The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  I patted my wife’s hand. “That, my love, is a question that deserves a long answer. One which will have to wait until later, I’m afraid. We have bigger problems right now.”

  “What are you going to do about the Piths?” Shana asked. I could hear the worry in her voice.

  I shrugged, feeling my bleak mood start to slip away now that I was with my wife. “I’m going to kill every one of the bastards,” I promised as we climbed the ramp to the keep. “Then I’ll deal with Grindin.”

  Finol was waiting for us inside the keep, his usual neutral expression fixed with sadness. “Greetings, my lord,” he said. “A great tragedy, to be sure.”

  “Yes,” I said with a nod. “We are about to receive a great many guests, so you had best get to your preparations.”

  Finol’s forehead creased down the middle, which I knew from experience over the last several years meant that he was annoyed. “I am aware of the significance of the bell, my lord,” he said with a sniff. “Arrangements for the care of those coming have already been seen to. We will have temporary lodgings, food, and drink prepared for at least four hundred people within the hour.”

  “Good,” I grunted over my shoulder as I climbed the winding wooden stairs that led up to the second floor.

  Most of the castles in the realm had their great halls on the ground floor, but Castis Corwick had rebuilt the castle after he’d sacked it and had added a second floor with a much bigger hall—called Corwick Hall. The original hall on the ground floor—called the Lesser Hall—was now being used as sleeping quarters for the servants and as an extended buttery and pantry.

  A hundred years after Castis Corwick’s death, his grandson, Brimal Corwick, added a third floor, where the lord and lady now had their bedchambers. The castle remained unchanged after that until King Jorquin granted Pernissy the lands of Corwick after the Border War. The new Lord of Corwick added a masonry arcade at the back of the dais in Corwick Hall and built a series of small chambers above it overlooking the moat on the eastern side, accessed by wooden stairs. One of the chambers was used as a communal privy, while many others were simple stockrooms and guest rooms. I’d taken over the largest chamber and now used it as my solar and meeting room, just as I had back at Witbridge Manor.

  “Will you be ready to dine soon, my lord?” Finol asked me.

  I just shook my head as I entered Corwick Hall. “Have some pork pie and beer brought to my solar. Enough for all my counsel. There will be no feast this night for any of us.” I paused, watching as three servant girls finished sweeping and cleaning the hall's timber floor while men came behind them, spreading fresh rushes mixed with herbs such as basil, balm, and cowslip. The floor had been covered with many years’ worth of rushes when I arrived, with servants just removing the top layer and replacing it occasionally. I had changed that, having it all replaced once every two weeks. The walls of the great hall were paneled with fir boards and painted white and gold, with wall hangings of painted wool or linen at the back of the dais and to either side. Oil lamps fixed to the walls with metal brackets lit the interior.

  “I’ll see to it right away, my lord,” Finol said.

  “One more thing,” I said as the old steward turned to go. “I need maps of my lands. Have you seen any?”

  Finol paused, thinking. “I believe I heard Son Chester mention something about maps, my lord. I can go speak with him if you like?”

  “Please do that,” I said. “Also, have you seen Margot?”

  Finol shook his head. “Not since this morning, my lord.”

  “Send a boy to find her then,” I grunted. “I wish her advice.”

  I had begun discussing all my plans with my men and the whores that I’d brought with me from Hillsfort when I masqueraded as the lord of Witbridge Manor. It was a habit that I had grown used to, and I saw no reason why that needed to change now that I was an actual lord. Margot was the last of the three whores still alive, with Aenor dying in the attack on Calban and Flora to the blade of an outlaw assassin. Margot’s opinions were not as sharp-witted as Flora’s had been, nor as thoughtful as Aenor’s, but she was quite intelligent, and when she chose to speak, we all listened to her with great respect.

  I sent Hesther and Hamber away, then waited with Baine, Jebido, and my wife in the solar, resisting Shana’s queries about what was happening until the others arrived. I didn’t want to have to repeat myself each time. Finally, Shana gave up her questions with a snort and started exchanging pleasantries with my two friends instead. I ignored their conversation, turning my thoughts inward as I began to pace impatiently in front of a single arched window that faced the eastern plains. Putt eventually joined us, then Sim, Wiflem, and Tyris, all of them sitting along the low wooden benches that lined the walls.

