“I’m not talking about soup. Cups are how we measure weight. Two cups of meat is about the same as a small rabbit.”
“And where did you come up with that idea?”
“I didn’t. The humans use water to weigh things. Water is the same everywhere; it’s a fair way to trade.”
Nacole grinned at him. “But what if the cup is smaller?”
“It doesn’t matter, as long as the size is agreed on, and the same one is used every time. It’s that way when using hands and spans to measure cloth, too. Have you not heard the saying, ‘Never buy silk from a dwarf’?” Nacole looked confused. “No, of course you haven’t. Never mind. The point is, if we can’t feed them properly, this lot are going to start fighting amongst themselves.”
“You’re more human than wolf, Mott,” Nacole said.
Mott felt a wave of frustration fill his gut. She had probably meant her comment as a playful jibe, but her joking wasn’t helping.
“Have you ever wondered why humans do so well?” Mott asked her.
“Because they have swords?” Nacole said. She made no attempt to hide the sarcasm.
“They conquered the land before they invented arms and armour. No, they have done so well because they are the only animal that can travel across desert, mountain or ice with relative ease. They can do that, not because of a sword or bow, but because they can put food in a bag and throw it over their shoulder. You can’t, so your packs stay small. You never have more members than can live off a single kill. If you’re going to survive this, you are all going to have to do things better…”
…Mott stopped at the sight of Nacole’s gawping expression. She was looking behind him, at one of the Wildlings.
The big wolf spoke. “And I suppose you’ll be the one to show us how, Rukin.”
The wolf was black and much bigger than Mott. When he spoke, other turned to see what was going on. Before Mott could utter a word, a wide arc of Wildlings had formed, with him at the centre.
“That’s Ker,” Nacole whispered. “The She at his side is Suresh.”
Nacole’s lip curled as she spoke of Ker’s mate, Mott noticed.
Surash took a step forward. “Found yourself a new mate already, Nacole?”
Again, the wolf was talking. Nacole wasn’t lying; these Broan wolves really did talk a lot more than their southern cousins.
“No, Surash,” Nacole told her. “Unlike you, I take my honour seriously.”
The Prime stared contemptuously at Nacole, but, at a nudge from Ker, stepped back until she was standing behind the black Alpha.
Wolves congregated around the five of them. Some looked confused, others angry. Mott thought it best to play the passive newcomer. He bowed his head and tucked his tail. No point antagonising any of them.
“It’s a bit late for that, my Rukin friend,” Ker said. “You’ve already spoken up for all to hear; told every wolf within earshot that I’m a poor leader. Would you care to tell us what you would do, Rukin?”
Nacole bared her teeth. “So, you’re the lead Alpha now? What, Alpha to the Broan Sect not good enough for you? Tell me, did you kill Rarn as well.”
“Of course, you weren’t here, were you?” Surash’s said in an ominous tone. “Rarn left. Ker is Alpha of the Gathering. He is King of the Wildlings.”
“King!” Nacole almost laughed.
Mott hoped she wouldn’t. He was beginning to realise that Nacole was often too headstrong for her own good.
“Hold your tongue, outcast; you have no Voice until I give you one,” Surash growled.
Mott heard mumblings in his mind. It was hard to pick out anything in particular, but it seemed that most of those watching did not believe that anyone should be talking out loud, never mind Nacole. Broan wolves were clearly a minority among Wildlings. Maybe Mott could use that to his advantage.
Ker must have heard it, too; his mood changed. “If you are making a challenge, Nacole, then let us hear it. If not, your place is back beyond the ridge. And take your… friend with you.” The huge black wolf took another step closer. “Heed my words, Nacole; if it were not for your pups…”
Nacole dropped her head and turned to leave.
“You will all starve,” Mott said, loud enough for all to hear, “if you don’t kill each other first.”
“You don’t know when to shut up, do you, Rukin?” Ker said.
The big wolf laughed, but the thirty or so wolves that had gathered in a circle around them did not. Ker looked at their faces. Mott could not be sure, but he thought Ker looked nervous.
