The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One)

by R. L. Blackhurst

The storm that had cast its shadow over the north of England, for what seemed like most of the summer, was still unrelenting in its siege but thankfully the rain had ceased for a time and now there was only the howling wind to contend with. Catherine jolted awake as it screamed through the trees, vaguely aware of her surroundings and felt someone’s arm tighten around her waist. She quickly came to her senses in the grey dawn light and took stock of the situation; she rode pillion on a horse, the Templar’s horse, and it was his arm that was wrapped tightly around her.

  “Are you well?” a voice, she recognised as his, asked. She looked around her and then behind to catch a glimpse of him. She met the coolness of his eyes and turned her head to quickly face the road ahead once more.

  “Yes, but you hold me so tightly I feel I will soon be unable to draw breath.” She remarked.

  “Sorry,” he said, softening his grip, “but you were heavy in your slumber. I did not want you to fall.”

  “Heavy?” Catherine said a little affronted, she looked round at him and frowned. Galeren shrugged at her and then smiled, “Dead weight. Your conscious body is much lighter.”

  “I haven’t slept for days. I had no idea I had fallen into such a deep sleep.” She said apologetically looking back at the road again.

  “You needed it,” Galeren said. Catherine nodded and studied the overgrown road ahead of them. “Where are we going?” she asked pushing her shoulders back and stretching her aching neck.

  “Ashby,” he replied.

  “This isn’t the road to Ashby,” Catherine said stubbornly.

  “Not the one you know,” Galeren replied. “This is an old route that became disused long ago. It was difficult to keep clear and often became impassable in places for cumbersome wagons and large retinue. Now it is a hidden path, used by those with something to hide.”

  “You have something to hide?” Catherine said curiously.

  “Only you,” he said casually.

  “The Abbess is hardly likely to send out a search party. Rather she is counting her blessings and prays I don’t darken her doorstep again.” Catherine said disdainfully.

  “That is not my concern.” He said curtly. “It is the prying eyes we’d encounter on the main road that I wish to avoid.”

  It seemed curious to Catherine that she had gone with this stranger so willingly when she knew nothing about him except that he claimed to be a Templar Knight. His concern about what had transpired several nights ago seemed less in the interest of Temple affairs and more to do with his connection to the murderous assailant, of whom she was positive he was acquainted with.

  He was also not dressed as he had been when he and his comrade had first visited her at the convent. His shabby attire was completely in contrast to the gleaming and immaculate uniform he had previously worn when he had presented himself as a Templar Knight. He had taken her from the convent wearing a plain black woollen surcoat over a dirty, rusting mail hauberk and dark brown leg attire. His boots were scuffed and well worn and his dark dusty cloak was that which was presently wrapped around her. However, despite his ambiguity she still sensed no danger. He could be taking her to her slaughter, but trusting that this was not his intention, she decided to satisfy her curiosity and question him instead.

  “You’re not really a Templar are you?” she ventured, looking round at him.

  Galeren raised an eyebrow curiously at her. “What makes you say that?”

  “Your garb for one,” she said. “You were so impressively dressed when you came to the convent yesterday but now you are dressed like a penniless mercenary.”

  “And?” Galeren said as if he was waiting for her point.

  “And your manner is not befitting that of a Templar.”

  “My manner?”

  “Your hair is long, you do not sport a beard and . . .” she shrugged not sure how to word her meaning.

  “How many Templars have you known?” he queried.

  “You are the first I admit –”

  “Ah well,” he cut her off, “to whom do you compare me to then?”

  “You know well what I mean, sir.” Catherine said determined not to be played by him, the Templars had a reputation and well he knew it. He chuckled behind her and she felt the vibrations prickle her skin. “Well?” she asked.

  “Despite my caution at using a quiet path if we were to be seen, a Templar Knight riding pillion with a half dressed lady would rouse much interest. In my present attire we would appear less conspicuous, a mercenary and his mistress perhaps?” Galeren felt Catherine stiffen at this remark but let her brood on it rather than placate her. “I prefer to wear my hair long and I find a beard itchy. Have you any more questions?” he added with a little humour in his voice.

  “Yes!” she cried, “many, as a matter of fact.” She found herself suddenly irritated by his casual manner. She may have gone willingly with him but she still wanted to know what was going on. She took a deep breath and sighed and keeping the tone of her voice even she said:

  “I want to know where we are going and why and I want to know who you really are and what your link is to the villain who attacked the tanner and I?”

  “That’s fair enough,” he said calmly.

  Catherine turned to face him again and stared into his cool eyes.

  “Well? I’m waiting.” She said impatiently, her eyes darkened to reflect the moody grey of the turbulent sky. He looked at her for a moment, enamoured by her spirit and paused to study her features close up. The shifting colour of her eyes was fascinating but her frown deepened and he broke his gaze.

