The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit Page 12

  “I guess not.”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “No. I haven’t told anyone other than you. Ragnee would kill me.”

  Corsair turned his head back to look into Quickpaw’s stable. The beast lay on his front, tearing through a bowl of meat like he hadn’t eaten in years.

  “You’re enjoying that.”

  Quickpaw lifted his head from the bowl, small morsels of meat attached to the fur around his maw. He grunted and turned his nose up at his master, pushing the bowl around so he didn’t have to face him. Axel whistled.

  “Someone’s got a bit of attitude today.”

  “He’s not that happy with me.”

  “Can you blame him? What you did almost killed both you, as hard as it is to believe it actually happened on your first day.”

  “I don’t think it would have been any less of a spectacle if it happened a week later, Axel.”

  “What you did was stupid. Let’s be honest. It was a race – you didn’t need to kill yourself over it.”

  “I didn’t want to get kicked out. You saw what happened to everyone who came last.”

  “I value my life over this, Corsair. This isn’t worth dying for.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “I’m an apothecary – I’m trying to stop others from dying for something that isn’t worth it.”

  And that’s what made him freeze in another moment of sudden defiance.

  He’s right. I’m putting my life on the line for… what? Dad’s approval? I’m going to fight a war just so I can hear him say, ‘Well done,’ and pat me on the back? No – I’m done. I’m not going out there for just because he says. I’m 20. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions.

  But then it died as quickly as it had been born. He didn’t answer, watching his steed eat his meal, happy that they had both made it out of the situation alive. As he shifted his position ever so slightly, a dull pain bloomed from his left side and he winced, placing a paw over it. A large bruise had formed where he had taken the brunt of the landing. Despite that, he couldn’t complain – he was lucky even to have lived, let alone get out without any serious injuries.

  “So… you missing the tournament life yet?”

  Corsair considered telling the truth about his thoughts of being in the Krosguard but, after a moment, decided against it.

  “The Krosguard life isn’t so bad.”

  “Apart from sliding down death hills?”

  “We could miss that part, yeah.”

  “You know, I gotta ask. Did you ever lose? In your tournaments?”

  Corsair took a moment, thinking.

  “Uh… I lost quite a bit in jousting and mounted fighting tournaments. Ragnar and Harangoth were always the better out of us two on that. I never lost a race and never lost at all with sword fighting. Oh, actually… I think I lost once.”

  “Only once? Bragger.”

  “Shut up,” Corsair chuckled. “Seriously, only one. It was against a doberman. Someone from the United Hound Dominions. I was 15 and…I think he was around 25. Can’t remember.”

  “Fifteen? Seems like a bit of an age gap to me.”

  “I was good enough to fight in that age group. Like I said, I only ever lost to him in a longsword tournament. No one else.”

  “Impressive. I consider myself to be quite the fighter, too.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I fought my trio of demon sisters a few times. I don’t think my record is quite as good as yours.”

  “Why not?”

  “I lost every time.”

  They both chuckled. The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence for a few moments before Axel changed the topic.

  “So… anyone back at home you’re missing?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got Mum and… Dad and stuff. You?”

  “Same. A mother, father. Those three hellish sisters.”

  He looked down at his tail.

  “They convinced me to do this stupid thing with my tail. It’s ‘family tradition’, according to them. If anything, it’s an excuse to torture me.”

  “I think it looks fine.”

  “Yeah. Real masculine, Corsair.”

  “Who cares about that, right? Wear what you want. You’re not harming anyone.”

  Axel smiled, looking back at it.

  “I… I suppose you’re right. Thanks.”

  “And what about your parents? Where are they?”

  “They run a library up north. My sisters moved down to the capital to live together and, like a fool, I decided to join them.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “If you’re a masochist, sure.”

  Corsair chuckled. Axel glanced to him.

  “What about you?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Any friends waiting back at home for you?”

  And, for the first time in a while, Corsair realised he hadn’t thought about Rohesia. She was off training in the army. His ears drooped slightly, the guilt of forgetting about her settling in.

  I hope you’re all right.

  “You drawing a blank on me?”

  “No, sorry… I have a friend.”

  “One? For a prince, I’d thought you’d have a few more.”

  “I kind of do. They’re not as close, though. Went our own ways.”

  “Right. Well, what’s his or her name?”

  “Rohesia.”

  At the mention of his friend’s name, Quickpaw shot up and turned, forgetting the near-death encounter they’d undergone a few hours earlier. He approached the open stall door, tongue hanging out from mouth and panting with excitement, eyes focused on his master.

  “He changed his tune,” Axel said.

  “He’s a big fan of Rohesia. The moment she turns up both he and Harangoth run towards her like pups.”

  “You’re kidding? Harangoth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve only known your brother for a day but… his ictharr is scary. I cannot imagine him being excited about anything.”

  “It’s a miracle. You need to see it.”

  “Maybe one day. You two get on well?”

  “Yeah, we do. Cubhood friends.”

  Axel grinned. Corsair took a moment before he realised why.

  “Wait‒

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but I know what you’re thinking. We’re just friends.”

  “Sure. If it helps you sleep at night, pal, have at it.”