“We will go south, past the gap and into the low country. That is what we decided,” Ker said.
“You’ll die before you pass the canyon, Ker,” Mott said. “The only way beyond the Eurmac is within a few miles of Beugeddy. The humans will see a pack of this size and ride out to meet you. You will die, either beneath their swords or of starvation.”
The big wolf growled. “So, you challenge me, Rukin? You are a fool. I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not challenging you, Ker; I’m advising you. Running is not the answer.”
“‘Running’! Now you accuse us of cowardice. I must say, I didn’t think you Rukin were this stupid.”
Dras whispered in Mott’s ear, “Maybe we should leave, my friend; you’ll be of little use dead.”
“I can’t, friend,” Mott told him.
It was now or never. If he left now, he might as well go back to Illeas’den and start planning the Rukin retreat. Mott gazed around at the gathered mass of Wildlings. Fierce fighters, every one; they could make a real difference, if only they would listen to reason. He was sure they would all perish if they marched south. Even if they made it through Eurmac, the southern lands were little more than desert – no place for a wolf. No, there was only one thing he could do.
“Ker, Alpha, and so named ‘King of the Wildlings,’ I challenge you, as is my right under doctrine, in accordance with the Tenets of Karakin.”
Ker laughed even louder. “So formal. You Rukin are all the same. We don’t recognise the Tenants of Karakin here; you need only say the word.” The huge wolf took another step closer and looked down at Mott. “One hour then, in the centre of the field. I want time to spread the word; everyone will see you die.”
* * *
“Are you mad?” Nacole said after Ker and Surash left. “You can’t win!”
“Can you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Nacole ask, And Dras raised his nose to the wind, too.
“Wolves, Nacole; seven thousand wolves. I haven’t seen so much as a bird on the wing for the past ten miles. If I don’t change their minds, they will all die, or split up into feuding groups. Either way, we lose.”
Nacole gathered her pups and sat, still gazing at him as though he were mad. “You may have a point, Mott, but you will have to beat Ker before they will listen to you.” She looked down at the pup Mott had rescued as it nuzzled in under her. “I don’t want you dead, Mott. We should leave; we can go to your village.”
“We? I thought—”
“I’m not a fool, Mott; I can see the Wildlings are done for. Dragons in the north, the desert in the south, if we do not change we won’t survive. But you ask too much. Even if, by some miracle, you win today, you will not persuade the rest of them to follow you to the human’s war.”
“It’s not the… Nacole, you are running because of the dragons; is this not your war, too? Are you not in danger from this enemy every bit as much as the humans are? If you care at all for you kind, then help me persuade them.”
The little pup poked its nose out from underneath Nacole’s leg and looked at him. Maybe she was right, maybe there was no hope. Mott looked to the west; the ridge was less than a mile away, they could be over it and gone. A vision of living happily in Illeas’den with Nacole and her pups filled his mind. But no sooner had it formed, than another took its place: Nacole and the pups following him south, dragons on their tail, Kel’madden Troopers rampaging through I
lleas, burning, killing and looting his home on their way to the west coast. There would be no peace for them in Illeas; the Rukin would have to run south, too. No, the Wildings were here; it was now or never. He had to try, even if he knew failure meant death.
The hour passed quickly. Ker was true to his word. The black Alpha stood in the centre of the field at the bottom of the valley, surrounded on all sides by thousands of Wildlings. Mott looked about at the wolves sitting on the slopes. They’re all here. Ker really does want to send a message, seal his command.
“You don’t have to fight, Mott,” Dras told him. “It’s not too late. Submit; the worst he can do is banish you.”
Mott gazed at the gathered masses. A whispering, like the call of a thousand distant birds, echoed in his mind. What were they saying? He wished he knew, but there were just too many voices. “It’s too late for that, Dras,” Mott said, nodding to his friend.
