The Wolf and the Sorceress

by Brian Pemberton

  “Have you told Parlan that you are leaving?” he asked.

  “No. I thought we might tell him together.”

  Tyler fitted a grain-filled nosebag to Sox’s head and then, together they strolled companionably to the king’s quarters.

  “I will be sorry to see you go,” said Parlan. “I would still be a disgraced prisoner if not already dead, had you and Tyler not stood by me. I did not realise how many people here in the castle were on my side. They will all be rewarded for their loyalty, but the greatest rewards shall be yours and Tyler’s.”

  “Your Highness,” smiled Tyler, “I did no more than stand by a friend and wish nothing in return but your continued friendship.”

  He held out his hand towards Parlan, who grasped it firmly.

  “And I, your Highness, have a home to return to in Ikasar. My parents are not rich except in their love for each other, and my place, now that Tobyn is no more, is at their side. Besides which, my blood mother’s life is no longer in danger from the Master Sorcerer, and I can visit her without fear of us being stalked by the man who threatened us all.”

  “If ever you change your mind, and wish to return to Kallopia, there will always be a piece of land on which you can make a home, which I will enjoy having built for you.”

  “Thank you, but it seems unlikely that I would leave my own family. I will go in a couple of days, when the celebrations have finally come to an end.”

  “Then you must allow me to pay for your passage,” insisted Parlan, “it is the very least I can do. Just remember you will always be welcome here, in my kingdom and the castle, my.”

  He despatched a servant to fetch his chancellor, with orders as to what the chancellor should bring with him. When the chancellor bowed himself into the Royal presence, Parlan took the casket from the man’s hands and placed it upon a table. He dismissed him so he could be alone with his friends. He opened the lid with a theatrical flourish, and Nemeila gasped at the gold coins and jewellery that winked in the sunlight.

  “That surely cannot be for me?” said Nemeila, wide-eyed.

  “Indeed it is,” said Parlan, a broad grin revealing his white even teeth. “It is my pleasure to give it to you, a small price to pay for a land no longer threatened with war.”

  He took her hands and kissed each of her knuckles in turn. “You will both always be welcome here, and I sincerely hope it won’t be long before you return, if only for a visit.”

  He hugged Tyler to him like a brother. “My friend, I owe you everything. But for your belief in my innocence, and the risks that you took on my behalf, I would still be locked in a stinking cell or worse, my glazed rotting eyes staring sightlessly across the land from a spike over the main gates. My offer still stands; anything you wish to name, apart from the position of king.”

  Tyler laughed. “That job I leave in your capable hands, as for anything else, there is not much that I need, being the humble fellow that I am. Perhaps at a later date, something might come to mind, but for now I will settle for your continued friendship.”

  A few days later, they set out towards the southern coast, where Nemeila hoped to purchase passage aboard a ship sailing for Ikasar. As usual, Nemeila rode with Tyler on Sox’s broad back and as she relaxed, she leaned back against his firm body, allowing him to steady her with his arm. There seemed to be no rush to their journey, and they took in the sights along the way, stopping often when they came to a spectacular view or a shady resting-place. They had money to purchase lodging along the way, and both enjoyed the time spent together.

  During their leisurely journey to the coast, they had often heard the haunting cry of a wolf echoing across the quiet of the land. Each time Amber would prick up his ears and would often send back an answering howl. Nemeila was concerned about his future when she returned home; he would be a prize kill for any hunter and such a fine pelt would put a lot of food on their table. A day’s ride from their destination, as they rested for the night under the spreading canopy of a large oak, the eerie howls were wind-borne to their ears. Amber sat up, but didn’t move from Nemeila’s side.

  “Do you want to join the pack?” she whispered, running her hands down the sides of his silky face. “If you want to be with them, then go,” she said, “your job is finished here now that the sorcerer is dead, and no longer threatens my life.”

  Amber rested a gentle paw against her leg, and leaned closer to lick her ear. She crushed the wriggling wolf against her chest as he nuzzled her neck, and repeated that he should leave her.

