Chapter 1-2
1395 Words
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.
- Writer
