David Dalglish - Night of Wolves

“Then what is it you suggest?” Daniel asked, throwing up his hands.

“We go into the Wedge and find out for ourselves.”

“We?” asked Jeremy. “Might I remind you how well that turned out last time?”

Darius’s face turned red.

“No reminder needed,” he said. He glared at Jerico. “And you mean just the two of us, don’t you?”

“I do. We slip in and out of the Wedge unnoticed, and when we return, we prepare accordingly.”

Daniel stood, feeling the conversation reaching its end.

“And if you do not return?” he asked.

“Then I expect your men to defend this village with their lives,” Jerico said, as if it should be obvious. “Whether that is in flight, guarding the river, or behind locked doors, I don’t care.”

“Of course you don’t care,” Darius muttered. “We’ll be dead, after all.”

“These are simple folk,” Jeremy said, rising. “Keep news of this to yourselves, all of you. That is the only thing I ask. It’s not the unknown they’ll fear, only the lack of action. Once we know what we’re to do, trust me, trust us, to stand tall and do what must be done.”

Daniel turned to leave, and as he did, he heard Darius’s biting comment behind him.

“Very few stand tall when staring into the eyes of a wolf-man, Jeremy. Pray we return with good news.”

R edclaw’s fury swelled as Yellowscar groveled before him, his belly pressed against the pale grass and his snout jammed into the ground. Every quaking breath blew dirt back and forth from his nostrils. Across his arm was a shallow wound, the blood crusted over and matting his fur.

“Twice now you fail me,” Redclaw said. The rest of the pack surrounded him, for when Yellowscar’s group had returned, they’d come limping with wounds and half their original number. The pack had sensed blood then, and come to watch it drawn. Redclaw keenly felt their eyes upon him, and his law of wolf not killing wolf weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“I have earned your wrath, pack leader,” Yellowscar said. “They were prepared somehow, and when we burst from the water, they struck us with swords and pushed toward the shore with heavy poles.”

Again the numbers confounded Redclaw. He’d sent twenty-five wolf-men to deal with what turned out to be a mere twenty humans. Nine humans had died, to fourteen wolves. How could such a thing happen? Was he underestimating their weak, pink flesh? The orcs wielded weapons akin to the humans, yet they died in droves when they descended upon them. What made these humans so much more dangerous?

They couldn’t be. The failure came in the leader, the commander.

“Yellowscar,” Redclaw said, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him from the ground. “I see now where the fault lies.”

And with that, he pressed his nose against Yellowscar’s, a sign of friendship and forgiveness. All around, the pack yipped and growled with confusion.

“I have sent scouts to do the job of warriors. I have sent the fast do the work of the strong. It is I who should have led this charge, to witness for myself the strength of humans. They were brave enough to come into the Wedge and slay many of my pack. Vengeance, my brethren! That is what we must howl for.”

He narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice.

“You will sleep outside the pack for the rest of your life,” he growled. “Twice now you fail me, and yet I humble myself so you may live. Wolf must not slay wolf. But twenty wolves died under your lead, yet you did not. So that is how many you must slay before I accept you back into our warmth.”

“My mate…”

“You may not lie with her, nor cuddle with your pups. They stay with us, and you outside. Do you understand, Yellowscar, or must I name you Yellowbelly to the entire pack?”

Yellowscar flattened his ears and lowered his head.

“I understand. I will earn my way back with blood, pack leader. I promise.”

Redclaw stepped back and looked west.

“Time has become our enemy. Let us go to the river. Another boat should arrive, this of food and tools, yes?”

“Every seven days, and tonight is the seventh,” Yellowscar said, looking pleased that his watch was proving useful in any way.

“Good. Let us see if you can feast upon the first of your twenty.”

Redclaw gathered fifteen of his strongest, including Yellowscar, and then ran toward the water. The ugly grass grew thicker, some of its color turning to traces of healthy green. The moon was bright in the sky, and Redclaw felt pleasure in its light. It was a cool presence, soft on his eyes, unlike the fiery day. With everything so bright, it seemed the world shimmered, the colors flushed and exaggerated. In the darkness, his eyes soaked in the curves of the grass, the drifting of the clouds, and the jutted crevices of each stone, all without long distorting shadows. Up ahead, trees grew, a sign they had arrived at the river the humans called the Gihon.

“Why did you not bring Bonebite?” asked Yellowscar as they slowed, walking on their hind legs instead of all fours.

“Why? Do you feel fright without him to cower behind?” snapped one of the other warriors, brown-furred and wide-shouldered with the name of Dirtyhide. Redclaw shot him a glare, and he nipped at his face to show his displeasure.

“It is no cowardice to want a strong warrior at your side,” he snarled. “Calm yourselves, all of you. This is Yellowscar’s hunt.”

“A doomed hunt then,” Dirtyhide grumbled.

Redclaw bared his teeth, and before the other wolf could respond, he grabbed him by the throat and lifted his back legs off the ground.

“I fight at his side,” he said. “You insult me in saying us doomed. Speak it again, Dirtyhide, if you are so brave. I relish the thought of your blood on my tongue.”

“Wolf must not kill wolf,” Dirtyhide managed to say, his clawed fists clutching Redclaw’s wrist as it held him.

“I would only eat one arm. You’d still live.”

Dirtyhide yipped at that. Giving him one last shake, Redclaw tossed him to the ground and snarled at the others. He towered a foot above all of them, and he pulled back and howled to the moon, letting them hear the strength of his lungs, see the corded muscles of his chest. The rest backed away, all but Yellowscar, who lowered his head and ears respectfully while staying at his side.

“Enough,” said Redclaw. “We must not nip at our own heels when food is near. To the river. The human village must starve as we starve. They must know the hunger we have lived with all our lives. No boats can arrive. As for Bonebite, he remains at the pack for I need him at the Gathering. I would not want Goldteeth to arrive without someone strong to greet him.”

“We don’t need Goldteeth to feast upon the human flesh,” said Rockeye, looking to the rest for support. He was stronger than many, his powerful muscles visible through the mange on his skin, but it was for his reflexes that Redclaw brought him. “Send Goldteeth away. Let his pack starve while we reap what we have earned.”

“I said enough!” Redclaw snarled. “You are my strongest, yet you doubt me? We do not attack to eat. We attack to live! The humans will send men to drive us back across the river, hundreds of them. With our every victory, more will arrive, until we face a sea of metal and flesh. Come then, we must have every wolf-man united together. I cannot be just pack leader. I must be leader of leaders. Humans are fearful of the future, and that is why they will never let us be. We must be smarter. We must be stronger. Goldteeth will only be the first.”

“You are strong,” Yellowscar said, still keeping his body low. “Not since the old tales have we had a leader of leaders, but you are mighty. You will be Wolf King.”