  He sighed, “I plan to keep nothing from you. I am just biding my time. There is much to tell and I felt it better to wait until we were in more comfortable surroundings. But if you insist . . .”

  “I do.” She said curtly. Galeren crooked his neck from one side to the other repeatedly until it cracked and then he said:

  “In Ashby is a cottage belonging to the Temple. It is unoccupied and secluded and will provide a good refuge. I am a Templar, be secure in that fact, as was the bastard that attacked you. I do know him, and well, though I can assure you he is no friend of mine. He was expelled from the Order some sixteen years ago and seemingly has come back from the dead to settle a score with me.”

  “But why did he attack me and kill the tanner?”

  “He has a penchant for attacking women. The tanner was just an unfortunate intrusion into a sadistic intention, unfortunate for him, fortunate for you. My involvement is purely coincidental or perhaps fate.”

  “Fate?”

  “I was just passing through. I am not from Temple Bruer. My preceptory is Faxfleet in Yorkshire. My sergeant and I merely stopped to shelter from the damned weather and I became embroiled in this. I can hardly believe it myself, seeing as last I saw him he had been run through by my own sword.”

  “So how can you know for sure that it is this man who attacked me?” she asked confused.

  “Trust me, I know. It is complicated to explain right now.”

  “Why did you come back for me? Am I in some sort of trouble or danger?”

  “There are many reasons, but I will give you the most basic just now. He has unfinished business with you. You escaped him and he cannot allow that. Your evasion of him has made you twice as . . .” he paused and grimaced at the notion, “appealing. He will seek you out at the convent first and when he finds you are gone, he will come looking for you. He will know when he speaks to the Abbess that you are with me. She will tell him of my visit, as no doubt he will be dressed as a Templar.”

  “That is the most basic?” she said incredulously, wondering what the other reasons could possibly be.

  “Aye, ’tis.” Galeren replied looking up as he felt a spot of rain hit his nose, “Believe me,” he said, frowning as the rain began to fall, “you are in quite a mess.”

  “But why should you care?” she asked genuinely interested. “What do you care for a nun?”

  “But you are not a nun are you?
You’re a novice and a wicked one at that, if your Abbess is to be believed.” He teased.

  Catherine shrugged. “Fine. What do you care for a wicked novice then?”

  “I care that when he finds you, I will be there to put an end to him.” Galeren replied curtly.

  “I am bait then.” Catherine snapped.

  “You’re bait whichever way you look at it. At least this way, I’ll be able to protect you. Would you rather have remained at the convent?”

  “I would rather be dead.” She said gravely.

  “I take it from that, that you were not there out of choice.”

  “I had no choice. It was forced upon me.”

  “Well, I am afraid that another situation has been forced upon you.”

  “Don’t apologize. I would rather the fear of the unknown then the mind numbing certainty of each day until my death.”

  “Then we are like minded.” Galeren said with a smile on his lips.

  “When will you tell me the rest?”

  “When we are –” he cut off as his horse side stepped nervously on the track and threw its head up as if about to rear.

  “Easy, Red.” Galeren said, softly patting his stallion’s neck but caught the scent of something and looked ahead down the track.

  “What is it?” Catherine asked.

  “Ssshhhhh!” Galeren said reining Red onwards. He smelt them before he saw them. Red too had sensed their presence but, unusually, before Galeren had. It was the second time he had missed the importance of a scent in the presence of Catherine. Up ahead, on the side of the track, stood a group of five men. There were five mounts with them and they had a fire going, over which boiled a pot of something that smelled rancid. Galeren cast his eyes over the group and swore under his breath. Catherine felt his tension.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered looking at the men ahead. Galeren pulled the cloak even more tightly around her and pushed her head forward so she was looking towards the ground.

  “Keep your head so.” He said firmly. “Don’t look at them when we pass. Don’t make any kind of eye contact, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Catherine said uneasily, feeling the rain drops trickling down her face.

  Galeren spurred Red onwards in a show of confidence and rode past the men, tipping his head at them in greeting. They stank of days of riding, rotting linen and rusting mail. They were a motley group of mercenaries and a desperate one at that given the state of them and the smell of what they had to eat. Their dusty faces fixed upon the passing riders. Five pairs of bleary eyes looked upon the girl who sat in front of the unassuming knight, who himself looked worse for wear.

  Galeren could smell the zeal of their lust as they took in the view of Catherine. It had probably been some time since they could afford a woman and not one as beautiful as she. Her head was still downcast but her curious eyes couldn’t help but dart sideward to steal a look. She caught sight of their faces, which although wore smiles, were filthy and brutal looking. They continued past and up the track away from the group. Biding his time, Galeren finally looked behind him to see what they were doing.

  “Shit.” He swore. The men had quickly climbed on their mounts and were slowly following them. The rain began to fall in earnest.

