The Wolf At War

by Terry Cloutier

  “Yes, my lord,” Wiflem said with a grim nod.

  I turned and headed wearily back to the wagons, leaving the remaining warriors for Wiflem and his men to handle. I had gambled and won, at least for the moment. But I knew Piths, and unless I came up with a way to be rid of them once and for all, I feared the battle we’d just fought was only the beginning of something worse.

  Those fears were soon to be proven right.

  7: Saldor

  The last surviving Pith’s name was Saldor. The warrior was determined not to be taken alive by my men, and he made his stand among the corpses of his fallen brothers, daring us to kill him. I was greatly impressed by his spirit and tried to make the man understand that I had no wish to see him dead. But, the Pith either didn’t believe me or just didn’t care. First Wiflem, then Putt, and then Niko tried to disarm Saldor, but the Pith was quick as a rock snake and just as deadly. I finally had enough when Niko suffered a nasty cut to his cheek after the Pith slipped past his guard, which clearly infuriated the young man to no end. I could tell by the baleful glare on Niko’s face as he circled Saldor that he intended to kill him now, regardless of my orders. That’s when I stepped in and drew the wounded youth aside to take his place. I probably should have done it sooner, but my men had been insistent, wanting to test themselves against the Pith. Fighting men have pride that needs to be stoked at times, and this had seemed a good moment for it. Now, it no longer seemed that way.

  The battle didn’t last long. Though I can’t take too much credit for it, I suppose, since the Pith was bleeding from a half dozen wounds and could barely lift his sword by the time I faced him. Crossed blades rang out in the silence of the street, then a quick flick of my wrist and Saldor’s sword went flying, followed by an armored elbow to the face, and that was that. Now, I sat near a merchant’s warehouse on a piece of firewood as I studied the bound and glowering Pith who sat cross-legged on the ground before me. Saldor was my age, I guessed, with blond, shaggy hair swept back to the nape of his neck. His eyes were a blueish-green, and his beard was long and thick, twisted at his chin and held in place by a silver beard ring. The torc around the Pith’s neck was different from Nedo’s, I was surprised to see, which meant he wasn’t one of the disagreeable Amenti. I hoped that fact might allow me to reason with him.

  “You should cut that off,” I grunted, getting the conversation started as I pointed at the rope-like beard. “An opponent could latch onto that thing and drag you out of a shield wall and gut you.” The Pith just spat on the ground close to my boot. I smiled and shrugged. “I’m here to offer you a deal. One you would be wise to accept.”

  “I don’t make deals with Gandermen,” Saldor said.

  “So, you really would prefer we kill you, then?” I asked.

  “I don’t care what you do,” the Pith responded defiantly.

  I took off my gauntlets, placed them on the ground beside me, and then blew into my hands. The sun was touching the western hills now, and the wind had risen, bringing a chill along with it that hadn’t been there earlier. “You’re not of the Amenti, are you?”

  Saldor hesitated, then he shook his head. “I am Cimbrati.”

  I nodded, pleased to hear it. I had met Cimbrati before and knew they were a tough but fair people. Some of the Piths in Gasterny, like Gadest and young Peren, had been Cimbrati. Hopefully, I could use that fact to my advantage. “I assume you know what happened to the three Amenti we caught?” I said.

  “I know,” Saldor replied evenly. I had seen a brief flicker in his eyes as he spoke. The Pith was afraid and was doing his best not to show it.

  “Good,” I said cheerfully. I glanced past the warrior. My men were dragging the corpses of the dead to an open wagon pulled by a set of oxen. The wagon was the biggest that I could find in Camwick, and I was hopeful that all the bodies would fit inside. “There are certain things that I wish to know,” I continued. “And I would be grateful if you would tell me.” Saldor just blinked, then he deliberately looked away. “For instance,” I said, unfazed. “Why did you come here? Why my lands?” Saldor watched my men loading the nearly naked, red-streaked bodies onto the wagon, his expression blank. We’d stripped the dead of their armor and weapons, which would add greatly to my armory. “One of two things is going to happen here today,” I said, my voice harder now. “Either you tell me what I want to know, or all of you will end up as food for the fish in the Western Sea.”