  Margot came in next, looking slightly embarrassed, I thought, then servants carrying steaming pork pies, mugs of foaming beer, and oil lamps to light the chamber now that dusk was approaching. The servants put the food and drink on the long table in the center of the room, then quickly left. Niko was the only one missing now, but I didn’t want to begin until I had heard from him and knew Nebo’s fate, so we continued to wait. My men started to eat, talking in subdued voices, but I felt no desire to join them. I would eat, I decided, when the Pith threat was over and my people were safe.

  I stared out the window as long shadows cast by the castle’s towers stretched like seeking fingers across the open plain. The wind had strengthened, and I could feel the coolness of the breeze teasing at my beard as it whistled through the opening. I thought about closing the shutters, then decided it could wait until darkness fell. I’d heard the Lumarians had perfected a new way of making glass last year—something called crown glass—that sealed a window yet still allowed you to look outside. It seemed an impossible concept to me, yet I made a mental note to talk with Finol about looking into it at some point.

  “My lord.”

  I turned as Niko finally entered the solar. “Ah,” I said. “There you are. What happed with Nedo?”

  “He’s alive, my lord,” Niko said as he sat on a bench beside Putt. He eyed the beer on the table and unconsciously licked his lips. “May I, my lord?” he asked, indicating the mugs. I nodded, my arms crossed over my chest as I waited. Niko took a deep gulp of beer, burped, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you, my lord. I needed that. Trying to get through that mob down by the gates gave me an awful thirst.”

  “You said the boy lives,” I grunted. “Did he use the knife, then?”

  “He did,” Niko said with a shudder. “A horrible thing to watch, my lord. He lay there for a long time afterward, then dragged himself to his horse and rode south. I wasn’t sure if he would make it, but he’s a tough bastard, that one. The last I saw of him, he was still in the saddle.”

  “Very well,” I said, impressed at the Amenti’s strength of character. Most men would have just laid there and died in his situation. “Any sign of the rest of them?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” Niko said with a quick shake of his head before he took another gulp of beer.

  I took a moment then to finally explain to Putt, Margot and Shana what had happened that morning with the Piths, finishing just as Finol appeared with a long roll of parchment in his hand.

  “The map?” I asked hopefully.

  “Indeed, my lord,” Finol said. He unrolled the map and spread it on the table, using empty mugs to hold it open. “This was drawn for Lord Corwick not long before his death in the war,” Finol explained. Everyone crowded around the table to see as Finol pointed to a crude depiction of a castle. “Here, you see Corwick Castle. And this blue area over here is Lake Castis. These wiggly lines are rivers and streams, and these open areas are pastures, farmland, and such. The rest is mostly forested areas and small woodlands, with the iron ore and coal mines here and here.”

  “What is this?” Putt asked, pointing to a tiny black square near one of the woodlands.

  “That is the village of Oakwick,
” Finol answered.

  Putt whistled. There were a lot of black squares on the map. I knew I had fourteen villages on my lands, which I had learned amounted to almost five thousand acres. It was a staggering number, and though I understood that all the lords in Ganderland only held their lands in trust for the king himself, it was still humbling to see everything laid out so plainly in front of me like this.

  “Which one of these is Lestwick?” I asked.

  “Here, my lord,” Finol said, tapping a tiny square far from Corwick Castle.

  “So, this is the Little Run,” I said, understanding now as I pointed to the river near the town. “And this would be the forest where we found the Piths.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Finol agreed. “I would expect that is correct.”

  I drew my sword, surprising everyone, then used the blade to mark a line from Corwick Castle, out at an angle to the east of Lestwick. I turned to Wiflem, who stood beside me. “Your weapon, please.” Wiflem wordlessly handed his sword to me, hilt first. I did the same thing with his blade, this time angling it to the west of Lestwick.

