The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

 

The master healer isolated the expecting mare, which was due any day. The princes, feeling something was up with the colt, decided to stay with the healer as much as possible. As lauds got near, the mare lay down on her side and began expelling the colt.

"Boys, get your dad, I need him, now! The colt is coming rear first and I will need his help to reverse its position. Run!"

"No need, Healer. We have already alarmed our dad, and King Harold is on his way. We sent a couple of wolves wake the elven master healer as well," informed Sitar.

Just as Sitar finished, Harold made his way to the field that had been prepared for the mare.

"Sitar told me there was a problem, and just now informed me the colt is coming rear first?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Forget the titles; is the colt engaged?"

"Not yet!"

"Then let's rush! Boys, this will be messy, so if you feel you cannot see or withstand it, you are excused!"

"Dad, we have seen deaths too numerous to count; seeing a birth will do us well, for it is a positive event!" replied Harp.

"And you will need us!" Paschal added, in his no discussion allowed voice.

"If you say so."

"Hurry, Harold, she is contracting!"

As Harold inserted his arms into the dilating vagina to reposition the colt, the boys took position along the mare's back. Enron and Sitar pressed on the first dorsal vertebra, on each side; Paschal exercised a similar pressure on the neck, using both hands, and Harp was holding the mare's head on each side, at the rear of the lower maxillary bone. Immediately, the mare's breathing eased, as her excruciating pain vanished. The healers watched this but said nothing; now was not the time to ask questions, as the boys seemed focussed.

As Harold worked to turn the colt, he commented:

"He has the umbilical cord twisted around his neck! I am working to rotate the body to unravel it, but it is narrow and difficult! Ah, got it I think! Now to turn it!"

A few minutes later he removed his arms. "Let us hope this was not for nothing. The heartbeat was growing weaker as I passed my hand on the thorax."

"She needs to contract now!" commented the Master Healer.

As if on cue, the boys' faces contracted in sequence as if it were they giving the order to the muscles to do their job, but no one was looking at them, focussed as they were on the mare.

"Good! A couple more times should do it!"

Again and again, the boys focussed on forcing muscle contraction in the proper sequence, until finally, the colt was expelled.

The boys were tired, but there still remained the need to expel the placenta, which took a couple more concerted contractions.

As the boys relaxed and induced sleep in the mare, they heard a despaired comment from the Master Healer.

"Damn, the colt stopped breathing!"

"Let us deal with this! Get out of the way!" commanded Enron.

The tone was so imperative that even King Harold backed away, awed by the young boy's use of the imperative voice. That one will make rivers obey him, he thought.

The four boys moved to the colt, and as Enron pressed with regularity on the thoracic cage, and Sitar pressed on the heart, Harp and Paschal took position at the colt's extremities, Paschal at the rump and Harp at the head.

"Breath! Beat! Breath! Beat! Breath! Beat! For so we order you to be with us!" intoned the four boys in a very strong and powerful voice. As the boys continued to do their chant, a deep bright light emanated from their hands and gradually covered the entire colt. Suddenly, a snort was heard and the mucus contained in the nose and mouth of the colt was expelled, covering the nearest healer, and a deep breath was heard. The colt would live!

As the bright light that enveloped the colt dissipated, his body was revealed: from its original light chocolate brown with black spots, no colour was left: the colt was now a deep, brilliant silvery white, glowing as it reflected the moonlight.

The boys, albeit tired, returned to the mare and woke her up so she could stand and feed the colt as soon as it would be able to walk. This done, they retired to the side to watch the interaction between the mare and her colt; they were pleased to see that the colt could stand on its own a few minutes after they had released it from their care, and found the mare's tits to milk.

"Let's go clean up! I got a load of placenta on me during the last stage!" commented Enron.

"That wasn't the only thing you got!" replied, ironic, Harp.

"Well, the mucus makes you look like a slime tree, Harp, so you have nothing to laugh at!"

"We all need to go wash," commented Harold. I got a load of dung in my lap while I was working on the colt, and then the breaking of the waters while I was working on it flooded me from head to foot! A quick dash to the stream will be welcomed, even if the water is cold. We'll strip and clean up the most dirty, then move to the hot waterworks of the Royal water rooms. Move it boys! We smell like we have visited an orcs' nest!"

"I will stay with the mare for an hour, Harold, just in case there may be trouble," commented the Master Healer. "You may go home, thank you for your help," she said, turning towards the Elven healer that has assisted her.

"One of the wolves will stay nearby, and will watch you. If you act distressed, it will know and tell us," added Harp, not willing to reveal he could actually read her.

The five quickly made their way to a nearby stream and stripped; they did not stay long in the ice-cold water, as they were turning blue pretty fast! But it was long enough to remove the most gross of the residue of birthing a colt; they also quickly washed their clothes in the stream; the real cleanup would have to wait for more favourable conditions, as their fingers grew numb from the cold.

"Let's get to the hot water baths, boys! We'll come back to pick our clothes later."

The four boys did not have to be told twice! They followed Harold to the bath and relished the warming waters as they soaped themselves and cleansed up what was left of the ordeal.

"We did good to wash in the stream first, dad," commented Paschal. "I doubt we would have been very popular with the palace staff had we left a trail of dejections from the entrance to the bath room!"