Mott eyed the Gathering. Even now, there seemed to be trouble in the ranks of grey, black and brown wolves. Some were forcing others out of the way to get a better look, others were snarling at their neighbour. None looked well fed. And the smell… There wasn’t enough water, and the carcasses of rabbits, birds and small rodents littered the valley floor. They would be diseased soon. If they didn’t die from starvation, or from fighting among themselves, they would succumb to sickness or infection. He was right, when he told Nacole that wolves had to stay in small packs to survive. But he was talking about Wildlings. The Rukin had lived together in their hundreds for centuries…
A wolfish smile creased Mott’s lip. Like it or not, the Wildlings needed a taste of civilisation.
He turned to Dras. “Have you ever played cards?” Mott asked the old wolf.
Dras looked confused.
Mott chuckled to himself as he entered the clearing. He walked into the centre and sat down. Ker was ten paces in front of him. Surash, and another large wolf, were standing either side of the so-called “King.”
“We’re not here to sit, Rukin,” Ker said. “The time for talk is over. Stand and face me, or are you a coward?” The black Alpha laced the last with contempt and raised his voice so all could hear. He seemed pleased with himself, as he eyed the valley while doing a slow circle around Surash and the other wolf. He seemed to be smiling, too.
“I will fight if you promise me one thing, Ker,” Mott shouted. He hoped the wolves at the back could hear him.
“Why would I care what you want, Rukin. You’ll be dead soon enough?”
It appeared that Ker had expected the Wildlings to laugh at his comment. But none did. “I’ll swear to nothing, Rukin. You challenged me; I owe you no favours,” Ker said. Then quieter than before, “I am, however, curious. What is this promise you would have me keep?”
“Promise me you will turn east and help the humans.”
Ker laughed, but he was the only one. The whisper in Mott’s mind increased to a quiet chatter.
“Enough with your talk, Rukin; we are Wildlings, not the humans’ pet dogs. We will go our own way, just like we always have.”
Mott smiled and gazed down at the floor before raising his head high toward the gathered masses. “For the past eight hundred years, the Wildlings have lived their lives the way they choose because the humans have left you alone. They have no interest in your territory; a wolf in the wild is of no concern to them. The Kel’madden will not leave you be. They will bring their dragons and their strange beasts to this land. They will see you as a threat, a pest to exterminate.
“You may make it south beyond the Eurmac, but then what? Will you live on lizards and snakes, half of which are poisonous? Will you hide under rocks from the noon sun, fight for water, see your young starve?”
The mumbling in Mott’s mind became a rumble. He couldn’t tell if they were agreeing or not, but something was happening. He turned to Nacole; she looked nervous, as if waiting for trouble.
“Stand, you coward,” Ker growled. “Stand and fight. You will not tell a Wilding how to live; you know nothing of our ways. We will survive; we are the strongest among wolves. Stand and fight; let us be done with you.”
“If you want me dead, then kill me now. I’ll not bare my teeth for you, Ker. You must change if you are to survive.” Mott raised his head again. “You must live as one with the humans. Someday, maybe a month from now, or maybe a year, you can go back to your homes. Is it too much to ask for help? Will you leave this land to the witch?
The mumbling in Mott’s mind rose to a cry. He still couldn’t make it out, but Ker looked nervous.
The big wolf growled as he lunged toward Mott, but he didn’t get far. Five wolves jump up from the ranks. They lined up between Mott and Ker.
At last, Mott could hear some of the voices in his mind. Many were saying, “Help the humans,” while others were asking for more talk, more information. “Let him speak!” was the cry from some.
Ker snapped and snarled at those in front of him, but none moved aside. The big wolf paced back and forth, eyeing Mott through the gaps. His teeth were bare and his heckled raised.
Abruptly, Ker forced his way through the line. He was inches from Mott when a shadow rushed in from the left. Dras barrelled into the bigger wolf. They both rolled in a heap. When they stood, Ker was facing six.
“Fools, what are you doing? He will lead us to ruin.” Ker barked.
Surash joined him and whispered into his ear. Mott could not hear, but what she said made Ker angrier. He lashed out at her and she ran for cover.
“Enough, Ker,” Dras shouted.
