The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

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The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Nothing stirred in the maze of snow-covered trees.

Within the confines of the woods, only the snow was daring enough to move. It floated down from the heavens, white specks swinging to and fro in the chilling breeze, adding to the white blanket over the ground. Undisturbed, the vast pillow looked plump to the woodland creatures that wandered between the trees.

From a hole excavated into a trunk, edging out from its shelter, came a creature. It was tiny, with one curious eye scanning the surroundings and a small nose sniffing the air. A hazelnut-coloured coat covered its body, small white stars beginning to nestle in its fur, and shielded it from nature’s cold breath.

It stepped out. Sniffing the air again and blinking away the snow from its single eye, it cast its gaze up to the canopies. The branches above strained with the weight of the snow, every so often letting out an annoyed creak, but they held firm. The creature glanced left, then right, and then stepped out into the open. Wading through the white carpet, the creature kept its eye forward, hoping to burrow another home into a tree farther along its journey.

It stopped.

It heard a noise. A rapid padding through the snow, something propelling itself at great speed, but it couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. Frantically looking around, it sought the source of the noise but failed to see it.

The sound grew louder.

It turned to retreat to its home, trudging through the snow at a brisk pace. With every step the noise grew closer, increasing in volume.

“Hyah!”

From the array of foliage to the left leapt a streak of white, blending in with the surroundings and making it difficult to discern its shape. With a high-pitched squeal, the creature dived inside the safety of its home and cowered in the corner, watching the beast shoot past the entrance and kick the snow up into the air.

Sprinting through the dense forest was an ictharr. The four-legged beast pounded across the ground, propelling itself forward with every push. Its purple eyes focused ahead on its path. A shaggy fur coat covered its body, fur sprouting up in places while forming streaks in others. A leather saddle hugged its midsection.

On that saddle sat Corsair Sedrid.

The wolf leant forwards, his paws clutching the reins as he directed the ictharr through the trees. His front fur was white, claiming the area around his green eyes and the sides of his snout, while the rest was black. A dark, hooded cloak billowed behind him, blown back by the wind, and exposed the thick winter clothes beneath.

“Hyah!”

He snapped at the reins and directed the steed to the right, steering it past a tree. The ictharr zoomed across the snow, air blowing in and out through the black leathery nose at the end of its snout, weaving through the obstacles of the forest.

“Left!”

Corsair pulled the reins left. The ictharr planted its paws in the snow and turned, skidding, before propelling itself in that direction. It followed the rider’s instructions to the letter, following every touch of the reins and verbal command.

“You can go faster, come on!”

The ictharr offered a protesting growl between breaths but didn’t defy its master. Agility prevailing, they evaded tree trunks and rocks, disrupting the even surface of the snow and causing it to explode into the air. They left in their wake a trail of large pawprints and uneven mounds.

“Left!”

Yanking the reins to the left, Corsair guided the beast through the forest. Woodland animals peeked from their homes as the rider and his steed shot past. The wolf spotted a formidable bulge in the carpet of snow, shaped like a long tube running from left to right. It lay metres ahead, tall enough to trip up the accelerating ictharr.

“Leap!”

His steed complied with his command. It leapt up into the air and soared over the fallen log. They continued on their course unhindered, Corsair glancing back at the obstacle.

“You’re doing good, keep it up!”

The ictharr managed a grunt of approval, its pink tongue hanging out from the side of its mouth, eyes focused on the path ahead. Corsair looked up to see a lone branch hanging out from the side of a tree, positioned to strike him in the stomach and knock him from his saddle. Knowing that the branch was too low to duck beneath, he drew his longsword from its sheath on his belt and swung.

The blade tore through the branch with ease, causing it to fly off with an audible snap. He threw his free arm up in front of his face to protect himself from any debris but none of the splinters struck him. Lowering his arm, he saw his companion looking back to ensure he was okay.

“I’m fine, keep your eyes forward.”

Both ictharr and lupine looked ahead and saw the treeline stop. The woodland failed to continue, the ground disappearing, and both pairs of eyes grew wider.

“Stop!”

