The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit E-Book

H.G. Sansostri

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

In the snowy recesses of the Clan of the Great Lupine, buffeted by chilling winds and unrelenting snow, live Corsair and Ragnar Sedrid - skilled tournament fighters and sons of the prestigious Winter Baron.

When war's thunderous howl sounds in the East, the brothers are ripped away from their lives of warmth and peace, and marched into the chaos of combat in the name of their people. The only comfort they carry is vested in each other and their steeds - the stoic Harangoth and loyal Quickpaw.

But the bloodshed of warfare is the least harrowing trial facing the Sedrid brothers. Malevolence wreaks havoc out of sight, figures speak of conspiracy in the shadows, and a single will - so determined to fulfil its duty - inflicts atrocity and malice of incomprehensible proportions.

Vos Draemar hosts many more evils than the two wolves can ever begin to fathom, and their journey is just beginning.

Leseprobe

THE SHARPENED FANGS OF LUPINE SPIRIT

H. G. SANSOSTRI

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

The Allure of Rivalry

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

The Siege of Pothole Plains

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

A Brazen Rescue

Chapter 22

The End of a Life

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2021 H.G. Sanostri

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Shadow City – A Next Chapter Imprint

Edited by Terry Hughes

All Illustrations Copyright © Adam Pickering 2021

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Sharpened Fangs of Lupine Spirit has been a personal project of mine for about three years. I started the Vos Draemar series back when I was 16 in 2017, writing a chapter every day after I’d completed my daily studies. It’s been through re-edit after rewrite after redo, alongside the subsequent books in the series, but I am now finally at a point where I am happy enough with Corsair’s story to share it with you.

There is a group of people I’d like to thank for their unrelenting support, not just in regards to Vos Draemar but in my pursuit of writing books as a whole. They have all played their part in getting me to where I am today – whether it be through illustration, publishing or their support.

Thank you to Adam Pickering, my illustrator, who designed the jacket and map for this book. Adam also illustrated the book covers of The Chronicles of Derek Dunstable and The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide. While this may be a very different genre, the talent is still up there. I am looking forward to working with Adam again in the future.

Thank you to Next Chapter for taking me on and helping me publish not just this book but the Vos Draemar series as a whole. They have given me the opportunity to share my stories with all of you and, for that, I am nothing but appreciative.

Thank you to the author Stewart Bint for guiding me through my writing journey since The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide. Your help and advice have been of immeasurable value to me and I am honoured to have your ongoing support.

Thank you to my siblings, Christian and Charlie, for being there for me when I needed it. I can’t even put into words how thankful I am for something as immeasurable and priceless as the bond we have.

Thank you to my dad – Francesco Sansostri – for being the man I want to be. He’s kind, he’s strong, he’s caring and has always been there for me. There’s no person I admire more. There’s no person I’m more proud of than him.

Thank you to my mum – Deborah Sansostri – for being the ninja warrior she’s always been. She has always shown nothing but love and care towards me. I love her to the moon and back.

Thank you to my fans, wherever you are, from The Little Dudes Skool Survival Guide and The Chronicles of Derek Dunstable. I know it’s been quite the wait for the next book to come out but I am grateful for your patience. I hope this has been worth the wait!

And, finally, thank you to you – the reader. Without you, the tales of Corsair Sedrid would be unknown. Without the reader, there’d be no need for the writer. I cannot thank you enough for your interest and I hope you’ll be looking forward to the next book in the series.

Grazie di tutto,

HG Sansostri

‘Eternity began at the precipice

of destruction.

The fields, mountains, deserts, seas, forests and

winter plains witnessed unending chaos and bloodshed.

Barbarity and perpetual war purged the

land and preyed on the innocent.

Existence was a grim torture all were forced to

endure.

But a light shone across the darkness,

emanating from the land’s centre.

The beacon of hope was none other than Silas Opulus,

a hero of pure heart and soul.

Surrounded by those like him, he cleansed the land of the barbaric and savage, the wicked and cruel.

