The Wolf (Under the Northern Sky #1)

by Leo Carew

Vigtyr was exceedingly good company. He laughed in all the right places, told eloquent stories of his own in his deep voice and Roper found himself unexpectedly warming to this character, in spite of his Suthern ostentation.

He left Roper standing, staring after him, his brow gathered into a frown. It was the first time he had tried using the subtlety which Kynortas had so often employed, and so subtle had he been, that he had no idea whether Vigtyr had understood what he had been asked to do.

When on campaign, discipline was handled by the Black Lord himself. By strict Anakim law, an army could only have one head and that must include the ability to discipline his soldiers. When at home, however, matters of disgrace, justice and vengeance were handled by the Ephors. It was the most prestigious non-military position that the Black Kingdom offered and immensely powerful.

He had not heard one since before he had crossed the Abus and it made him realise for the first time that the Anakim had no bells. How could he have missed that?

Bellamus thought, frozen solid. It was the snow which was providing the illumination, reflecting the daylight into the corners

without Queen Aramilla’s intervention, he was at serious risk of this shave being his last. But contacting her would be difficult. In court, they affected barely to know one another. Any message he sent for her would look exceedingly suspicious, and news of it would no doubt be relayed to her jealous husband. He must rely on her to contact him, if she still felt enough affection to play this game. In the many years of their acquaintance, she had not yet let him down and she would certainly have heard of his arrival in the city. Bellamus could not slip unnoticed into Lundenceaster with four hundred soldiers in tow. They had met when the queen was on a pilgrimage to Iberia. Bellamus had already garnered a considerable reputation as a man who could deal with the Anakim and had thus been summoned to assist the royal train as it passed near the blurred Anakim border. The queen had been on foot, as ever the least elaborately decorated of her handmaidens, who sweated and flapped at themselves with fans as they trotted along behind her. Bellamus ignored the royal men-at-arms who gestured to him as he approached, riding straight past them and to the queen, at that moment in stern conversation with a handmaiden. He dismounted and offered a bow, receiving an indifferent glance in response. “You are safe to cross, Majesty.

On her departure, Queen Aramilla left him a letter, suggesting he cross the channel and come seek his fortune in Albion. It was a greater opportunity than Bellamus would find in Iberia and he took the chance, bringing his loyal band north. From that day forth, the queen’s invisible hand had helped guide his rise.

Queen Aramilla usually had months to act on his behalf: time during which she could ensure her favour for the upstart went unnoticed.

The first was to trust her. The second was not to bore her.

She was affectionate enough but he could feel the fickle nature of her admiration.

Every moment that he did not entertain her, she drifted away from him.

She wanted the excitement and the unknown in which Bellamus was so expert; he neede...

The moment that Bellamus ceased to excite her, he would be cast aside. Or worse. A whisper would find its way into the king’s ear: allegations that Bellamus had touched her, or behaved inappropriately, and it would be over for the upstart. This was a game to the queen, but not to Bellamus. But he had known that from the beginning, and panic would bore her. Calm, now.

“And what would they do?” Her pupils were very wide. He knew she was not scared, but thrilled. This woman had known nothing but oppressive safety her entire life. She was barely on the side of the Sutherners: she just wanted to roll the dice and, if the island burned as a result, that would do for her. He must shock her.

We must fight them in the north. If we take the war back to them as soon as the roads reopen, they will not be prepared and we can subdue them. Then you can come north and tour their conquered kingdom.” He took her hand, interlinking their fingers. “I cannot rest from that place. It is haunting me. Since I came back, I have felt like I am in a dream. It is as though I am living in a faint reflection of the world beyond the Abus. Everything is so soft, so easy. So flat. Up there, I felt awake for the first time in my life. Every tree; every hill and stream and word and footstep seemed more significant. I have to go back.” Bellamus stopped abruptly and glanced at Aramilla, taking a moment to compose himself. “And you must see. It’s worth subduing them simply to explore that land unopposed.”

I recognise that look, Majesty, thought Bellamus. I am not another servant of yours to be brushed aside. This king’s affable manner, his indulgent tone and his soft appearance disguised a monster. Very few people were of true value to him, and certainly not a foreign upstart. Bellamus had to make himself valuable, at least enough to give the king pause to remember the words that Bellamus hoped Aramilla had planted in his ear. Osbert was still frozen, his eyebrows raised. “They are coming south, Majesty.” Bellamus kept his voice low. “I heard the Anakim king swear it with my own ears.” Colour and expression were abandoning Osbert’s face. This was the most valuable piece of information that Aramilla had given Bellamus: above all things, the king feared the Anakim.