  When the next howl drifted across the open countryside, Amber released himself from Nemeila’s arms and answered it. He loped away, turned briefly for one final look at the girl and boy then streaked out of sight. Nemeila couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled from her eyes, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffing loudly. “In his own way, he loves you,” comforted Tyler, “otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed as long as he did. But he is a wild animal at heart and needs his freedom to do what he was born to do; lead a pack of hunters.”

  “I know you are right,” she sobbed, trying to regain control, “but I will miss having him at my side. Life with me in Ikasar is not what I would wish on my wild friend.”

  When they finally reached the harbour, they found that, like before, there were not many ships along the quayside bound for Ikasar. It was seven days before they learned of a merchant who owned a splendid ship and was prepared to make a detour to Ikasar to accommodate her, for a price.

  The merchant’s ship was due to leave on the midnight tide and Tyler escorted Nemeila to her berth, to assure himself that she would be comfortable. The chest of coins had been disguised in a bundle of cloth and Tyler watched as Nemeila removed it. She opened the lid and handed Tyler a fistful of gold coins and a beautiful gem-encrusted brooch for his mother.

  “Life will seem dull in my village,” Nemeila sighed, “after all we have been through together.”

  “It will be even duller here, without you to brighten the sunrise and gild the moonlight,” Tyler confessed with a grin.

  “A poet!” she mocked, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “If you ever decide to become a sailor, visit me. It would be nice to know that you’re keeping well, and we can reminisce about our adventures.”

  “I will,” said Tyler, a sudden lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “But I might just visit without first becoming a man of the sea. There is enough money here for a passage at any time.”

  They hugged each other, neither wanting to be the first to break away. For the first time in his life, Tyler felt real heartache at the thought of never seeing someone again. The deckhands’ cries, as they made ready to set sail, reached their ears, and they both knew it was time for him to leave. Nemeila walked with him to the gangplank to say her final goodbyes.

  “Give my best to your parents,” he called, as he backed his way down the ramp, “I hope your father has recovered from his accident.”

  He waved enthusiastically as the ship drew away from the quay and stood transfixed until it was only a speck on the horizon.

  That night, as he ate supper at an inn, he heard terrible stories of several villages that had been razed to the ground, and all but a few inhabitants killed. Those who had been spared were young women, who had been abducted and taken back to ships anchored offshore further along the coast, where they were shackled in readiness to be sold as slaves or concubines.

  “There are four bands of men,” said the narrator, “totally merciless and ruthless in their cruelty. They converge on a village from all directions leaving no escape route. I was lucky when they attacked my village I managed to climb high enough into a tree out of sight, and sat there helpless and terrified as everyone below was slaughtered. I heard their leader ordering one group to take anything of value back to the ships and then regroup further inland.”

  Tyler put down his tankard, and, as he sat watching the foam settle on his ale, wondered who these men were. If they had ships, i
t followed that they were invaders from a distant country, and having plundered, pillaged and massacred the villagers, he hoped they would simply sail away. He wished now that Nemeila was still with him; alone he felt lost and unsure of what to do. Not only had he enjoyed her company but her intelligence, and the way that she handled herself would have been an asset in helping Parlan deal with this latest trouble.

  Thunder muffled her cry as Nemeila jerked upright on the bunk. Shivering, she drew the blanket around her. Trembling with cold and panic, she crept down beneath the covers, whimpering, tasting bitter vomit as it rose in her throat. She could sense the power radiating through her mind, but could not at first understand its origin. She closed her eyes and in the darkness radiated her thoughts outward, she clamped her fingers round the amulet, hoping that the stones might band together and come to her aid. The sorcerer Tobyn filled her mind. She saw the mocking cadaverous face of her adversary, which abruptly melted and reformed into that of a young blonde man, clean-shaven and handsome. Although she was not strong enough to probe his thoughts, she knew instinctively that his evil consciousness wanted to destroy all that stood in his path. She swung her legs from the bunk and stood, as the coverlet fell from her body she began to shiver in the frigid air of the cabin. She quickly dressed, then sought the captain.

