The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  When he was done a few of them grabbed torches from the wall and followed him out, across the bridge and along the path.

  The escape went more easily than he had expected. But then no one was trying to kill them down here. The main problem he had with them was that they kept insisting on talking. Mostly they were complaining about the smell. His telling them about the crocodile didn't help either – they didn't believe him, not even when he showed them the damaged wall. But he kept telling them that they had to be on guard. He also kept having to growl at them to quieten them down. No need to tell any predators where they were! But after a while even that failed to get a response. These people just weren't afraid of him.

  Still, they made it to the exit without incident, and he eventually pushed the door open to see the sky above. It was dark but with the first hints of blue. Dawn was nearly upon them. And maybe, he dared to hope as he started to lead them across the fields to the distant trees, his freedom wasn't far away either. Now they only had to pick up the princes and return to Wynde Par, and that should be easy. Then he would have done everything that had been asked of him. Surely the Lord would have to accept that?

  But even as he began leading them across the fields to the waiting patrol, Briagh found himself doubting it. The fae were turning out to be nothing like the people the bards had spun their tales about. They might be tidy and law abiding, but tidiness wasn't that much of a virtue, and they bent the law to serve themselves. They were suspicious and spied on strangers, so privacy wasn't an option for him – especially when they already knew he was a thief. They made deals with his enemies. And worst of all they had absolutely no hesitation in forcing him to do their bidding. His life was of no value to them. They could simply steal a man's wealth, threaten him with imprisonment and then force him to undertake dangerous journeys simply because they needed him to. And the chances were that they might need him to do other equally dangerous things once this was over.

  The fae couldn't be trusted.

  Maybe he needed to start thinking about simply leaving his clothes and his property behind and running before they made it back to Wynde Par?

  Still, they had one virtue that mattered to him. They didn't kill morphs.

  And he was beginning to realise that he had a virtue too. A good one for a thief. Or a morph in a hostile land. Because it seemed he managed to survive everything they threw at him. Once he would never have dreamed of taking on a dire wolf or entering a village full of them. Now it seemed he was getting used to fighting. And he was becoming good at it. But was that enough of a reason to stay?

  Chapter Thirty One

  The royal hunting lodge was quiet when they approached. But Argen knew that for the deception it was. He could feel it in his bones. He was no soldier trained to recognise danger and be ready for it, but a priest could always feel when bad things lay ahead. It was like a chill in his very bones.

  He had been uneasy for some time. Not simply because he was sharing a horse with another priest as they had more people than horses. Not even because the stories he had heard of what had happened in the city had disturbed and saddened him.

  Instead his first worry lay with Briagh who he feared would leave immediately he was released from his obligations by Lord Daelyn. It wasn't that the young man deserved punishment of any sort. He didn't. Despite his larcenous ways, he deserved a better life than he had had. A life that he could only find among the fae. But the morph planned on leaving Wynde Par the moment he was allowed to. Briagh didn't understand that Wynde Par and the fae were good for him. That the imposition of order and a little law on him was a good thing. But even more importantly, in Wynde Par Briagh could have a useful life with a job and even a family.

  But he was a morph. He had been persecuted all his life. So there was nothing he valued above freedom and safety. Actually for him freedom was his safety. He was a fool – but it was the nature of the young to be foolish.

  Argen was also troubled by having found Marclan – the grandson of the Royal Technologist –among the group who had been rescued. It seemed quite a coincidence to find him among them. And as a general rule Argen distrusted coincidences. But there were other things about Marclan that worried him.

  For a start he looked to have aged a decade since Argen had seen him last. He had more wrinkles and less hair. And though he said it was fear and the ever present danger, Argen doubted it. The man was still bumbling, uncertain and awkward but he was clearly hiding something and Argen didn't like it. Ignorance and mystery were ever the enemy of the Great Sage.

  Still, for the moment he seemed harmless and he might be useful. And just at that moment there were other things that called his attention. Like the large log cabin in front of them.

  It was a very large log cabin sitting out in a perfectly green clearing in the middle of a great forest. It looked more or less as a hunting lodge should – save of course for the lack of kills hanging from the butcher posts in front of it. But that was to be expected. No actual hunters lived here – only the two princes and a few loyal retainers. They didn't hunt. Whatever food or clothing they needed were brought to them every week, and no one else ever visited. No one was permitted. To even enter the surrounding lands was trespassing. Still, it seemed a little too peaceful.

  “The birds are quiet.” Captain Hillaren pointed out something that Argen had missed.

  But what did it mean? Were they silent because their party, now swollen by another thirty or so people, were frightening them? Or was it because there was another threat there that they couldn't see? And once Argen thought about it, he realised he didn't know how long it had been since he had last heard them singing.

  “It feels bad.” Argen agreed with him. But he didn't add anything more because he didn't know what he could actually say that might help.

