The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  I was not yet twenty-two years old the day the Piths raided Lestwick, and because of the king’s generosity, as well as my marriage to Shana, I had become one of the richest and most powerful men in Ganderland. I now controlled not only Corwick, but Calban as well. It was a fact that never failed to astonish me. I had three main responsibilities as the Lord of Corwick and Calban. First, I was to serve and obey my king at all times. Second, ensure that my holdings remained profitable, enabling me to pay the yearly fees due to the royal house. The third, and to me the most important, was to protect the vassals of my two fiefdoms. I had failed miserably in that last duty here in Corwick, and that failure was a heavy weight for me to bear.

  I knew I couldn’t change the past and save the people of Lestwick, nor raise the dead, but I could still avenge them. Grindin had called me a monster for what I had done, and perhaps he was right about that. But, offering any form of leniency to Nedo—while maybe the wiser choice—was unthinkable to me after what he and his fellow Piths had done. A message had needed to be sent. Not just to the Piths and any others that would dare try to pillage my lands. But to the people who looked to me for their welfare and protection as well.

  I sent Sim and Tyris to warn the other villages about the Piths after we left the hollow, with instructions for my people to flee to the hills or take refuge in the castle until I had dealt with the threat. I wasn’t sure how many of my vassals would come or, for that matter, how long they would need to stay behind my walls. I just knew that the next day or two would be very unsettling for a great many people until this was over. A part of me was starting to regret not going after the remaining Piths after we had located the Daughter. I had chosen not to in the end because I knew I would lose some of my men if I did—maybe even all of them. These were Piths we were dealing with, after all, not cowardly Cardians. The hurried plan that I had devised while talking to Nedo had seemed a far safer bet. But, now that I’d had more time to think it over, I realized that I would need a great deal of luck, not to mention The Mother’s support for it to work at all.

  There were still many miles left to go before we reached Corwick Castle, and I could feel the mischievous fingers of self-doubt working on me as we rode. What if the Piths didn’t do what I expected? What if there were more of them than I thought? I knew the Piths as well as any man in Ganderland possibly could, but even I couldn’t always anticipate what they would do. I frowned, hunching down in my saddle as I mulled over the different possible outcomes to the message that I’d left. I sighed, feeling my stomach start to twist and turn with unease, knowing there was a good chance that it wouldn’t be what I wanted. Perhaps instead of finding a solution to the Pith problem, my actions had just made it infinitely worse.

  My men must have sensed my troubles, for they chose to leave me alone with my thoughts for the duration of the journey. I was in a bleak mood by the time we finally sighted Corwick Castle, and not even seeing the stout walls and elegant spires flying my snarling wolf banner was enough to break me out of that mood. It hadn’t helped that the Daughter had cried most of the way home either, with Grindin riding beside her, his gentle, hugely annoying voice offering endless false words of sympathy. I’d strongly considered striking the apprentice to keep him quiet, but figured the last thing the distraught Daughter needed right now was more male violence. Besides, there was always the slim chance that the little bastard’s words were helping her in some way. The Daughter-In-Waiting rode with Jebido, perched in front of him on his saddle, even though we had extra horses. She never said a word the entire trip and just stared with sad eyes at the ground in front of her while Jebido kept his arms wrapped protectively around her slight body.

  Corwick Castle was built on a towering promontory that dominated the midday skyline, with the bustling market town of Camwick sprawling out along an open plain a quarter-mile from the hill's base. Why the town was named Camwick, and the village I grew up in was called Corwick, was a riddle that I had never been able to solve, even to this day. The castle’s history was a long one, and it had begun life as a simple wooden hillfort, built almost four hundred years ago by the famed Flin king, Banon of the Hand. It had been called Tinagru then, which roughly translated, meant—the place where eagles sleep.