Ker stood still, gazing at the old wolf.
Dras continued, “You are a brave wolf, Ker, a strong wolf, but now is not your time. We must fight as one with the humans, fight or die a ghost’s death. There will be no honour beyond the Eurmac. If you want to see the Wildlings return home, then you must follow Mott the Brave into battle.”
“‘Mott the Brave’?” Ker howled. “You have named him leader? You have gone against our doctrine and chosen a Rukin as Alpha… and you say we should fight to ‘protect our ways.’ Do you think us fools, old one; do you think we can’t see what you are doing? These humans want us for pets, as you Rukin are. You will ruin us with all this.”
“I have no wish to be your leader,” Mott said, “but you are right; I am fighting for the Rukin, I’m fighting for all wolves. I promise you all, once this is done, you will be free to go back to your lands.”
“And can you give that promise for the humans, Rukin?”
“I don’t need to, Ker. We fight with the humans, but not for the humans. They may not even welcome us, but they will have our aid, like it or not. And afterwards, they will leave us be, just like they always have.” Mott took a step forward. “Will you be our general, Ker? Will you lead the Wildings in the greatest battle of their lives?”
Ker looked shocked. An agreeable hum settled over the crowd. A long moment past before Ker spoke: “Your general?”
“Our general.”
The six wolves guarding Ker stepped warily to the side as the big wolf walked over the Mott. “I’ll do this because it’s what they want. But mark me, Rukin, you and I are not finished.”
Ker moved alongside Mott and howled to the gathered Wildlings.
A shrill howl rose amongst the seven thousand wolves. The five that guarded Mott bowed to Ker. Surash stood by his side.
Nacole moved to Mott’s side. “Was that your plan all along, Mott?” she asked him.
“It wasn’t much of a plan, was it,” Mott said, and Nacole laughed.
Dras laughed, too. “One of these days, you will have to teach me this game with the cards, my friend.”
Mott smiled at him. “You can thank my human cousins for that, Dras. It’s what they call ‘betting on the house.’”
Dras looked confused, and Mott laughed – not so much at his joke; he was just glad to be alive.
CHAPTER 24
Into the Dark
Gialyn watched as the four Kel’madden Tro
opers walked by. They weren’t guarding the entrance to the valley, they were just walking past, like the fifty or so others he had seen in the past hour. He crouched back down behind the rock wall where Elspeth and the others were waiting.
“They’re still coming,” Gialyn told them.
“We can’t stay here all night,” Elspeth said.
Olg, Lud and Fran looked frustrated, too. They had suggested climbing over the ridge, but Bre’ach had said no. That was nearly an hour ago, and still they sat in the same place, watching.
Bre’ach looked up along the ridgeline. “Are you sure about that path?” he asked Olg.
Olg nodded. “It’s steep, but we should manage. I can’t see any other way.”
Bre’ach sighed.
Gialyn wondered, not for the first time, how it was that Bre’ach came to be in charge. He could understand it when it was just the three of them – neither he nor Elspeth knew anything of the land, so it made sense to listen to a Salrian. But now, they had three more Salrians in their group. He was surprised that they, too, followed Bre’ach’s lead.
“Lead the way then, Olg. I’ll take rear guard,” Bre’ach said. He waved Olg forward while pulling his pack over his shoulder.
Olg nodded, but Fran was already crawling towards the high path. Olg said nothing; he just followed the youngest of the three poachers. Maybe Fran knew the way better than Olg did.
Gialyn couldn’t see any path. He followed Lud, and Elspeth followed him – he had gestured for her to lead the way, but she had refused. The rocks around the valley entrance were a lighter shade than those dark, almost black, boulders of the lowlands. They were sandy in texture, and the trail was loose underfoot. Lud and the other poachers trod lightly, barely leaving a trail. Gialyn, on the other hand, couldn’t put a foot down without releasing a river of shale that flowed back down the hill.
“Take your time, Master Gialyn,” Lud told him. “Take smaller steps: place your foot carefully, bring your body to rest over it and then push off.”
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