  “Briagh!” The Captain called for the morph in a loud whisper. He could probably have spoken normally – they were far enough away from the cabin not to be heard – but he was obviously worried.

  “Captain?” Briagh was with them in only a matter of seconds. But then he didn't have far to travel. The Captain liked to keep him close.

  “Can you smell anything?”

  “Only as a panther, and then it's not much use. I can smell everything, but I can't distinguish one scent from another. I'm a human with a panther form. So though I have their sense of smell, I can’t identify the individual smells as a panther might. But my vision and sight are much sharper.”

  Briagh surprised Argen with that last. It was almost as though he was volunteering to do some scouting. The young man looked to have surprised himself as well. Just as he had done before. Maybe being among a people who didn't hate or fear him because of what he was, was making him feel bolder? Was the frightened, distrustful child finally growing up into a man? Or was – and this was more of a worry – he simply learning how to fight? To discover just how dangerous he could be as a morph? That was a journey that might not be good for the character of a man who had been raised all his life to run and hide.

  “Change. But do it quietly!”

  Briagh nodded and went back to his horse – an animal he was not fond of Argen knew. Seldom had he seen a man less adept at riding. Or a horse that disliked its rider more. Several times it had tried to bite the morph and once it had got him with a surprise kick, sending him flying, to the amusement of the rangers. It was as if the horse simply hated him.

  Moments later, having undressed and stuffed his clothes into his saddle bags, the panther left them, heading off to follow the wide circle of the tree line surrounding the cabin.

  He was quick and graceful, Argen thought. He was also amazingly good at remaining concealed as he moved. Even knowing where he was Argen had a hard time tracking Briagh. It was something about the colouration of his coat and the way he wove his way through the undergrowth. He might not actually be a panther, but he had the instincts of one when it came to concealment.

  The instincts of a panther and the mind of a m
an. Argen realised that as he watched Briagh in action. A true panther would growl, as it stopped every so often to take a good look at the cabin. But Briagh knew better than to make any sort of sound. He would make a dangerous foe Argen thought uneasily. And maybe that too was a part of why Briagh had been volunteering for things lately? He was beginning to understand just how dangerous he was. He was losing his fear. The Princess would be unhappy when she realised that. But then she had only herself to blame for the animosity between them.

  Argen abruptly put aside his thoughts when he saw Briagh unexpectedly leap up into a tree on the far side of the clearing. But his unspoken question as to why he did that was quickly answered when he saw a pair of soldiers wander out of the trees and head towards the cabin. Barbarian soldiers. The Prince's people had found the lodge!

  He groaned, quietly. If the soldiers were here, then what about the princes? Did the barbarians know that they were still alive and had come to kill them? He had heard from the other priests that Lord Sternfell had lied to the Prince before he had died and told him that King Harold's sons were dead. He had tried to save them with his dying words. But had he succeeded in convincing the Prince of that? It seemed not when another pair of soldiers wearing the barbarian Prince's colours wandered out from the distant trees.

  Were the princes still alive? Argen feared they might not be. Because the one thing he knew about Vel Moran was that he would tolerate no one and nothing who stood between him and his throne. He had already had to accept his brother doing that to him once in Grole. But only because his brother was even more dangerous than he was. If Vel Moran knew that they lived, he would see to it that the princes wouldn’t for much longer.

  Then again maybe he didn't know. Maybe this was simply the barbarian Prince's soldiers extending his rule. Even so, the future of the princes still looked grim. If he thought the two men living here were simply two crazed nobles, their lives were in just as much danger. The Prince did not tolerate madness either. He considered it a malaise that might be passed from one person to another. He would have them killed for it.

  But there was nothing Argen could do at that moment save watch as the soldiers took up positions to the side of the lodge. Meanwhile Briagh sprinted out across a heavy tree branch and leapt to the next tree behind them. He couldn't fly, but it seemed that he could do the next thing to it. Meanwhile Captain Hillaren had his rangers draw their longbows and take positions in the trees.

  Many times Argen had wondered at the ranger's dedication to the art of archery. Bows seemed outdated. A bullet could travel further and puncture steel plate. But longbows had a good range in the hands of an expert and with steel tips they could puncture chain and leather. They were also silent and quick to reload. Maybe this was a situation in which they would once more prove their worth against the soldiers' rifles?

  Then Briagh did something unexpected. Having circled behind the soldiers keeping watch to the other side of the lodge, Briagh suddenly leapt down from the trees, landed on the ground, and sprinted as only a panther could towards the party. Argen’s question as to why was quickly answered when Briagh leapt at least thirty or forty feet through the air to come crashing down on someone lying in the long grass and toss him into the air. After that things became chaotic as he dashed from soldier to soldier, simply moving too fast for the eye to follow, grabbing men with his claws and muzzle and hurling them around like dolls.