"Probably not! Ah, here you are, Samson! I hope you had a good night! Mine was short!"

"So I heard, Harold. And, as for your comment, Paschal, the staff are fed, protected and clothed as payment for their work. If they are unhappy about something, they can always ask the orcs for work! If any ever gives you grief for causing them labour, especially after you boys have been spending the night working, send them my way, or tell me. I shall put an end to their misery, at least working for me! Where are your clothes? I did not see any at the entrance."

"They are still on the grass, near the stream," replied Enron. "We planned on retrieving them to finish the cleanup at the Royal Laundry."

"That won't do!" The king let out a loud whistle, and a page ran into the bathroom. "Send five men to retrieve the clothes of the Princes and King Harold, to be found near the stream on the eastern field! Have them sent to the laundry for cleanup! Send five more to retrieve dry clothes from Harold's cart for the princes and the King!"

"Yes Sire!"

The boy ran out and was heard calling for ten men to help him with a task.

"I still have to get used to this, you know, Samson? I am too used to doing things myself to even think about asking for someone else to do it or even ask for help!"

"You will get there, Harold; I am surprised that Enron did not complain! He knows the benefits of royalty!"

"Dad! You make me look like a lazy oaf! And no, to be honest, it did not even cross my mind. If King Harold and princes Sitar, Paschal and Harp were willing to do it, who was I to say anything? If they can do it, so can I!"

"You have changed more than I thought, Enron. A lot more! And I am pleased by what I see, by the results! Not only do you stand on your own, you defend your opinions, and are willing to stand besides your friends to defend their choices and way of life. I am impressed!"

Enron blushed and said 'I have done nothing to deserve this; I follow their examples."

"Son, the most difficult task in life is choosing your friends; for with the right choice, you will learn from them and they from you; you will never be alone in times of need nor in times of joy; you say they choose you, and that is the most beautiful compliment that can be done to me because what I see of them tells me that they, and you, will go far, much further than I ever shall."

As the men continued to chat, the Master Healer, accompanied by Greywolf, walked into the water room to join them and warm and clean her weary body. The wolf sat near the water and reported to the Royals about the last night's activity on the northern border, then he took a running dive into the pool, splashing everyone around!

«Ah, now I understand why you so enjoy this place! It feels so good to be in warm water,» exclaimed the wolf, to the hilarity of the Royals and the dumbfounded look of Francesca, the healer.

"Greywolf just discovered the pleasures of a hot bath! I think he is way too used to evading cold raindrops to have considered the possibility of warm water being pleasant!" explained Harp.

"Yes, but I suspect his fleas aren't finding it as nice! I am surprised they aren't trying to build an ark to escape the sudden flood!" replied Sitar, laughing.

«Do you want us to soap your fur, Greywolf? It might help removing the dirt, twigs and insects that have found shelter on you. Just set your front paws on the side here, and let us do the work,» offered Paschal.

«Are you sure? I do not wish to impose.»

«There is no problem! We shall enjoy it. Take a rest of your night work while we proceed.»

The wolf did as was told and let the boys clean him up, under the amazed eyes of the healer.

"Why this look, Francesca? You know we are able to talk to wolves. They asked him if he would like to be cleansed and offered; he accepted, and now they do it. There is nothing there, " explained Harold.

"What really amazes me is that my dog hates water with a passion! He walks around puddles rather than get his paws wet!"

"Some are like this, even in the wolves. However, I think Greywolf enjoys his bath! Especially since it is warm!"

"I have some questions to ask of the princes, if they do not mind answering them?"

"Ask away, Francesca!" said Enron, as he carefully cleansed the left ear of the wolf, which was resting his muzzle on the side of the pool, forepaws extended.

"I do not know where to start."

"At the beginning!" replied, smiling, Harp.

"Well, what happened when you touched the mare along the spine? She was in great pain and suddenly she calmed down."

"We blocked the pain signals at different levels. Me and Sitar at the level where the pain signals enter the main pathway to the brain; Paschal at the brain level, where the signals get understood; and Harp talked to the mare to calm her."

"You blocked the signals as they reached the spinal cord? How did you know where to press? It takes years of practice to know these pressure points! Some never succeed!"

"We followed the flux from where it originated, inside her, to the, how did you call it? Ah, yes, the spinal cord. It seemed a good place to block the signal and we did so. Some pain still leaked, so Paschal blocked the residual before it could be detected."

"That is another thing I want to know! How did you know where to block? We, ourselves, have no way to do so! The ancients themselves put people to sleep so they could not feel pain, but the mare was not asleep! I have a book on the structure of the middle brain for humans, which, I suspect, would match very much the structure found in a horse, but I would never know how to do anything to change the feeling of pain in the brain!"

"There is a pair of focal points which seem to radiate a lot of energy, beating like a drummer at the charge, when there is pain or pleasure; I just prevented the area from getting any signal. It calmed down the beat right away," Paschal told her.

"The focal points are called grey matter nuclei, Paschal, there are many, each dedicated to a specific task, from thermal regulation to breathing to pleasure and pain and feelings of emotions. And yes, you are right, they come in pairs, one for each side of the body."

"Ah, ok. This is interesting."

"Another question, if you do not mind? Harp, you said you talked to the mare?"