The Sacred Guard had caught his father’s bodyguard and, like a fire licking at a thatch roof, consumed it. One warrior in particular, immense in its steel and rage, had stepped forth and flattened Suthdal’s best knights with an inexorable hammer. This horrifying weapon had then been turned on the king’s horse, slamming down on its back and oddly denting the beast, which fell with a scream. King Osbert’s father, King Offa, had rolled to the feet of the antihero. He had stirred, trying to raise himself from the ground under the weight of his armour, and the war hammer had come down on his head. King Osbert had seen it all. He had watched, little more than a boy, as this formation of the noblest men in the land was ripped apart, and their forces overwhelmed. And then, as his father was killed before his eyes, the figure responsible, that monster with the war hammer, had raised a gloved hand at the young prince being ushered away and pointed directly at him. I’ll come for you, the gesture had said. The king still felt the shock of that moment. In the fertile flesh of his brain, a seed had been planted. Something vigorous and unyielding, whose roots had sunk deep and resisted

“We can’t take that to the Ephors,” said Keturah at once. “Uvoren would know she helped us and it would only be her word against both of theirs.” “You believe her?” said Roper, staring at the door through which Hafdis had departed. “She’s probably just trying to save her husband.”

“Helmec!” The guardsman entered, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I want you to take a message to Vigtyr the Quick for me. Tell him: Baldwin next.” “Baldwin next,” repeated Helmec. “And tell him to make sure the punishment fits the crime.” “And he’ll know what all this means, lord?” “He will.” Helmec bowed and was gone.

Stimulus and reaction.

Baldwin did not do well. His crime had been going on for decades and had deprived the Black Kingdom of resources desperately needed for defence.

“The speed with which Uvoren’s closest supporters are falling may be a coincidence, Lord Roper,” he hissed vehemently. “I do not know: I shall judge each case by its merits. But if I discover that your people are fabricating evidence against these men, I will bring down vengeance upon you.” “Baldwin’s own records condemned him,” said Roper, unflustered. “I hardly think I can be blamed for that.” “But the claims of sabotage were baseless. They only served to make him present his tally in evidence, which, conveniently, condemned him of a further crime. I will be keeping a very close eye on you.”

“As are the Kryptea. Who do you think I fear more?” “That depends on whether you have any sense,” fired the Ephor. “These are guilty men, my lord,” said Roper stubbornly. “You have found that yourself.” “The question, Lord Roper,” said the Ephor in a voice like grinding metal, “is whether they are guilty of any more than having been your enemy.”

“He thinks he’s going to be a Sacred Guardsman,” murmured Helmec. Gray stiffened. “He thinks what?” “I didn’t tell him that,” said Roper, carefully. “But if you led him to believe it, you may regret disappointing him.” “Why couldn’t he be in the Guard? He is the best swordsman in the country.” “He is not a guardsman,” said Gray without hesitation. “Yes, one-on-one, Vigtyr would probably kill Uvoren, Leon, Pryce; any comer. He is exceptional. For the Guard, fighting skill comes into it, but only insofar as it is not possible to survive acts of extreme valour without it. I promise you, however bad you think Uvoren is, Vigtyr is so much worse. He scares me.” “And Uvoren doesn’t?” “And Uvoren doesn’t,” Gray confirmed.

“he was the quietest boy there. I don’t even think he was shy: he just hadn’t developed a personality beyond fear and obsession. He had nothing to say. I think that is why he worked so hard at the sword; it was a way of gaining control and protecting himself from his father’s shadow.”

“I don’t know. All I saw was that, as he grew up, his need for recognition became more and more overwhelming. Perhaps, for him, it fills the gap that ought to have been taken by affection.”

“I worry …” Roper stopped himself. Self-doubt was not Anakim. “You worry about what?” He shook his head and Keturah tutted. “You worry that you are not the man you thought you would be.”

We are a partnership now, Husband. If there’s ever a time when a warrior doesn’t stand behind you, you’ll find me there instead.

“You left a message that I was to come as soon as I returned, lord,” said Thorri, who was fresh off a ship from Hanover, where he had been acting as a trade envoy. “I trust

“The agreement is a tenuous one and limited for now to wool and copper in return for grain and iron, but I am hopeful it will provide a limited source of revenue. In time, as relations improve, it may expand into more as well. But it was a wise move, lord, because it sends out the message that the Black Kingdom is once again prepared to do business with the outside world.”

