Wolfeater

by Anthony Mitchell

  'Hello in there!' Radok called out. 'No need for fear. We only wish to talk.'

  Almost a minute passed without response. 'Can we storm the place now?' asked Tiyan, restless.

  Radok ignored him. 'You keep us waiting much longer, we might take insult.'

  Thirty more seconds passed. Then the door to the cabin creaked open and a single figure stepped out into the crisp morning air. The door slammed shut behind him, and the farmer staggered out through the snow towards them.

  Not a man, Radok realised. A girl. A she-wolf. His men sniggered and whistled as she drew closer, barely containing their delight. Only Jorn and Jian kept their council, while Radok studied the girl in silence. She was small, true, but lithe and bold, moving with grace and confidence despite the snow. It was most impressive.

  'Silence!' Radok hissed at his men. 'Show some respect. She's a true Wolf, this one. And Wolves have teeth.'

  On she came, young and pretty, long black hair flowing out behind her, caught high in the blistering wind. She wore a leather jerkin over a blue shirt and black leggings, with fur-lined boots and a heavy cloak draped over her shoulders. No sign of any heavy furs though, which was good. If she'd left them inside, it meant she had no plans to run.

  She stopped some ten paces away, her dark gaze levelled at them, her face an unreadable mask. Radok waited. He wanted her to see it: big men with big furs and big beards. Men built for the cold, or forged by it. Men glistening with steel.

  He smiled. So much steel. Swords and shields, axes, and knives, all hanging from belts or slung over shoulders, daggers tucked into boots. There were bows too, amongst the armoury, for there were no finer archers in the world than a Grey Crow in the saddle. Not that the Wolf would know it, for it had been an age since the Grey Crow last met the Wolves on open ground. These days the battles unfolded on the walls of Haslova, where men fought toe-to-toe on ground slick with the blood of fallen brothers…

  She should have been cowed, the girl, yet it was only when her eyes fell on Radok that the colour drained from her face. That was good, too. It meant she recognised the mark of his skin, and that she knew enough to know fear.

  'You're a long way from home, Wolfeater.' She tried to keep her voice calm, but Radok could sense the tremor beneath the surface.

  'We are Grey Crow, girl,' he replied with a smile. 'The sky belongs to us, as does everything below it.'

  'Aye, your kind like to fly.' The girl's eyes shifted back and forth along the line of riders. 'I've often seen them flying from the walls of Haslova, though more often screaming than not.'

  Radok's smile grew. 'Baby Crows, perhaps. Not Crows like this,' and he took in his men with a sweep of the arm. 'We come and go as we please from your little wall, taking Wolves for snacks.'

  Tiyan spoke up then, frustrated by the banter. 'Enough of this! Let's kill her and get on with it.'

  Radok silenced him with a look, burning with fury. 'I promised the Black Wind would answer your next outburst, and you'll not make a liar of me. Keep your fool mouth shut!'

  Radok turned back to the girl, shrugging apologetically. 'My friend here… lacks patience. He thinks we should kill you and take what we want, but I'm a more reasonable man than that.'

  Radok swung down from the saddle and moved out to stand a few yards from the girl, Jorn, Jian and Tiyan joining him on foot. 'It's been a hard winter for both our peoples, no? I see no reason we can't share what we've found here, so let's make a trade. Ten bison, and we'll be on our way.'

  'That's half the herd,' said the girl.

  'Is it?' Radok feigned shock. 'It seems Wolves can count as well as Crows.'

  The girl ignored the mocking tone. 'And what do I get?'

  Radok's eyes narrowed. 'Your life, girl. You get your life. And the remaining herd. A more than generous trade, no?'

  'It's not a trade when I already have everything you offer. What about your lives, Wolfeater? Shall we trade for them?'

  Radok took a step forward. 'You think you can take us all, she-wolf?'

  'I only need to take one to make the trade worthwhile. Only you.'

  Radok chuckled at that. 'I've killed many Wolves in my time, but never a girl. Their teeth aren't sharp enough for my liking.'

  The girl grinned back, exposing the elongated canines that marked her as Valor. 'You'll find mine sharp enough, I promise you that.'

