The Wolf and the Sorceress

by Brian Pemberton

  Amber darted swiftly across the open ground knowing he was vulnerable, for although he was a large animal there were still larger predators that swooped from the air, carrying off their victims to mountain eyries, never to be seen again. He had spotted such creatures back in his homeland and here, looping and gliding on warm draughts of air, outlined against the sky. Although the wintry ground was difficult to negotiate, he eventually arrived at the far side without any mishap, where the thick canopy of leaves would hide and protect him. He dropped his nose to the ground and sniffed delicately until he picked up the scent he was seeking and followed it. Crouched low on a hilltop, he had a perfect vantage point from which to spy on Aurek’s camp. There were many humans dressed in torn and filthy clothes lashed to wagons, whilst others in cleaner garb had the freedom to roam the camp at will; the untethered men were the ones to be wary of. A number of fires flickered and crackled among the wagons, and the deceptive dancing shadows made it difficult to make out the owner of the familiar scent he’d been following. At the point of giving up in frustrated disappointment, Amber spotted the animal his mistress called by the odd-sounding name of Sox, trotting into the encampment carrying a burly stranger. Watching carefully as the thickset man removed the saddle, he saw him hitch the reins to the side of a wagon. There were several people lying beside it, but their resonant snores indicated deep sleep. When he felt the time was right, Amber crept along the embankment, keeping low to the ground and sneaking past the guards. He found Sox calmly chomping grass and placed his faith in the horse to recognising his scent. Should the silly beast whinny or stamp its ironclad feet, it would awaken the whole camp.

  Sox snorted softly in recognition as Amber crawled out from under a wagon. Lowering his head, he bumped Amber’s nose gently. The wolf reared onto his hind legs, and began chewing through the leather rein tethering the horse to the cart. His sharp fangs were almost through, when a little girl woke and tottered unsteadily towards him.

  “Doggy,” she gurgled happily, stroking Amber’s brow. At another time, before meeting his mistress and discovering there could be a bond between human and wolf, the outcome might have been different. His piercing yellow eyes glinted in the firelight, but reflected only kindness, no malice or hunger. He unfurled his tongue and slurped at her fingers.

  She giggled as his rough tongue tickled her, “Nice doggy,” she cooed, before yawning widely and wandering back to where her parents lay asleep.

  The leather finally parted, giving Sox his freedom. “Follow me, my friend. My mistress has need of your services.” Grabbing the reins in his mouth, Amber led Sox behind him. Getting past the guards by himself had been easy, but Sox was too large to be missed by anyone but a blind man. Even a blind man would hear the clip clopping of his hooves. One sleepy guard turned at the sound of iron on stone, but when he saw a horse ambling by, he dismissed it as of no consequence. Besides, its rider was not someone he called a friend, and he was pleased to imagine the trouble he’d be in for not tying up his horse properly, allowing it to wander away. Serve the fool right. Skulking in Sox’s shadow, Amber crept forward on his belly, heading towards the trees not far away. At the tree line Amber halted, long enough to mumble, ‘hurry up’ at the slower moving Sox, before leading him back along the path he knew his mistress would have to travel.

  The following morning the man, who had claimed Sox for his own, cursed in bewilderment that it had gone missing. A search of the camp provided no clue as to its whereabouts and it would mean him having to steal another horse, or wear out his shoe leather like the prisoners.

  When the parents of the girl noticed the wolf tracks leading away from their wagon and heard their inquisitive little daughter burbling prettily about the nice doggy she had met in the night, they both offered up thankful prayers to the Gods she had not been harmed.

  Nemeila had struggled determinedly across a third of the stretch of open ground before she saw Sox wandering through the trees in the distance. At first she believed she was hallucinating, but soon she made out the distinctive call of her wolf. “Amber,” she yelled with unconcealed delight, as he raced towards her, yipping at Sox round a mouthful of leather to get a move on.

  “I thought you’d gone and got yourself hurt,” she said, holding him close, while he nipped at her ear, pleased to prove her wrong.