  “What?” Catherine asked nervously.

  “They are following us.” Galeren said.

  “What do they want?”

  “You,” he said solemnly and immediately felt her tense.

  “Me? You’re so sure?”

  “Well they don’t want me and I don’t look worth robbing. Believe me, men in that state are not wont to let a woman like you pass them by.”

  “But I’m with you.” She protested.

  “They care not about that. There are five of them and one of me.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. Galeren could sense the unease within her.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.” He said with conviction. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” She breathed turning her head to look at him. His eyes were intense yet had a thread of calm within them. However, over his shoulder she saw the men closing in on them and she quickly turned her attention back to the road ahead.

  “You must do exactly what I say and keep to it. Whatever happens, don’t look; you won’t want to see it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Catherine said as the men caught up to them. Two trotted ahead of them and turned to block their onward passage, while the others stayed behind to secure the rear.

  “Can I help you?” Galeren said. His voice was steady and strong but Catherine couldn’t prevent herself from shivering. The leader of the group, or the one who had chosen to speak for them, smiled and lent forward in his saddle, his face becoming streaked with grimy rivulets as the rain pelted it. He cast his gaze approvingly over Catherine, then fixed his eyes on Galeren.

  “Save yourself a beating and give us the woman and we promise to give her back to you in one piece when we’ve finished with her.” The others laughed at this and Galeren tightened his grip around Catherine to reassure her.

  “I don’t think there’ll be much left of her when you’ve finished.” Galeren remarked keeping his eyes on the leader who nodded his agreement and flashed Galeren with another toothy grin.

  “You’re probably right but that’s the chance you’ll have to take to save your own skin.”

  “I take no chances.” Galeren said coolly. “This woman’s skin is more precious to me than my own, so the answer is no. I now offer you a choice,” he continued as a dark mask fell over his face and a snarl formed on his lips, “take your group of filth and turn about, or I promise there’ll not be much left of you when I’ve finished.”

  The leader laughed at this and the others joined him, though he was a little unnerved by the lone knight’s cool confidence.

  “Gutsy,” he said and looked about him at his men. His eyes did the talking, indicating to Galeren what their next move would be. The tension grew and Catherine could feel her heart beating out of her chest.

  “But I don’t fancy your chances,” the man finished and Catherine heard the scrape of steel as it left a scabbard and felt Galeren’s hand on her side. He gave her a good firm shove and she flew out of the saddle.

  “Get down and cover your head!” he screamed, as she hit the sodden dirt. She did, just as Red reared up over her, his hooves crashing down beside her head. More hooves circled her and she heard more swords being drawn and then someone scream out a warning. A horse whinnied in the agony of injury and she felt the earth shake as it crashed down onto the ground, trapping the screaming rider beneath it. In the chaos and screams she heard flesh tear and felt the splash of something warm and wet cover her hands, but she dared not look up. The screams went through her as she heard more tearing followed by thudding, like the ground was being pelted with something other than the rain. Though she had heard swords drawn, she heard no clash of steel against steel, only tearing, thudding and blood curdling screams.

  And there was another sound, strange, out of place and terrifying. It was the snarls and guttural cries of an animal. Her heart almost stopped, as she realised that it was an animal she recognised. She could not hear Galeren’s voice through the fray, only the awful screams of the mercenaries and terrible ripping sound. Despite Galeren’s commands, Catherine felt compelled to look upon the scene, dreading that her instinct would prove true.

  Slowly, she looked up, and to her horror saw what she had feared. It was a wolf, a huge white wolf, drenched in blood. Its teeth were bared in a terrifying grimace as it launched itself at one of the men. The man stood, his sword raised in defence, ready to bring down his attacker. He did not stand a chance. The wolf flew gracefully through the air and the man swung his sword in a feeble attempt to fell it, but he was too slow. The wolf slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground and its jaws, wide and ready, clamped shut on his forearm.

  Catherine shuddered as she heard the crack of b
one, followed by tearing and then a pop as the man’s arm was ripped from its socket. His cries were inhuman. The wolf tossed the arm from its mouth and it hit the ground just inches from where Catherine lay, the sword still firmly gripped in its hand. Stood on the writhing mercenary’s chest, the wolf wasted no time in finishing him. Its teeth now took the man’s throat and tore with such force that his head was all but separated from his body.

  Catherine covered her mouth to prevent herself from crying out, but the wolf sensed it was being watched and turned its gaze upon her. Catherine saw Galeren then; his eyes were fixed furiously on her. She knew it was him; though it may not have been his body, it was his eyes. Though she recognised them, they were unlike those she was used to looking into. They were wild, they were animal. The huge white wolf began to pad towards her, its teeth bared. Was he going to attack her?