  “Shut up.”

  Axel laughed. Quickpaw spotted Arwenin across the aisle, facing him while seated and tilting her head in the same confused-but-amused way. Corsair stepped out in front as he went to bound across, resting a paw on the sides of his neck and holding him there.

  “Easy, easy. Arwenin’s tired. We all need some rest after this morning.”

  Quickpaw grumbled, pleading to be let out.

  “Nope. Back in, come on. You haven’t even finished your food yet.”

  Growling, Quickpaw turned and flicked him in the face with his tail.

  “Hey, come on, Quickpaw!”

  Axel chuckled as Quickpaw sat down and sulked in the corner of his stall, facing away from the door. Corsair cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

  “He’s coming and going today, isn’t he?”

  “When he doesn’t get his way, he throws a little tantrum. Whenever I try to get him to wait in the stables, to go somewhere he doesn’t want to, he complains. Sometimes he listens…”

  He glanced back at Quickpaw.

  “…but other times he sits down and sulks like a pup.”

  Quickpaw mimicked his master with growls and grunts, mocking him.

  “He must have been a real terror with his breeder.”

  “We’ll never know. He didn’t come from a breeder.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “No, he was a stray.”

  “Stray? Where did you find him?”

  Nine-year old Corsair Sedrid sulked as
he sat on the step to the farmer’s home, the bottom of his snout resting on both paws. The snow seemed to sympathise with him, delicately filtering down from above, but he was too upset to notice it.

  His brother was infatuated with the ictharr pups rushing around in the yard, all swarming him when he entered and making feeble attempts to stand on their hind legs. He admitted they were adorable to watch run around and play but he didn’t like any of them. He imagined that he would feel some sort of connection to the one he wanted. It was what everyone said about selecting his own ictharr, who would be his companion for at least 60 years.

  But nothing resonated with him. They’d exhausted every farm, every breeding settlement, every market. None offered any connection.

  Daddy said I’d know when I found the one I wanted. Why haven’t I found one? Is something wrong with me?

  He sighed. Dad would eventually force him to pick one and then he’d be stuck with it.

  Rising from his seat, he traipsed down the steps and walked through the snow. The guards posted outside kept eyes on him while talking, giving him a glance every few seconds to make sure he didn’t stray from sight, but they weren’t worried about any danger.

  He walked over to the line of ictharrs on the side of the road. The beasts were busy eating their food, heads bowed to reach into the depths of their warm bowls. Reginald was amongst them. As Corsair approached, he spotted the prince in his peripheral vision and focused his eyes on him.

  “Hello, Reggie.”

  Reginald mewled and craned his head down, nuzzling against the prince. Corsair giggled, stroking the soft fur around his neck, before he stepped back and let him go on eating.

  When he went to stroke an ictharr, he always had to look up. They towered over him. Even while sitting, they had a significant height advantage over the small cub.

  One day I’ll be as big as them.

  Then he heard it.

  He whipped around and scanned the trees.

  Nothing.

  Then he heard it again.

  What?

  Even though he was among armed soldiers and brave ictharrs, he felt scared. He looked toward Reginald to see if had heard the noise but he was happily munching away, distracted and oblivious. He took a step back and wondered if he should report the noise to one of the guards, have them search the trees for any sign of danger.

  He turned and took a step towards them before he heard it a third time and finally knew what he was hearing.

  A whimper.

  It was a distressed sound, as if the source of the noise was calling for help. Corsair felt torn, unsure whether he wanted to bring the issue to the guards at the risk of them disregarding it and returning him inside.

  He looked back.

  A wolf could be in danger!

  Making sure the guards weren’t looking and the ictharrs were preoccupied, he hurried over to the trees as fast as his small legs would carry him. Stepping over a fallen branch, he crunched into the snowy woods and scanned the area ahead. Nothing but the warped forms of the trees leered back at him. His ears flattened and he whimpered, taking a step back.

  Then he heard the call for help again.

  I can’t leave them.

  Defying his fear, he pushed on into the woods. The sound got louder with every step he took, causing him to question his choice every time, but the cub was brave. He picked up a twig from the ground and, glancing left and right, he prepared himself to swat away any terrors that might attack him,.

  He was so apprehensive that he forgot to look at the ground and tripped over the snow-covered root of a tree, yelling out as he fell. He dropped the twig and threw his arms out to break his fall, grunting as he did so. Moaning and with tears in his eyes, the cub pushed himself back up with a cold and soaked front.

  Mummy is going to be so angry.

  He decided, finally, to retreat. There was no point in going on. The fall that had got his clothes soaked deprived of him of whatever weak determination he possessed to keep going.

  But then he heard a growl to his right.

  He whipped around and stepped back, eyes wide and ears standing, before he realised that he was staring at an ictharr pup. It was curled up by the base of a tree. Its fur was white, tangled and knotted over its frail body, a pair of terrified purple eyes staring at him while it bared its tiny fangs.

  “A puppy?”

  He took a step forward and the ictharr snarled, pulling its mouth back further. He noticed that a large splotch of crimson stained the white fur over its left hind leg. Corsair trembled, unsure if he wanted to move closer, and contemplated going back to tell the soldiers.