Those born of evil fell before them and, in their place, rose civilisation that reached to the beaches and out into the seas.

The People’s Kingdom, born from adversity, ruled with Silas at its throne. He divided the land among the races. The four great nations formed.

To the canine and lupine went the winter plains of the north for their bravery and steel against evil.

To the rabbits went the sun-kissed fields and hills of the east for their intelligence and sophistication.

To the deer went the thick forests and swamps of the west for their undying faith.

To the felines went the scorching deserts and soothing tropics of the south for their devotion and cunning.

All those who enjoyed peace were welcomed to the centre of the People’s Kingdom, regardless of their allegiance or race.

Silas chose his own people, the felines, to serve as the realm’s sworn protectors and formed the mighty Opulusian Legion.

The Kingdom of Opulus entered the world and, holding its paw, a newly-found era of peace followed.’

‘THE ORIGINS OF VOS DRAEMAR’, 22 (ADGREDIOM)

PROLOGUE

The sands of the Venada desert stretched out to the horizon, endless.

For tens of miles, nothing but dunes could be seen. Nothing could be heard. Other than a faded stone road that led on for miles towards nowhere, all that remained were the hills of sand, the sun’s unending glare and the occasional scorpion scuttling along minding its own business. A bird of prey flew high above, looking down on the world below.

All was calm.

All was still.

And then, as if revealed from the fanged mouth of hell, chaos spread.

“For the Clan of the Great Lupine!”

“Look out! Incoming!”

“Help! Apothecary! Apothecary!”

“I’ll kill you all! I’ll slaughter you!”

Dozens of soldiers tumbled down the side of a sand dune, knocked away by the combat raging around them. Ictharr steeds, wolves, hounds and felines rolled to the bottom while yelling out, weapons flying from their paws.

Arthur Sedrid, helmet flying off, grunted as he arrived at the bottom of the slope in a heap.

Dazed, he pushed himself up on to all fours. He had rolled down into a depression between two dunes, coming to rest at the base of the first and left metres away from the base of the second. Sand clung to his fur and slipped through into his armour, making the Krosguard suit far from comfortable.

But, as he stood, he knew that was the least of his worries.

Soldiers screamed from all around him. Allied and enemy ranks blurred into one mess, losing all semblance of cohesion and unity. Opulusian legionnaires tackled felines with short swords and daggers, struggling against them and kicking sand into the air. Royal Order knights bellowed orders in New Opulusian to their soldiers, trying to rebuild their formation. Wolves wielded their swords and shields, turning on the enemy and swinging at them with snarls and growls. Others took their chances with their maws, flinging themselves at the enemies and sinking their fangs into their throats.

He looked around, drawing his sword.

His ictharr was nowhere to be seen.

“Reginald? Reginald!”

A battle cry sounded from behind and, before he could turn, someone tackled him to the ground. His sword fell from his gauntleted paw and landed in the sand, out of his reach.

A paw wrapped in leather straps grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him on to his back. Arthur saw a hooded Silverclaw soldier straddling him, one paw holding him down while the other yanked a curved dagger from his belt and raised the blade. With a cry of Sikkharan he stabbed the blade down at Arthur, thrusting it at his throat. His paw flew up and caught the attacker’s wrist, resisting with all his power.

“Reginald! Reginald, help!”

There was no sign of him.

The soldier applied greater pressure, forcing the dagger down as hard as he could. Arthur struggled, growling and snarling, before he overpowered the soldier. He pushed his arm away and punched him across the face, his metal paw sending the soldier stumbling to one side. Arthur scrambled to his hind paws and scooped up his longsword, turning around as the soldier charged him again shouting in Sikkharan.

He lunged, stabbing forwards. Arthur darted to the right and, with one swift move, slashed downwards. The blade tore through the metal cuirass and the dark desert clothing beneath, drawing blood. The soldier yelped and fell on to his side, hurrying back to his hind paws, but Arthur stopped him rising. He thrust his sword down into the soldier’s side, penetrating the cuirass and summoning a wail of pain. He pulled his sword out and turned, blood staining the blade.

