by James Abbott
‘It is not out of charity that he does this,’ Birgitta explained. ‘The villagers are his slaves, more or less. He feeds them to keep his workers alive, nothing more, nothing less. He will not take kindly to our delivery, as it interferes with his unwritten contract.’ She smiled to herself at the notion.
There was a merchant’s store in the centre of Vasille, which was where the two sisters headed. They strode along the muddied road until they arrived at the merchant’s large oak door. Elysia waited outside the stone building with the concealed gift of food, whilst Birgitta went inside to speak with the merchant.
There didn’t seem much for people to do around here, and the citizens of the town looked thin and troubled. Men sat silently in the shade of awnings, whilst a few women gathered at a well to draw water. Their clothes were old and dirty. To one side, the temple that had once belonged to the Goddess had been desecrated. There was no reference to the deity. Instead, strange animals had been carved in bright new stone, a stark contrast to the rest of the faded structure. Mardonius’s agents had come all the way out here to make their point. They would clearly have had little resistance from people who could barely even feed themselves, let alone fight.
A sharp exchange came from within the store. Whoever was speaking with Birgitta was certainly terse in their response. Eventually the merchant came outside, a short man with long grey hair, and he was squinting in the sunlight. Time had etched deep lines into his face, and Elysia guessed from the permanent scowl that his life had been a miserable one.
He glared at Elysia in a mixture of surprise and disgust, blinking repeatedly, and then looked down to the wrapped carcass. He leaned down and untied the material. Elysia did the same with the rope around her waist. Seemingly pleased with the delivery, he rose and stared at Birgitta.
‘As I say, we expect nothing in return. This is gift,’ Birgitta said, before adding, ‘We are not all the same as those you fear.’
The man had stopped listening to her and began to haul the carcass up into his store. He closed the door behind him.
‘He was rude,’ Elysia said. ‘I can see why last time you had me wait on the other side of the street.’
‘Never forget the way he looked at you, little sister,’ Birgitta said as they walked back through the settlement. ‘Never forget that.’
‘Is it because of our eyes? Is it the colour?’
‘At first. To them it seems to glow brighter and more blue than normal. It is a sign of who we are and, thus, he knew where we came from.’
‘We’ve done nothing to harm him, though. And neither have the sisters.’
‘No, little sister, no. In life, it does not matter what you have or have not done. People will judge you on your differences. On the things they imagine you do. No matter how improbable or unlikely. They discriminate because they know no better and they’re afraid.’
The Wolf Queen
Her routine was simple.
Wake up at dawn, get water, start a fire, boil the water, forage, and hunt if she needed meat. Practise the old arts so that her skills were not dulled in the wilderness. Read from the few old texts to keep her mind fresh in many languages.
Her domain was simpler these days, too.
A large wooden cabin in the heart of the forest, a river nearby. A view of the distant hills. A square of land to grow simple food. It seemed so far removed from her old life, where she had needed politics and armies to maintain her hold on her territory. Out here she needed just a sword and her wits.
And the wolves, of course.
She continued to wear her warrior garb, as much to maintain some sense of discipline as it was for protection. There was no need of it really, not unless brigands wandered through her land, which happened occasionally. Down by the river, she followed the water into a still gully and washed her face. Sunlight filtered through oak and elm. Birdsong was vibrant at this hour. The sound of the bubbling water was soothing. If this was to be her queendom now, then so be it. At least she was still alive.
She stared at her own reflection in the water: she had not aged all that much. The familiar features, a strong nose and jawline, stared back at her. Her black hair was tied back with metal bands. Her face was still lean, perhaps more so since she had come out to live in the forests. Stark against her black leather jerkin were the pale and wiry muscles of her arms. That was where she noticed the changes the most: gone were the days of opulent feasting.
Coming out here has done me so much good. Burned away the lethargy that comes with soft living.
Leaves suddenly rustled on the opposite bank. With water dripping down her face she peered up to see one of the grey wolves pushing through the low foliage. He nosed around the riverbank for a moment before sitting down, upright, and watched her impassively.
‘I haven’t seen you for two days,’ she said. ‘Have you been hunting?’
The animal gave no reply. He never did, of course, but it never stopped her talking to him. She never gave these common wolves names, since she did not want to become too attached to them. Their numbers rose and fell with the deer. The winters could be harsh in this country.
Another wolf appeared alongside him, this one with black markings around its face, and it, too, sat down to peer back at her across the water. Then came another, this one with more white markings around her legs. She was a little older than the others. The three wolves were lined up, as if waiting for her to make a decision.
She rose from the bank of the river and tried to sense if there was a threat. It wouldn’t be the first time that the wolves had warned her of coming danger. On more than four occasions over the years there had been bandits who had strayed far from the road and investigated the woodsmoke coming from her cabin’s chimmney.
She marched back along the riverbank and across the blue-green grassland towards her cabin. Three massive wolves thundered over to join her, their paws thumping on the damp earth. Each beast stood as high as her neck, and even from a distance looked far more muscular than any ordinary wolf. A mixture of grey and black furs, she had named them Vukos, Faolo and Rafe. They were not merely her protectors here. They were three of the great wolves that came from her old realm, and one of the few reminders of who she had once been. These were the only royal escorts she needed.