  We joined the busy road that led toward the town as traders, woodsmen, grain merchants, and all manner of travelers moved aside for us, many of them calling out my name. I nodded to a few I knew but pressed on, clattering over an arched stone bridge that spanned a canal that King Banon had dug long ago. The channel had been just a rough ditch to begin with, designed to ferry water from the Muddy Dip River that lay miles to the west. The canal’s course ran along the southern edge of the town’s outer limits and then swept north to feed the thirty-foot wide moat that circled the hill's base where Corwick Castle sat. Banon’s original ditch had been less than six-feet wide and four-feet deep, but it had been widened and deepened over the years to almost triple that in places.

  Now, the canal not only fed the moat, but allowed merchants from Camwick to transport goods by barges to the larger towns that lay to the north. Long swaying horsetail weed grass choked the waters on either side of the bridge as we passed over it, reminding me that Finol had mentioned that we would need to dredge the waterway soon before it became impassable. I had forgotten all about it when I received the letter from Grindin.

  I led my men through the open gates of Camwick at a canter, having to immediately skirt Angry around a small cart laden with milk, eggs, and cheese that had lost a wheel. An older man with a long white beard and red face stood beside the cart, shouting at a crestfallen-looking youth. Neither man nor boy noticed us as we rode deeper into the town. We reached a street lined with rich merchants’ houses, most with their shops open, selling everything from Afrenian silk to fine jewels and rare Parnuthian wine. Today was market day, I realized with a curse, which meant the town's population had probably tripled. The knowledge that I would have even more bodies crammed into the castle now did nothing to improve my mood.

  Merchants were calling out their wares in shrill voices, competing with each other for the attention of well-to-do ladies and their servants who browsed the traders’ merchandise. Half-wild packs of barking dogs and equally wild grubby children roamed the streets while wary food sellers eyed them suspiciously. I could hear bells ringing from the Holy House to the west, and then the sounds of deep chanting arose as a group of newly ordained Sons-In-Waiting in crisp brown robes marched smartly down a side street, their freshly shaven heads gleaming in the sunlight.

  A man haggling with a merchant over a stick of hot sheep’s feet waved as we thundered past, shouting, “Hail to Lord Hadrack! Hero of the Pair War!”

  I glanced back over my shoulder, bristling at being called a hero. Will he still call me that when he learns of Lestwick? I knew the news couldn’t have reached Camwick yet, but soon, once the castle bell began to ring, they would learn of the slaughter. Would my name be cheered then, or cursed?

  We reached the town center, where more traders’ shops and stalls lined the market square. These were the smaller, less affluent merchants who catered to the common folk—the ones with only the odd coin to spare. The shops were all narrow and packed together in a jumble, many of them less than ten-feet wide. Painted signs above each place of business depicted the trader’s occupation, since few if any of their intended customers could read. I saw scissors for a hair-cutter, a fine brush for an artist, a loaf of bread for a baker, and even an oversized shoe perched on a pole for a shoemaker. That last one made me think of Emand, the savage cordwainer that I had killed in Oasis. I thrust the little man from my mind as we left the crowded market square behind, heading toward Camwick’s outer limits.

  We left the town and followed the road north as it sloped up toward Corwick Castle. Our horses' gait began to increase despite the grade as they sensed they were almost home, with the reward of a few handfuls of grain, some water, and a thorough rubdown awaiting them. The terrain around the ca
stle for a quarter-mile in all directions was littered with chipped stones of all shapes and sizes, forcing any attacker—or traveler for that matter—to stay directly on the road. Castis Corwick, the original Lord of Corwick, had brought in the stones after he’d laid siege and captured the castle three hundred years ago.

  The dark, sludge-filled moat sat motionless to my right as we rode, the stillness of the water broken on occasion by the brilliant colors of yellow-legged dragonflies skimming the surface. I glanced up as someone hailed me, while unconsciously wrinkling my nose at the smells coming from the moat. Men in armor watched from the ramparts high above our heads, and I could hear their faint cheers. I gave them a perfunctory wave despite my mood as we climbed the ramp and clattered across the open drawbridge. Putt was waiting for us on the other side of the barbican with Ubeth the gatekeeper, a bear of a man with a bushy beard, bald head, and looped silver rings in his ears.