  It was then that Argen realised that what had looked like an empty grass clearing had actually been peppered with soldiers lying in the long grass with rifles. If the patrol had moved further toward the lodge they would have been dead in the soldiers’ sights. Only Briagh's position in the trees above and behind them had allowed him to spot them. They had had a lucky escape.

  The men flew, several of the rifles they'd had trained in the direction of the patrol discharged, and Briagh roared like a wild cat before suddenly sprinting for the trees to the left. That brought the first four soldiers running toward the morph, while more rifles fired at him as he ran. But as far as Argen could see, none hit Briagh and he disappeared into the trees with a thunderous growl. Meanwhile the front door to the lodge slammed open and three more soldiers came running out.

  Eleven men – four on each side of the lodge and three inside. Clearly they had been about to walk into some sort of ambush. They had escaped it only thanks to Briagh’s efforts. The young man had more courage than he'd given him credit for. More courage than he’d probably even he'd given himself credit for.

  Even as Argen watched he realised that Briagh was roaring, enticing the soldiers to run for the trees where they thought he prowled. Some were firing their weapons at him. Briagh was leading the soldiers away from the patrol and into the forest. Why? Where was he leading them to? And what were they supposed to do while he did that?

  “Captain?” Argen wondered what they did next. Rush into the now hopefully nearly empty lodge and hope they could find the princes still alive? Or give chase?

  “We wait.” Captain Hillaren answered the unspoken question. “If Briagh is doing what I think he is, we will have our chance.”

  Argen didn't know what he meant, but he understood that the Captain was in charge. So he waited patiently, while Briagh kept roaring in the distance and the occasional shot rang out. Somehow Argen doubted they had come anywhere even close to the thief. He was far too quick for that.

  But then the roaring stopped. The shots kept happening, but of Briagh there was nothing. Not for several very long minutes. Not until he suddenly appeared in the trees to their left and shifted into his human form.

  “Get ready!” He yelled at them, and then shifted back into a dappled panther. Then he turned and let out the loudest roar he could before rushing into the middle of the clearing, midway between them and the lodge.

  It was then that Argen understood. He was bringing the soldiers back. Something they were obviously wanting to do from the fact that they still kept shooting even though he was surely nowhere near them. His plan was to get the soldiers to chase him across the clearing, right in front of the rangers. To present them as perfect targets. Briagh roared a few more times for good measure, before settling down in the long grass to wait for them.

  He didn't have to wait long. The first of the soldiers appeared at the tree line about a minute later, and then stood still for a while as they tried to spot the wild cat. They were also busy reloading as fast as they could.

  That was Briagh's signal to leap up like a startled cat, roar wildly, and dash for the far side of the clearing and the safety of the trees. A couple of bullets flew past him as he ran, but neither seemed to hit him, and Briagh was quickly lost in the forest once again. But that was his plan Argen knew, and the morph let out a few more angry roars to encourage them to give chase.

  It worked, but the soldiers were slower than before. Perhaps they were tired from all the running? Perhaps they were starting to get angry as they realised they had come nowhere close to hitting Briagh. This time they took their time, reloaded, and once more formed into a party before finally advancing into the clearing, rifles at the ready. But as focused as they were on the panther, they failed to look to either side as they advanced. It was a mistake.

  Just as they reached the middle of the clearing the Captain dropped his hand, and his rangers loosed their arrows. Immediately eleven men went down; dead almost before they hit the ground. A couple fired their weapons as they fell, but after that there was only silence.

  Briagh was soon back with them in the trees, standing behind a patch of undergrowth to protect his modesty as he transformed back into his human form.

  “Captain?”

  “Good work Briagh,” the Captain acknowledged his efforts. “Any thoughts as to how many are still inside the lodge?”

  “The stables out back had twelve horses and two wagons.”

  Argen did some quick arithmetic, just as he imagined everyone else was. Assuming that the wagons were pulled by one horse each, that left ten ri
ding animals. And the wagons if they were normal supply wagons, would have had two or three soldiers each sitting on the bench in front. There could have been more in the back, but the wagons would likely have only been used for provisions. That added up to fourteen to sixteen soldiers, assuming that none of the horses or wagons had belonged to the lodge. And eleven were down. They were looking at perhaps a handful of soldiers remaining in the lodge.

  But that was the good news. The bad news was that that handful of soldiers were armed and would now be well aware that their fellow soldiers had fallen. They knew the panther hadn't done it and so they would be waiting for them. Sixty rangers could take them – but there would be a price for it.

  “Jeyla!” The Captain called for one of his rangers, and he appeared almost immediately. “The far cry.”

  Far cry? Argen hadn't heard of that before. But his questions were answered as the ranger rushed away to return seconds later with the device in his hands. Argen recognised it immediately. It was one of the dwarven devices that allowed a man's voice to carry a long way. He had no idea how it worked save that it used the electricity that the technologists were always saying was a true miracle. But the only thing that mattered was that it worked.