The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  “Men die all the time, Hadrack,” Baine said, looking unimpressed. “That’s just the way of things.”

  “I know,” I grunted. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t have to be that way this time.”

  Baine scratched his beard as he thought. Finally, he said, “You didn’t ask the Piths to raid that village, Hadrack. And the men who signed on to join this garrison all understood the risks involved when they swore their oath to you. I’ve spoken with many of them. They want to avenge Lestwick just as much as you or I do.”

  “But at what cost?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Baine responded with a shrug. “But what’s the cost of doing nothing?”

  I pursed my lips, not having an answer to that. I knew Baine had a good point, but I’m a stubborn man, and I was loath to give up on the plan that I had so carefully worked out. Besides Baine and Jebido, no one else in Corwick knew the Piths like I did, nor understood how they thought. If we marched now, good men would die, but at least we would be seen as doing something. If we waited much longer, unrest would fester inside the castle and would choke the morale within my walls, just like the horsetail grass was doing to the water in Banon’s canal. A single hawk started to circle high over the castle, and I watched its flight for a time, trying to come up with a solution.

  “Maybe the decision has been made for us,” Baine finally said. He pointed over the wall. “There, near the bridge.”

  A lone rider was thundering down the road, his cloak billowing out behind him. He reached the bridge and galloped across, not slowing as he passed through the open gates of Camwick.

  The man disappeared into the jumble of buildings and I lost sight of him. I glanced at Baine. “Did you recognize him?”

  “Young Osbeth,” I think,” Baine answered.

  I grunted. Osbeth was one of Parcival’s sons. “Then let’s go see what young Osbeth has to say.”

  The Master Hunter’s son was already dismounted when Baine and I reached the outer bailey. Wiflem was standing over him, steadying the winded boy.

  Wiflem turned to me, his face hard and serious. “The Piths have broken camp, my lord.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat. “Which way did they go?”

  Wiflem allowed a small grin. “North, my lord. They have already sacked Leedswick, just as you predicted.”

  I nodded, my own face set and serious, though inside, I was smiling with relief. “Alert the men in town,” I told Wiflem. I glanced up at the sun. It was not even midday yet. There would be plenty of time to see this thing through if the Piths did as I expected. I turned to Osbeth. “Did you see who was in that tent?”

  Osbeth shook his head. “No, my lord. It was struck before dawn. But my father believes three men rode away to the south.”

  “Three men,” I said thoughtfully. I wondered if Nedo was one of them, then I shrugged. It hardly mattered now. They were leaving, and what mattered was the Piths were still on my lands. “Did you see the Pathfinder among the men who sacked Leedswick?” I asked Osbeth.

  “My lord?”

  “The Pith in the purple cloak. Did you see him among them?”

  “No, my lord,” Osbeth answered.

  “Very well,” I said. “How long did the Piths take at the village?”

  “A while, my lord,” the boy said. His voice was shaking with either excitement or exhaustion—I wasn’t sure which. “They dug up some of the floors in the houses looking for anything of value, but found nothing, so they fired the buildings and rode away.”

  “Heading where?” Wiflem asked.

  “North again, Captain,” Osbeth said.

  “Which means they are heading for Ashwick next,” I growled. “And when they finish there, they’re coming here.” I looked around at my men. “And we’ll be ready for the bastards when they get here.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, my lord, but are you quite sure this is a good idea?”

  I glanced at my companion. We sat together on the bench of a small cart, waiting near the south side of the bridge that spanned Banon’s canal. We had been lingering in the same spot for two hours already, sweating in our heavy robes beneath the hot sun. A scrawny mule in a worn leather harness stood attached to the cart, the beast only moving occasionally to stamp its hooves or snap at a fly with yellowed teeth. The disinterested mule seemed more than content to remain there all day, but I was not, and I cursed the Piths for their tardiness.

  The man beside me was named Stemper, one of my many untrained men. He wasn’t much of a soldier, but he understood carpentry well enough, which was a skill that I had needed. We sat pressed together on the narrow bench so tightly that I could feel the sweat soaking through his cloak where his thigh touched against mine. I glanced over my shoulder, but the road and plains to the south remained empty.