  Tiyan had heard enough. 'Let's do this!' he barked as his patience finally snapped. He lurched forward, readying to attack, but Radok's icy glare froze him to the spot.

  The distraction was all the girl needed. Reaching behind her back, she drew a dagger and let it fly, all in one swift motion. It took an eternity for the blade to cover the ground between them, yet all Radok could do was watch death spin towards him…

  Then Jorn stepped between them, taking the blade in his throat. He collapsed to the snow-packed earth, hands grasping at the wound as he gurgled on his own blood. For just a moment there was silence, Radok and his men watching their old friend gasp for life.

  Yet before Jorn drew his last breath, Radok lifted his eyes to the girl. Their gaze met briefly, and he focused all his hatred and his fury in her direction. She bore that look for as long as she could, then she turned on her heels and fled.

  She saw death in those pale blue eyes. She saw death, and she ran.

  ✽✽✽

  The girl turned on her heels and fled, her long black hair flowing after her as she disappeared behind the farmhouse. Four of Radok's men gave chase, their heavy mounts thundering past Jorn's fallen body.

  Somehow, the old warrior still lived. His booted heels thrashed at the snow, bloody fingers grasping desperately at the dagger in his throat, trying to stem the flow of lifeblood. Radok crouched beside him and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'Easy, Jorn. Easy now.'

  The dying man didn't have long left, and it struck Radok like a hammer. Jorn had been with him since the beginning. Even as a child, when others had mocked and feared Radok for the darkness of his skin, Jorn had stood beside him, brothers of the Grey Crow.

  He tried to speak now, but it came out as a bloody, spluttered gurgle. It was hard to see him go that way. Too hard.

  'She'll pay for this,' Radok promised him. 'She'll pay.' Then he pulled the dagger from Jorn's throat and buried it in his chest. He battled for two more ragged breaths… and then he was gone.

  Radok pushed himself to his feet with a heavy sigh. He looked down into Jorn's lifeless eyes a moment longer, then noticed Jian standing beside him.

  'I'm sorry, Radok,' she muttered. 'Should we get after her?'

  Radok glanced past the girl to the four men mounted and waiting nearby, Tiyan among them, keeping a safe distance. Radok shook his head. 'This is her country. No telling where she might lead us.' He called out to the others and pointed at Jorn's corpse. 'Get him ready to travel and start rounding up all the cattle. We won't be here long.'

  'What about the men who rode after her?' asked Jian.

  Radok shrugged. 'Either they'll catch her, or they won't; return or not. No point waiting for them. They know their way home.'

  Jian could not hide her disappointment. 'I never took the great Wolfeater for a coward.'

  Radok's anger flared then. Even now, after everything he had done, they still questioned him. He leaned in close to Jian's face. 'She killed my friend, who meant more to me than the rest of you combined.' He pulled back a little, took a deep breath and cooled his anger. 'The she-wolf will pay for taking him, I promise you that. But we'll do it my way, not hers. She knows she stands a better chance out there than she does back here, so she wants to lead us away. You don't eat as many Wolves as I have by giving them what they want.'

  Radok shoved past the girl and strode on to the farmhouse.

  'Where are you going?' Jian called after him.

  'To see what she was hiding.'

  Radok stepped up to the farmhouse and put his foot through the front door, sending it splintering from its hinges. He swept in after it
, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom inside. Behind him, Jian hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her and she followed him in.

  It was a small farmhouse, no more than a large living room with a kitchen and dining area, offset by two smaller bedrooms, all spread across a single floor. An assortment of animal pelts garbed the walls, including sabretooths and giant elk, mountain lions and black bears. There was even the giant bear-like head of a kragan mounted proudly over the fireplace, its cold black eyes staring back indifferently.

  Beyond the decoration, nothing caught Radok's eye as he moved through the main living area. It was only as he passed the second bedroom that he glimpsed a boot jutting out beneath the bed at an odd angle. He strode over and lifted the sheets aside, peering below.

  'What is it?' asked Jian from the doorway.

  Radok grabbed the booted foot and dragged the body out with a grunt of effort. He revealed a man well into his fifties, hair and beard thick with grey, who shared the same elongated canines as the girl. Radok met Jian's gaze and grinned. 'Nothing but a sleeping Wolf,' he growled.