Corsair yanked on the reins and the ictharr pushed its paws out, yowling in panic. They skidded towards the edge, the wolf pulling back on the reins hard as the brink rushed towards them.

To his relief, his companion’s paws stopped just short.

The ictharr, its eyes wide, scrambled back with such frantic haste that it pushed back on to its hind legs and flopped over on to its side. Corsair hit the ground with a grunt and fell from the saddle, rolling away from his steed. He came to a stop and remained still, sprawled out on his back with green eyes looking up to the grey sky.

They both lay there for a moment.

Blinking the snow away from his eyes, Corsair pushed himself up and grimaced. His clothes clung to him in a wet embrace.

“Great. Soaked.”

He felt something push against him and he turned. His ictharr was nuzzling him, his warm breath against his face, and Corsair smiled. He placed a paw on the side of his companion’s head and stroked him.

“I’m fine, Quickpaw, I’m fine.”

As if suddenly possessed, Quickpaw drew his head back from him and shook his coat. Corsair shrank away as the snow was flicked across him, raising an arm to shield his face. When Quickpaw had finished, Corsair lowered his arm and looked down at himself. His clothes were clinging damply to his legs and torso. He looked over his shoulder to see the fur on his tail ruffled and knotted. He sighed.

“Thanks, Quickpaw.”

Quickpaw sat and let his tongue hang from his mouth, resting between the numerous fangs inside. Corsair looked back into the treeline, spotting the trail they had left during their run, and nodded in approval.

“You ran pretty fast today, Quickpaw. Good run. I pushed you hard.”

Quickpaw yapped.

“But… next time? Eyes forward.”

Corsair approached the edge and peered over the side. A slope stretched out from the top of the hill. It was hardly the sheer or deadly drop it appeared to be when one approached it.

Still wouldn’t be fun to fall down.

He looked up.

Hundreds of metres beyond the base of the hill, reinforced by three fortified stone walls, was a city. Houses and cottages lined the snowy pathways winding through it, the tiny dots of inhabitants moving back and forth between the buildings. He could see the marketplace in the centre, hundreds of wolves hurrying from stall to stall. The Lupine Halls of Justice were visible to the north, lonely except for the soldiers around it and the jail opposite. The Clan Iggregom Vaults stood to the west, its doors open as groups of people walked in and out to manage their savings. The woods returned at the base of the hill and bled into the south of the city, the only side without a wall. Other than the south’s thick foliage, there was nothing but snow beyond the walls.

As always, Grand Wolf Plains was bustling with life.

“There it is,” Corsair said as Quickpaw arrived by his side. “There’s home.”

Quickpaw growled in response.

“Can you see our house from up here?”

He watched his steed jerk his head in the direction of his home. There, to the east, he could see the distant shape of the Sedrid house.

“I bet you’re looking forward to seeing Mum, huh?”

At the mention of his mother, Quickpaw pawed at the ground in excitement.

“Maybe we’ll have some leftovers tonight, huh?”

He sat and yapped, looking at him with excited eyes.

“Well… if Peter ends up cooking…”

Both snarled in disgust, shaking their heads. He could almost taste the stale food.

“Well, either way, let’s hope we have something nice tonight.”

Quickpaw nodded in agreement, looking down towards the city. Corsair did the same, eyes focused on his house – and that’s where he saw them.

Two figures stood behind the building, one mounted on an ictharr while the other stood to the side. A third figure lingered metres away, watching everything unfold, and Corsair squinted at them. Quickpaw watched his master, registering the frown.

“What are they doing?”

Then he remembered the conversation he had with Peter as he left that morning.

You’re up early today, Sir.

Taking Quickpaw out for a ride.

Right. Remember, Sir, training is going to start in an hour.

I’ll be back, don’t worry. Just say that I’m out riding.

I’ll do so.

Corsair gasped.

Training.

“Training!”

He was late.

Again.

Quickpaw sensed urgency in his master’s voice and stood. Corsair turned and rushed towards his steed, pulling himself up on to the beast and snapping the reins.

“Hyah!”

Grunting, Quickpaw turned and rushed away.

