Run with the Wolves: Volume Two: The Oracle

By T c TOMBS

During the turbulent fifteenth century, fearsome creatures roam the night and terrorize innocent victims— one of whom is Willie, a young Medinian farm serf. Bitten during an attack on the farm livestock, Willie now suffers from the same full moon affliction as his leader, Woodrow, and the rest of the pack. As Willie moves from one moon cyc

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Jun 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781949169225

T c TOMBS

T c TOMBS earned degrees from Trent University and Wilfrid Laurier University in Canada. Like many Canadians, he loves hockey and golf, and he has a passion for medieval history, folk lore, literature, film, and music. Terry and his wife, Sandra, live in the Greater Toronto Area in Ontario, Canada, where they have raised five daughters.

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Run with the Wolves

Volume Two: The Oracle

T c Tombs

Copyright © 2018 by T c Tombs.

Cover design by Robert J Lewis

Web site designs by Shawn Ellsworth Media

Paperback: 978-1-949169-21-8     $19.99

eBook: 978-1-949169-22-5     $4.99

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Praise for

T c Tombs

and

Run with the Wolves

Volume One: The Pack

Beware of the full moon. This one is for all of the werewolf lovers!

Run With The Wolves by T c Tombs starts out strong with a story about Willie, the main character, who is left alone on a medieval farmstead to take care of the animals while the family is away. Willie is a happy hard working teenager who has been adopted by a farmer’s family. While they are away, he is viciously attacked by the Pack and his life is never the same again. The leader of the ‘Pack’ spares the injured Willie’s life and they take him back to their home. We follow Willie from one full moon cycle to the next wondering what will happen when he changes and how he will react. Does he remain sullen and angry because of his circumstances or push through his own mental chaos to find happiness? I enjoyed Tombs following the phases of the moon and his description of how the werewolves changed. It made me feel sympathy for these creatures who were half man and half wolf.

Tombs develops memorable characters that you walk away thinking about. He is detailed in his writing and knowledgeable about medieval history. Tombs developed strong sub-stories and characters and one of my favourites was Vinnie, the leader of a gang in the main port. The other favourites were the community of oddities who were all eclectic people joined together because of their differences.

We were teased with a few budding love stories and the book ended too abruptly for me. I wanted to glimpse what was happening with the other stories before it completely ended. The good thing is I was left wanting more. The author has two more books coming out. The next one is scheduled for this year. I guess we will just have to wait to see what happens.

Top Book Reviewers

A well-written and addictive first novel.

By combining several common dark fantasy elements and adding a few of his own creations, T c Tombs has avoided the biggest problem of werewolf stories: most of them are pretty much the same. Thus, The Pack, the first volume in his Run with the Wolves trilogy, is more interesting than the majority of novels in the genre.

Set in the 15th century, the tale commences as a large pack of two-legged and four-legged wolves attacks a farm in the kingdom of Medinia. Amazingly, Willie, a brave field hand, dispatches two of the giant wolves before he is brought down by a severe bite. Despite disagreements among the Packs’ individuals, Woodrow, the two-legged Pack leader, saves Willie and takes him back to his mountain cabin in the adjacent country of Varakov.

Gradually, readers learn about the lunar curse that inflicts both wolves and men in Varakov and which will inflict Willie because he has been bitten. The author also introduces: Lord Victor, the Varakovan king and shape-changing liege to whom the wolf pack owes its loyalty; the Oddities, a clan of outcasts with physical and philosophical abnormalities who live in the Sanctuary in the forest also populated by the Pack; a ruthless band of mercenary soldiers also faithful to King Victor; and the royalty of the two feuding nations that border Varakov, the previously mentioned Medinia and Skoland.

The Pack succeeds primarily because of Tombs’ talent for characterization. Readers will find empathy for those cursed by the moon as much as for their victims. And their interaction and dialogue are believable.

Blue Ink Reviews

In 15th-century Europe, war looms and monstrous wolves and other beasts roam the night.

The year is 1461, and neighboring countries Skoland and Medinia seem to be brokering an uneasy truce after generations of war. Not all are happy about this development, however. Leaders and peasants on both sides have a difficult time trusting that there will be peace, especially after a series of brutal attacks in the countryside leave both sides suspecting the other.