  Saldor turned back to me. “And if I answer these questions?”

  I nodded toward the wagon. “Then you will be allowed to go home with your dead, where they can be given a proper Ascension.”

  Saldor studied me in surprise. “Why?” he finally asked.

  “Consider it an offer of peace,” I said. “Your people destroyed a village of mine, and I took the lives of those who did it. So, the scales are now even enough for me to accept that justice has been served. I am offering the souls of your dead in exchange for information from you as well as a promise that the Piths will never return here.”

  Saldor looked thoughtful as he watched my men struggling to lift the body of a big warrior onto the wagon. Finally, he turned back to me. “It is a fair deal, Ganderman. One which I know the Pathfinders would approve, but even so, I cannot accept it.”

  I stared at the Pith in surprise. “Why not?” I asked. “You know what will happen to all those souls if you don’t.”

  “I do, Ganderman,” Saldor said. “But it would be a bargain struck in bad faith, so I must decline.”

  I stared at the Pith, incredulous. “Since when do Piths worry about such things?”

  Saldor shrugged. “Some do. Some do not. I am one that does.”

  I frowned, thinking as I stroked my beard. “You are afraid of what I might ask. Is that why you won’t agree? Because of the secrets you would have to tell me?”

  “No,” Saldor said. “I would gladly speak to save the souls of my brothers and sisters. There is nothing you would learn from me that will change what is coming for Ganderland, anyway.”

  “Then why not talk if that’s true?” I asked.

  “Because the Amenti chieftain will never accept our bargain,” Saldor said. “So, knowing this, I cannot agree to your terms. He will come for your head, no matter what I promise you.”

  I frowned. “And who is this chieftain?”

  “His name is Lorgen Three-Fingers,” Saldor replied. “Nedo is his son.” The Pith gave me a hard stare. “His only son, Ganderman.”

  I groaned inwardly, understanding the tattoos on the boy’s head now. “Then, when you see this chieftain,” I said gruffly, hiding my unease from the Pith. “Tell him the Lord of Corwick said that he should stay home near a warm fire and make more sons. We don’t need to start a war over a pair of hairless balls.”

  Saldor chuckled. “You do not know him, Ganderman. Besides, it is much too late for that. Even if Lorgen were so inclined, which I promise you he will not be, war is coming. There is nothing that you can do to stop it.”

  I pursed my lips, thinking. There had to be a way to stop this from going any further. “What of Einhard, then?” I finally asked, seeing a possible way out of the mess that I had made. There had been no word about what had happened to Einhard after the Pith defeat at Victory Pass. I knew he had survived the battle, but that was all. He could have been long dead these past few years without me ever knowing. I prayed that he wasn’t. “Does the Sword of the King still live?”

  The Pith looked at me curiously. “How do you know this name?”

  “Everyone has heard of Einhard the Unforgiving,” I said with a sweep of my arm. “Even Gandermen. So tell me, is he your king now?” I waited, not daring to breathe. If my friend had become king after Clendon the Peacemaker died, then I knew with only a single word from him that my Amenti problem would end.

  Saldor paused, his eyes calculating as he thought. “He is not,” he finally said grudgingly.

  I nodded in disappointment. “Then who is?”

&nb
sp; “There is no king,” Saldor said. “Queen Alesia claims the right to lead the Piths now.”

  I sat back in surprise. “Alesia? Do you mean Einhard’s wife?” Saldor nodded. I glanced over at Baine, where he leaned against the warehouse wall behind me with his arms crossed, listening. Baine just shrugged, his expression neutral. Alesia made sense, now that I thought about it, since she was Clendon’s daughter. Still, I was surprised, trying to imagine the fiery, mischievous woman that I’d known leading the quarrelsome tribes. Alesia’s father had managed to bring those tribes together, but it hadn’t been easy. If anyone were to lead the Piths now, I would have expected it to be Einhard, not his unpredictable wife. I turned back to Saldor. “What do you mean by, she claims the right?” I asked. “Are the tribes not united?”