"Yes, I touched her on the side of the head and moved my hands around until I found the closest point to where she seemed to respond to us talking close to her. It took some adjustments, because I am not a horse, but we managed to get to understand each other. At first she was in so much pain, she could not think of anything else, but once my brothers had done their work, she was worried about her colt. I told her we would see that the colt be well. That is when she relaxed her breathing."

"Is that why she responded when I asked for contractions?"

"No, she did not know how; we did it. We had to synchronize the order properly so she would not hurt herself. We did not want muscle contraction to get out of phase. Somehow we knew that it had to be initiated at the deep end and move outward, like a noose moving down a tunnel. It was very tiring, since we also had to maintain the blocks for the pain, and prevent spasms of the legs, which could have hurt any of us badly."

"Enron's description is correct; we did have to meld our minds together to do it right too," added Sitar.

"This is a miracle! And the last question, before I feel like I am a baby and ignorant to the point of shame; how did you revive the colt?"

"Oh, that, he was dead when we took over; we called him back from beyond the veil. We used the life essence to force his heart to beat, his lungs to breath, and his brain to restart. We drank from the source of magic itself, healer, and gave it focus and form. We funnelled what is there to a useful form. But can we ask you something in exchange, Francesca?" demanded Harp, looking at her in the eyes.

"Anything, Prince Harp, anything! I have seen miracles since I have been with your group, at Newbridge. Anything you ask will be minor payment for being part, however tiny it may have been, of this!"

"Please do not tell anyone else? I hope the elven healer that was with us will also keep quiet."

"He will, rest assured of that. He said himself that if he told the story he would be ridiculed!"

"Thank you."

"Why keep it quiet?"

"Because we do not want to hurt the feelings of Mage Marlin. If he know of this, he would feel diminished!"

"I understand."

The wolf was the first out of the pool and shook up seriously, spreading water droplets around and turfs of wet hair as well, since he was shedding his winter coat. The boys were next and dried up the wolf using a dozen towels, before going back in the water to remove the fur they had collected on their body from drying Greywolf. Finally the others got out with them and everyone dried up.

"The superintendent of the Royal Baths is going to have his hairs on end when he comes in to check on this mess!" exclaimed Paschal.

"Bah, we'll tell him we decided to play wolf!" replied Harp.

"He might even believe it!" added Enron.

"I think I'll mention he has a nice pair of hams in his pants, when I see him next time!" said Sitar.

"You boys are terrible! I do not want you to eat him up; he is too fat, and you might suffer from cholesterol!" informed the Healer.

"Cholera?" asked, naively, Harp.

"No, Prince Harp, cholesterol is a form of fat that travels in the blood stream to supply energy to the body. Too much of it flowing around and it clogs the arteries. Cholera is a disease caused by water contaminated by feces; this is why we dig our latrines at least three hundred yards away from any water source."

"Do not worry, we won't eat him; he smells bad; I think he suffers from a type of sickness. Even the wolves find his odour offensive, and they eat carrion," Sitar informed her.

"Yes, he has this sweet smell around him, like he is producing some awful alcohol."

"He might be suffering from too much sugar in his blood, and be having diabetes mellitus. The ancients had a treatment for this; its secret disappeared. But I do not smell anything."

"You forget we are wolves, Healer," replied Samson. "It doesn't always present advantages, you know! Our hearing is a thousand times more sensitive than yours; our night vision is such we can see insects fly at night; we also have a sense of smell that is a million times more sensitive than yours. For instance, I can tell when you will be ready for the next coupling, even if you just washed!"

"Anyways, back to the superintendent of the Royal Baths. He has his work cut out for him. I never knew hair could float!" said Harold.

"When you see him, dad, tell him to have the hairs made into a nice sweater for his son. I noticed the boy is rather thinly clothed for a member of the Royal household," commented Enron.

"Is that so? It won't do! I want my staff and families to be clothed properly for the season. If you know of any others who are negligent, see that it gets fixed. You have authority to do so, you and your friends."

"Yes dad!"

At that moment, a loud burp was heard.

"Kitchen raid!" exclaimed Harp. "Who is taking care of Germanicus this morning?"

"The wolf guards assigned to him will see to it, when he wakes up. He will be joining us at breakfast, if Prince Harp leaves us anything but bones to eat, that is!"

"Come on, you need to go on a diet, Samson, and you know it!" replied Harp.

"Maybe I do, but Germanicus still needs to put on some volume. He is so thin even the wolves say he isn't worth a hunt!" replied Harold.

"Ok, I shall restrain myself, and leave some scraps for Germanicus!"

***

After Germanicus had joined them for breakfast, they took off to see how the mare and her colt were doing. The mare immediately recognized the boys that had helped her and came trotting to them. She lowered her head to Harp, and he raised his hands to touch her head.

"She says thank you for helping her and saving her baby," said Harp.

"Are you telling me you talk to horses too?" exclaimed Germanicus, totally baffled.

"Talk? Yes, I can say that. I don't know why, but they seem to share something in common with wolves, a view of their place; however they have a different perspective as to their relationship to other animals. I can't explain it."

As Harp was explaining, Sitar touched the mare on the head like Harp had done, and then he invited Paschal and Enron to do the same.

"You are right Harp," said Paschal. "But I think I understand what is common and what is different."

"Can you tell me, please?" asked Germanicus.