  “The Piths will be coming back from the south this way,” I said, sweeping a finger down to where the two swords crossed each other. “It won’t be today, I imagine, but most likely tomorrow. They will be moving fast and looking for blood.” I glanced up at the faces around me. “So, where will they go first?” No one answered. Four black squares were lying between the two blades, and I tapped the southern-most one. “This is Lestwick.” I slid my hand north. “And this is Camwick.” I gestured to the remaining squares. “But what about the other two?”

  Finol leaned over, squinting at the barely seen writing below each square. “Leedswick and Ashwick, my lord.”

  “And what happens when the Piths reach those villages?” I asked.

  “They’ll burn them to the ground, my lord,” Putt said without hesitation.

  I nodded in agreement. “Yes, they will. But the villages will be empty by then, and our people will be safe. Villages can be rebuilt.”

  “Which means the Piths will become very frustrated and keep pushing north,” Jebido said, staring at the map as he pulled at his beard. “Until they find somebody to kill.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “And even if there are twice as many as we think, they would need a thousand men to be any serious threat to Corwick Castle.” I grinned. “Which only leaves them Camwick to vent their hatred on when they get here.” I looked around at the serious faces. “And that, my friends, is where we are going to trap the bastards and kill them all.”

  6: The Battle of Camwick

  The Piths didn’t come the next day like I thought they would. Nor the following day or the day after that, either, which left me feeling confused and uneasy about their plans. Why were they waiting? Parcival and his sons had located the Pith camp ten miles from Corwick’s borders on the first night of the attack on Lestwick. The hunter had counted thirty-two warriors, a Pathfinder, and five women in the camp, which surprised me. While female Piths joining their men on raids wasn’t that unusual, the Amenti tended to leave their women behind. Parcival had seen no sign of Nedo, nor the missing Son and his apprentice, though the hunter did mention a single tent stood in the center of the camp, guarded by two Piths. I knew the savage warriors rarely bothered with tents when raiding, preferring to sleep outside, so the tent was of great interest to me. Could Nedo be inside receiving treatment for his wound? It would certainly explain why they hadn’t moved yet.

  The Piths were vulnerable where they had chosen their camp, which rarely happened. It left a bad taste in my mouth to know that we were helpless to take advantage of that vulnerability because of me. If I’d kept Pernissy’s experienced soldiers in my garrison as Jebido had suggested months ago instead of dismissing them, I could have surrounded the Piths and wiped out the entire band. But, as usual, I had been too stubborn to listen to my friend’s advice. Most of my men were plucked from the villages and were nothing at the moment but well-meaning, untrained farm boys. Of course, we’d been working with them, but molding a man used to wielding a hoe all his life into a soldier that could swing a sword effectively takes time. I remembered all too well what had happened when the Piths had faced Pernissy’s peasants at Gasterny, and I knew any assault I tried to make with men similar to those would end in disaster.

  My tenure as a lord, I had come to realize with some bitterness, had so far been marred by nothing but bad choices and stupidity. I was determined not to make any more mistakes, but as each day went by with no movement from the Piths, my resolve to stay put was weakening. Was that what they wanted? The Piths couldn’t get to me behind my stout walls, so were they playing a waiting game, hoping I would lose patience and come out to be slaughtered? Or did they have some other plan in mind?

  “Just what exactly are you up to?” I muttered to myself as I stood on the ramparts, staring south over the deserted town. My preparations in Camwick were completed the first night, with my hidden men now growing bored and undoubtedly less alert by the hour as they awaited the Pith attack.

  “I would guess they’re holding back until reinforcements arrive,” Baine answered, thinking that I had spoken to him. He stood beside me with his back against the battlements as he cut a thick wedge from an apple. Baine paused, then offered the slice to me on the blade of his knife. I shook my head and he popped the fruit in his mouth. “I’m surprised they are showing such restraint,” Baine added as he chewed. “It’s not like Piths to wait for anything.”

  “I know,” I grunted. “Assuming it’s actually restraint.”