  “You assured me the wheel will come off well ahead of time,” I said, turning back to Stemper. “So there’s nothing to worry about as long as we get a good enough head start before it does.”

  “It will come off, my lord,” the man said, bobbing his head. His hair was shorn close to his scalp, revealing a stark white scar across his crown. “I just can’t guarantee when.”

  I looked ahead at the quiet town of Camwick, calculating the distance with my eyes. I guessed it had to be at least two hundred yards to the open gate, so we would need to be well over the bridge before the wheel came off. Huts stood along the walls to either side of that gate, the thatch and timber structures having been hastily constructed by my men days ago. I knew a wagon lay hidden behind those huts to either side, with soldiers waiting inside, staying out of sight beneath canvas cloths.

  “It smells like shit under here,” I heard a muted voice grumble from the covered bed of the cart behind me.

  “That’s because it’s a dung cart,” I said, not turning around.

  Camwick had been filthy when I had arrived as the new lord, and one of the first things that I’d done was hire men to clean the dung and refuse from the streets. The plan had been successful to a degree, and the town smelled and looked cleaner. But all that shit had to go somewhere, which I hadn’t given a lot of consideration. Not knowing what to do with all the waste, the dung-farmers, as they were jokingly called, eventually dumped it into Banon’s canal. It was a logical solution to the problem from their perspective, I suppose. But unfortunately, that choice had unintended consequences, since the canal water flowed into Corwick Castle's moat. I had put a stop to the dumping as soon as I’d realized the problem, and the dung-farmers now spread the shit in the fields. But that did little to help the smell that still hung over Corwick Castle. All we could do was wait until the filth floating in the water disappeared, but even when it did, I feared the new name for the moat—Turd Lake—was here to stay.

  “You told me this cart was used for eggs and milk,” Baine said accusingly from his hiding place beneath the worn canvas covering.

  “No,” I replied. “What I said was I saw a cart hauling eggs and milk with a broken wheel. That’s what gave me the idea.”

  “Now you tell me,” Baine muttered.

  Stemper nudged my arm. “Uh, lord, we’ve got company.”

  I peered over my shoulder. Riders were coming down the road, moving fast and bunched tightly together as plumes of dust rose behind them. They were still at least half a mile away, but already I could hear their war cries. Piths!

  I grinned and glanced down at Baine as he peered out at me from his concealment. “Remember what I told you. Wait until they’re all past before you come out.”

  “Yes, yes,” Baine said in irritation. “And take the archers first. I know, my memory hasn’t gotten worse since you told me the same thing half an hour ago.”

  I nodded, then picked up the reins and snapped them as I whistled for the mule to move. Nothing happened. I cracked the reins again, and the mule turned to look back at me with blank eyes. I cursed, shouting every insult I could think of at the ugly beast, but the animal just stared dumbly back.

  “H
ere,” Baine said urgently as his hand jutted out from beneath the covering. He dropped three dried horse turds into my palm. “Try reasoning with it with these.”

  I grunted and flung one of the missiles at the mule, catching the beast squarely on the ass to the right of the leather crupper around its tail. The mule snorted in annoyance, and I threw the second turd, followed by the third, all the while screaming at the cursed animal to move. Finally, with a shake of its ears, the mule started a half-hearted trot. I snapped the reins harder, and the stubborn mule reluctantly began to pick up speed, while behind me, I could hear the Piths’ cries growing louder. I stood as we crossed the bridge, fighting to keep my balance on the unsteady cart as I worked the reins frantically, urging more speed from the mule. I took a glance over my shoulder as the Piths swept ever closer, then down at the right wheel.

  “Come on, you bastard!” I grunted under my breath just as the wheel started to wobble. I glanced at Stemper. “Get ready,” I warned him.

