Imperium Lupi

by Adam Browne

  “Clever,” Ivan admitted blinkingly, half-blinded and somewhat impressed. “You could blind an opponent with that.”

  “Aye, ‘tis all in the timing,” Gunnar sniffed. “Try it.”

  Ivan rose to the challenge, literally standing up and garnishing his paw with some powder.

  “Takes a bit of practice,” Gunnar warned, as Ivan flicked a sparkling pawful into the air – no sooner had the words left his lips than, with a snap of plasma from Ivan’s fingers, the cloud ignited.

  Foof!

  Sniffing assertively, Ivan blew residual ash from his palm.

  Gunnar laughed, “Beginner’s luck. Can you do it without fail, though, in the middle of a fight?”

  Undoing his canister again, Ivan had another go.

  Foof!

  The mysterious flashes from camp reached Uther down by the stream, silently illuminating the great boughs of ancient trees arcing overhead like distant lightning, penetrating even his eyelids as he splashed cold water on his face.

  “What’re they playing at?” he mumbled, trying to see what was going on.

  Drying his muzzle with a length of his cloak, Uther hurriedly dunked Ivan’s saucepan in the stream with a mind to fly back and see what he was missing. As he lifted the pan from the water, however, his freezing fingers fumbled the grip and it splashed into the torrent to be swiftly carried downstream.

  Cursing – for Ivan would kill him if he lost the pan – Uther traipsed after it, following the stream a few tens of feet before chancing a lunge into the dark, icy waters.

  “Gotcha!” the Howler hissed, as if he’d nicked a criminal on the streets of Lupa.

  Oh for the twisting alleys and vapour-filled bars of old Riddle District, the sodden Uther thought, trudging miserably back to shore, cloak dripping pathetically. Polluted and grey skied it may be, but you’re never far from a drink, a warm bed and good company, whatever the weather.

  Whipping off and wringing out his near-indestructible imperium-weave mantle, Uther shook his head and grumbled to himself. “What are you, homesick or summat? Puh! Pull yourself together Wild-heart.”

  Adrift in his mental meanderings, the prey failed to notice the two enormous globular spheres amidst the foliage above. Six other smaller spheres dotted the hairy brown carapace that framed them, eyes one and all, staring, unblinking, lidless as they were. Uther and the forest roundabout were reflected in their smooth obsidian surface, distorted into a grotesque, multitude of warped parodies.

  Four of the creature’s eight long, deceptively delicate-looking brown legs were slowly, painstakingly extended, like a great mechanical claw. The silk strung between the legs, at first nothing but a saggy collection of tangled threads like bloomers on a washing like, was pulled taught as the four feet spread and took shape, forming a perfect net of concentric rectangles.

  The trap was set.

  The monster’s four other legs clung to silken lines running hither and thither between the stiff boughs, the thick strands shimmering in the twilight like spun glass. It repositioned itself; moved lower, closer. Mandibles twitched with anticipation and fangs dripped with venom as the prey-item stirred below, every movement stimulating instincts in the mindless predator, triggering responses, firing synapses, until a crescendo of signals tipped its mere ganglion of a brain over the edge. The legs spread ever wider, the net broader still, lower and lower, closer and closer!

  Another flash from the camp; Uther glanced over – at one and the same time he caught something out the corner of his wolfen eye, looming over him, large and white and growing larger and whiter.

  “What the?”

  Uther looked up just in time to see the beautiful geometric net and a collection of shining black eyes beyond. Before he could make sense of it all the net spread wide and descended upon him like the judgemental paw of Ulf, pinning him to the ground!

  “Oofaaagh!”

  No sooner had Uther hit the ground than the dazed wolf left it behind, hoisted into the air, tumbling head over foot, his limbs tangled in indistinct collections of fuzzy white ropes.

  It came to him then – this is spider web!

  “Ivaaaaaan!”

  Swords, swords, swords! Kicking and squirming, Uther scrabbled for the swords nestled at his thighs as he was smothered in an ever-tightening ball of silk. The spider’s long limbs whooshed by and with each pass laid on another untidy sheet of the soft, yielding and yet un-breaking bonds.