* * *

Corsair reined in his mount at the front of his home and dismounted, stumbling as he landed. The Sedrid household was almost identical to the structures around him, made from the same dark wood and constructed in the same format. He could see windows installed in the upstairs bedrooms, with one large window allowing someone to peer out from the kitchen. Wolves dressed in grey uniforms moved back and forth from the counters and tables, talking to the two cooks who held boxes of ingredients in their paws.

I guess that means we’re having Peter’s food tonight.

“Come on, Quickpaw.”

They hurried around the side of the house, the wolf stumbling through the snow.

“Put more force behind it, come on!”

The thundering voice of the instructor echoed from the back of the house, growing louder with every step. Corsair slowed and crept forwards, peering around the corner.

In the snow, standing beside his ictharr, was Ragnar. His brother was considerably taller than Corsair, with broader shoulders and an intimidating physique. He was dressed in thick clothes to battle the cold (which only worsened as the seasons passed), a leather training vest drawn over his torso and his helmet dangling from the saddle of his steed. Standing upright beside him was a steel lance, its wooden shaft leading up to the metal head. Along the circumference of the head’s base were numerous engravings. Corsair could see his own resting against the wall.

“Let me show you what I mean, Ragnar.”

A wolf with dark brown fur took the lance from the trainee. He brought the lance back, handling its hefty weight as if it was nothing, and thrust it forwards towards an imaginary target. He repeated the motion, Ragnar watching and nodding along.

“You see? The momentum you have when charging headfirst towards your opponent is your weapon. If you use it correctly, you will knock your opponent from their saddle. At the very least, a good hit will stun them.”

Alpha Dominik Tiberius was a behemoth of a wolf. About the same height as Ragnar, maybe a few inches taller, the lupine was a tower of sheer muscle beneath his brown coat. A stern expression always sat on his scarred face, one that commanded discipline and respect from those he instructed or so much as walked past. A pair of bright streaks of red paint cut across his left eye, often mistaken for scars as they blended in with the myriad of other wounds on his face. They were accompanied by a thick line of red running from between his eyes, down the bridge of his snout and to his black nose.

“Let’s do it again. Saddle up.”

Ragnar took the lance back from the instructor and turned to mount but stopped as his blue eyes fell upon his brother. The alpha noticed and turned to follow his gaze, spotting the younger sibling.

That’s when Corsair saw his father standing around the corner.

Winter Baron Arthur Sedrid stood with arms folded, eyes focused on his younger son. Corsair’s ears flattened and his tail curled between his legs, lowering his head.

“Come here,” his father growled.

He trudged forwards. Quickpaw went to follow but Corsair told him to stay where he was. As Corsair stopped before his father, he raised a paw to the left side of his neck.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, father.”

“Do you want to know what Peter told me you were doing? He told me you were out riding that.”

Arthur jabbed a digit of his paw past his son and towards Quickpaw. Eyes wide and ears collapsing, the ictharr shied back away from them and sat down, averting his gaze as he whimpered.

“I just wanted to take him out for a bit, father.”

“And go on another one of your adventures? Waste the day?”

Corsair didn’t answer.

“Alpha Tiberius is sacrificing his time to train you two. There are places he might need to be or more important things he could be doing but he’s here training you. If you want to waste your time on your stupid rides with that, do it when it doesn’t come at the cost of someone else’s time.”

Corsair didn’t dare answer back.

“Arthur,” Alpha Tiberius said, “he hasn’t cost me much of my time. I’m sure he gets it.”

The Winter Baron looked back to his son, who didn’t dare make eye contact with him. He gestured to his lance.

“Get your things. Don’t waste any more time than you have already.”

Corsair didn’t hesitate. With Quickpaw following him (giving his father a wide berth), he approached his array of equipment leaning up against the wall. A leather training vest was beside his trusty lance. His lance was similar to his brother’s – a long wooden shaft with a steel head. It bore different inscriptions and symbols along the head’s circumference. Each one was a testament to a victory he had achieved throughout the years he had been fighting, a trophy case he carried in his paws.

A trophy case far emptier than his brother’s.