Two Silverclaw soldiers rushed forwards, both wielding steel Kabar sabres. Arthur twirled his sword on either side of him, taking up face-on stance.

“Come on, then! Kill me!”

One stepped forward, Kabar sabre swinging back, but came no closer.

A streak of grey shot out in front of Arthur and, with a snarl, tackled the soldier. He stood no chance against the ictharr, who sank his fangs into the screaming Silverclaw warrior and shook his head wildly. The second soldier staggered back in shock, cursing in Sikkharan as she watched the beast tear her comrade’s neck apart.

Arthur seized the moment. He charged forwards and swung with his sword, cutting downwards as he moved. The soldier came to her senses and evaded the swing, slashing through the air with her nimble sabre. Arthur deflected the attack, stepping back. Lunging, the soldier swung for his throat. Arthur darted right and swung at her stomach as she attacked, the broadside of his blade striking the cuirass with a clang. The force brought the enemy to a stop, knocking her to his knees.

Arthur raised his sword and swung at the Silverclaw warrior’s side, cutting into her ribs. She gurgled, going taut with pain, before the wolf kicked her off the blade and left her corpse bleeding in the sand.

Arthur turned.

“Reginald, Reginald! Are you OK?”

His steed turned away from the bloodied corpse of the soldier, crimson droplets falling from the darkened fur around his maw. He growled in the affirmative, ignoring the peripheral slash across his right flank, and rallied to his master.

“I can always rely on you.”

“Come on then! I’m right here!”

Both his and Reginald’s ears stood in response to the familiar voice. He turned to see a hulking white-fronted brown wolf fending off a trio of Silverclaw soldiers, blood dribbling from the stump of his left ear. His dented helmet and two Opulusian legionnaires lay dead at his hind paws, slain by feline blades. One attacked and the lupine warrior knocked away the swing with his shield, kicking his adversary into the sand with a growl.

“That’s the best you got?”

Arthur sprinted towards his comrade, Reginald bounding beside him. He barged past the warring canines, lupines and felines, focused on the brown wolf. Slashing with his sword as he went, his blade cut through the side of a soldier’s neck. The soldier gargled and choked, dropping his sabre and clutching his bleeding throat as he slumped to the ground. A fellow soldier turned to avenge his dying comrade but met the sharp fangs of Reginald, wailing in pain as he was torn to shreds.

The brown wolf dispatched the third, stabbing her in the stomach and knocking her down with his shield.

He looked at Arthur, panting with tongue hanging from his maw.

“Thanks, Arthur… I thought I was a goner.”

“Your ear, Duncan.”

Either delirious from the pain or the adrenaline, the wounded Duncan just scoffed.

“At least it’s not my head.”

Arthur looked around for an apothecary, scanning the dunes above and the chaos below him, but saw no available wolves to aid his friend.

“I’ll get you help.”

“I’m okay Arthur.”

“Apothecary! Apothe‒”

A mighty howl sounded from above, one that he recognised immediately. It cut through the battle like a blade through flesh, drowning out the deafening sounds of war all around him. He cast his gaze up to the dune.

On its peak stood Winter Baron Elias Sedrid, mounted on his trusted ictharr. Krosguard armour clung to his body, the resilient plating and extra chainmail layer beneath the suit providing excellent protection against blade and arrow. He slashed away at three Silverclaw soldiers, sending their corpses rolling down the slope into the depression. The winged Winter Baron helmet sat upon his head, a combat version that came with a protective metal mask covering the snout and face. He thrust the banner of the Clan of the Great Lupine into the air in triumph.

“Victory shall be ours! Fight on! Fight on!”

This rallying cry summoned strength to the wolves and hounds battling the enemy, driving them to victory in the brutal conflict. Arthur looked around him and saw the Silverclaw soldiers beginning to retreat up the opposite dune, leaving behind their dead comrades.

And then he saw him.

Among the retreating ranks scrambling up the dune, one feline was aiming a crossbow. He knelt and brought the weapon up to his shoulder, closing one eye and pressing a gloved digit of his paw against the trigger.