  She tugged at Sox’s tangled mane and caressed his velvet nose, a tactile expression of how pleased she was to see him again. Without Tyler to boost her, she was entirely unable to clamber aboard the tall horse. Sox would testify to that, as he cast a baleful eye at the handfuls of mane Nemeila was attempting to yank out by her efforts. Finally in desperation at losing his fine tresses, he raised a foreleg for her to step onto. Once safely seated, she fumbled the reins into her hands and addressed Amber.

  “As you found him, sir, you can lead the way,” she indicated the path ahead with her chin.

  The rest of the crossing took no time at all on horseback. Amber was quite content to mooch on ahead, tail cocked and ears pricked, often disappearing from sight amongst the shrubbery when they reached another small forest. It had stopped snowing, but the sky remained blotchy and forbidding, the heavy cloud closing its ranks to prevent the odd shaft of sunlight peeking through. As Nemeila ducked her head to avoid decapitation from a low over-hanging branch, she heard the unmistakable screech of a large predatory bird, which instantly put her on her guard. If it tried to attack Amber, she needed to be ready to fight it off. As she rounded a bend, she gasped at the sight of a trembling, glistening spider web strung across the pathway. A giant structure, it spanned the whole width of the path, firmly anchored to the trees on either side. A huge golden eagle had become trapped in the web’s sticky maw, and every frantic flap of its wings only served to entangle it further. Nemeila stared aghast as the spider crawled with an evil deliberation towards its victim. She’d always loathed even the smallest spiders, but this grotesque creation was the size of a large hedgehog, the span of its bristling legs taking it to an even more fearsome dimension. She drew Tyler’s sword from her belt, kicked Sox forward and slashed wildly at a strand of the web, hoping that the struggling weight of the bird would bring it down in a cascade of silk, but the deadly network only shivered and remained intact. The abomination clinging to the web momentarily halted its descent towards its meal, and then sensing no imminent danger, crawled onward. She slashed at a second strand, but still the web held. What on earth was it made of to withstand the loss of two of its tethers? The other supporting strands were out of her reach, and the eagle’s struggles would soon be its death throes unless she stopped the spider. A lightning bolt would send it sizzling to the earth, but such a strategy would surely alert Aurek to her presence. It was nearly upon its prey, she had no time for further thought. She drew back her arm holding the sword, took aim and, despite the weight of the weapon, threw it like a spear. It hit her target, the point of the blade pierced the spider knocking it clear of its web; spewing forth a vile green froth of blood, the spider’s legs curled inward in death, as it hit the ground. She retrieved the sword and wiped the foul-smelling muck off on a tuft of grass before climbing the tree to slash loose the remaining strands of web, at which point the whole structure collapsed and fell, with the eagle, to the ground. Cautiously she stretched out her hand towards the muttering bird, which opened its razor sharp beak in a clear threat.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she cooed soothingly, “if you won’t let me free you, you will never fly again.” The eagle eyed her mutinously, but snapped shut its beak. Amber wrinkled back his muzzle, his throaty snarl indicating his eagerness to carry on where the spider had left off. Beady eyes flicked warily from Amber to the human, realising if they intended it to be their supper, it would be dead already. Amber snarled a warning to the bird. “If you harm the girl, feathers, I will finish what the spider was about to do.” The eagle ceased its violent exertions to free itself, and doubtfully allowed Nemeila to unwrap its sticky straightjacket. She was amazed by the stren
gth of the threads and knew with certainty that the eagle would never have freed itself. Finally unfettered, the eagle spread his wings, preened a few feathers and with a sudden and startling screech, took to the air. Amber watched hungrily as it tested its wings amongst the trees, and finding them sound, soared into the darkening skies. He howled in disappointment at a lost meal as it flapped from sight, unaware that he had not seen the last of the magnificent bird.

  Chapter 17

  Just Fifty Men

  Parlan had always been proud of his achievements and he was pleased with his ability to heal quickly. He was now able to move his arm and rid himself of the tiresome sling that had been such an encumbrance. On examining his Royal patient’s wounds, the Court Physician had remarked on the well-applied dressings, intimating that whoever had tended him had probably saved his life. Parlan explained how Katrina had risked her own life to drag him to safety and how he had stolen a brief kiss when they were alone.