"Certainly. Both are able to live in packs or, in the case of horses, herds, and are therefore highly able to communicate with their peers," replied Paschal. "The difference is in their relation to other animals: wolves see other animals as prey; the horses do not, they look at greenery for food."

"They seem to have a collective, like wolves, Germanicus, a Horse Conscience. It is now aware of us as a Human-Wolf conscience, and is trying to figure out what that means for the Horse," added Sitar.

"Will it make our relations with horses more difficult?"

"I do not think so, Germanicus. As we establish a better bridge between the horses, and us, they will learn to trust the wolves, and us. They will also be able to help us better, if only because, combined with the wolves, they would do marvellous scouts."

"That seems so fantastic, Sitar. I wish I could do that!"

"We wish too, but for some reason, few can cross species boundaries and communicate like we do. It is sad, because it would have saved a lot of misery for all," replied Harp.

"Hey, look at that shy colt! He is afraid of us this morning!" said Enron, looking at the silvery stallion.

Sitar had been touching the mare's head as Enron said that, and caught the meaning of his comment via the signal that was still being maintained by Sitar's hands.

"She says he doesn't remember much before he had his first drink, but that she will update him on what we did during the day, when he can keep attention on other things then tits and her moves."

"Oh, ok. That makes sense. Tell her not to worry about the wolves as they go drink to the stream; they will not bother her nor the colt."

"Done, Enron."

"OK, let's go back, dad is asking us to report. There is a new group coming in, and they are the ones from Franz' camp. He wants us nearby, in case of trouble. Mercenaries are notoriously unstable characters!"

"Do I have to go with you?"

"Not to the meeting, Germanicus, but at least, back to the cart, for now. We would like it if you did come, because, by seeing you alive, the group may be a little less inclined to act like the jerks they are."

"Oh, Ok, I will go with you then if it can help. But I don't like seeing them; they enjoyed way too much hurting me and making fun of me."

"They won't make fun of anybody, today, if they want to keep their precious existence intact and their bowels where they belong!" exploded Harp.

"Trust my brother, Germanicus, they better keep their interventions polite and to the point, or else there is going to be mercenary sausage on the floor of the Thrones room!"

"I do trust him, Prince Sitar. I still can't believe how he handles himself in combat!"

***

The boys returned to the throne hall and got ready to receive the next group. Paschal had Germanicus sitting behind him, on a straight chair, while the other boys took their usual positions on the dais.

As the group walked in, Germanicus pointed to a man wearing a black robe and whispered: "That one I want dead! He was with dad when my brother died! He is the court executioner, the most brutal and horrible man I've ever known! I think he enjoys devising the most painful and long lasting way to kill a person!"

"Was he at the camp when dad disposed of the leadership?"

"No, he had stayed behind to finish off some work, as dad told me! I shiver at the nature of the work."

"Dad! I want that man! He is mine!"

"Yes son. I heard what Germanicus said. You have him whenever you want."

The Royals all had heard Germanicus both physically, and through the telepathic link to Paschal, and commonly approved of the decision.

"What is the name of that dead man?" asked Paschal.

"Count Sylvester Sacramento the third. They have been executioners for the archduchy for generations. The count owns his title to dad. He told me if his noble hands were to be bloodied, he wanted to make sure he wasn't alone."

"Your dad had a sense of irony that sends shivers down my spine!" replied Paschal. "I shall gladly make sure they also share the same destiny: a shortened life."

«How do we proceed, dad?»

«Give him rope enough to hang himself; I am sure he will be unable to resist the temptation to show off his control of others and attempt to intimidate us.»

The group arranged itself by services. The Count was on his own, standing in the middle of the alley, as no one wanted to be near him. He seemed to enjoy the terror he inspired. His narrow dark black eyes, with thick brows that seemed to go from one side of his face to the other travelled the assistance, and people cringed under his gaze. He had a black beard cut to a goatee. He carried a Lochaber⁵²⁵² ("Lochaber axe: a long handle axe and a razor-thin blade of about seventeen inches with a hook on its back, used by Scottish infantry.") axe on his shoulder and a claymore⁵³⁵³ ("Claymore sword: two-handed sword favoured by Scottish nobility.") sword on his left side. His boots, black with iron tips and silver spurs, showed he had ridden a horse.

«That one is trouble. He tried to attack the horde on his way to the place where these others come from. And he tried again to assault the escort as we came here,» informed a black wolf.

«Thank you for the information,» replied Harold.

A decurion came to the throne and whispered to Harold, "We tried to have him leave his Lochaber outside, but he claims it is the symbol of his status."

"Is that so? We will see to degrading his social status shortly."

Harold watched the man's attitude and waited for him to acknowledge his presence. The individual seemed unconcerned about the Royals and behaved as if he owned the place. As time passed, silence fell, until, finally, the only noise was the wind blowing in the high branches of the Tree. The Count stood besides his chair, defiant, looking with a sneer at King Harold.

Harold looked at the man, unblinking, straight in the eyes. If you think you can intimidate me, I'll give you a run for your money, he thought. The battle of will continued on, for five minutes, before the Count finally backed down, by lowering his eyes. It was the first step in bringing the man a whole cliff down.

"Who are you?" asked, calmly, Harold. «Let me piss him off so he threatens me,» he told the other royals.