  Saldor didn’t respond, and he looked up at the sky instead, his expression neutral.

  I knew I would get nothing more out of the Pith about that, so I decided to change my approach. “Did Alesia’s child live?” I asked. “After she left Gasterny?”

  Saldor regarded me in surprise. “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  I grinned, happy to hear it. “Was it a boy or a girl?”

  “A boy,” Saldor responded. The Pith allowed himself a small smile. “He’s already as strong as an ox.”

  I laughed and slapped my knee. “A boy! Einhard has a son!”

  “How is it that you know these things?” Saldor asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

  I took a deep breath, still chuckling as I imagined Einhard bouncing a wailing baby on his knee. “I know these things,” I said, “because Einhard and Alesia are friends of mine.”

  Saldor snorted. “You lie. Piths do not befriend Ganders.”

  I had begun to suspect that the raiders didn’t know who I was and that their attack had been nothing more than a random coincidence. Saldor’s reaction was confirming that for me. “You say Piths and Ganders can’t be friends, yet there were three Ganders allied to the Piths at Gasterny. What of them?”

  The Pith’s face darkened. “Those three were traitors.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, traitors?”

  “They betrayed Einhard,” the warrior responded. “They were sworn to him, yet it was they who opened the gates of Gasterny and organized the ambush in the pass that killed our king.”

  I sat back, stunned. “Is that what all Piths believe? Even Alesia and Einhard?”

  “Of course,” Saldor said. “Because it is the truth.”

  I clenched my jaw in dismay, imagining what my friend must have thought of me these past few years. “Do you know who I am?” I demanded.

  “You are Lord Corwick,” Saldor responded.

  “No,” I replied. “I am the Lord of Corwick. There is a difference. My name is Hadrack, and I was one of those Ganders with Einhard at Gasterny. I fought by the Sword of the King’s side and would have given my life for him. When the garrison was captured, my friends and I were taken prisoner. We did not betray anyone!” I said that last bit forcefully as I leaned forward, glaring at the Pith. “Now, look me in the eyes and try to claim that I am lying.”

  Saldor’s forehead furrowed as he studied me. “This is truth?” he finally asked.

  “I swear it,” I said. “On The Mother, The Father, and the Master.” I paused, glancing past the bound Cimbrati. Two of my farm boys had dragged one of the dead female Piths to the wagon and had stripped her naked. One was fondling her breasts, while the other kicked open her legs and started to prod her mound with his boot. I stood, feeling an instant explosion of anger inside me. “Wiflem!” I roared. I pointed. “Stop those men!”

  “Yes, my lord,” Wiflem said. He strode toward the soldiers and cuffed the nearest man. “Get away from there, you worthless turds!” He grabbed each by the scruff of the neck and marched them toward me. “What would you have me do with them, my lord?”

  I glared at my men. “What you were doing was despicable and will not be tolerated,” I said. Both men dropped their gazes to the ground, and one was visibly shaking. I glanced at my captain. “Ten lashes each, then a day in the stocks.” I shifted my stern look back to the men. “Be glad you get to keep your heads and your cocks.”

  “Yes, my lord,” one of the soldiers mumbled. “Thank you, my lord.”

  I sat back down, still muttering angrily to myself as Wiflem prodded the offending men away.

  “You have honor,” Saldor said, sounding surprised. “It is unexpected, coming from a Gander.”

  I glared at him, still hot with outrage. “Don’t speak to me of honor. You came to my lands and murdered and raped innocent people. Where is the honor there? You are no better than they.”

  Saldor shrugged. “If you are who you claim, Ganderman, then you know the Master placed those people in this world for our amusement. Their lives are ours, to do with as we see fit.”

  Baine snorted in disgust behind me, but I kept my eyes squarely on the warrior. The Pith’s attitude was nothing out of the ordinary. All Piths—even Einhard—believed that other people living in this world belonged to them. “I propose a new deal,” I said, regaining my composure. “You answer all of my questions right now. Do that, and I will let you go with your sisters and brothers with no further obligations from you.”

  “And Lorgen Three-Fingers?” Saldor asked. “What of him?”