Too far away to intervene, Arthur could only warn his father.

“Dad, look out!”

The Winter Baron heard the despairing cry of his son and -immediately - found him among the chaos. He saw his son standing there, blood dripping from his sword and spattered over his armour.

He noticed the crossbow aiming at him too late.

Arthur Sedrid’s soul was cleaved in two as the crossbow bolt whizzed up the slope and struck his father in the right eye.

Elias Sedrid slumped down from the saddle and fell, disappearing in silence.

* * *

In the withering decade that passed, those bloodied sands long faded. The corpses and carnage dissipated. The jolting sting of his father’s demise receded into a dull ache. The sun’s burning glare relented. In their stead came the reassuring familiarity of plump snow upon the ground, the cooling touch of the gentle breeze, and the bustling life of the clan’s capital. The many denizens of Grand Wolf Plains occupied the main pathway leading to his home, a congregation that spilled into the narrow passages of neighbouring houses. Soldiers and servants enforced the perimeter of the clearing in front of the door, glancing back to the Sedrid abode with shared excitement and anticipation.

His second pup was on the way.

On his right was Reginald, his personal ictharr. The grey beast padded alongside him, the fur around his snout turning silver with age. His seniority did not damage his status or ability, however. Nearby ictharrs looked on in awe as he strode along with youthful vitality, looking straight ahead with a determined look in his eyes.

On his left was his firstborn, Ragnar Sedrid. Arthur dragged him along by the paw down the snowy path to the house. The snow mingled with his white front while other snowflakes stood out against the coal-black fur across the rest of his body. The cub was bewildered, wide-eyed, and lacked any knowledge of what was happening. A cloak several sizes too big covered his shoulders. It verged on engulfing him.

“Daddy? Daddy, where are we going? Why is everyone around our house?”

“It’s a surprise, Ragnee,” he said, using his nickname. “It’s a surprise for everyone.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes, yes. We’ve got to hurry though, okay?”

“Is it a good surprise?”

“Yes, it’s a very good surprise.”

He could hear the yells and shouts of good will to his wife, Ophelia, from the crowd. Army soldiers patrolled past the gatherings, forming a barrier between them and the house. Krosguard soldiers repeatedly circulated among the crowd, able to see over everyone from their elevated positions on their ictharrs.

The weather was kinder at this time; the snow fell softer and the temperature had ever so slightly increased. Arthur smiled.

“Stay strong, my dear. Stay strong.”

“What did you say, Daddy?”

“Nothing, Ragnee. Just talking to myself. Come on, let’s be quick now.”

As he waded into the crowd, he saw people turn and yell to one another.

“It’s the Winter Baron!”

“Move aside!”

“Get clear, give them space!”

The sea of bodies parted before him. He kept a tight hold of his son’s paw as he slowly guided himself through the maze of bodies. The onlookers waved and cheered, wishing the Winter Baron and his wife good luck. Paws reached out and petted Reginald on the sides. The ictharr thanked them with growls of approval. Ragnar looked up and scanned the faces of the people, still maintaining his bewildered expression.

Arthur stopped as the wall of soldiers parted for him to step through. As he did, he saw the head servant turn and open the front door before stepping to the side.

“Thank you, Peter,” Arthur said. “How is she?”

“Stable, Winter Baron,” Peter said.

“Is she still delivering?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m afraid she has given birth already, Winter Baron. The doctors are still inspecting the pup to ensure he is healthy. I’d get inside quick.”

“Of course. Keep an eye on things out here, please.”

“Of course, Winter Baron,” he nodded.

“Reginald, stay.”

The ictharr growled in agreement, turning to face the other way and sitting beside Peter. The head servant petted him.

Entering the spacious lobby of the house, Arthur let go of his son’s paw when he heard the door shut behind him. Three servants, all eager to give him details on the birth, rushed forwards.

“Winter Baron, Winter Baron!” cried one, taking his helmet from him and placing it on the dining table. “You must hurry upstairs, the doctors have your pup!”