"I am Count Sylvester Sacramento the third."

"I have no knowledge of a count by that name in my court. Do you, Samson?"

"No, I do not. I never heard of one count Sylvester Sacramento, be he first or third."

"Do you know that claiming to falsely possess a title is a crime punishable by death?" informed Harold.

"I received my title from Archduke Franz of Sophia. I can return the threat to you. I have yet to hear your name or titles!"

"Is it customary in your kingdom for archdukes to give title, King Samson?"

"No, your Majesty. It is my sole prerogative. Only I can ennoble a layman; only I can seal the patent letters of mark which raises a person above the common!"

"Let us see those letters of mark, count?" asked Harold, gesturing to a guard, who walked to the count and extended his hand, waiting for the papers to be handed to him.

The count had to let his Lochaber axe down on the floor to search his inner pockets for the papers; immediately, it got snatched by a guard from behind, thus removing the most dangerous weapon out of the individual's hands.

"Hey, that is mine! It indicates my status!"

"In our court, status is indicated by the sword, not by an axe."

By then, the guard had handled the papers to the scribe, who registered the deposited documents, their signatory and their date, before handling it to Harold.

"Isn't it strange, Samson? That seal is a poor imitation of your Royal Seal, and I even see a spelling mistake in your name! I never knew you were named Samsam!"

The Elvin Kingdom's Royal Seal: hammered gold in relief

"Can I have that, your Majesty, I want to look at this!" said King Samson, in a cold voice.

After a few minutes, King Samson thundered, "This is a forgery! And a bad one, at that! Not only is my name spelled wrong, but also my title list is not even there! If my seal looked like that, I would have the engraver beheaded! There are enough spelling errors the scribe that wrote this should be skinned! And look at that, the rat Franz played fox: the commas and other punctuation marks let it known to everyone it is a forgery and that he washes his hands of it!"

"So, what do we do with it?"

"Register it as the worse forgery in the history of the Elven Kingdom, and disregard it, King Harold. I, for one, do not recognize its validity!"

"So, now, back to count Sylvester Sacramento. Maybe it's time he learns to count above ten, because it's not likely that number will cover the bits and pieces his carcass will be in! I heard of numbered painting; I wonder if numbered anatomy lessons are as poor?"

"Probably, especially when the numbers reflect the body parts of the person trying to sew them back together!"

"I ask for the Judgement of Arms!" hollered the count.

"I wonder if we should bother? He comes here with a forgery, and the papers clearly state that the Archduke discounted (oh, sorry bad pun!) the papers and washed his hands of them," replied Harold. "What do you think, Samson?"

"I don't know. Any ideas, someone?"

"I think we should take him on his kind offer to disembowel him. Anyways, we need some fish baits, and his innards will do fine. The fish aren't too picky this time of year," Enron said.

"Any objection to Enron's kind offer?"

"I do! I promised Germanicus to deal with him, and if it is left to anyone else, I will have forfeited my promise!" stated, loudly, Paschal.

The count's eyes narrowed as he looked at Paschal and saw Germanicus behind him.

"Ah, but here is a witness to the Archduke giving me the letters!" he said, pointing at Germanicus.

"He may have witnessed you getting the forgeries from the archduke, but they remain forgeries!" Sitar replied, acidly. "That Germanicus saw you get these pieces of trash doesn't validate them in any way in our eyes, and those are the only ones that count in this court, count!"

"Whatever the validity of the letters, brother, I accept Sacramento's request of Judgement by Arms! Let the Circle of Judgement be prepared! Since we are the ones defied, we choose the poniard!" Paschal replied, closing the discussion.

Sacramento, like so many before him, misjudged the boy in the circle of Judgement. He felt sure that weapons would confirm his title, and he smiled as Paschal warmed up before the battle.

His evaluation began to change when he saw the position Paschal took in the circle of Judgement. That boy knew how to fight; his stance was that of a predator waiting on a prey. His worries increased as the two combatants circled each other. The boy kept changing the poniard from one hand to the other, clearly indicating he was an ambidextrous fighter, a clear advantage over the right-handed count; furthermore, the blade tip constantly swayed up down, left right, forcing the count to adjust his defences accordingly. Without even an attack, the boy had taken control of the fight! The count began sweating, his grip on his own poniard becoming slippery. The count feinted but the boy saw right through the move and did not even flinch! Doubt began seeping in his mind about the outcome, and Sacramento knew if he did not fight back his own doubts, he was in the wrong boat! He tried regulating his breathing, his heartbeat, but his jitters seemed to worsen, not diminish; as he looked at the boy's eyes, he saw what he so longed for: an ice-cold calm, a tranquil assurance of victory at the tip of a blade. Who could be so calm in such a situation?

Again, the count feinted, one of his best, and the boy just barely moved out of the way of the blade's path; as Sacramento turned to continue the attack he felt a burn on his ass, the boy had drawn first blood! Not only was the boy a first-class fighter, but he knew the rules of the Judgement; he was giving him a chance to back off, knowing quite well the tiny cut would only be a minor inconvenience; to back out of a fight after such a scrape would be an insult and an indication of ultimate cowardice, but if he did not back off, he was forfeiting his life!