  “He’s not your concern,” I grunted. “Those souls over there are. If Lorgen Three-Fingers dares to come to my lands, then I’ll take whatever fingers he has left and shove them up his arse. Now, do we have a deal?”

  Saldor nodded, and I thought I could see a look of respect in his eyes. “We have a deal, Ganderman.”

  Saldor did answer my questions as promised, though I have never met a man who could say so much without actually telling me anything at all. The townspeople were already streaming back into Camwick now that the threat was over, and Saldor was justifiably viewed with suspicion and hatred when they saw him. After many insults and several barrages of rotten vegetables were thrown at the bound and helpless warrior, I finally moved us into the nearby warehouse where we could talk undisturbed.

  Hours went by as I questioned the Pith, who danced nimbly around my queries like a sharp-tailed grouse in mating season. Saldor was a highly intelligent man, I quickly learned, and I began to suspect that he was enjoying himself immensely in our battle of wits. Finally, exhausted and frustrated with answers that sometimes rambled on for long minutes with no satisfactory conclusion, I realized that I would get nothing of further use from the Pith. I had been able to piece together enough information to know we were in trouble, but not enough to understand everything that was going on. I left the warrior in the care of Wiflem and his men for what remained of the night, then headed back to the castle with Baine. As agreed upon, Saldor would leave at first light with his wagon of dead, though I suspected by the way he looked at me when we parted that the Pith believed he and I would meet again, probably over swords. I had no reason to think after what he had told me that he was wrong.

  “We have to get word to the king,” Baine said.

  I glanced at him as we rode side by side, his face a knot of twisted shadows in the darkness. “I’ll send a messenger with extra horses in the morning,” I said, feeling tired and depressed. “But even riding day and night, it will take at least a week to reach Gandertown.”

  “How long do you think we have before they attack?”

  I shrugged. “There’s no way to know.”

  “Do you think there really are as many Piths as he claims?” Baine asked into the silence.

  “The Mother help us if there are,” I muttered as we reached the castle. I’d asked Saldor repeatedly how many men Lorgen Three-Fingers had, but the Cimbrati only answered with the same question. “How many blades of grass are there on the western plains?” I could only hope and pray that the Pith had either been lying or exaggerating.

  We crossed the drawbridge and paused our horses in the outer bailey, and I sighed with relief at
the quiet inside the walls. Gone now were the constant sounds of crying babies, arguing spouses, and drunken brawls that had filled the castle day and night. “Ubeth!” I barked into the silence.

  The bald gatekeeper appeared like a wraith from the gloom, looking impossibly awake and alert. If the man ever slept, I wasn’t aware of it. “Yes, my lord?”

  I tossed him the bloody nose rings. “A present for you from the Piths.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Ubeth said gratefully, holding up the silver rings. “I’ll wear them with pride, my lord.” The bald man turned, cursing at several sleepy-looking grooms as he ordered them to attend to our horses.

  “Will you join me for a drink?” I asked Baine as we dismounted.

  My friend shook his head, heading for the servants’ quarters. “It’s been a long day, Hadrack. I’m going to get some sleep.”

  Baine had a gleam in his eye that I recognized—one that contradicted his words. “Don’t hump whoever she is for too long,” I called out to his back. “All my servant girls are looking exhausted lately.”

  “Only the pretty ones!” Baine’s voice rang out from the darkness.

  I laughed and headed for the keep. Few people were about as I climbed the stairs that led to the third floor, though I could see Hanley standing in front of the entrance to Corwick Hall with a stern look on his face. He was peering down at a snoring servant propped against the doors with an empty bottle of wine lying in his lap. The boy saw me, and he started to head my way, but I just waved him off and kept climbing. I had sent word to Shana hours ago about our victory and that I would be quite late returning to the castle. But as I passed her door, I felt a sudden restlessness rise in me. I realized I wasn’t ready for sleep just yet and needed to hear her voice. I turned and walked back to the door and listened, but heard nothing. I knocked softly, and after a moment, I heard mumbled voices coming from inside. The door opened a crack, grating loudly on its hinges before revealing either Hesther or Hamber—I could never tell which—peering out at me.