  The silk clung to Uther’s furry forelimbs as he tried to extract a sword from a sheath and angle it through the organic cloth. The constant, juddering, tumbling motion, one moment the right way up, the next upside down, disorientated him to the point of utter confusion, but the swords were at his hips and he focused on them.

  Get them out, Uther, get them out!

  “Ivaaan!” he screamed, expecting any second the bite of death to come tearing through the silk and into his flesh, injecting him with paralysing venom, as Linus had said. “Ivan! Help me you son of a maggot! Gaaagh!”

  Sword! Free? Yes!

  Uther jammed his trembling right paw armed with his quivering right sword into the silk and heaved it to and fro. The threads barely gave ground until the Howler resorted to releasing a surge of imperious energy, as much now in this desperate moment as he’d ever called upon in his short life. His sword sparked with arcs of plasma and the web flamed and retreated before the burning blade as Uther ran it up towards his grimacing white face.

  Come on… come ooon! Ulf almighty, please!

  Suddenly the flaming silken cocoon reached some critical structural failure and a yelping Uther tumbled out of the spider’s silken trap. He stopped short of the ground, dangling upside-down by his legs amidst a cats-cradle of smouldering threads. What silk remained was clinging to his armoured legs, the thick strands snagged on rivets, belts and plates.

  “Gaaaaghfffgh!”

  The spider descended coolly after the kicking, twirling, snarling Uther, who began to slash up at the stubborn web. The most enduring strands were extraordinarily strong and every one took several hefty chops, but each that broke lowered the panting Howler still further to the ground, further from the spider’s terrible face.

  Not far enough. The spider was on Uther again, the legs teasing more silk forth from its bulbous rear-end and starting the parcelling process over with mechanical patience.

  “Ivaaaaan!” Uther cried, his strength and will failing as the broad ropes of web closed in a second time, rolling him up as before, pinning his arms to his sides. “Grrrrrffffaaaagh!”

  A flash, a bang!

  Ka-crack!

  Uther’s stomach rose into his chest – he was falling! Within half a second the soft grassy bank rose to meet his body and with a loud exhale of air the winded wolf rolled down to the shore, the icy water shooting up his nose.

  “Gagh! Pleh! Caagh!”

  Someone grabbed him and tore at the silk, removing the springy strands from about his face.

  It was Ivan.

  “You all right?” the Blade-dancer asked. “Are you bitten?”

  “Get it off, get it off!” Uther yowled, writhing in the organic bonds like a wolf tied up in a potato sack. “Get me out of this, for Ulf’s sake!”

  Taking Uther’s liveliness as a definitive ‘no’ to the bitten question, Ivan ran his fine rapier up inside the silk and slowly cut his comrade free without resorting to wasting precious imperious energy. He could feel Uther shaking like a leaf

  “It’s all right,” Ivan soothed, “Calm down. It’s over.”

  “Th-th-thump m-mmm-me!” Uther stammered, for the first time Ivan had ever heard. Wild-heart craned his neck to look up the bank. “Is it d-d-dead?”

  Ka-crack!

  A second flash and bang from Gunnar Greystone’s rifle led Ivan to conclude, “Yes.”

  Once Uther was freed of the main cocoon he sprung to his feet and set about ripping the remaining fine strands from his body, brushing down his arms and chest and neck and face, wildl
y clapping paws here and there and everywhere.

  “My back, do my back!” he begged, dancing on the spot.

  Ivan reluctantly brushed Uther’s dark bluish back, but insisted that, “There’s nothing there.”

  “I can feel it!”

  “It’s just web!” Ivan scoffed. “By Ulf half our clothes are made of silk.”

  “Yeah, from fuzzy caterpillars, not that thing!” Uther spat, as a shiver visibly crawled down his spine. “Yeeeuch!”

  Leaving Uther to pull himself together and brush himself free of imagined fibres, Ivan climbed the bank to join Gunnar by his kill. The Greystone was standing by his impressive conquest; a brown spider the size of a car, lying on its back with its twitching legs still curling creepily inwards.

  “Net-casting spider,” Gunnar sniffed calmly, reloading his rifle and looking up at the trees. “They attack from above.”

  “Yes… I know,” Ivan said.

  Gunnar peered down at Uther, “He all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Looks shaken up to me.”