The count decided to tire the boy by constantly attacking him and changing tactics. However, after ten minutes, Sacramento had to admit it was not working as he wished. Not only was he cut, albeit slightly, just about everywhere, but also he was sweating like a pig on a roast, and the boy seemed to be bored, and as dry as a rock in the midday sun!

The count tried insulting the boy, calling him names, then calling his parents names, threatening his family with the worse possible corporal abuse, but nothing seemed to reach the boy, penetrate his concentration. Was he deaf? It couldn't be, he had talked in the throne room, answered questions, exchanged and joked! The boy kept watching him like a hawk watches his next meal from above! Then it hit him like a ton of wood: the boy was looking at him as food! Food! That sent shivers down his spine. This boy was acting like a real predator; what kind? Maybe that would help him! What kind?

Just as the fact downed on him and his eyes widened in realization, the boy attacked with surprising speed and agility, using his knife to rip him open from the pubis to the sternum. Too late, the count realized he had been fighting a wolf on two legs! As the count fell backward into oblivion and eternal darkness, his last vision was of the boy's wolfish grin and then the last sound he heard was a chilling howl from the boy's throat.

***

As Paschal finished with his howl, the Royals and the wolves responded in kind. If ever there was a doubt left, it vanished in the minds of those that heard the cacophony resonate across the valley, rebounding on the mountains and back.

"Let us get back to the thrones room to finish the swearing-in. The day is nearing sext, already, and I am sure that Paschal will do honour to his howl!" said Samson, to everyone's giggles.

The process interrupted by the Judgement of Arms, resumed, and only two failed to pass their oath in the Light. The comment heard was unanimous: the disappearance of one Sylvester Sacramento was a good thing, a relief to many, who had lost family to his cruelty and his deviousness. The Lochaber axe, as well as the claymore sword was deemed too impure to be reused by anyone, so the village smelters recovered their components and created new weapons out of the steel purified by the white-hot fires of the forge. Harold contributed to the recycling by recovering any bit of metal found on the body of the count; his seal was reduced to fine powder and recycled as well, as an additive to a pee potty. Some potter with a sense of humour inscribed on the outside base 'One count of pee', which made everyone have a good laugh thinking about what made up part of the container.

A week later, the army was ready to move, and prepared to leave the village to head north, upriver. The latest reports were that there was a lull in the fighting for the dam between the two opposing forces, due in part to attrition, but also that the distance new recruits had to travel to reach the battlefield was growing, as they came from further afar.

"If we go north, what can we expect, exactly?" asked Harold.

"Dad, it depends on what road we will take; and there are many questions in your questions. Let us first look at political divisions. I talked to Enron, and others, in an effort to delimit each archduchy, duchy, barony, and county. The wolves were useless in this, because they only see the limits of their territory, which do not follow human divisions. There is something like twenty duchies and archduchies until the northern edge of the kingdom is reached, not all of which we will need to cross since the rivers usually separate them along their edges. Those further north are also smaller, but are hillier. We will meet the first such border some fifty miles north of here, at the separation between the Royal Lands and the duchy that border king Samson's lands north. Westward, there are three archduchies, and south another two dozens or so, which are somewhat comparable in size to the King's Lands. The king's lands go up the hills east of here, and, from what I gather, cover up to and including the place we entered the land from the pass." «The mage doesn't know about the tunnel, no use giving him information about it; the less he knows the better. Enron told me of the pass' existence and that it constitutes the limits of the king's land up east,» completed Paschal for the benefit of the other Royals.

"There is another issue to resolve before we move, dad," said Harp. "What will we do with the young stallion? His mom is telling us since she told him of our work to help her foal him and keep him alive, he has become stickier than a starving mosquito with us. The only way to keep him happy is if we visit him in turn just about once every hour. He ignores his mom except when it comes time to feed, and even stops to wait on us if we walk in the field while he is suckling."

"What now?" asked the mage, "Are you telling me you talk to horses too?"

«What's the problem, mage? All animals are amenable to contact, because all need to communicate at least with their peers,» fed him Enron, distributing his reply to the others as well, which brought a smile to everyone, except Marlin. "Are you telling me your telepathy is so limited you can only communicate with humans that are sensitive? How sad!"

"Do you think the mare is able to carry a load?" enquired Dunbar.

"A light one, She is still experiencing some pains from the difficult birthing, even if it has been a few weeks," replied Sitar. "You need to visit the foal, Dunbar, he is a beauty. Do you think we need to shoe him?"

"Not right away, Sitar, his leg joints are too weak, and must grow in strength," replied Harold. "We will shoe him once we start training him."

"Meanwhile, dad, as you know, we have been helping her heal her inner organs, so she could foal again; otherwise she would have been sterile. The life force lines were twisted and sometimes broken. We have been working on realigning them in their proper axis and mending the broken ones."

"You can see the life meridians?" asked, awed, the Master Healer. "Can you teach them to me? There is a book we have that shows them for humans; it is written in a language I do not understand. They seem to be ideograms."

"Maybe the Captain of the Guard Yamato might be of help; after all he is the one that found the meaning of the ideogram that gives its name to the Blade of Light."

"Maybe, Harold, but remember I am of Japanese ascent, not Chinese; they share some symbols but not all, and some do not actually mean the same thing even if they are identical. I will do my best, but I doubt my meagre knowledge will be of use to understand a Chinese medical book."