  “Galeren?” she started fearfully but suddenly found herself grabbed by the waist, hauled up and pulled backwards. She now had full view of the carnage. Galeren had kept his promise, there was not much left of the mercenaries. It was over and the cries and sounds of the conflict were replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the fall of the rain and the furious beat of her heart. Strewn across the road were, what appeared to be, various body parts. She could distinguish arms, lumps of flesh and the bloodied, torn remains of four men.

  She then realised that it was not her that the wolf was snarling at, but the last remaining mercenary who now held her. She felt a cold steel blade against her throat. Before her eyes the white wolf seemed to blur and elongate, and in but a fragment of time Galeren, the man, stood before them. He was naked, but still covered in blood and not bothered by his natural state. She felt her captor tense and utter an oath under his breath.

  Galeren’s face was dark and savage and the ferocity of his action was evident. One horse was down and the others had bolted. Red, however, was stood at the side of the road casually lipping at some shrubbery. The surviving mercenary gripped Catherine tightly and slowly began to back away from the fierce creature before him. Galeren’s face was covered in rain washed blood and he was wild with rage. He looked at Catherine who stared at him incredulously, despite her predicament. With what appeared to be great effort, he composed himself and caught his breath.

  “Let her go,” he said and a thread of calm returned to his eyes, which now appeared more human, “and I’ll let you go.”

  The man backed up, the horror of what had just happened was emblazoned starkly across his stunned face. Galeren raised his hand in reassurance.

  “In Christ’s name what are you?” the man asked still horrified, his prior bravery having disappeared along with his slain comrades. Galeren shook his head and merely said, “something you should have listened to.”

  “You’ll let me go?” he asked, lowering the sword slightly from Catherine’s neck.

  “I give you my word.” Galeren smiled and nodded his assurance, but Catherine saw the wolf return to his eyes.

  The man lowered his sword and roughly shoved Catherine towards Galeren. He then turned and began to run. Catherine skidded onto her knees as Galeren changed and leapt over her head. She did not look back but heard him bring down the fleeing man. The ripping sound of flesh leaving bone drove her to her feet and she made to escape.

  No, no, no, no! It could not be. He was like the one who attacked her. She knew they were linked, and this was how. What nightmare was she in? As she ran for her life, her heart told her that he meant her no harm, but her head told her to get as far away from him as possible.

  “Catherine!”

  She heard him call out. She expected him to give chase and the terror of the other night came back to haunt her. She heard him take up the pursuit. She knew he would be swift, she knew she would not escape him. She felt him close in on her and his arms around her as he brought her down to the ground.

  “Catherine, please!” he said holding her fast, “let me explain.” He rolled her onto her back and held her still. Catherine stared into his blue eyes. They were so deserving of trust, but what did she really know?

  “Are you alright?” he asked, concern suddenly twisted his face as he looked over her blood stained visage. Catherine nodded numbly. Her emotions confused her; trust, fear, horror, admiration.

  Galeren sighed, “I had to protect you.”

  “You are like him, the man who –”

  “No!” Galeren said passionately. “I would never hurt you or allow anyone to do so. Believe me, horrific as it may seem, those men deserved to die.”

  Catherine shook her head, but it was in disbelief, not condemnation.

  Galeren frowned as if angry. “How much mercy do you think they would have shown you while they raped you? They would have torn you apart like a piece of meat.” Galeren shook his head. “They got what they deserved. I gave them a choice and they chose not to believe me. Had I been anyone else they would stuck me with a sword and raped you while I bled to death. I am sorry about the horse though.” He added with genuine regret.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on. Please, just let me go.” Catherine begged in her confusion.

  “I cannot do that.” Galeren said. “I swore to protect you. It may be hard to believe at this moment, but I am nothing like the man who attacked you. You must trust me, but I tell you now that I will say or do anything to prevent harm from coming to you, Catherine.”

  She looked away quickly, still unsure of his intentions and of the way she felt. If he wanted to cause her harm then surely he would do so now. There was nothing to stop him, she was utterly defenceless and at his mercy.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Galeren released her and helped her onto her feet.

  “Don’t run. I’ll always catch you.” He said and gave her a faint smile. It was a small comfort in that moment. Despite him standing bloody and naked before her, having torn five men apart, she was certain that he was as she had first thought him, trustworthy and her best option.

  “You’re not taking me to him?” she asked; she had to.

  “Christ no!” he seemed to shudder. “I am like him in being but not in spirit.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” She said and began to shiver involuntarily. Galeren looked at her strangely. The shivering escalated; it was not caused by fear, or cold but something else. Self conscious, she turned and began to walk away but she did not get far. She stumbled, suddenly feeling her legs lose rigidity. She felt a searing heat surge through her body, up to her head where it crashed into her skull so viciously that she thought it might crack it open. She put her hands to her head and cried out and then felt the nausea overtake her.

  “Gal –” she began but swooned. The last thing she felt were his arms as he caught her.