  It could run away if I go. It’s hurt – it needs help.

  “I-I’m not going to hurt you, o-okay? Please don’t hurt me.”

  Corsair took a step forward and the ictharr growled but he could see that it was now hiding its fangs. He still felt its eyes fixed on him, watching for any indication that he was going to harm it. He made sure to not make any sudden moves.

  His small heart thudding away, he knelt down in front of the ictharr. He met its gaze, seeing fear in its eyes, and then looked down to the wound on its leg. Blood stained the fur around the laceration, more crimson trickling from it, and he noticed a trail of red droplets stretching back into the woods.

  “You walked a long way.”

  Corsair moved a paw towards the ictharr and it growled again, making him withdraw it.

  “You’re hurt – I-I need to take you to Daddy. He’ll help you get better.”

  He reached forward again and the ictharr growled.

  “Please. If I don’t take you to Daddy, you might die. I don’t want you to die – I want to help you.”

  He tried a third time and, despite a barely-audible growl, the ictharr didn’t react. It watched as he reached for him with both paws and prepared to lift him into his arms, drawing breath in and out.

  “I-I’m going to lift you, okay? Don’t bite me, please. Don’t bite me.”

  The ictharr continued to stare. With a flinch of anticipation, Corsair lifted the pup up and turned, rushing back towards the house. He could feel the blood oozing from the wound wetting his thin chest but he didn’t care – his mind was focused on running at a good speed yet being careful not to jostle the ictharr enough to make it bite him.

  He arrived in front of the house and raced towards the doors. One of the guards glanced at him and saw a pup in his arms, stepping away from his counterpart.

  “Master Corsair!”

  The wolf threw open the door and rushed into the hallway, darting through to the living room. He could hear the voices of his parents negotiating with the breeder. Ragnar was still out in the yard playing with the pups.

  “Winter Baron, I can assure you, I am the best breeder in the clan. When people of high standard like yourself come to me, I will never sell an ictharr unless they know it’s right for them. Your son will find his companion right here – guaranteed.”

  “I hope so. We’ve been travelling from town to town for days. I have work to get back to and Ophelia is getting exhausted from these visits.”

  “Arthur, I am telling you, I’m…”

  “Daddy, Mummy!”

  Corsair darted into the room, holding the wounded pup in his arms.

  “Corsair, darling, what’s wrong?” she said as they all rose.

  “I found this ictharr pup out in the woods! He’s really hurt!”

  “Pass him to Mr Gregentop,” his father said with urgency in his voice.

  Mr Gregentop took the pup from him, making sure to not upset the beast, and took him into the back room. Minutes later, after many yaps and yowls of pain, the breeder walked back out with the ictharr in his arms, bundled up in blankets and with bandaging wrapped tightly over the wound on its leg.

  “It was a nasty cut across his leg, most likely from a sharp branch or a bad fall. He must have become separated from his mother somehow. He’s very tired but you did the right thing bringing him here, M
aster Corsair. I don’t know if he would have lasted another night out alone in the woods.”

  Corsair smiled as his mother patted him on his head, drawing him in close.

  “What will happen to him now?” his father asked.

  “I will notify my colleagues and see if any of them would be interested in passing him on to someone else or raising him themselves.”

  And then Corsair felt his eyes sting. The idea of leaving that pup for someone else tugged at his heart. He felt bound to it, somehow. It was as if his encounter in the woods had captivated him. His ears drooped and he stepped forward, pulling out of his mother’s embrace and pointing to the white ictharr.

  “Daddy, can I have him?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Corsair. He’s feral. He might be dangerous to have in the house.”

  Corsair’s mouth began to tremble.

  “B-but… Daddy…”

  “I’m sorry, Corsair, but we need one that’ll be strong and loyal.”

  “Arthur, dear, let’s not be harsh,” Ophelia said, wiping away a tear from her son’s face. “We came out here to find a companion for both Ragnee and Corsair.”

  “We did, but one that we know won’t hurt them.”

  “Come on, it’s only up to his knee! There are plenty of breeders in Grand Wolf Plains that can help train him to be just as good as any other ictharr.”

  Unsure, his father looked back at his son. The wolf cub stared into his eyes pleadingly, sniffling and whimpering, hoping his father would accept.

  “Mr Gregentop, you’re the expert here. What do you suggest?”

  “Well… Winter Baron, I understand your son is struggling to find his own steed. If he feels like this one is important to him out of the hundreds he’s seen already, then I shouldn’t be the one to deny him it. And I doubt he’s aggressive – he was only growling and snarling because he was scared and hurt. It’s a natural reaction even for bred ictharr pups.”

  Corsair’s face lit up.

  “Okay, then,” his father said. “For Ragnee’s choice and the pup – how much?”

  “Five-hundred Iggregoms for Master Ragnar’s selection but none for Master Corsair’s. I’d feel like I’d be cheating you if I made you pay for an ictharr your son discovered and rescued. Please, he’s all yours, Winter Baron.”

  Mr Gregentop held the pup towards the Winter Baron. His father gestured to his son.