  “I need to return to Kallopia,” she pleaded, “how soon before we reach a port?”

  “Probably about three weeks,” the man replied, “but it’s a small harbour and passage back might be a problem. Why do you wish this?”

  “It seems I have some unfinished business there,” she said, knowing she could not elaborate on the real reason.

  Her thoughts travelled to the boy she had left on the quayside; she would need him to understand her plight and help her if she returned to Kallopia. In her cabin she sat as if asleep, but her mind was actively occupied in attempting to penetrate his thoughts. As night began to fall she blinked open her eyes, her own head pounding from the strain; she was unsure if she had succeeded in contacting Tyler. In the galley, she ate a meagre meal, not out of hunger but because she needed all her strength if she was to embark in a war with a new foe.

  Tyler gathered up his belongings and headed for the stables. He paid the wide-eyed, noisily grateful boy who tended the animals a gold coin to ensure that Sox was well cared for during his absence. The waterfront taverns were still heaving with bodies and rowdiness, as he investigated each one until he found a bar where the local fishermen drank. He bought a mug of ale before joining a group of men eyeing him suspiciously, and waited for his chance to speak.

  “I need to sail after a merchant ship that left here on the last tide,” he said. “Are any of you willing to charter me your boat?” The men laughed, making Tyler feel ill at ease. “No matter how much you are offering, none of our boats would stand a chance that far out in the ocean. We only fish the local waters, it’s safer that way, besides we all have families and the risks far outweigh the reward.” “I will make it worth your while, and I will give you ten times more than you would earn in hauling up fish during the time you are at sea.” “Why don’t you ask old Ned, he’s got a boat, that’s him, over on the corner table,” one of the men indicated the sailor in question with the nod of his head. “Thank you,” said Tyler, studying the man they had singled out. “Can I buy you a drink?” offered Tyler, casting a shadow across the table in front of the old man. “And why would you want to do that, boy?” he asked, squinting up from the mug he was already clutching. “I have a proposition for you,” Tyler sat down, having ordered a pitcher of ale from a passing serving girl. “I need a fast boat to sail after a small merchant ship that left here earlier this evening. There is a girl on board that I must fetch back to these shores.” “Oh, so its love then, is it?” the old man sneered, disinterestedly. “Err, not exactly,” blushed Tyler. “This girl helped our new king to reclaim his throne. It was she who battled the old King’s sorcerer, and don’t ask me how, but I know she wants to return to help the king fight these murderous pirates who have invaded our land.” “How would you know that then, if she is at sea laddie? She send you a homing pigeon?” The old man cackled into his ale, which set off a fit of coughing and he hawked loudly onto the sawdust-covered floor.

  “Something like that,” Tyler shuddered, as he quickly moved his foot from the line of fire. “I will pay you well if you can catch up to her ship.”

  “First tide is just before dawn. You provide the provisions; I’ll supply the casks of drinking water. The charge will be two gold crowns. You can give it to my granddaughter when you see her. I don’t suppose you have a bed for the night, so you can sleep on the floor of my cottage. No more ale,” he insisted, placing a gnarled hand on Tyler’s arm. “You can’t sail a boat if you are drunk, and I’ll not sail with a man who can’t do his fair share of labour.”

  Tyler woke cold and stiff from the night on the stone tiled floor, to find the old man had already left the cottage.

  “He’s gone down to the harbour,” said the girl who had shaken him awake.

  “Then I will dress and follow him,” said Tyler. “Why didn’t he wake me himself?”

  “He is a proud man, and the fact that he can no longer fish the waters is breaking his heart. His hands are so crippled, that he can no longer cast and drag in a net, and I can’t understand why he offered to help you. He’s not put to sea for many months now.”