The animals slowed down to maintain a steady pace alongside her, with Vukos, the largest and more dominant of the three wolves, leading the way. She commanded them to follow her to the doors of her cabin. While she sought out her sword they patrolled the fringes of the structure, with Faolo darting in and out of the nearby foliage as if it were some game.
Rafe, she watched the closest. The young, paler wolf had the sharpest senses. The animal lifted its head in the air towards one direction in particular, indicating there was something further out, but he did not seem all that agitated.
Her weapons now in hand, she stepped back outside and looked sharply around the grassland. The edge of the forest, a circular fringe some three hundred yards away from her home, was the object of her scrutiny.
She bid the animals forwards to where the threat – if it was a threat – was coming from, and the creatures slowly padded towards the eastern fringe of the forest. That was strange enough, she thought, given that the major roads were many miles in the other direction. She followed their lead, her sword strapped across her shoulder and a circular shield across her back.
The pack entered the gloom of the trees. Vukos led them onto one of the paths that were used by wanderers for generations before she had lived there. Rafe paused and glanced towards her with his dark eyes. Soon she could feel the forest floor vibrating gently.
Horses, she realized. And not just one.
She slid free her sword silently and focused on the path, her eyes scanning every swaying branch and flitting bird. Eventually, in the relative darkness up ahead, came the form of several riders. King’s soldiers, by the looks of the colours of their uniforms.
Vukos began to growl and edge forwards.
‘Be still,’ she ordered.
The entourage came to a halt some fifty feet away and, after a quick exchange with the others, two figures dismounted from the horses at the front and began to walk towards her. One was much taller and more muscular than the other. She immediately recognized them.
Xavir of Clan Argentum, one-time captain of the famous Solar Cohort, and Landril Devallios, former royal spymaster. They paused several feet in front of her with uncertainty in their expressions, and with the three wolves encircling them.
Both men fell to their knees.
A Royal Meeting
‘Get up,’ she said. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. This is not a royal court. It is anything but.’
The two travellers rose to their full height and her three wolves padded away to her side.
‘Old habits,’ Xavir said, glancing at the animals. ‘No, Lupara, this is a long way from Dacianara. Cheaper to run, no doubt. I always thought your palace far too opulent for someone who preferred life out on campaign. So how did the wolf queen end up here?’
‘That question can wait,’ Lupara replied.
Xavir had less physical presence than when she had known him last. His brown hair was longer, his blue eyes a little more tired. He seemed more handsome now because of that world-weariness; perhaps time in gaol had tempered the exuberance of his past.
But he was alive at least, and that was something she was very grateful for.
‘You have company,’ said Lupara, indicating the former prisoners in the distance.
‘My new clan,’ Xavir replied. There was almost a smile on his face. She could never tell when he was being sincere.
Lupara looked to Landril and placed her hand upon his shoulder. ‘You told me you could do it.’
‘Need you have had doubts, my lady?’ Landril replied, brushing one of his wrists, his shoulders hunching as if anxious.
‘I am always doubtful of late,’ she said.
‘It was easier than we thought,’ Landril continued. ‘The soldiers manning the keep were the dregs of the army. The hardest part was persuading Xavir here away from his comfortable life.’
‘The good soldiers are too busy bloodying their blades on the innocent,’ Lupara replied.
Xavir gave a nod. ‘We came across a military unit that was carrying bodies from a settlement. Innocent men and women had been killed there, too. Far from where Mardonius has any authority.’
‘And those soldiers?’
‘Dealt with,’ Xavir replied grimly.
‘Good.’
‘You brought your wolves with you,’ Xavir said. ‘They’re bigger than I remember.’
‘Just these three,’ she replied. ‘There are many normal ones scattered throughout the forest. The others, I had to leave behind.’
‘Do you have any connections left with Dacianara?’ Xavir asked.
‘Could we keep all questions for later, my lady?’ Landril interrupted. ‘Look. I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if we talked in that cabin of yours? Only, by the Goddess, my buttocks are thoroughly sore from riding on that thing back there, and I’m dying to warm my bones against a fire and I haven’t eaten anything properly since I was here the last time. Wouldn’t mind a little of that venison, if you’ve still got any, that is.’
‘You ate all of it,’ Lupara said, ‘but it can easily be arranged for more to be provided.’
‘What about the others?’ Xavir asked, pointing back along the path.
Lupara peered through the trees at the entourage. ‘How many men are with you?’
‘Ten others, including Landril,’ Xavir said.
‘I have equipment to make camp,’ Lupara told him. ‘It’s what I used when I first came out here. It is no luxury, though.’
Xavir ran a hand through his hair. ‘Those men have just spent years sleeping on stone slabs in a freezing hole at one of the world’s forgotten corners. Anything you have will be a luxury to them.’
*
The former prisoners put up four large canvas tents, which were old and musty, but were at least shelter. Meanwhile, Lupara permitted Landril and Xavir to share a room within her quarters. Xavir asked if the stoic, black-haired one called Valderon could join them, but he seemed hesitant to do so.