  “This is in confidence,” Parlan stressed, holding the old man’s paternal gaze with a fond grin, “I would not want to compromise her honour amongst her friends.”

  “As if I would spread gossip your Highness,” sniffed the healer, huffily, “there are far too many at Court who already take care of that. But if I may offer some advice to my king, you should look after this girl. She sounds as though she cares for you, and a man needs a loving woman he can trust and rely on. Go on, you’ll do,” he sighed, packing his ointments and drugs in his bag. “You won’t be able to wield a sword for a while, but the wound is healing quite nicely, please try not to tear the wound my lord, I have enough work to do around here.”

  Parlan returned to his quarters, where he discovered a neatly folded sheet of parchment propped up on his desk. He perused the contents and summoned his guard.

  “When was this placed here?” he demanded, waving the note in the man’s face.

  The guard admitted his ignorance of the matter, so Parlan descended to the courtyard, heading straight to the stables. There was no sign of Sox, and Tyler and the girl were nowhere to be found in the castle.

  “Where is the grey Shire that was stabled here?” he enquired of the stable master.

  “Young Tyler took him out for some exercise your Highness. I recon he must have decided to return home, as I haven’t seen him since.”

  “When did he ride out?” Parlan asked.

  “Four days ago, maybe, it could have been five. I didn’t take much notice at the time. Is there anything wrong, my lord?”

  “I hope not,” murmured Parlan, as he spun on his heels and strode away.

  He read the note again.

  Sire,

  I know of the men who are riding this way in answer to your call for a new army, but Nemi and I have decided to go on ahead to try and determine Aurek’s strengths and, hopefully, his weaknesses. We plan to travel over the high ground, so we can approach him without being seen. I hope that you will meet up with us along the way, and once again we can stand shoulder to shoulder and rid the land of these murderous barbarians.

  Your true friend,

  Tyler Marten

  He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “Have I been that occupied that my dearest friend could be missing five days without my noticing,” he muttered. “Where are those wretched men?” he cried out in frustration, slamming his hand angrily against the wall.

  As he arrived in the Courtyard, the thunder of many horses’ hooves pounding towards the moat could be heard on the other side of the lowered drawbridge. As he stared into the cloud of dust, a posse of men burst from the trees and, reining their horses to a gentle canter, filed over the drawbridge into the castle grounds. Parlan knew by their attire that they were not Aurek’s thugs, so folding and palming the note he stepped forward to greet them.

  The rider leading the small band dismounted and bowed respectfully to Parlan. “My lord, there are not many of us, but we few are eager to fight for our king. If you would allow us time to rest and water our horses, we will follow you whenever and wherever you lead. I’m called Karlos, your Highness.”

  Parlan grasped the outstretched arm firmly, cementing their new alliance. “I will have your horses attended to,” offered Parlan, calling to the watching stable lad. “You must be hungry too after your journey. Come, I will have food prepared, Cook is in good humour today.”

  A long table had already been set in the South Wing for this very meeting. The riders all ate hungrily while Parlan put them in the picture and explained what they were volunteering for.

  “Fifty men against nearly three hundred, six to one, just the odds I like,” roared Karlos. “Life is nothing without a challenge.”

  “I have already devised a plan,” mused Parlan, “we must prevent them leaving our shores at all costs, they have taken many innocent villagers hostage, and once they set sail, they will be lost to us for ever and sold into slavery. If we are in time, we should try to scuttle their ships and prepare an ambush. The odds might be more favourable to us if we take them by surprise and prevent their escape to sea.” “Sounds reasonable,” nodded Karlos. “When do you want to leave?”

  “As soon as possible,” Parlan said. “A close friend has decided to go after them alone, but he is just one man against an army. I honour his courage, but curse his foolhardiness. I hope we may catch him before he takes on three hundred men with one sword.”

