhead, the dark forms of several vultures were already circling.

  “A fitting end to the bastard,” I told Jebido.

  I swung up into Angry’s saddle, then paused as I saw a rider coming toward us. My first thought was that it was Shana, returning after having changed her mind. But then the rider drew closer and I understood who it was. I choked back a sea of emotions, waiting with my men as Baine approached, stopping his horse a pace from mine. We stared at each other, neither quite knowing what to say.

  “So, I missed it, then?” Baine finally asked as he studied my bloodied and battered face.

  My friend’s voice seemed soft and unassuming, yet the words had an edge to them—an edge of hardness. When last I’d seen him, Baine had still been a boy on the cusp of manhood, but now he appeared different. There was an assuredness about him that hadn’t been there before. A quiet confidence and perhaps even pride that he now wore easily.

  “You did,” I nodded. I looked back to where Desh lay dying, and I smiled grimly. “But it was a damn fine fight just the same.” I focused again on Baine, one eyebrow raised. “And what about you? Is it done?”