  I heard something crack beneath me, and then the wheel twisted off and went careening away. The right axle dropped instantly and plowed into the road, sending up a spray of dirt as Stemper and I jumped free. I landed on my feet, but Stemper fell heavily to the ground. I hauled the man upright, dragging him after me as we started to run while the Piths behind us roared with delight. No mounted Pith warrior could resist an enemy on foot fleeing for his life. I glanced over my shoulder. The nearest rider was two hundred yards behind the one-wheeled cart as the terrified mule fought to drag it along the road. I rolled my eyes. Now the damn beast shows some heart!

  “We’re not going to make it, lord!” Stemper cried less than twenty yards from the gate.

  “We’ll make it!” I shouted back. “Now run faster, damn you! Run if you want to live!”

  I peered over my shoulder again. The mule had finally stopped its wild flight, standing exhausted in the middle of the road with its head down as Piths swept around each side of the cart. A big, grinning warrior with silver rings in his nose slashed with his sword as he galloped past, tearing a gaping wound in the side of the animal’s neck. Blood sprayed and the mule shrieked and then collapsed in a heap. I looked away, focusing on the open gate. That’s when Stemper staggered and crumpled to the ground.

  I turned back to help him, then saw his staring eyes and the arrow sticking out of his neck. I instinctively twisted aside just as several more spinning shafts flicked past me. Then I started running again. I knew the Piths always attacked the same way, with the female archers bringing up the rear in support of their men. That’s why I had left Baine behind in the cart with his bow. I just prayed his aim would be true and quick.

  I was less than ten feet from the gates when an arrow struck my back, and I stumbled as it lodged in the shield slung over my shoulder beneath my cloak. I regained my balance and kept running, streaking past the huts as I tried not to look at the wagons where I knew my men crouched in hiding. My instructions to those men were clear, and I knew they wouldn’t reveal themselves until all the Piths had entered the town.

  I sprinted through the gates, making sure to run along the narrow white line painted in the dirt. Three more wagons waited on the road fifty yards ahead of me and I raced toward them, my lungs on fire. A helmeted head suddenly popped up from behind one of the wagons and I cursed as I waved the man down. I needed the Piths focused on catching me and nothing else. If they realized that this was a trap, they would break off the attack and all my careful planning would be for nothing.

  The first of the Piths burst through the gates just as I made it to the wagons. I spun about, snapping the arrow from my back as I tore off my cloak, revealing my armor underneath. I drew Wolf’s Head and unhooked my shield, shouting to get the Piths’ attention. A howl of eagerness arose from the riders when they saw me. Nothing gets the blood boiling in a Pith more than the sight of an arrogant Gander lord dressed in rich armor. The tightly bunched warriors spurred on their horses, aiming right for me as they swung swords, axes, and war hammers eagerly over their heads. I smiled, urging them on with insults as more Piths entered the town.

  The closest rider to me—the man who had cut down the mule—leaned over his horse, his sword held low, clearly intending to skewer me. I waited, while behind him, the last of the Piths came pounding through the gates. The moment they were through, my men pushed the wagons into place just as I’d ordered, blocking the way out. I turned my gaze back to the lead Pith as he bore down on me, his eyes gleaming with triumph, his looped nose rings bouncing and flopping against his cheeks. The nose rings reminded me of the gatekeeper’s earrings back in Corwick Castle, and I decided I would make a gift of them to the bald man once the current owner had no further use for them.

  The Pith warrior started to laugh, probably already envisioning how good he would look in my armor. I remained where I was as he rushed toward me, my sword at my side, my shield held casually. The Pith was less than twenty feet away from me when the road beneath his mount’s front hooves collapsed, pitching the animal chest-deep into a hole. The horse shrieked in surprise, sending the shocked Pith sailing through the air to land in the dust at my feet. The fallen man started to rise, his helmet gone, and I slashed Wolf’s Head down his face, taking his left eye, part of his nose, and one of the glittering silver rings attached to it. The Pith howled in agony and I slashed again, silencing him for good. I looked up from the still-twitching corpse. More and more of the Piths’ horses were falling prey to the traps that we’d dug, the animals screaming and twisting as they sent their riders tumbling to the ground.