  They rode out just after midday, tracking the route taken by Nemeila and Tyler. Although it would be more hazardous than the lower ground, it would cut many leagues from their journey and time was of the essence. They rode hard and relentlessly, only stopping briefly when the horses needed rest, at which time they snatched the opportunity to catch up on their own sleep and meals. Outriders had been despatched as advanced scouts, and now one came racing back to impart the news that he had spotted many corpses strewn across a gully rotting under a buzzing blanket of flies. Parlan offered a silent prayer, regretful that there was no time to bury the fallen. If they were successful in their mission, he would send a burial party to take care of the unfortunate soldiers. If good was to vanquish evil, this battle had to be fought. If fate were to see him dead then it would be with a sword in his hand, fighting for his people and his land.

  The men and horses were close to exhaustion, as they reached the final leg of their journey. Parlan called for a final brief rest before they reached the coast. As they continued onward, it was pure luck that a man spotted a grey horse weaving through the undergrowth, its skin dappled by sunlight and shadow. Parlan silently indicated with a gesture for the men to spread out; it wouldn’t do to warn one of Aurek’s men so early in the game.

  Mooching through the bushes, Amber was the first to detect the presence of the riders by their scent. He leapt up to paw at Nemeila’s foot; she nearly crashed to the ground, as Sox, who had been dreaming of fresh hay, shied in alarm. Alerted to possible danger, Nemeila shushed the animals to statues. She caught sight of the outlines of dozens of men and initially contemplated making a run for it, but realised she couldn’t outride a small army. She dismounted in an effort to quiet Sox with a hypnotic stroking of his neck, but her own heart pounded tempestuously in her chest. Amber stood ears pricked, at his mistress’ side, his rasping snarl issuing a warning to anyone considering attacking her. The first of the men appeared, swords drawn, others behind them armed with bows, their arrows pointed directly at her heart. She could not run, she could not fight, and she had no time to weave a defensive spell. “Kill the wolf,” a harsh voice ordered. “Wait,” Nemeila cried, “let my wolf go, I won’t cause you any trouble.” She wrapped protective arms round Amber’s neck, placing herself in the line of fire. Amber was still growling threateningly, his eyes ablaze with fury, his jaws dripping with strings of saliva. Every man there was itching to put an arrow into the fearsome creature’s throat. Nemeila watched in terror as the men tightened their bows and took aim; she turned her trembling back to them, trying to shield Amber with her own body. A shouted comman
d in a familiar voice halted the arrows before they started their deadly flight. “Hold your fire, this girl is no traitor or enemy of ours.” Nemeila spun on her feet and with utter relief watched Parlan emerge from the trees.

  Amber’s growl softened a little, as Nemeila relaxed her stranglehold on him, the wild fire in his eyes had relented, but there was still caution in his movements. “Let him take your scent,” she advised Parlan, “then he will know you mean us no harm.” Parlan extended his fingers cautiously, and Amber sniffed at them delicately, remembering the scent from a previous meeting. “Can I touch him?” Parlan ventured. With her arms still clasped round Amber’s neck, Nemeila ran her hand over his face. “Yes, but move slowly and don’t throw me in a dungeon if you lose a finger or two!” Parlan hoped she was joking as he ran his hand over Amber’s head, scuffing his thick coat at the shoulder. The wolf was a magnificent beast and he wondered in amazement and awe how a slip of a girl could command fierce loyalty from such a wild and ferocious animal. “He’s an old softie, really,” Nemeila smiled. “But your men should know that if they try to harm me, he will kill to protect my life. Let him familiarise himself with your men, so that he can get the scent of those he can trust.” As Amber wandered amongst the men, grinning broadly to display the maximum number of fangs, most of them hoisted their hands high, while others tried to protect more valuable parts of their body, much to the wolf’s delight and amusement. His reputation hadn’t been damaged by the ‘softie’ remark after all. “Aurek cannot be far from here,” Nemeila said to Parlan, “it was Amber who released Sox from his camp. We need to take the utmost care that we are not spotted from here on in.” “You and Tyler should have waited for me,” scolded Parlan. “Where is he, anyway?”