The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  The others laughed when he said it. But he knew they didn't understand the terrible burden it was for him. Of course, he had never stolen from small traders anyway. It would have been like stealing food from babies. They couldn't afford it. So the fact that he couldn’t pay for anything meant that every time he went to a stall and was given food or supplies, instead of paying for it he made a donation of the same value to the shrine to Liasa. He still felt guilty though. And he never even looked at the costlier items like jewellery that he might once have swiped. When he would just be given it if he asked, what was the point? Lord Daelyn's decree had been one of the cruellest acts he'd ever experienced.

  “You found your family?” Briagh turned to his fellow morph. He assumed Endorian had, but he hadn't heard anything.

  “Yes.” Endorian was unexpectedly short with his reply.

  “Difficult?” Maybe it was prying but Briagh was curious. And the shortness of his answer troubled him. After all this time he had expected more.

  “Time moves on as they say. Ten years of Celes rising and setting changes things. My family thought I was dead. Mara remarried. A nice man if I'm honest. And my children grew into adults without me. They've all married now and have had children of their own. I'm a grandfather.”

  He smiled unexpectedly, an expression that Briagh couldn't recall him ever making before.

  “Congratulations.” Briagh meant that. He understood that it was a bitter-sweet thing for Endorian. He’d missed so much of his family's lives, but had now finally been given the chance to be with them again in whatever fashion. Still, anything was better than what he had endured before.

  “And Princess, you've become an adventurer?”

  “My family's term. It makes things sound grander than they truly are. Actually, I went back to Abysynth for a while to hunt for whatever I could find of our old lives. After that I journeyed with Master Zo'or and Abel as they searched for his family. After Callum's trial of course. Since then I've been helping Father Argen with his research for his books.”

  Callum's trial. Briagh’s head dropped a little. Now there was a sadness he hadn't thought on in ages. He'd journeyed back to Abylon to speak at the trial, his safety assured by the forty first rangers and the presence of Lord Daelyn. He thought he'd given some good words. Proper words. About how a man should not be tried for his crime without the causes that had driven him to it being considered. About the suffering he'd already endured and the desperation that had driven him. About the lies he too had been told. He had recommended clemency. A life sentence spent granting the gift of his magic to the people.

  But in the end the crimes had been too great and the pain suffered too much by too many. The judges had not agreed with him. Nor with Father Argen or Master Zo'or or many of the other witnesses who had spoken up on his behalf. And so he had been led out to the gallows and hung. Briagh did not really know the man, and he had suffered as greatly as any others at his hands. Still, seeing him hang had made him sad. In the end he understood what it was to do bad things out of desperation. Because of circumstance forced upon you. He had become a thief. Callum a murder. But there had been little choice for either of them. There had been no true justice in the sentence.

  Oddly though, the only one of them to be comfortable with the verdict had been Callum himself. He had taken the witch bane willingly and walked out to the gallows without any protest. How many condemned men did that?

  “You said books. As in more than one?” Briagh changed the subject, not wanting to think on Callum's fate any longer.

  “Several. The first volume is already written and with the presses. He's called it “The Coming” and you should get a copy within a month or two. It's just the dry facts of what happened. The second volume will be larger and will contain the interviews with all those who were there. There is to be a third volume after that. Father Argen is a truly happy man these days.”

  He would be, Briagh thought. The priest loved to talk and to lecture. But he also loved to learn. And the interviews he had forced Briagh to have with him had been exhaustive. There had been no question left unasked. If the other interviews had been similar, there might be twenty volumes coming!

  “There's no Careyn here?”

  “It's been … awkward,” Briagh answered her. “She was bitten. That makes things … complicated.”

  In fact, it made it more than that. Because once Careyn knew of those most intimate and painful moments of his life as if she had herself lived them, she had desperately wanted to apologise for all the evil that had happened. She had seemed to want to mother him. To make it all all right. All in all, it had made things very uncomfortable. Especially when he didn't like anyone knowing about those things about him. That whole part of his life was something he didn't want to think about.

  The others nodded, understanding what he meant. Because they too had had the most painful parts of their lives revealed to all the world, including those most intensely personal and private agonies that were best left hidden. And yet oddly, the three of them did not have that knowledge of one another. They knew the facts, but they did not share the actual memories. That made it easier for them to be with one another. The three witnesses at the trial as Father Argen insisted they had been, could be at ease with one another but not with those who had heard their evidence.

  “We still see one another and talk, and I am hopeful that in time it will become easier. For the moment she is doing well. She's been promoted to Captain of the Guards and awarded a medal for defeating your intended – the barbarian Prince in combat.”

  Now there was a man who should have been hung, Briagh thought. But instead he got to live, and had been sentenced to spend the rest of his life in the labour gangs. Though luckily without his sword arm. That would make him considerably less dangerous. He hoped.

  “Keep that poisonous tongue in your mouth boy! The only thing I intend for Vel Moran is a miserable life followed by a painful death!” Elan snapped, making Briagh smile and Endorian chortle.