"I do not ask of you miracles, Yamato; do your best; any light into the ancients' knowledge is a step forward."

"Agreed. I shall accompany the healer to her cart to have a look. Talking about carts, if we are to move fast, we cannot bring any; how do we deal with the wounded, or carry medical supplies?"

"We could use the mare to carry my medical supplies; they are light; and I can replenish some of them along the way. And let's not forget that, after a battle, Mitsuko will heal our forces, and those who swear fealty with a true heart. For the others, I shall consider I have thrown away good time, and not have nightmares on their health."

"Good point. I am pleased to inform you we have over five hundred thousand arrows ready to use. And another two hundred thousand short arrows for the crossbows. The supply in lances and javelins amounts to something like fifty per man; and we have managed to forge about five swords per man. I also had quarterstaffs ironed, and enough poniards made to supply each man with ten of those. We also have enough packhorses to carry everything without burdening any of them."

"What about chainmaille?"

"The men desist, your Majesty. They want a stout, light shield and a helmet that gives them breathing space. They have seen your sons in battle and figured if the princes can do that and win, they have to learn to at least go half way as good as they are. Quite a few fight with no shield whatsoever, taking two blades rather than a shield into battle. They use the poniard to deflect the sword and the sword to strike. It seems to work."

"What about enemy arrows?"

"That is the time they use their shield, sire. They pack themselves tight, and overlap the edges of their shield in a form they call the turtle. It seems to work, too. I had archers fire five volleys at such a formation, and none of the men even got scraped; the arrows bounced off the charging front shields and from the ones held above head. I think they took the idea from the legionnaires they saw at the melee, and liked it very much. They have been training hard at it, with pila and sword."

"That is nice in open field combat. As you saw from Paschal's map we will need to walk across forests, a lot of them. Does anyone have ideas as to how to proceed? The turtle formation would be impractical in these conditions."

"I have been giving that issue some thought, Harold," spoke up Enron. "I think the broken line in arrow would be best; it allows for the men to fight together by giving each a buddy to help in case of attack, and lets them walk around the trees. Our issue is attackers ambushed in the treetops, or under cover on the ground. Wolves would be good at detecting those on the ground, but on treetops, it may be more difficult. Wolves aren't used to looking up; they are trackers. The best would have the wolves patrol ahead, at night, to monitor activity and displacement; their silent displacement, added with their superior night vision and acute hearing, would give them a clear advantage on any other forces. The likeliness of any of our opponent considering that we can actually see through the eyes of the wolves, hear what is said and understand it is very limited."

"Add to that the fact that some of our opponents will have dogs with them; they might as well invite us in bed!" exclaimed Harp.

"What have you been doing, young man, with your gift?" asked, not amused, Annabelle.

"Enriching my education! I never knew there were so many options available. Even the Wolf Conscience is awed, and it has seen a lot, not always understanding what it saw, I must admit! And they call us animals, I can still hear it say!"

"Come on Annabelle, you have been sharing with us; surely, you do not believe we have any drop of innocence left in us? And Harp is right; it is incredible how much strategic information is leaked at a meal while the dogs are busy with the leftover thrown from the table by the eaters. We have our spies right under their feet, in plain sight and easy earshot. And none of them will be none the wiser."

"What about maps?"

"I doubt theirs is worth the trouble. If they are like those I saw in some of the logbooks, chances are their users will get lost finding the exit to the town!" replied Paschal.

"Come on, Prince Paschal, our maps cannot be that bad!" whined one of the elves.

"Oh yes? Did you know the same river carries five different names? That the same bridge happens to cross the river at three different places, and that the roads seem to change place regularly?"

"Are you serious? How is that so?"

"Lack of standard measurement tools, that is why. Everyone draws his map, at different scales, different orientations and even with different perspectives or, like I found out in your library, Samson, projections. How do you think people will manage to merge maps into a coherent system with these inconsistencies?"

"OK, son, you made your point. How will we use the superior maps we have to our advantage?"

"We have trails we can take that are totally ignored by others; we can map our advance in great detail because the wolves will help us ferret out the information as we proceed; we can even decide on the terrain to fight on before we reach it, and out-manoeuvre the opponents to taking the worse terrain. Need I add more, dad?"

"No, no, Paschal; I can see Annabelle's and my lessons in strategy have paid off handsomely!"

"Another issue remains; I want to have my own horse, dad."

"We want our own horse!" completed the three others.

"I see no problem, if you can find one you can mount. I have seen your ability with my destrier, Paschal, and I am quite proud of how you handled yourself on it. Do you have any horses in mind?"

"Yes dad, they are waiting for us to tell them you accepted our request. In fact we just told them so, and the horses are overjoyed."

"Do you need saddle and bridles made?"

"No, we will ride bareback, using our mind link to control the horses. They will see to it that we stay on their back."

"Fine, Paschal. What about food?"

"We will eat off the land as we move, like any army. The only issue will be water supply; however, we will establish a supply line from wherever we find clean water to our current position," said Yamato. About a third of the horses will be carrying water barrels, because an army of this size consumes a lot of water."

"Any other issue?"

"No, I think we are ready. We have a vast supply of barrels, and we will be able to replenish those as we progress, should some become damaged."

"Fine. Mage Marlin, please inform your order that in two days we leave. You are coming with us, I assume?"