  You had best hope a Pith doesn’t see all that silver, I thought to myself sourly as I dismounted.

  “You’re back early, my lord,” Putt said with a welcoming grin. He reached out to stroke Angry’s neck. The big black snorted in warning and Putt hesitated before he carefully drew his hand away. “Did you find the bastard, my lord?”

  “Where is Lady Shana?” I snapped.

  Putt’s grin faltered at the look on my face. “Uh, at the academy, I believe, my lord.”

  I nodded, not surprised. I handed Angry’s reins to one of the many grooms waiting nearby. Shana had become fascinated with the science and theories behind Haverty’s healing methods and had enticed the strange apothecary to come to Corwick and begin a school of learning here. “Tell her I have returned and wish to see her right away.”

  “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  “Piths have laid waste to Lestwick. Everyone is dead.”

  Putt gasped in surprise, and I could hear men muttering angrily around me at the news. “Wiflem,” I grunted, turning to my captain as he dismounted. “Assemble the men. Pick thirty that can shoot a bow competently, then meet me in my solar.”

  Wiflem bowed his head. “I’ll see to it, my lord. What of Knoxly?”

  I had twenty of my soldiers stationed at the manor. Those men were my rawest and least promising, watched over by a rarely-sober old veteran with one eye named Daminco. I dearly hoped that I wouldn’t need any of them. If I did, then the lands of Corwick were truly in trouble. “Send a rider with the news, but tell Daminco they are to keep the gates closed and to stay put until he hears from me.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Wiflem said with a curt nod.

  “Ubeth.”

  “My lord?”

  “Ring the bell. Keep the gates open and the drawbridge down until I say otherwise. We are about to get very crowded in here.”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  I watched as Grindin dismounted stiffly and then hurried to help the still-shaken Daughter from her horse. I was relieved to see that she had finally stopped crying. The Daughter’s name was Tessa, I’d learned, and her apprentice was called Lucenda. Jebido gently lowered Lucenda to the ground before she ran to the Daughter and hugged her tightly.

  “Is that bald bastard who I think he is?” Putt asked, gesturing to Grindin.

  “Yes,” I grunted with distaste. “I want him locked up in the White Tower. Give him food and water, but keep a guard on him at all times.” I looked around. “Where is Parcival?”

  “Here, lord,” came the reply as a very short, thin man dressed in dark green leather appeared from the shadows of one of the storehouses.

  Parcival was my master huntsman and almost as good a tracker as Sabina. I’d seen him disappear within the trees like magic on many an occasion. Parcival had three sons nearly as accomplished on the trail as he was, and even Piths wouldn’t know they were there if they didn’t want to be seen. “The enemy fled south after sacking Lestwick,” I told the hunter. “But I have every reason to believe they are coming back this way soon. Take your sons and find them and report back to me. I want to know everything about their movements and strength. Whatever you do, don’t let them see you, and be careful.”

  Parcival nodded. “Consider it done, my lord.”

  “Lord Hadrack, may I have a word?”

  I paused as Daughter Tessa strode toward me with the child apprentice still clutching possessively at her tattered yellow robes. “Yes, Daughter?” I said as I tapped Parcival on the shoulder, indicating he could go. The bell began to ring from the watchtower, the deep, resonating sound a clear message that couldn’t be ignored. I vowed it would keep ringing until every last soul on my lands was safe.

  “I know you have much to do, my lord, but I wanted to thank you once again for coming to our aid.”

  I glanced at the girl apprentice, who just stared back at me with a blank expression on her face. I guessed she was no more than ten, which was young for a Daughter-In-Waiting. “I only wish I had found you sooner,” I said, meaning it.

  Daughter Tessa lowered her eyes, then turned and glanced through the open gates to the southwest. She shuddered before turning back to me. “Are you certain the heathens are coming back, my lord?”

  “Positive,” I said firmly. “But this time, we’ll be ready for them.” I motioned to a servant girl. “Take the Daughter and her charge to the Holy House and see to their needs.” I turned back to the priestess. “I imagine Daughter Verica will be along shortly and will wish to speak with you.”