  Jian strolled over and crouched beside them. 'Who is he?'

  Radok turned the man's head sideways. There was a lump on the side of his temple the size of a small egg. But it was the smell that gave it away, stale and well ingrained. The smell of animals, both living and dead.

  'Smells like a farmer,' he told Jian. 'The bison belong to him, not the girl. She's a warrior, not a farmer.'

  'She was trying to protect him?'

  Radok nodded. 'She must have taken him by surprise, knocked him out cold so she could stand in his stead and meet with us. She hoped to lure us away, to the Seven knows what end.'

  'What do we do with him now?'

  Leave him? Take our spoils and slip away as peacefully as we came? This morning that might have been his answer, but now Jorn lay dead outside, his blood seeped into the snow, and Radok's anger got the better of him.

  'We make sure she follows.'

  He clamped his hand over the Wolf's mouth and nose, then slashed his dagger across the man's throat. Blood exploded from the wound in a fountain, spraying Jian's face. The shock of it brought the old Wolf back to life, eyes bulging, and he tried to rise. Radok pushed down on top of him with all his weight, holding him down, his hand still clamped tight, stifling the Wolf's cries of agony as his lifeblood pumped away.

  Radok took no joy from watching the life fade from those helpless, confused, frightened eyes; no satisfaction; no sense of sweet revenge. He felt only a well of emptiness. For what was one old, toothless Wolf, next to the loss of the Grey Crow's finest? Not enough, was the simple answer. Not enough by far.

  Jian was watching Radok with wide eyes of her own, blood dripping from her face. 'Why did you do that?'

  Radok shrugged. 'She cared enough to hide him. Maybe she'll care enough to come find us once she realises he's dead. And when she does, she'll pay the price for what she did to Jorn.'

  Pushing himself to his feet, Radok took one last look around the farmhouse. 'Burn it,' he said. Then he marched outside into the clean air.

  Chapter Three

  The Grey Wolf

  'Shit!'

  Senya risked a glance over her shoulder, straining to see through the dust and snow churned up in Rhine's thunderous wake. She counted four in the chasing pack, close enough now to see their grinning, bearded faces.

  Only four. 'Shit!'

  She had hoped to draw them all away, to leave Velimir in peace, unscathed save for the bruise she'd given him. But there was little chance of that now. It wouldn't take them long to find him, stuffed beneath the bed. Seemed like a damned fool idea now…

  'Shit!'

  Only four, and not a dark face among them. Senya winced. Things might have been different had her dagger found its mark in the Wolfeater's chest. Instead, that old bastard had taken it in the throat, and now the Wolfeater was back at the farm, where Velimir was left unconscious and alone. A chill ran down Senya's spine as she saw again the fury born in the Wolfeater's eyes at the death of his friend. The Great Hunt is nothing if not a cun…

  'Shit!'

  Rhine thundered across the snowy fields, heading south, back the way they came. Senya dug her heels into his flanks, driving him on, willing his legs to work all the harder. His breath was coming fast now, smoking in the cold morning air.

  Senya risked another backwards glance. The Basillians were closer now, one notching an arrow to his bow.

  'Shit! Shit! Shit!'

  Senya bent low into the saddle, her face pressed against Rhine's neck, making herself as small a target as possible. Up ahead, a small wood emerged from the swirling mist, just large enough to lose herself in, and Senya steered the horse toward it. An arrow whistled past her left shoulder, barely an inch from her ear, arching into the ground ahead and disappearing into the snow.

  Shit, she wanted to say, but the words had dried up, her mouth drying with them.

  You never feel more alive than when your life hangs in the balance. So her father often said, but it wasn't until now that she truly understood what it meant. She could feel every second passing, her heart pounding in her chest, sweat dripping from her brow despite the cold. She could even feel the weight of the snow pressing down on the huge evergreens up ahead.

  Jaw set, Senya dragged left on the reins at the last moment, galloping along the tree line rather than plunging in. She gave Rhine his head for a moment, waiting to see how the Basillians reacted. They followed suit, swinging left and sticking to Rhine's tail.

  Shit!

