1

Sorry Sods

He felt it.

The cold rain on his face. The hot breath in his mouth. The leather grip of his steel in hand.

The fires burned around him, too much for even the rain to quench. He could still hear their screams. Fractured, ghostly wails smothered by the rain, fire, and the scrape of steel against steel.

Why do you fight?

One came at him. A sidestep avoided the blade. A bash of his shield placed it on the ground. A slice of the neck stopped it permanently.

For peace? Love? Land? Or something else entirely?

Another approached, swinging a mace. It hit his shield; a tremor of the shock erupted through his arm. It went for another swing. It did not hit. His blade caught its neck, splitting head from torso.

No. You don’t fight for any of those things.

Two more, one with axe and one with blade. Two more faceless tin-men. The first ran at him, the heavy axe cutting through the air. It missed its mark, and his blade forced itself through the gap in the armour. He fell, and the second tried to catch him off guard. Close, but not close enough. He deflected its blade and used the heel of his foot to kick it in the knee, bending it backwards. It fell back, and a few heavy bashes from the base of his pommel finished it off.

Is coin the only thing you fight for?

Another stood before him. It didn’t attack right away. Somehow, it felt different than the rest. He didn’t know why. Then again, he didn’t really care. For him, it was just another fight.

Or is there something else?

It stayed back, on the defensive. He took the initiative, rushing forward, blades locking.

This is your normal, isn’t it?

A dash back and another swing; it caught his armour. Not enough. It glided right off, cutting a slight gash in the metal.

This is what you were made for.

He took its blade in his hand. The edge cut into his palm and fingers. He didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.

You’re no man.

He swung harder. His blade took it at the elbow. The arm split in two. Completely defenceless. That didn’t stop him. A kick put it to the ground. He looked over his prey. He readied his weapon.

You’re just a beast.

He sank it deep. It pierced the other side and kept going into the earth.

A real war wolf.

He found himself staring up at the leaves that gently swayed with the cool night air.

Another bad night. He wished he had a drink.

Ludgar turned himself over, trying to get comfortable at the base of the tree. He thought he needed to sleep, to rest his weary eyes and mind, to ready himself for the early morning, but it appeared to elude him again. He threw aside the coat he was using as a makeshift blanket, sat up, and gazed at the candescent tapestry of the luminous night sky. The brother and sister moons hung overhead, one pure white and the other blood red. An omen. Blood would be spilled on the day of their passing. It's not a very good omen; blood is spilled on most days, so it's not very specific.

Something rustled above him. A head peeked down from a branch above.

‘Can’t sleep either?’ asked the head.

‘No,’ Ludgar answered in that blunt way he usually does. As though all social interaction was a kind of inconvenience and he tries to get it over with as quickly as possible.

She hung upside down from the branch, looking at him with those emerald eyes. They weren’t the usual kind he saw through the day; an insidious and conniving slit carved into a precious green stone. Instead, the iris formed a ring, hugging a pupil so dark and deep that you could almost fall into them.

‘Same,’ she continued, knowing full well his antisocial tendencies never held much credence, at least with her anyway. ’It’s always kind of exciting, isn’t it? Knowing that in a few hours it’ll be us or them. That the only thing between life and death is the favour of the gods.’

‘Exciting isn’t the word I’d use.’

‘Why can’t we go now? It’s still dark, they’ll be asleep, they won’t know what hit ‘em.’

‘Because that’s when their shift changes over. When the fresh ones set out for a patrol and the tired return. Should be easier pickings, then.’

Hunting down bandits wasn’t always the most glamorous or interesting job: the loot was slim, they spent too much time in the wilderness, and the job just wasn't that interesting. But it paid well enough for what it was.

He stretched his arms out, feeling the satisfying click of the cartilage in his elbow joints, and briefly scratched at his dark neck fur. Kathiya dismounted from the branch and landed as heavily as a morning mist. She nestled herself into the base of the tree's other side, her tail lightly flicking away at the dry dirt below.