  “Ah, so you do intend to be hand-fasted to him then!” Briagh couldn't help himself as the words slipped out. But then when Endorian burst into laughter he joined him. He couldn't stop laughing either. Meanwhile the Princess turned red, but for once contained her anger as she waited for them to finish.

  “Well if you two children have finished braying like donkeys, we should speak about why we came. It's been nearly a year since the Goddess stopped Barachalla's madness, and Lord Daelyn and some of the other lords of the realms have decided that there should be some sort of festivity. A feast day to be marked every year. He's invited everyone who was there to attend and give a short speech. And since we were already on our way, we thought we'd pick you up.”

  “But not to worry. I'll make sure to pick out the calmest, most docile horse for you to ride in the morning!”

  Briagh groaned as he realised she meant the exact opposite, and that his future was bound to be filled with falls, kicks and possible biting. But he supposed he deserved it a little for his joke. Endorian laughed. He shouldn't have.

  “But I mean really, if a senile old grandfather can manage to ride a horse, you can too!”

  “You know I have a daughter who's not much older than you and I'm fairly sure I could still bend her over my knee and spank her!”

  “Truly a strange family! Tell me, is this a regular occurrence in your home? Because Father Argen would be fascinated to hear of it!”

  It was Briagh's turn to smile, though he was careful to hide his merriment from them. He was already in enough trouble. Instead, he sipped his drink and let the two of them bicker for a while. They seemed comfortable with it and he was happy to listen.

  This must be what it was like to have a family he thought. Perhaps. He didn't actually know and he suspected he never would. And yet it occurred to him that that was alright. He might never know what it was like to have a family again, but millions of others would, thanks in part to him. That was something to feel good about. Eve
ntually though the others noticed his silence.

  “Something troubling you?”

  “Not troubling, no. Just a thought bubbling around in my head. That everyone has misunderstood the Goddess. She may be the Mother of the Morphs and the Goddess of Freedom. But they have all missed the single word in that that matters, Mother. She did not act because her temples were being destroyed or because her followers were being driven from the land. She did not act as the outraged Goddess of Freedom. Nor as the Goddess of the Morphs. She acted as an outraged mother.”

  “In truth she is first a mother. That this is exactly what the Goddess was speaking about. Everything has been about her family. Family by blood as in the morphs. Family of the heart as are her followers.”

  “Morphia spared Barachalla – Racha. But not because he was mad. Because he was family. A wayward child of a sort. So she forgave him his crimes against her. She brought him home to be cared for.”

  “The Goddess spared your family her wrath too, Princess. But not because they had suffered so greatly. Lost so much. But because perhaps their worst crime was against you. Had she punished them she would have hurt you further. What mother could hurt another's child?”

  “She even said it as she spoke to the wildred. That they took what she would have freely given. Of course, she wasn't speaking about the power they sought. That would not have been given. What she was talking about was her favour. Her love for her husband – her family. That which goes with her divine power. When they tried to steal her power of form, they tried to steal the other as well, but never realised it. She wasn't offended that they tried to steal her divine power. She was upset because in doing so they made a mockery of her bond with her husband. The father of her children.”

  “That's why she used us as witnesses too. Because through these crimes we were all robbed of our families. Her family. And in one way or another she returned them to us.”

  “It wasn't perfect. Because it could never be perfect. But still, what she gave us was everything. I might only have had a few minutes with my parents, but I would have crawled naked on my belly through the fires of the underworld for those few precious minutes and never once have complained. And now for the rest of my life I will live a happier life because of those few minutes. It is the same for both of you I expect.”

  Briagh didn't know what he expected from the pair of them. Agreement? Denial? Being told he was a saddle-goose? Instead he got pitying stares. And then sideways glances as they in turn stared at one another.

  “It's sad,” The Princess eventually told Endorian with a pitying look in her eyes.

  “Worse than that. It's criminal really.”

  “Criminal?”

  “Well obviously,” Endorian responded. “A whole year to come up with that? Some blaggard must have stolen his brain!”

  “Stolen?” The Princess looked at Endorian, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You morphs, always looking to blame others for your misfortunes. Obviously it wasn't stolen. Who would want such a useless thing? It's more likely he simply mislaid it somewhere!”

  The two of them started laughing as they went on to discuss where he'd left his brain, while Briagh sat there staring at them, wondering how his life had gone so wrong? He couldn't steal any more. Complete strangers were constantly coming up to him to hug him. He had to jump like a trained dog whenever a Lord asked him to do something – and that happened all too often. His one chance at romance was too painful for words – though in that he at least had some hope that things would eventually right themselves. And now here he was being insulted in his own home!

  Still, he had ale and the warmth of the setting sun on his face. No one was trying to kill him despite the fact that everyone knew he was a morph. You had to take the good with the bad he decided as he took another sip of his ale.

  And in the end he had even got to see his parents again, no matter how short the time they'd had together. After that, very little else mattered. Besides, he wasn't completely defenceless in a battle of wits.

  “So where are you two staying the night? Because I have a very comfortable old pig sty out the back which would be just perfect for you!”