  Tyler saw kindness and love shining out of the girl’s eyes, looking after the old man had obviously prevented her from finding a man of her own and living her own life.

  “He told me to pay you,” said Tyler, “ten gold crowns.” The girl took the coins and dropped them jingling into a jug. “Thank you; it will help us survive a little longer, before the bailiffs turn us out. His boat is called Missy-Jess, named after my mother and myself,” said the girl. “I hope you manage to catch the merchant ship, she has quite a start on you.” As he turned to leave, Jess caught hold of his arm. “Take care of him for me; my grandfather is all that I have with my parents dead.”

  “I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure no harm befalls him.” Tyler assured the worried girl, who gave him a grateful smile in return.

  He chased down narrow alleyways, bruising his feet on the cobbles, towards the harbour, remembering to pick up the provisions for the journey, which had been his part of the deal. Labouring under the heavy load, he found the Missy-Jess ready to sail and, in time-honoured nautical etiquette, asked permission to come aboard. “Tide is nigh up,” croaked the old man. “Best you raise the sail.”

  Tyler secured the ropes with a skilled hand, which impressed the old man. “I see you can tie a knot then,” he said, with grudging admiration, “not many landlubbers can do that.” “Not many landlubbers would be chasing out to sea in a craft that is too small for the size of ocean that will surround her.” The old man grinned. “She’s a good boat, and has done me well for nigh on thirty summers. She will last out this voyage, you’ll see.” As they tacked away from the harbour, the men Tyler had spoken to in the tavern the previous night called after them. “If you can’t catch a mackerel, catch a sprat,” they jeered. “That old heap of yours will never catch up to a merchant in full sail.” Tyler saw hurt and shame bloom in the old man’s eyes. “Yes it will, you know nothing,” Tyler shouted back. He faced the old man. “Pay no attention, when we return, you will be the hero and they will be scorned for their arrogance.”

  “Where was she headed, the merchant?” inquired old Ned.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Tyler replied, “but I can feel the girl in my head, her thoughts will be our beacon. Will you trust my judgement?”

  “We will stay at sea until half of the provisions are used, then I will turn her about. A man cannot survive without water, and the sea has a very unforgiving nature for those who sail in ignorance and abuse her hospitality.”

  “Fair enough,” agreed Tyler, “but the gods will look kindly upon us, of that much I am sure.”


  They stayed on deck together during daylight hours, but when night began to fall, Tyler insisted that the old man get some sleep. He remained at the tiller and closed his eyes, opening his mind to Nemeila, hoping the sensation that had overcome him in the tavern prior to starting this journey, would make itself felt again. Without her guidance, they had no chance of finding the merchant, and if anything happened to the old man, despite his promise to the girl, he knew he would never be able to find his way back to land alone. The prospect of dying alone at sea sent a shiver of fear and panic down his spine.

  Dawn surfaced, gradually piercing the darkness with her roseate light. His eyes stung from the salt, and were raw and tired from staring at the inky blackness of the water. The old man finally stirred and woke, scratching himself and yawning widely. He dangled a fragment of metal from a length of string, which eventually stopped twirling and settled to point in one direction.

  “That’s magnetic North,” confirmed the old man. “With this, you can tell what way we are bound. Does your head still say we are on course?” he asked somewhat sarcastically.

  “Yes,” said Tyler, “if I should fall asleep, stay on the course I have been following.”

  The old man reclaimed the tiller, and Tyler thankfully curled up on the hard damp boards of the boat. He was asleep before his head touched his arm. He was jostled awake a few hours later as their boat rose and fell on the crests and into the troughs of each increasingly sizeable wave. The sea had become alarmingly rough and the old man ordered Tyler to take in some of the canvas. As he carried out his task, he pondered that if they lost too much time, they would stand no chance of catching the merchant. But catching up to the ship had now become their second priority; their main concern was to stay afloat. Water flooded the bilge until it became almost knee deep, but the Missy-Jess would not surrender her life and her crew to the elements she had fought all her working days.