The Sharpened Fangs Of Lupine Spirit

Chapter 2-1

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Mum…”

“Otherwise no dinner for you two tonight.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah, no doubt,” Corsair said.

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

“Mum, have you tasted Peter’s food?”

“Of course I have.”

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

“Peter’s food is fine.”

Corsair and Ragnar both gave their mother an exasperated look.

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

“Less than decent.”

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

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

“’Bye, Mum,” Corsair said.

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

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

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

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

“Well, he’s having a good time.”

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

Corsair sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Tough training this morning, huh?”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. Didn’t think of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“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.

Across from the square and to the north, through the hundreds of market stalls, stood a stone building that made the nearby houses look as insignificant as insects. Four grand stone pillars held up the overarching roof from the front, evenly spaced out across the stone steps. Seeking refuge beneath the roof, a pair of wooden doors sat at the top of the steps with two wolf soldiers dressed in armour standing beside them. More soldiers were positioned at each pillar, scanning the crowds for any suspicious activity, but Corsair doubted they would find any. Measly crimes such as petty theft were rare among the city community, a fact that acted as one of the few warming things on the winter plains.

“Bustling as always,” Ragnar said.

“No surprise there,” Corsair agreed.

They waded their way past the bodies of wolves, all gesturing to each other as they debated prices and confirmed transactions. Bags of Iggregom coins were passed from paw to paw, exchanges going on every second. Traders referred to their abaci often, glancing between them and the customer as they worked.

“Hello Sir!” a trader said, gesturing to an array of meat. “Fresh maug meat up for a low, low price! Hunted by the best archers of the clan. Interested?”

“We’ll pass, thank you,” Ragnar said.

“Ah, I bet you two are looking for some new cloaks!” a rabbit trader said, cocooned in multiple layers of clothing. “Why not browse my new wares? I’m sure you’ll appreciate a look! They’re made from cloth imported from the vast crops of the Land of the Sun and Moon!”

“No thanks,” Corsair said.

“I know you three are searching for some hind-paw socks!” a fox trader said, shielded from the cold by numerous layers. “These are freshly made and imported from the clan’s friendly neighbour; the Kingdom of Loxworth. Available at a bargain price!”

“Not interested, thank you,” Rohesia said.

They pushed through the barrage of offers and loud voices, fending them off with polite tones, before they arrived outside the tavern. A set of stables stood before it, most of the wooden structures filled with ictharrs except for a pair of opposite-facing stalls at the back.

“Come on Quickpaw,” Corsair said.

They led their companions to their stalls, stepping past wolves who were withdrawing or depositing their steeds. No guard was stationed to watch over the stables, confident in the honesty of the citizens.

“In you go,” Ragnar said.

Corsair watched Harangoth pad into the stable and turn, facing out into the aisle as the door was shut and locked. Ragnar patted him on the head before stepping aside for his brother to come forward.

“Come on.”

Corsair took two steps forward before wincing at the sound of Quickpaw whimpering, turning to see his ears flattened and tail curled. Rohesia waited at the end of the aisle, observing his interaction.

“I know, I know, but I won’t be long. You can get some sleep while you’re at it. I know this morning’s training made you tired.”

Quickpaw didn’t make eye contact.

“Come on.”

Refusing, Quickpaw sat down and grumbled.

He looked over his shoulder to Ragnar. His brother waited in front of Harangoth’s stable, eyes on the stubborn beast.

“Ah, well… I guess I can’t convince you to just go inside the stable, can I?”

Quickpaw grunted.

“It’s a shame. We were so looking forward to having a pint for lunch, some good food on the side maybe.”

Quickpaw mocked him with a series of grunts and grumbles, tilting his head left and right to mimic him.

“And now we can’t dry ourselves off to go back home, can we, Ragnee?”

“I guess not,” his brother said.

“And because we can’t get dry, Mum won’t cook for us.”

Quickpaw’s head turned, ears standing upright.

“And we were so looking forward to tonight, too. We would have had such a good dinner. All that succulent maug meat to feast on. There’d be so much that, surely, there’d be no way we could eat it all.”

Quickpaw mewled with uncertainty.

“But, seeing as we can’t dry off, we should just go home now. No maug meat tonight and definitely no leftovers. Oh well… come on, Quickpaw.”

He turned to walk back out of the stables but, as he did, Quickpaw finally surrendered. With an annoyed expression, purple eyes narrowed at his master as he stood up, he trudged past and into the stable. Corsair stepped forward and shut the door, watching his steed turn and glare at him.

“Good ictharr.”

He ruffled the fur atop his head. Quickpaw ignored him, standing there with an annoyed expression, until his master leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“Extra leftovers tonight.”

His annoyed expression fell in shock at the promise of the reward, tail flicking back and forth in anticipation. Corsair smiled and petted him again before turning and walking out of the stables.