As far as the felines go, it was rare to see one like Kathiya. He always wondered how she managed to steal anything with that bright, sunset hair, and the splattering of white, ginger and black fur. Getting into the gear alone must take quite an effort, with a tight hood and black facemask that fit well and snug around the mouth and nose. He always thought he would make a better thief, being basically all black with dull, grey eyes. Then again, she always would somehow disappear at unexpected times, and pop up again, sometimes with an assortment of valuables in hand.

She told him she wouldn’t do that anymore, and he was still waiting to see if any of that would hold true.

Ludgar himself stood around two heads over her, clad in the darkest fur anyone he knew had seen. Sometimes, he looked like a person shaped hole cut out of the world. He’d never met another wolf with fur so dark. Was it lonely? Maybe. Maybe not. It didn’t matter to him. Everyone’s the same on the inside, after all: sanguine, and he’d seen more than enough to know for sure.

By the way people saw him, he seemed more weapon than wolf. He had a lean body; no bulky muscles to get in the way, and in places, his fur would come to a sharpened point: top of the ears, behind the jaw, below the elbows.

The wolf was a merc for sure and fit into the role perfectly.

Kathiya looked over at a hooded figure lying flat and still, arms folded along his chest. Sethel always slept like that, as though he would look much more comfortable in a coffin. It only looked like sleep, anyway. He always claimed sleep was hard to come by, but he managed the illusion of it often. Perhaps it was more of a meditation thing. Mages were strange in that way. Well, they couldn’t be fully sure they were all like that. He was pretty sure Sethel was the only mage she ever met.

For the wizard, there was actually only little they had seen. For a while, they thought he was simply a sentient robe that followed them about. It took a while before they found there was actually a reptilian in there; one with scales that bordered between red and copper, and sly, amber eyes that always suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

They could never quite tell which species he belonged to. He could be a serpent, yet they had seen no evidence of the impressive tail or the deadly fangs.

In the end, they just settled on “lizard” and found it was a sufficient enough answer. There were few enough of them in the continent of Artella, anyway.

‘How do you think Caspar and Ves'sa are doing?’ she asked Ludgar.

He thought for a moment. It was rare to find two people so different. Caspar, with that eagerness and approachability that comes from not having been in this job for that long, and Ves'sa, who was about as friendly and approachable as a bear made of knives that’s also on fire. ‘If he’s not dead already, then they’re probably fine.’

He wondered if Ves'sa was a good choice for warning any approaching caravans. Caspar certainly was, but Ves'sa seemed just as likely to kill them as any bandit would. It probably wouldn’t matter, anyway. Best not to think about it.

He really hoped they weren’t asleep. Caspar could doze off just about anywhere. But he was with Ves'sa who rarely slept, anyway.

Maybe he didn’t need to sleep either. It always ended up dark and dreamless, if not a replay of some unfortunate memories. Maybe he wanted that feeling that comes with insomnia; that kind of distant feeling, as though you’re not fully in control, like a puppet being pulled by strings.

Dawn was about to break.

The sun’s light gradually bled through the scattered clouds and into the forest below.

Ludgar and Kathiya softly chatted deep into the early hours of the morning.

'Sun’s about to break. Wake professor wizard there, would ya?' He gestured towards the possible corpse of Sethel.

'No need. I’m quite lucid.' Sethel rose. His body did not change position, but he rose to his feet regardless, as a rake would if you stepped upon its head.

'Are you sure you’re not a vampire?' asked Kathiya. The sun peeked its head over a distant ridge.

'If I was, I’m sure I would have fallen to ash right now.'

'But you are wearing the big robe. Tell me, have you ever drank blood before?'

'Yes, but it wasn’t for sustenance.'

Before he could elaborate, Ludgar herded them off towards the bandit hideout. It was at a fair enough distance; not so far to be significant, but distant enough that they could relax without fear of ambush.

Onward they crept, thick thrush and bramble catching at their clothes. For someone with such an educated manner about him, Sethel struggled at resolving a conflict between his robe and a particularly stubborn bush.

They stalked into a small clearing, keeping low as they observed the makeshift bandit camp. There weren't many, about eight in total, wearing ragged furs and dodgy leathers. One dogged looking bandit looked to have come down with a nasty case of mange, and he scratted at the furless patch on the side of his neck.