"Yes, King Samson. I have been ordered to do so."

"So I heard! I should have known you had the discipline to obey a direct order from your Great Grand Master," said, smirking, King Samson.

What is he not telling me? Marlin wondered.

«Your sons are so right! It is a pleasure to play with his mind!»

«I know! Do not encourage them, please!»

The two kings guffawed, unable to keep a serious face.

What dirty trick are these two up to, now? Marlin thought, worriedly.

The redoubling of laughter from the kings clearly told Marlin that they had heard his thoughts and that he was the target of their laughter.

***

The next few days was dedicated to organizing the marching order, with the help of Dunbar. The elves would walk along with the legionnaires, while the cavalry would be in forward position, with the royals, minus Annabelle and her centurie. Williams brought a minimum of wood tools along with some farring tools for Harold in the caravan's packhorses. A portable blower, grill and anvil were distributed across packhorses. The forest would supply the necessary combustible for the work, should the need arise. Harold examined every horse for any footwear issues, while the boys examined them for any anomaly in their meridians, under the amazed eyes of the healers. A few needed the help of Mitsuko, mostly to heal warts and cancerous growths, but, overall, the health of the horses had seriously improved from their long stay at the village.

The day of departure came bright and sunny, promising to be a scorcher as the sun rose. The army left under the drums of Annabelle's centurie, and engaged itself on the path, heading upriver going northward. It had been decided to have the army walk in three two-hour long walks per day, spaced by an hour break an hour before tierce, and a two-hour break for lunch at sext. Every walking day would be finished by nones, giving ample daylight to see to horses, set up camp and decide on strategy for the next day from the information gathered by scouts, be they wolves, elves, or legionnaires on horseback. This meant that two days would be required to reach the border leading to an adjacent archduchy of the Royal Lands.

The first evening, wolves reported a small column of orcs heading north, that would cross their path half a day ahead of them; it seemed to be in a rush to move north, but they would be facing some stiff resistance from an equally small column of Hunters accompanying a dozen or so priests coming from the mountain stream that separated the King's Land from the Archduchy.

"I suggest we observe but not intervene, dad. The more they go at each other's throat, the better. Let them weed out their weakest, and weaken their strongest."

"That seems a good idea. No use losing men in insignificant skirmishes," approved Harold. "Your son is learning the basics of military strategy as well!"

"Maybe Harold, but I think he is proving that intelligence is as contagious as stupidity. You and your sons have been pushing us to think a lot, and it seems the brain is like a muscle; the more you exercise it, the stronger it becomes at its task!"

"Flattery, now?" enquired Harold, laughing.

"No dad, it is not flattery, it is real. I have grown a lot in the past year, since we left Newbridge; so have Harp and Sitar! Necessity makes inventiveness, they say; I shall add that inventiveness nurtures the brain and the capacity to think!"

"Hey, you are right, Paschal, it has been almost a year since we left Newbridge! We have had so much to do I did not realize! We are near the summer Solstice, and this will mean a full year will have passed since I wed Annabelle. When I think our first wedding anniversary will find us separated, I am sad. We found you a few days after we left Newbridge, that means close to the solstice."

"I am sure Annabelle understands, dad. Anyways, you can always merge with her, whatever the distance. I plan to do so every night to keep her informed of our progress and up to date as to how things go at the village."

"You are right, Paschal, I keep forgetting!"

"It's because you are old, dad," replied Harp from the other side. "But let's keep this to ourselves, the mage suspects, but has no certainty about our capacity. Let us keep him on edge. I love to feel him jittery near us!"

"You are bad, boy!"

"Yes and you enjoy it as much as I do!"

The royals laughed, even Williams, who was at the rear of the column with the packhorses.

«Is he bad because he says you are old, or because of how he treats the mage?» Dunbar enquired, from the middle of the column.

«Both!»

The night passed without any incident, and no fires were lighted; no use telling any observer there was a column in movement. The wolves would cover the sides and see much better than any fire would supply.

The next day saw the column find the first concrete evidence of the orcs ahead of them.

"The scouts confirm the wolves' estimate; the orcs are eight hours ahead of us, if they kept their current speed," remarked a decurion to Harold.

"The thing is, the wolves say they have met a problem. They collided with a column of Hunters and Priests, just before crossing the bridge. I am waiting for the latest report. A wolf pack is watching from the rocks above the bridge the outcome of the battle."

"Isn't it nice to have four-legged spies that can tell us in real time what they see! I wish I could be like you, Sire."

"It's not all fun and pleasure, believe me. We see, hear, and smell things you wouldn't want to see, hear or smell for an empire!"

"Each medal has two sides, I guess!"

"The issue at hand, decurion, is that the bridge is less than four hours away. I do not wish to fall on them until they have finished cleaning up each other's throats. We are near sext, and I will prolong the pause for another hour, then we will walk an hour; this will keep us within three hours of them and we should be able to spend the night in relative tranquility while these creeps butcher each other. Tomorrow, we will walk two hours, wait, and walk another half an hour to be less then thirty minutes from the skirmish. We will then advise according to the latest reports from the wolves."

"At your orders, Sire!"

The column did as Harold directed and the next few hours were used to rest, check on weapons and horses, as the breaks became longer and more frequent. Everyone knew the next battle was near, and that skirmishes were inevitable.