“How is Ophelia?” Arthur asked. “She did well?”

“Very well, Winter Baron,” another servant said. “You must see for yourself, quick. I shall take you upstairs.”

“Of course,” Arthur nodded, hastily turning around and placing his grey paws on his son’s shoulders. “Ragnee, Daddy has to go get the surprise ready. Be good and wait here with Klaus and Gertrude. I’ll let you know when it’s prepared, okay?”

“What’s the surprise?” he asked.

“Not right now, Ragnee. Be good and you can ride Reginald with me later, okay?” Arthur said, turning and racing upstairs with one of the servants. “Look after him, please!”

Moving quickly across the landing to the wooden bedroom door, Arthur could hear hushed voices on the other side. He had missed the chaos of the delivery – the absence of his wife’s pained screaming brought him much relief – yet the quiet made him stiffen with tension. His mind rushed to a dozen dark corners as the hushed voices persisted, contemplating many a bad outcome for the next addition to the Sedrid family.

What if something went wrong? What if our pup is sick?

He pushed aside such bleak contemplation as the servant opened the door to the bedroom and ushered him in. What was once a cosy dwelling for him and his wife had been transformed into an impromptu doctor’s practice. Physicians stood around in white gowns, not so much as looking in his direction as they remained focused on more pressing matters. Numerous medical utensils lay strewn around on metal gurneys that had been brought in, sitting in heaps upon folded sheets that had been placed on the surface of the desk. Those instruments of war had played an essential role in the brutal conflict that had been waged within the confines of their bedroom.

A battle he had missed.

Ophelia Sedrid lay on her back in the bed. The sheets had been drawn up to cover her lower side yet the blood refused to let its mark be hidden, staining the bed and entrenching itself in the fur of her white front. Her trembling chest rose and fell as she endured the aftermath of her excruciating physical exertion, tired eyes looking up to the ceiling as if to examine the minute details of the woodwork yet taking in nothing. The sight made Arthur’s ears wilt. To see the love of his life so frail, so sickly, proved more painstaking than any stray arrow.

He rushed to her side and crouched beside the bed. She turned her head, opening her mouth to speak but taking a moment to summon the strength.

“My love…you’re here.”

“Always,” Arthur said, grasping her paw. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I got stuck seeing to something at the grand hall and I—”

“It’s okay,” Ophelia said, managing a weak smile. “It’s okay. You’re here. That’s…all I wanted.”

Arthur smiled. Ophelia’s gaze shifted away as a doctor approached them, roused from her exhausted doldrums by anxiety.

“My pup…are they—”

“Take it easy, milady,” the doctor said. “Everything is okay.”

“Our pup?” Arthur said. “Did everything go well?”

“Everything has gone perfectly, Winter Baron. Our predictions were correct.”

Arthur exhaled, all the troubles that had harassed his mind for the last nine months dispersing into dust, before he realised what that meant.

“You mean…”

“Congratulations,” the doctor said. “You’ve just had a healthy son.”

Before either parent could issue their shocked reactions, a second doctor approached with a bundle of white warm cloths. They eased the pup into Ophelia’s arms and stepped back. Ophelia looked down at her joy – their joy – and looked over at Arthur with glistening eyes.

“Another son.”

“Another son,” Arthur laughed, leaning in to take a peek at the newest addition to the house. “Ragnee finally got the little brother he wanted.”

“God…they’ll be inseparable troublemakers.”

For a moment they could do nothing but observe the fragile life shielded within the bundle of cloth. The trembling pup, a survivor still damp and stained from the blood of the messy ordeal, clung to life with a grip as tight as his little paws could muster.

“Corsair Sedrid,” Ophelia said. “Such a…good name.”

“A prince’s name,” Arthur said.

Ophelia leaned into him. “A name for a wolf. A brave and wonderful wolf.”

* * *

Hours later, Arthur walked down the landing towards the stairs holding a basket between his paws.