Their relief came right on schedule, handing over weapons, exchanging words, and even a quick spit onto the ground. Their scouts left, leaving the others to finally get some rest.

They waited.

They waited long enough so they were good and asleep.

A long hour passed. That should be enough, just to be certain they were good and comfortable. They kept themselves low and slow, careful footwork, avoiding stray sticks and the crunch of autumn leaves. They got closer; close enough to hear the snore of their deep slumber.

He approached the one with the mange.

He coaxed his dagger gently from its sheath.

Kathiya drew her bow, aiming at another sleeping bandit.

The dagger hovered above the bandit's jugular.

Ludgar held up his left hand, three fingers extended.

Then two.

Then one.

The dagger sunk deep. The bandit’s eyes widened in shock, but Ludgar’s hand held his mouth tight, and he made no sound as he passed.

Kathiya’s mark took an arrow through the neck, only able to let out a pathetic wheeze and splutter of blood.

‘What the-,’ came a cry from further in the camp. One was struggling to get out of his bedroll. He mustn’t have been as asleep as Ludgar wanted.

His shout woke the others. Some rose in stumbling confusion, others bolted upright immediately.

‘Shit,’ Muttered Ludgar as he drew his blade. Kathiya had already notched another arrow to her bow.

One ratty came at him with an old rusty blade, taking a swing. It missed by a wide margin, and Ludgar found his opening as the bandit’s swing reached its clumsy apex, and impaled him through the side of his torso. The ratty bandit fell quick.

Kathiya appeared to have less trouble, piercing the thin armour of one and lodging an arrow into his chest. He tumbled, and another ran ahead before she could draw another arrow, forcing her to pull out the knife on her hip. She tussled with him; knife in one hand, arrow in the other.

Ludgar already had two more after him, one with another blade, and one with a heavy woodcutter's axe held by a towering bear of a man.

The axe went in swinging, heavy and powerful, but slow. Stepping out of the way was easy. The smaller bandit was more trouble, running in and slashing. Ludgar couldn’t dodge in time. A horizontal cut across the stomach. Luckily enough, the blade was old and worn, while his leather was good and tough. Couldn’t even make it all the way through.

He returned the bandit's swing with another, forcing him into a back step, but it was far little too late as the tip of Ludgar’s blade cut through the bandit’s neck, showering him in a stream of crimson. It got in his eyes. He tried wiping it out when some meaty slab of something barged into him, knocking him to the floor.

Eyes stinging, he looked up as the great bear looked down at him, teeth bared in an expression of vengeful anger or sadistic pleasure. Probably both; it was hard to tell with blood in his eyes.

He raised his worn axe, ready to slam it down onto his head, when out of his neck jutted the head of an arrow. The weight of the raised axe made him fall backwards, revealing the avian form of a woman perched on the branch of a tree. He had never been more relieved to see Ves'sa in his life.

From behind the tree, wielding an axe that was far bigger than what someone his size should sensibly wield, Caspar ran out, sweeping the feet out from the bandit currently bothering Kathiya, and crushing his skull with the flat of his axe. Small and nimble, but shockingly strong for someone that stood two heads below Ludgar. But the young fox had to be kept back for the more stealthy tasks; that bright orange fur and bushy tail wasn’t suited to subtlety. Then again, neither was Sethel, who even in his dark robe in the darkest of nights still managed to stand out like a spider in the privy; not unexpected, but you’d rather it be somewhere else.

Ludgar sat back, watching his team get to work, or at least cleaning up the last of it; not that there was much left, anyway. They made sure the bandits were dead, none had escaped, and none were coming.

Caspar held out his hand, hoisting Ludgar back to his feet just in time for the best part of the job: looting.

‘Bit easy, don’t you think?’ Kathiya said, picking through the remains of what the bandits would loosely call their ‘armoury.’