  “Yes, well… he’s not fond of anything with more than two legs.”

  Gunnar flicked his dying ember away and said, “He should try an imperial centipede on for size. They just keep on coming. I speak from painful experience.”

  Grunting, Ivan trudged down the bank and caught Uther gingerly dousing his right paw in the stream.

  “Are you hurt?” Ivan demanded.

  “It’s nothing,” Uther seethed.

  Ivan knelt down and grabbed his comrade’s wrist with his usual lack of social tact. Expecting shrapnel from Gunnar’s rifle bolt to have gone through Uther’s paw, he was relieved to find his dark pads to be blistered and his fur singed, not in any way bleeding.

  “Imperium burn,” Ivan diagnosed flatly.

  “I overdid it cutting my way out,” Uther explained, forcing a tiny, uneasy guffaw, “I panicked.”

  “There’s no such thing as overdoing it when you’re fighting for your life,” Ivan insisted kindly, patting Uther’s sturdy back. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

  *

  Noss took a draught of green vapours before passing the mint-flavoured ember across to Madou sitting on the bunk opposite. Madou stared longingly at the smouldering stick of relief, but shook his head and dipped his chin.

  “Take it,” Noss insisted.

  “It’s your last one, my Prince-”

  “You need it more than me after a day down that hole. I’ll get some more from Tack tomorrow.”

  With a trembling paw, Madou plucked the glowing ember from his Prince’s fingers and turned it to his own lips. The heady vapours filled his lungs and rushed through his blood, dulling the rot pains nibbling at his bones in an instant. His paw ceased trembling even as Noss watched him, which made the prince smile.

  “Better?”

  “Much, thank you,” Madou puffed, trying to pass it back but being waved away. There was no point arguing with the prince of the Four Winds, so Madou resigned himself to suffer his munificence.

  Madou soon noticed the low-ranking Zozizou staring down at him from the bunk overhead – staring at his ember anyway. With a guilty sigh Madou passed it up to his puny cousin, who immediately and greedily vacuumed up the minty vapours like a beast twice his size, burning through what remained of the ember in seconds and lighting up half the cabin by its green glow. By the time it occurred to the coughing Zozizou to offer the ember back to Madou it had been reduced to a pathetic stump.

  “Keep it,” Madou sighed, his annoyance lost on Zozizou if not Noss, who chuckled heartily as he eased back on his bunk, paws tucked behind his mighty neck.

  Madou checked out his new gang for tomorrow; Prince Noss, his cousin, Helmut and Tomek, the last two being asleep in their bunks or drifting that way. They would also be joined by a hog, a cat and wolf whose names Madou hadn’t really caught yet. They were from Noss’s original gang and the prince had no intention of abandoning them. However, a gang of eight was too big, five being the limit set by Gelb’s officials, so it had been decided by Noss to split everyone into two groups of four with him leading his original crew, long-dubbed Mosquito, whilst Madou took charge of Rufus’s old Scarab gang. The two teams would mine in the same spot and share their spoils, hopefully bringing home enough imperium to keep the hogs satisfied.

  For now.

  However, the Lupan Summit approached. Out there in the real world THORN was making ready to strike. Nurka, Themba, their ally Amael, and doubtless many a disgruntled wolf and hog stirred all across Lupa. Soon the clarion call would sound!

  But, as the old regime collapsed, what would happen here in Gelb? Would the Warden free all the prisoners, execute them, or simply carry on as before? Surely Nurka would demand the release of all hyena inmates, just as he would the tribes, but might Amael keep them in bondage and use them as a bargaining chip? What side would the Warden take in any disagreement?

  Madou felt so helpless.

  “We’ll get out of here before the storm breaks,” Noss insisted, settling down to sleep. “Don’t worry, Madou.”

  “But how?”

  “I’ve a feeling. Now, go to sleep, warrior.”

  The word of a Prince was final. Madou lay on his woefully thin mattress and silently prayed to the Wind, Erde and Sky to see him through these final most dangerous days, so that he might meet Nurka and Themba again in this life.

  *

  Given a short spell in the waiting room smouldering away in every context, Janoah was sent through by the secretary. Discarding her ember, she marched down the stark corridor and after a preparatory breath knocked on the double doors to the Grand Prefect Chamber.