Ragnar sat in front of the fire, a book of fables in paw while Gertrude and Klaus conversed quietly at the dinner table. Arthur shook a silent ‘no’ when they noticed him, gesturing to his oblivious son by the fire, and they understood.

He stopped behind Ragnar, who turned and looked up at him.

“Daddy? Is the surprise ready yet?”

“It is, Ragnee, it is,” Arthur smiled.

He placed down the basket facing the other way, hiding its contents.

“Now, listen to me closely. I’m going to show you the surprise but only on two conditions.”

“Okay, Daddy!” Ragnar agreed excitedly, putting down his book.

“First, you need to be very quiet. If you’re loud you will upset him, okay?”

A very enthusiastic nod.

“Second, you cannot touch him. You can look and sit with him but you cannot touch him whatsoever.”

Another nod.

“Good. Well then. Say hello to… Corsair Sedrid, your little brother.”

He turned the basket around to display the sleeping cub in the basket. Ragnar gasped in response before clamping his small paws over his mouth. Arthur smiled, beaming with pride, and put a paw on his shoulder.

“Good job on not being loud because he’s sleeping right now. We both know how important good sleep is, right?”

Ragnar nodded, paws still clamped over his mouth.

“All right, Ragnee. You like him?”

His son went to answer but held his tongue.

“Ragnee, you can speak, but not too‒”

“I love him!”

Arthur shushed him and rolled his eyes.

He has to show his excitement somehow.

“You two will get along well. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet but when he does we’ll see what they look like.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Ragnee?”

“Why doesn’t he open his eyes? Can he not see?”

“No. It’s because when you’re born your eyes stay shut for a while. That happened to you as well when you were born.”

“But why does that happen?”

“I think one of the doctors would be happy enough to explain it to you in Daddy and Mummy’s room. You want to go and say hello to Mummy?”

“Is Corsair coming with us?”

“Of course he is. Come on, let’s go.”

His son leapt up with joy, racing up the stairs and down the landing to the bedroom long before Arthur even reached the foot of the stairs.

“Winter Baron,” one of the servants asked. “The crowds outside are restless. Do we tell them the news?”

“By all means. Let the soldiers and Peter know to spread the word. Have one of the Krosguard lieutenants go to the aviaries and have the news dispatched across the clan.”

“Of course, Winter Baron,” one nodded, rushing to the door with their co-worker.

As Arthur climbed the stairs, he could hear his family name spreading like wildfire amongst the crowds outside.

“Long live the Sedrids! Long live the Sedrids! Long live the Sedrids!”

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Arthur looked down at his son sleeping soundly in the basket. He smiled.

“Welcome to the world, Corsair Sedrid. Welcome to Vos Draemar.”

CHAPTERONE

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.

CHAPTERTWO

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.”

“Even if I turned up on time, Ragnee, he’d be just the same. He always has it in for Quickpaw. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Fine. I’m just trying to help, nothing else. Just letting you know.”

“I appreciate that but… it’s routine. It’s nothing special.”

“It doesn’t have to be routine.”

Corsair gave him a tired look.

“Fine, fine, I’ll back off.”

“Let’s just forget about this morning and get washed so we can eat Mum’s dinner later.”

The mention of the wolves’ mother’s cooking was enough to rouse Quickpaw from his investigation. He craned his head up from the snow, ears standing, and gave an enquiring grumble.

“Yeah, you heard me. Mum’s cooking tonight.”

With excitement in his veins, the ictharr bounded around the back of the wolves to walk beside Harangoth. Drawing beside him, he relayed the news through yaps and growls. Corsair could see a flicker of excitement in Harangoth’s steely face as he looked to his master.

“We’ll make sure both of you get leftovers,” Ragnar said. “Only if you’re good when we’re inside the tavern though.”

“So no wild yapping, okay?”

Both ictharrs signalled their agreement and faced forwards, not making a sound as they approached the centre.

“Speaking of Mum’s food, what do you think she’s doing for us?” Ragnar asked.

“It better be good.”

“You think it’s maug meat?”