  Senya rode on for a while longer, an itch in her back where she expected an arrow to appear at any moment. She counted to three. Then, seeing an opening in the tree line, she dragged right on the reins and Rhine plunged into the trees.

  Senya bobbed and weaved away from the claws of low hanging branches, then drew back sharply on the reins and brought Rhine to a skidding halt. She swung down from the saddle, landing lightly on her feet, her heart pounding more than ever now. She had bought herself a few seconds, if she was lucky…

  Without skipping a beat, Senya slapped Rhine on the rump and the horse set off through the trees, disappearing along the path of an old deer trail. Then Senya stepped behind a tree and slid her sword from its sheath.

  Hit fast, hit hard. More words from her father. Seemed strange that it took a day like today to bring his voice back with such crystal clarity. But then, she supposed, that was just the man he was. He had been made for days like this. Surprise will always give you an edge in the breathless moments.

  The rumble of the chasing hooves drew closer. Senya swallowed hard as the earth trembled beneath her feet. She tightened her sweaty grip on the hilt of her sword, every inch of her tense with anticipation…

  Then the first rider swept by, the wind striking Senya like a tornado as he thundered on.

  Wait for it…

  Senya pressed herself tighter against the tree she was hiding behind, biting her lower lip. Then a second blast of energy exploded past, and a third.

  …Now!

  She stepped from her hiding place just as the fourth horseman bore down on her. His eyes widened when he saw her, a silent scream forming on his face, but it was too late. Senya's sword flashed out and scythed through the horse's legs. The animal let out a terrible scream as the ruined limbs gave way beneath him, ploughing face first into the forest floor. The rider went flying from his back, his body shattering with the force of the impact, all grunts and splintering bone.

  Senya charged in to finish the job, her sword slashing into the back of the man's skull with a wet thud. She looked up. The other three had turned back at the sound of their friend's demise, and, seeing Senya, they charged as one.

  Senya took a deep breath. There were no words of wisdom from her father this time. Not even the great Finn had stood alone against three riders.

  She'd chosen the ground well, at least. The narrow deer trail meant they'd have to come at her one at a time.
Senya flexed her fingers on the sword hilt. Finn had it right earlier; speed was everything. If she could get her strikes in first and fall back to the trees for cover, she might actually have a chance. One slip though, and it would all be over.

  The first rider closed in fast, his bearded face twisted in a snarl. 'You die now, bitch!' he called out in the harsh, guttural bark of his people, sword swinging over his head.

  'Fuck you, Crow!' Senya bit back. She shifted her feet, tightened the grip on her sword, and waited.

  On he came, snow kicking up behind him, earth rumbling beneath him. Senya clenched her teeth hard against the fear, legs tensing, readying for the impact. 'Shit!' she screamed as he bore down on her.

  And then she moved, sidestepping to the right, away from the Crow's sword arm, and let the horse sweep by. Her sword thrust upwards, driven by instinct and skill, and slid easily into the Crow's flanks, an inch below the ribs. The sword speared upwards, through the guts and into his heart. The horse rode on, ripping the sword from Senya's hand and carrying it off down the track, still buried in her victim.

  A cry of rage dragged Senya's attention back to the trail. She turned to find the other two riders closing on her fast, the first barely twenty strides away. He was kicking his mount on with venom, axe in hand, but it was the man beyond him, bringing up the rear, that caught Senya's eye. Him with the bow.

  She had forgotten the bow. Yet there it was, varnished wood glinting in the sunlight. Senya could almost hear the wood straining as the bowstring drew tight on the notched arrow. She bent her knees, ready to dive into the underbrush. Then something punched into her shoulder and sent her spinning through the air.

  She landed heavily in the snow, the wind knocked out of her in a great rush, agony searing through her shoulder. She hadn't heard the twang of the bow through the madness of pounding hooves and desperate war cries, but the sight of the arrow jutting from her shoulder below the collarbone was proof enough.

  For the briefest moment, Senya found herself marvelling at the strangeness of it all. One moment she was eating breakfast with her uncle, and the next she was lying in the dirt, staring at a shaft of wood buried in her shoulder, grey fletching fluttering in the breeze. The pain was real enough though. No escaping that.