  The priestess bowed. “Thank you, lord, I know her well.” She hesitated. “I want to apologize for my lack of restraint earlier. I should have composed myself better after—” She paused and looked away, tears on her cheeks. She smiled down at Lucenda and hugged her closer, ignoring the tears as she regarded me again. “It’s just that I vowed when the time came for me to join The Mother in the world Above, that my body would still be pure and unsullied by the hands of men.”

  “There was nothing you could do, Daughter,” I said, uncomfortable now. “I’m sure the Mother will not judge you for the sins of others.”

  “Perhaps,” Daughter Tessa said, looking unconvinced. “There is one other thing,” she added as I turned to go. I waited. “I don’t know what the disagreement between you and apprentice Grindin might be, my lord, but I just want you to know that he is a good man. His compassion and kind words during the journey helped me immensely.”

  I felt instant anger well up. “Did he ask you to say that?”

  Daughter Tessa blinked at me in surprise. “Well, he did wonder if I might consider interceding in the dispute on his behalf. But—"

  I snorted and pointed at the apprentice’s back as Putt and one of my soldiers led him away. “Don’t be fooled by that bastard, Daughter. He’s as evil as they come. That man makes the Piths who raped you look like harmless children.”

  I turned and strode away before she could say anything more, my back stiff with anger. Everywhere I went, people kept telling me what a good man Grindin was. It was maddening how easily he had fooled them. Jebido and Baine fell into step beside me, both wisely staying silent as we walked past the smithy, the stables, then the barracks before heading up the ramp that led toward the inner bailey. Soldiers bearing shields and spears stood at attention as we passed through the gates, their obvious unease with the weapons marking them as recent peasants. I shuddered as I thought of men like these facing Piths in open combat. If only I’d had another year with them, I thought.

  We skirted the fish pond, which was stocked this time of year with trout and pike, then headed for the keep. Servants tended the garden near the kitchens, with fruit trees and vines growing neatly at one end and vegetables, flowers, and herbs at the other. The kitchens were already busy, I saw, with even more servants bustling about preparing a welcoming meal in celebration of my return. I could hear Hanley’s raised voice over the clang of the bell as he scolded one of the servants inside. I smiled despite my bleak mood. The boy had the power of my steward, Finol, behind him, and the servants li
ved in terror of Hanley’s unyielding need for perfection in all things.

  “My lord?”

  I turned as Shana hurried toward me, holding up the hem of her blue dress as she half-ran and half-walked. She was attended by twin girls of seventeen, Hesther and Hamber, who were the daughters of Lord Lamburtin of Nothlington. The girls were exceedingly ugly, and Lord Lamburtin had all but given up hope of arranging marriages for them since they were not only equally undesirable but inseparable from each other. The very nature of their closeness and dependence on one another meant the unlucky man who married one would be obligated to take both. So far, no lord had risen to the challenge, even with the promise of a hefty retainer and lands dangled before them. Shana had graciously agreed to take the girls on as her court ladies, with the idea that perhaps she could work on their dancing, etiquette, and command of languages, not to mention their appearances.

  “Is it true?” Shana asked, her eyes wide with concern. “The entire town?”

  I nodded. “All but the Daughter and her charge as far as I know.” I gestured toward Camwick. “And any that were lucky enough to come to market today, I suppose.”

  Shana studied me, the grief on her face switching to anxiety when she saw the dried blood splattered across my legs and mail. “You’re hurt, my lord!”

  “It’s not mine,” I said, reassuring her as we headed for the keep. “We caught up to three of the Piths,” I explained. “The blood belongs to one of them.” Shana and I walked side by side, with her hand on my arm, unconsciously squeezing it. Baine and Jebido walked behind us, with the twin girls following them, their red-pimpled faces lowered in sorrow.

  “Putt tells me you returned with that horrible man who wrote the letter,” Shana said after a moment.

  “I did,” I replied, frowning.

  “Why?” Shana asked. “I thought you were going to kill him.”