The Councillor stayed for a time and told them about Hanover. It was one Anakim in ten thousand who wanted to travel outside their own country, so the picture he composed of alien ways and lands was of special fascination, however disturbing it might be.

How the Hanoverian princes had adopted the confusing Suthern love for gold (though they seemed to have little answer when asked exactly why it was valuable),

How they had no regular legions; just a warband, bonded to the princes and a citizen militia that was roused when the Sutherners were restless.

To an Anakim, a home was something that grew with time. They sank their roots into the earth slowly, as memories and loved ones became associated with the place. They became familiar with the orientation of the surrounding hills, mountains, forests and rivers. They knew so exactly where the stars would be at which point in the night that they had no need of timekeeping devices. They knew from which peak the sun would emerge on the winter solstice, how the earth would smell when the spring rains arrived, and all the oldest trees of the forest. The world around them was inhabited by spirits, formed from the powerful memories they had of the area and the people who had moved through it. To be uprooted from all this was bitter indeed and initiated the feeling of fraskala; being cocooned, as you were not connected to the land around you.

They had invaded Suthdal regularly over the centuries, and when it had no longer seemed wise to use that training ground, they had sent the legionaries to help in conflicts over the sea, to renew the perishable skills of war. But this was all accomplished with a wretched heartsickness, which most thought to be the explanation for why Anakim armies seemed to be a more fearsome prospect at home than they were abroad.

each night the two famous weapons clashed in Roper’s captive mind. He allowed himself to descend into dark combat.

It was the coldest day yet of the winter and he wore two woollen tunics: one finely woven and close-fitting, worn next to the skin; one loose and thick which he pulled on over it and which he then belted about the waist. Goatskin gloves, elk-skin leggings, high oxhide boots with woollen socks, and his wolfskin cloak.

But Roper’s mind dwelt instead on the linen cuckoo in his cloak. Watch your back, that meant, he was sure.

It was the Kryptea letting him know that what he had done to Uvoren’s friends, full subjects of the Black Kingdom and thus protected by its ancient customs, had been noted. A ruler had to rule, the Kryptea knew that. Sometimes he must discipline and make examples, so they would allow him some freedom. If he were to abuse it, however, he would be reintroduced to the matt-black blade, this time wielded by a skilled assassin. He hoped Keturah was safe, asking questions about that organisation.

Though her head was covered by a hood, there was something familiar about the acolyte’s posture.

Keturah thought of herself as an astute judge of character. The motivations and temperament of others were there to see if she only looked, and she could not imagine a time when Sigrid would be unhappy. The older woman, though serious, had a serenity about her that made her company restful even though she barely talked. But that silence just seemed to make the words she did utter weightier. If Keturah was in awe of one person in the Black Kingdom, it was this woman. She was quiet, so Keturah was quiet too. Just being in the presence of her tranquil companion, beneath the sheltered stone of the antechamber and with the frozen lake stretching out before them, Keturah felt peace descending over her. The Academy offered clarity. Sitting here, the appeal of joining this institution was obvious.

The hazelnuts were slightly dry so both women roasted theirs next to the fire and Keturah began to sip at her pine-needle tea. It was resinous, aromatic and refreshing.

Be careful how much you learn about those men, though. They have many ears, even in here, and if you want to know about their foundation, someone will report that to them.” “Not you, though?” said Keturah. “What do you think?” said Sigrid, staring out at the bridge. She put more wood on the fire. “But someone will.” “I doubt it matters. I’m no threat to them or the stability of the country,” observed Keturah. “It does matter,” said Sigrid. “They are an organisation of almost unlimited power and jealousy, entirely separate from the law. Sometimes I think the Academy is too reserved. Nobody asks about the Kryptea because nobody knows to ask. We don’t volunteer information unless people come to seek it.”

“You see those berserkers? We have thousands of them here, living below the pyramid. In full battle-madness, they would tear apart every bit of the Hindrunn beyond the lake. They could protect us from a legion, but they could not protect us from a Kryptean. We don’t know who they are, we don’t know how many they number. We don’t know how they are recruited, how they are trained, or if they have women in their ranks.”

“They must,” said Keturah, “or they’re brainless. The women of this fortress are far freer in their movements than the men, and much less likely to be suspected of murder.”