She was right. They went down pretty quick, and it was a rather clean job for something as unpredictable as any battle usually is. Then again, this was not a military minded group. Real soldiers would have several more guards on a separate rotation, better equipment, and better training. These were simply bandits. A group of sorry sods down on their luck, looking to make a tiny fortune by taking it from others. They just knew the right road to attack, expecting themselves to be the ambushers and not the ambushed.

‘This isn’t a well-travelled road. Not many merchants. Why would they set up here?’ asked Caspar lugging his disproportionally large axe over his shoulders.

‘Probably looking for traders trying to avoid toll roads. Guilds probably tipped them off; a warning to anyone not paying.’ Ludgar kicked the lock of a small chest. It was well rusted and came off with ease. Not much inside; furs mostly, but it was better than nothing. They could trade them back at Orrick; that, plus the bounty from the bandits should set them up for the rest of the week. He hoped so, anyway.

He saw Ves'sa hunched over one of the unlucky bandits, tearing arrows from their flesh and adding them to her quiver.

‘I take it Caspar was no trouble then?’

She turned her head to glare at him from the corner of her eye. She looked at him the same way one would look at an unwelcome insect. He didn’t know if that’s how she felt, or if that’s the way her face naturally fell. The way the patterns formed on her feathers didn’t help; how they made this dark mask, making them look much more angular than they really were. Were all the falcon tribes like this? Possibly. He only had Ves'sa to go off of.

She did not answer his question.

‘Alright then… Any others bandits?’

‘Dead.’

‘Any passing merchants?’

‘No.’

She tore the last arrow from the neck of the bear and moved away. She said two words to him. He counted that as progress.

Caspar showed up from behind, giving an eager tap on the shoulder.

‘Not a bad day’s work, right, boss?’

‘Right. This should keep us afloat for a bit till something better shows up. Everything go okay?’

‘Fine?... Why, what’s wrong?’

‘You know. With Ves'sa? This is the first time you’ve been alone with her, and she’s not exactly the talkative type. Or the friendly type. Or the merciful type.’

‘She’s fine, really. Doesn’t talk much… or at all. Doesn’t sleep either. It was fine though, I got a really good nap.’

‘You felt okay just sleeping like that?’

‘Well, she said I could.’

‘No, it’s not…’ There it was. That familiar mix of honesty, trust, and naivety that comes with youth. He remembered losing it pretty quick. ‘Nevermind.’

Over Caspar’s admittedly lower than normal head, he spied Sethel and Kathiya rummaging through the pockets of the dead. He suddenly just remembered something important.

‘And you!’ Ludgar said, pointing an accusatory finger at their dark robed mage. ‘You could have done something! Not just stand there and watch!’

‘I am a trained mage of the Vesterwys University!’ Sethel responded, standing tall and jamming his staff into the dirt. ‘I will not waste the magical arts on some lowly bandits!’

‘You could have at least thrown a fireball or something!’

‘And risk setting the forest alight? A tempting idea, but I prefer to be on the outside so I’m not roasted into a delicious, festive ham!’

‘Then do something small. Wind! Lightning! Anything else! You don’t have to just throw fireballs!’

‘Blasphemy! Mages don’t do “small.”’

Ludgar left the conversation there. Arguing with people was normally a chore; with Sethel, it was a gauntlet. He’d have more luck convincing a stone wall to move.

‘You ever wonder if all Lizard-folk are that odd?’ Caspar asked.

‘Nah. Just him as far as I can tell.’

‘Right... How about wizards?’

‘Oh yeah. All of ‘em. The ones I met, anyway. They’re just odd in different ways. Magic makes the brain go funny, at least whatever the wizards do with it, secretive fucks.’

Aside from that, it was a successfully completed contract: bandits dead, some loot found, no one badly hurt. Now all that remained was the brief journey back to Orrick and cashing in.

He had a good feeling. His uncle would have laughed at him, hunting down bandits when there're proper wars to be fought elsewhere. But he had a good feeling something was brewing in the capital.

Prestige, fame, money, and maybe some new recruits. Maybe soon they'd actually have a name for their group. Right now, they didn't have one. He had one in mind, but you can hardly call yourselves The War Wolves if you only have one wolf.