  Below me, I could hear the continuous drone of voices rising from both baileys, mixing with the sounds of yelping dogs, braying mules, bleating goats, and the piercing, shrill cries of hungry babies. Three hundred and six displaced people were crammed into Corwick Castle, and after three long days of waiting, the tension inside the walls seemed thick enough to cut with a knife. I sighed, thinking for the hundredth time that maybe I had made a mistake by bringing them all here. I’d had to hang a man for killing his own brother over a whore yesterday, and arguments and fights inside my walls were increasing by the hour. Putt had told me that he’d heard rumblings the people were far from satisfied with how I had handled things so far. I couldn’t blame them for that, I suppose, since neither was I.

  I glanced to the hills south of the castle and frowned. If the Piths didn’t come sniffing at the trap I’d laid for them soon, then I feared the villagers hiding in the hills would eventually become impatient and return to their homes. The moment that happened, all my careful preparations would fall apart. We would then be left sitting on our thumbs and helpless as vengeful Piths rode with impunity across my lands, raping and pillaging. Trying to chase after highly mobile, expert riders like the Piths on foot would be pointless. And, assuming I could even come up with enough horses for all of my men, I was sure more than half of them couldn’t ride anyway. If something didn’t change soon, the ploy that I had thought so clever three days ago would end up ensnaring me instead.

  “Don’t fret, Hadrack,” Baine said, looking unworried. “The troops from Calban will be here in a week or so. We’ll deal with the bastards then.”

  I snorted. “We don’t have a week. Another day or two of this, and the people inside our own walls will start to revolt. The Piths won’t even need to lift a sword against us.”

  I’d sent Jebido and Sim to Calban, requesting as many troops as they could spare to ride for Corwick. Calban had a garrison of eighty-eight men, most of whom were grizzled veterans of the Pair War. My original plan hadn’t included using those extra troops to deal with the Piths who had sacked Lestwick, but more as a deterrent against the next wave of southern warriors that I knew would be coming. But as each day passed without an attack, I was starting to think that Baine might be right.

  Once Jebido and Sim had met with Kylan—the steward of Calban—they were instructed to ride on to Gandertown and warn the king about Pernissy. I hadn’t forgotte
n about that bastard and Grindin. I just had bigger problems at the moment than them. I knew it would be at least a month or more before I saw Jebido again, and I was very much regretting sending him on the journey. I could have sorely used my friend’s experience and advice right about now, but he’d been the logical choice to go since Kylan knew and trusted him, as did King Tyden and those at his court.

  Baine yawned and tossed the stripped apple core over the ramparts. “Why don’t we just go in tonight and end this, Hadrack? We have, what, maybe fifteen or so experienced fighters? If we put bows in all those farm boys’ hands and surround the encampment, we can catch them by surprise in their beds. They won’t even know what hit them.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re as likely to get a free hump from one of Klester Beck’s whores in Camwick as catch Piths by surprise in the open.”

  Baine gave me a lopsided grin. “A fair point,” he conceded.

  “Besides,” I added. “I’ve already considered doing just that more than once.”

  “Yet, here we sit three days later, no better off than we were the first day,” Baine said. “It’s a good plan, Hadrack, with a decent chance of success. So, why are we waiting?”

  I sighed, rubbing my hand along the weathered stone of the battlements as I stared through the embrasure in the parapet wall. “Remember that first battle after we escaped Father’s Arse?” I finally asked.

  “The one where you killed that little weasel, Calen?”

  “That’s the one,” I said with a nod. “We were outnumbered four to one, and by rights should have been easy prey.”

  “The Ganders were too eager,” Baine responded.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But they were also overconfident because of their numbers. That overconfidence made them forget who they were up against.” I gestured over the wall to the south. “Those are Piths out there, Baine. The most savage, well-trained warriors that exist in this world. I’ve got a handful of capable men and a bunch of fresh-faced farm boys with their mothers’ milk still wet on their lips. In time, some of those boys will become good soldiers, maybe even great soldiers. But if I take those poor bastards into those hills now, most of them are going to die before they ever get the chance.”