  “Come in,” someone beckoned sternly – not the Alpha’s airy baritone but Nikita’s hefty accent.

  Surprised, Janoah entered with outward confidence.

  Sure enough the Alpha’s chair was occupied not by ALPHA’s premier Prefect, but by his second. He was flanked by Grand Prefects Horst and Duncan. Silvermane sat on the end, officially their equal, but unofficially beneath them for his relative youth and inexperience.

  The big mottle-furred Nikita bade Janoah to sit with a simple gesture. “Please,” he said, pronouncing ‘Plez’.

  They’re after me, Janoah thought, saluting and forcing them all to salute back whether they liked her or not. Her mind raced as she took her seat. The Alpha’s indisposed arranging his trip to the Summit, so now’s their chance to nail me without going through him. I see how it is.

  She glanced at Horst. That flabby excuse for a Howler’s had your number all along, he’s a lost cause. What about Duncan? He’s friendly, but what’ve they told him? The amiable black wolf looked unusually solemn today. What’s Doctor Josef said about me? That blasted cat will pay for this! At least Silvermane’s on your side – Ah, but he’s got to watch his back. Look at him shuffling in his seat, squirming under pressure, checking his pocket watch. His career comes first and to protect it he’ll let you go, you always knew that.

  That left the unreadable Nikita, sitting in the middle, the epitome of calm. What’s his agenda? Is he just covering for the Alpha or does he want rid of me?

  “Prefect, you set prime suspect free this morning,” Nikita said, fighting his thick Steppes inflection as ever. “You do this before Doctor Josef finish interrogation. Why?”

  “Prime suspect, sir?” Janoah woofed. “I haven’t let Tristan Eisbrand go. He’s being racked as we speak.”

  “I mean Howler Linus, of Bloodfang-”

  “She knows who you meant, Nikita,” Horst interjected, looking Janoah over with disgust. “She’s feigning ignorance, as usual. I’m well-versed in her tricks.”

  “You wrong me, Grand Prefect Horst,” Janoah defended. “I was merely unaware that this Bloodfang cub had anything to do with the breaking of THORN, which is my one and only concern this side of the Pack Summit.”

  Glancing sideways at Horst, Nikita explained, “Doctor Josef believes Linus aided the escape o
f criminals; criminals I issue warrant for and you overturn.”

  Janoah guffawed gently, “Not at all, sir. We interrogated Linus and found his account of events credible.”

  “You didn’t rack him,” Horst pointed out.

  “No. What would be the point of that, Grand Prefect?”

  “To prise the truth from him! What else? This act of incompetence will fool nobody, Prefect; you’ve gone too far in your wanton defiance this time.”

  “I’m not in the habit of wantonly and illegally racking every wolf I arrest, Grand Prefect,” Janoah explained. “If that’s ‘defiance’, then I stand guilty as charged.”

  “Doctor Josef says-”

  “Respectfully, Grand Prefect Horst, I wouldn’t put too much faith in what Josef Grau says,” Janoah interrupted, so politely as to be allowed to continue. “I’ve known that cat a long time and believe me he can’t stand not getting his own way. He knows his imperious science, but like most cats is a proud, petty creature who will waste valuable time to get revenge over the smallest infraction.” Janoah continued, “Fact is, Howler Mills acted on Bloodfang soil and was carrying out his duty, nothing more. I couldn’t move against him even if I didn’t believe him, which I do. He wasn’t protecting the criminals, he was taking the afflicted wolfess in for his own pack, she merely eluded him.”

  Silvermane checked his pocket watch, as if he were waiting for something, only putting it away again when Nikita looked at him funny.

  Sensing by Horst’s silence that she was gaining the upper paw, Janoah pressed her defence. “Gentlebeasts, the Summit approaches and ALPHA’s future is going to be decided by the Den Fathers. They could clip our wings, or even disband us altogether. Then where would Lupa be? Back to the bad old days of rampant corruption and greed, that’s where. The last thing we should be doing is needlessly antagonising the-”

  “It’s not for you to dictate to us ALPHA’s policy!” Horst growled. “Admit it, Prefect; you were helping an ex-comrade get off the hook.”

  “I’ve no love for the Bloodfangs, sir.”