  The pits were called wolf holes, which seemed fitting, I suppose. Each hole was roughly conical in shape, dug six-feet deep and three-feet wide, with a sharpened stake pounded into the soil at the pit's base. Wicker covers topped with a light layer of dirt concealed the traps from the enemy. We had staggered the holes all across the road for twenty feet, making it next to impossible for mounted riders moving at speed to avoid them. Jebido had told me about wolf holes once, explaining how they had stopped a cavalry charge dead in its tracks when he was still a fresh-faced soldier of seventeen. I couldn’t imagine Jebido ever being that young, but I’d had no trouble understanding the value of what he was telling me. Of course, the key to the wolf holes was ensuring that the enemy rode where you wanted them to go. That’s why I had needed the Piths to come to Camwick. The town’s tightly-packed buildings were ideal, and with both ends of the road blocked off, the mounted warriors were trapped, at least for the moment. I knew that wouldn’t last for long, though, and now was the time to strike before the Piths overcame their confusion and regrouped.

  I lifted my sword. “Now!” I cried, sweeping Wolf’s Head down.

  The canvas coverings on the wagons blocking the road at the gate tore away, and vengeful farm boys appeared holding ash, elder, or yew bows in their strong hands.

  “Nock! Draw! Loose!” I heard Baine call from the wagons at the gate.

  “Nock! Draw! Loose!” Tyris shouted from the wagons behind me as more of my men appeared there.

  A swarm of barbed arrows fletched with triangular white goose feathers smacked into the struggling Piths from behind and in front. Some of the Piths had barely gotten to their feet after being thrown from their horses, still looking stunned before they were struck down again by well-aimed missiles. My untrained farm boys might not be that familiar with swords and shields yet, but most of them had been shooting bows all of their lives.

  Six mounted Piths who had been the last to enter Camwick whirled and tried a desperate charge toward the wagons blocking the gate, with the clear intent to leap over them. For a moment, I thought the gamble was going to work, but Baine and my farm boys held their ground, replying with a withering barrage that dropped three men and forced the others to retreat. I’d never been prouder of those boys. The three survivors swung about and tried to get to me instead, but were snatched from their saddles before they could get close. I didn’t feel even the slightest amount of pity or remo
rse as I watched them die.

  Finally, with only five bloodied and battered warriors still on their feet in the dusty street, I waved Wolf’s Head in the air. “That’s enough!” I shouted.

  My men reluctantly lowered their bows. Dead Pith warriors lay strewn all across the road, with many of the fallen horses writhing and squealing in the dirt. Jebido had explained that even if the stakes in the wolf holes didn’t impale the mounts, many times the sudden drop would be enough to snap a leg, which was just as effective. Riderless horses wandered among the dead and dying, trailing their reins and looking confused.

  The five surviving Pith warriors stood bunched together, their backs pressed against each other. I could hear them whispering, and I knew they were preparing to charge me in hopes of cutting me down before they died. I strode around the bloody carnage and stopped ten feet away from the Piths, letting them see that I was unafraid.

  “I am the Lord of Corwick,” I said. “Who will speak for you?”

  One of the warriors hesitated, glancing at his companions before he tapped his chest. “I will speak.”

  “Very well,” I said. I pointed with Wolf’s Head at a light brown mare lying on her side nearby. The horse’s eyes were wide with pain as she wheezed bloody pink froth from her nostrils. “You have five minutes to put your horses out of their misery, then you die.”

  The Pith looked surprised, then he nodded. He gestured to the other men, who quickly and efficiently moved to slit the throats of the injured horses. I knew Piths valued their mounts above most other things, and it was the one kindness that I was willing to offer them.

  “Wiflem,” I called. Men in armor appeared from the buildings on either side of the road holding heavy rectangular shields. These were my experienced fighters that I had kept in reserve in case something went wrong. “As soon as they’re finished dealing with the horses,” I said. “Give these men a proper warrior’s death.” I paused and pointed toward the Pith who had spoken. “All but that one. I want him alive.”