He knew he had no time to gawp at it. He pulled his leather vest over his torso and strapped it down around the waist, wincing as he felt it press his clothes into his sides. Jostling it into a more comfortable position, he stepped towards Quickpaw with lance in paws. His steed stood ready by his side, allowing his master to check that the saddle was correctly fastened around his midsection.

Corsair caught a glimpse of his brother. Ragnar stood beside his own beast, a stoic black-furred ictharr named Harangoth. Ragnar shot Corsair a warm smile, one he appreciated, before looking away again.

He looked back at Quickpaw. The ictharr’s eyes were focused on Harangoth in admiration of his physique and attitude. He looked down at himself, ears wilting in disappointment.

Comparing the two was as easy as comparing day and night. While the formidable Harangoth looked as if he could take on 50 maugs, the scrawnier Quickpaw looked as if he’d have a fair fight against a baby vorsair. While Harangoth’s stoic face never faltered, Quickpaw was busy amusing himself with a lone insect forging a path through the snow.

Corsair stroked the scruff of his neck.

“You’re fine as you are, Quickpaw. That’s what matters.”

Something landed metres away in the snow with an audible piff.

Both heads snapped to the left, large eyes fixating on the leather ball lying in the snow. Their long ears stood to attention and they tilted their heads, maws partially agape.

“Go get it!” Alpha Tiberius yelled.

Corsair stepped back from Quickpaw, watching as he bounded towards the ball with energy in every step. Harangoth was slower to react, turning to lunge, and was beaten as Quickpaw arrived by the ball. Scooping it up into his mouth, he turned to rush back to his master.

A yelp came from Quickpaw as Harangoth rammed him, knocking him aside with his immense strength. Corsair winced as he watched his companion slide through the snow, promptly scrambling back up. Quickpaw dived for the ball, now in the opponent’s maw, and wrestled against Harangoth. Despite his best attempts, Quickpaw was unable to do more than knock the ball from Harangoth’s mouth before he was shoved aside again.

Come on, Quickpaw.

His supportive thoughts could not aid his steed. Harangoth bounded from his opponent and scooped the ball up into his mouth. His hulking form rushed over to Ragnar, a sight terrifying to anyone who did not know the steed personally, before sitting and dropping the prize. Ragnar picked it up and passed it to Alpha Tiberius, whispering praise to his companion.

“Exercise over!”

Quickpaw pushed himself on to all fours, shaking his fur, ears down and tail curled. Head hung, he padded over to Corsair and grumbled in defeat, casting his sad gaze over to the victor.

“Hey, you did great. You tried. You’ll beat him some day, don’t worry.”

Ragnar gestured to Quickpaw. Harangoth nuzzled against Ragnar’s head before turning and approaching his companion. He stopped before Quickpaw and lowered his head to make eye contact. He grumbled in concern. Quickpaw looked up and his face grew brighter, a sight that made Corsair smile.

“All right, enough downtime,” Alpha Tiberius said. “On your saddles, let’s continue. We’ve got a lot of things to go through.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

He mounted Quickpaw and glanced at his father.

His father stood back with arms folded across his chest, glaring at Quickpaw.

“Corsair, come on! No time to daydream!”

The alpha’s thundering voice jolted him back to reality, forcing him to snatch the reins and spur Quickpaw forward after Ragnar.

Chapter Two

Corsair and Ragnar lasted three seconds inside their house before their mother reprimanded them, seeing her two sons drenched and sodden while standing by the door.

“Oh, here we go,” Ragnar said, rolling his eyes.

“Ragnee, Corsair, you’re both soaking!”

A white-fronted wolf in red silk robes stole forwards from the dining room table, two servants rushing after her with combs in paws. They looked flustered, as if they had been tending to the wolf’s fur for the past hour, and that was exactly the case. Corsair could see his mother’s tail swishing behind her, all her fur streaking in one direction and forming a smooth dark wave. The fur around her neck and atop her head (between her small ears) had been combed thoroughly, not a single hair out of place. The black leather pads at the bottom of her paws had been washed and cleaned, fur brushed out of the way to display them.

“Were you two training or playing out in the snow again?”