‘I come from a simple background, my lady,’ he said. His voice was deep and crisp. He, too, was handsome. His face was broad, as was his nose, and he had piercing eyes. ‘I’m not used to sleeping near royalty. I’ll stay with the men, if it’s all the same. I always did on campaign anyway.’
‘You’re sure?’ Xavir asked. ‘You were my equal in Hell’s Keep and I wish for that to remain the same. A gesture to the others, as much as anything.’
‘These are merely sleeping arrangements,’ Valderon replied, ‘nothing more. I’ll spend the night out here.’ He paused. ‘Though if it rains I may change my mind.’
While the newcomers washed themselves in the river, Lupara set off with her wolves, bow and arrow to stalk the distant woodlands. She returned in the late afternoon with a deer tied across the back of Vukos and one across Faolo. The food would certainly be enough to feed the men for a day or two. When she arrived back she was initially put out at the fact that her wooded serenity had been disturbed by the presence of the men. It had been years since Lupara had heard so many voices in one place and it stirred old memories within her, of the great hunts of her people as they fought mountainous tribes.
A skinny, wiry man with blond hair, Grend, approached her cautiously.
‘I used to be a tracker from Laussland, my lady, and know my way around a haunch of venison. If you’ll permit, I’d be, uh, happy to turn them into something tasty.’
With a raised eyebrow she gestured towards the carcasses, and Grend edged tentatively towards the wolves.
Xavir stood alongside Lupara as Grend effortlessly hauled one of the deer onto his shoulder and lowered it to the grass on one side.
‘He was imprisoned for poaching from a prince’s private estates in Laussland,’ Xavir explained. ‘But Grend had once helped that same prince’s cousin navigate across a vast frozen lake during a harsh winter. A friendly word spared him death.’
‘Although some would say death would be preferable to Hell’s Keep,’ Grend drawled. ‘Still, that’s all behind us now. When the sun touches that hilltop, we’ll be eating, I promise. Guarantee a proper good feast. Might need a couple of lads to search for herbs among the riverbanks for me, though.’
‘I’ll go,’ Davlor said cheerily.
‘By the Goddess, I’d not trust you to pick something that won’t kill us all,’ Landril declared. ‘I will go with you, and you shall commence your first lesson in botany.’
‘You sure know how to turn fun into dullness, don’t you?’ Davlor moaned, scratching his arse again.
‘You’re welcome,’ Landril replied.
*
Later, whilst this activity continued and the other men lay about the long grass in relative tranquillity, basking in the warmth of the sun, Lupara approached Xavir, who was leaning on the wide doorway of her cabin and staring out across the scene.
‘This is your army then,’ she said sardonically, gazing at the rag-tag bunch before her.
‘Apparently so,’ Xavir replied. ‘It is strange to watch them in this context after having been confined in close quarters for so long. I’m simply glad they’re not bickering any more. You have a pleasant dwelling, Lupara. Good food. Plenty of resources. Peace and quiet. You’re far away from any politicking in the courts of Dacianara.’
‘It is a world away from the past, admittedly,’ Lupara replied. ‘But I enjoy it here.’
‘Really? Despite the lack of power and warfare?’
‘Power isn’t everything and, as you know, killing to keep it is a necessary deed at times. No, I don’t miss it. Here I can meditate and become closer to the spirit-walkers.’ Over the past few years she had indeed become closer to them. The lack of distractions, no one to bother her with the business of
running a nation, allowed her to concentrate her mind on the spiritual teachings of her elders. The warrior queen was finally at peace.
‘So why did you summon me? Why send Landril?’ His words were not harsh. In fact he spoke rather softly. Xavir seemed more confused by her actions than anything else.
‘You don’t sound especially grateful,’ Lupara said, ‘to be free.’
‘I was resigned to my fate,’ Xavir replied. ‘I felt I deserved it. I had. Life was hard, but I made something of an existence there, commanding a gang.’
‘You didn’t deserve to be there. You should not have gone to prison.’
‘So I hear. But I committed the crime, did I not?’ Xavir’s voice was perfectly calm, as if he was talking about the weather. ‘I killed all those people, I and the Solar Cohort. We did it. You were there with us to watch us. Though they weren’t your countrymen you must have felt the shame, too.’
‘Why do you think I now dwell out here?’ Lupara whispered. ‘Because of our nation’s role in the slaughter of our neighbours – our allies. Dacianarans spilled Stravir blood, no matter the reason why. There was talk of war because of what I did! In my homeland I was accused of bringing great shame to the elders. To the spirit-walkers. I was forced to leave my position as queen to maintain order. Cedius did not ask me to outright, neither did my people, but some things do not need to be asked. So this mess did not stop when you went to gaol. It was all because of Mardonius’s plan, but only now can we see this.’
‘I had no idea of the repercussions,’ Xavir replied. ‘What is your evidence so far of Mardonius’s place in all of this?’
‘Landril intercepted the communications: coded letters sent all those years ago between the ringleaders. A plot to bring you and the Solar Cohort down. Landril finally decyphered them. We have the names now. We know what they did. Where they dwell.’