“If someone in the market was brave enough to hunt one, sure. Either that or vorsair meat. Probably gerbeast.”

As he said that word, a flock of white birds flew across the sky above. Corsair looked up and watched the vorsairs – he could see some of them had prey in their talons, carrying them off to their nests to feed their young.

“No matter what, it’ll still be good.”

Ragnar hummed in agreement. Both the ictharrs poked their tongues out and swept them across their mouths.

“Mr Duncan’s food is pretty good, though. For tavern food, anyway.”

“Nothing is as good as Mum’s, Ragnee, nothing. If you even suggest anything is, then that’s the worst type of blasphemy I’ve ever heard of.”

Ragnar’s eyes focused on something behind him.

“Even worse than ‘duck’?”

Corsair frowned.

“Duck? What do you me‒”

Piff.

He yelped in surprise as a snowball struck him on the back of the head, making him reel forwards. He spun, trying to maintain his balance, but only fell into the snow with flailing arms.

“Nice shot!” Ragnar called to the attacker.

Quickpaw and Harangoth both turned and leapt to their masters’ defence, standing before the assailant and baring their fangs, before recognition dawned. Corsair sat up to see them both bounding towards the culprit.

“You two are excited to see me today, huh?”

Standing metres down the pathway, petting both ictharrs as they sat before her, was a black wolf. She was shrouded in a dark cloak that draped over her blue skirted tunic and dark trousers, hood lowered. Her fur coat was entirely black, almost the same as her cloak, except for the few spots of white fur. Both her paws and hind paws were white, easily mistaken for gloves and hind-paw socks. A single thick stripe of white fur ran along her snout, stretching from between her eyes down to her black nose. Her brown eyes sparkled as she fussed over the two beasts, reducing even the stern Harangoth to a mere pup by petting him.

What made her particularly recognisable, though, was the lower part of her face. Along her jawline, leading to the base of her snout, tufts of her coat were neatly tied off with string to produce six evenly spaced sprouts of black fur.

“OK, that’s enough. Come on,” Ragnar said.

The two ictharrs lingered by Rohesia’s side for a few additional seconds before they turned and retreated to their owners, standing beside them. She walked forwards, smirking at Corsair.

“Hilarious,” he grumbled.

“Come on. You’ve got to admit that it was a good shot.”

“I thought it was a good shot,” Ragnar said. “I’m sure Harangoth and Quickpaw did too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to agree when I’ve got soaked for the third time today,” Corsair said. “You couldn’t just say hello?”

“Eh. Not my style.”

Ragnar scoffed and helped Corsair to his hind paws.

“You lost today. I’d just accept it. It makes it less embarrassing.”

“I’ll find a way to get you back for that. Both of you,” Corsair said.

“I’m trembling, Corsair. Really trembling,” Rohesia said.

He sighed, pushing snow off his shoulders

“Where are you going anyway?” she asked.

“To Mr Duncan’s place. We were going to dry off in one of his wash stalls, maybe get a drink or something to eat,” Ragnar said.

“Want to come?” Corsair asked. “As much as I hate you right now.”

“Sure. Sounds good. Sounds like you need a bodyguard from the snow, anyway.”

“Shut up.”

The trio took off towards the city centre, Harangoth and Quickpaw maintaining their promise to behave well by remaining silent. A minute passed before they arrived upon the east side of the city market.

“Sure is busy today,” Rohesia said.

Stalls upon stalls were lined up on either side of the numerous pathways, curving with the roads and following them to the other side of the market. Through the walls of market stands, Corsair caught a glimpse of the square. It was a large stretch of land cordoned off from the rest of the city, the ground made of snow-covered paved stone. In the centre of that square resided a stone statue of a lupine figure heroically standing tall and peering off into the distance. A shield stood at its hind paws, a sword in the right paw, and a pair of unblinking eyes glared ahead as they watched over Grand Wolf Plains. Snow dared to form mounds around the elbows and on the shoulders, creating pillows over the bridge of their snout, but it did not deter the strong gaze of the wolf.

Winter Baron Julian Krosguard.