“We don’t play out in the snow, Mum,” Ragnar scoffed. “Training.”

“And what is Arthur having you do? Roll around in it? Look at you! You’re dripping wet.”

“So, I’m guessing you don’t want us coming in, then,” Corsair said.

“Until you two clean yourselves up, you are not going upstairs to your rooms. Ingrid and Sebastien spent a long time cleaning them – especially yours, Corsair – and I will not have them tiring in there again.”

“We’ll find somewhere to dry ourselves,” Ragnar said. “We could head down to a tavern.”

“To Mr Duncan’s place?” Corsair asked.

“Mr Duncan’s place sounds good. He has those washing stalls. We’ll just dry ourselves there and come back.”

“We can’t dry off here, Mum?” Corsair asked.

“I don’t want you stomping around with your wet paws.”

“Oh, Mum…”

“Otherwise no dinner for you two tonight.”

Corsair went to open his mouth to protest but, realising what her words implied, shut it again. He stared at his mother with widening eyes.

“Mum, you’re cooking?” Ragnar asked, tail flicking.

“I am. Dressing up some fine meat this evening but if you two are going to be so insistent on not drying off, then…”

“No no no that’s fine, it’s fine. We’ll dry up quickly. Isn’t that right, Corsair?”

“Oh, yeah, no doubt,” Corsair said.

“Why is it so important that I’m cooking?”

“Mum, have you tasted Peter’s food?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then you know exactly why we’re making a big deal,” Ragnar chuckled.

“Peter’s food is fine.”

Corsair and Ragnar both gave their mother an exasperated look.

“Well… it isn’t exactly perfect, but it’s decent.”

“Less than decent.”

“Whatever his cooking ability, I’m cooking tonight. If you two want any chance to get your paws on my food then you need to go and dry off. Now.”

“Okay, okay, we’re going,” Ragnar said. “’Bye, Mum.”

“’Bye, Mum,” Corsair said.

“See you in a bit! And you’d better be dry when you come back!”

Denied entry until they returned dry, the two siblings turned and pushed back out through the door. They faced the cold with indifference, the idea of a good evening meal motivating them, and

looked right to face their companions. Corsair’s eyes went to Harangoth, sitting patiently. The ictharr was focused on something beside him, blinking as he watched.

Ragnar followed his gaze and, a moment later, smiled.

“Well, he’s having a good time.”

Quickpaw rolled on the ground, his white fur blending with the snow as his legs flailed in the air. Harangoth growled in exasperation and shook his head as the younger ictharr played like a pup, ignoring the snow that hit his side.

Corsair sighed.

“Oh, come on, Quickpaw. I’ll just have to clean you again.”

Quickpaw scrambled up on to his paws and shook the snow from his coat, flinging it across Corsair’s front. He grimaced, sighing as his brother chuckled.

“It just isn’t your day today, is it?”

“It’s all getting wet and covered in snow right now. Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

The duo started down the main pathway towards the city centre, their ictharrs walking beside them. Quickpaw continually sniffed the ground, turning his head left and right, whilst Harangoth walked with eyes forward.

“Tough training this morning, huh?”

“You bet. Tiberius loves giving us hard work.”

“He’s definitely a clan alpha, that’s for sure.”

A silence fell between them. The only audible sounds were the crunching of snow beneath their hind paws and the distant chatter of traders farther along the pathway that ran from east to west. Up ahead, the city got busier, more and more wolves sauntering back and forth past them.

“I know it’s probably not what you want to hear but… you need to be turning up to training earlier.”

“Thanks. Didn’t think of that.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. You’re always up there in the hills riding Quickpaw. Is it that hard to be on time?”

Corsair looked at Quickpaw. He continued to sniff the snow, distracted. Corsair shrugged.

“I forget. A lot, granted, but I forget.”

Ragnar opened his mouth before reconsidering his words, taking a moment to rephrase what he was going to say.

“I’m not trying to lecture you. I don’t see a problem with you spending time with him up there, you know I don’t. You bond with him, you learn how to ride better… I don’t see the problem. But Dad, for whatever reason, does. If you want to avoid these things every morning then you’ve just got to turn up on time.”