Willie, a young serf, is dragged into the conflict directly when he attempts to save the animals on his farm from a pack of creatures with characteristics of both man and wolf, which possess inhuman strength and speed. He’s bitten but survives. As a result, the Pack takes him to nearby Varakov, where this group of wolf-men lives under the protection of the mysterious Lord Victor, who may not be completely human either. Willie hates the Pack and all associated with them, but he soon learns that everything is more complicated than he once believed; he must decide for himself whom he can trust and whom he cannot.

While this is mostly Willie’s tale, the rest of the cast is granted complex personalities, allowing the reader to decide, like Willie, who can be believed. Similarly, there is a wonderful exchange between fantasy and historical fiction here, as the countries of Skoland, Medinia and Varakov have their histories firmly based in the true medieval history of Europe, while leaving room for fantasy in the narratives of the Pack and their brethren.

Two books follow this one, and they each promise to add more to this excellent world.

A well-developed, tightly plotted fantasy; readers will want installments two and three.

Kirkus Reviews

I highly recommend this book to anyone. The story is invigorating …

Run with the Wolves is a fantasy adventure piece of fiction set in the 15th century. Author T c Tombs takes the well-worn and told werewolf and breathes new life into it. He includes not only strong historical references but also refreshes the tried-and-true werewolf story with its darker fantasy elements as a brand-new narrative.

T c Tombs is a master of description and transporting the reader into the story. I found his visuals to be all encompassing and easy to imagine. He does a fantastic job at giving the characters distinct voices and personalities. I highly recommend this book to anyone. The story is invigorating, especially if you are looking for a new twist on the classical werewolf lore. Run with the Wolves is an interesting take on an old tale that kept me reading late into the night.

Pacific Book Review

Why do you come to me?

Inspired by: Pink Floyd ‘Division Bell’ – Track # 2 ‘What Do You Want from Me?’

Preface

Run with the Wolves is a fantasy/adventure epic set in the turbulent historical time period of the fifteenth century. The trilogy consists of three volumes: The Pack; The Oracle; and The Beast.

This continuing saga was inspired by a number of musical works, including Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon and The Division Bell, as well as songs by Elton John and Bernie Taupin (my all time favourite lyricist); Don Henley and the Eagles; The Moody Blues, Supertramp, Chris De Burgh; U2; Snow Patrol; James Blunt; Chris Rea; and many other gifted songwriters and performers. Their music has been my inspiration.

I would like to express thanks to my family and the many friends who lent me their eyes and ears from the beginning, as well as the use of their names for the many fictional characters found within the story. I hope you enjoy your namesakes and the roles they have to play, keeping in mind that it’s all in good fun.

I dedicate this volume to our five daughters: Melanie, Tiffany, Vanessa, Sarah, and Hillary. You each add so much joy to my life. I’m proud of your many achievements and the fine young women you have all grown to become.

Thanks again to Lynn Walks for the lead. One doorway led to another.

A very special thank you goes out to Robert J. Lewis for his creative illustrations. The storyboards helped bring the project to life at the Universal Studios pitch fest in L.A. You can view these on the website: www.tctombs.com

I would like to thank S & S and especially everyone on the Toplink team for their support and assistance in pulling this all together.

I would also like to thank David Bernardi for his editorial assistance and guidance, and for his consistent ‘point-of-view’. As always, any writing errors that remain are entirely my own.

Cycles of the Moon

The full moon for each month is given a name that represents the season or agricultural events of that month. These are some of the most common in use. The highlighted names are used through the three volumes of Run with the Wolves.

The Lunar Phases

For the purposes of this story:

The Full Moon Phase is considered to occur over a three-night period and includes the night prior to the full moon apex, the night of the full moon apex, and the night following the full moon apex.

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The Fifteenth Century

Events of Interest

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Run with the Wolves

Volume Two: The Oracle

Preface

Cycles of the Moon

The Lunar Phases

The Fifteenth Century

Chapter 1: Preparations

Chapter 2: The Harvest Festival

Chapter 3: The Tournament

Chapter 4: The Abduction

Chapter 5: The Royal Guests

Chapter 6: Raising the Army

Chapter 7: Riff-Raff and Royalty

Chapter 8: The Bordello

Chapter 9: Choices

Chapter 10: Decisions

Chapter 11: The Travelers

Chapter 12: The Ship Comes In

Chapter 13: Running for the Moon

Chapter 14: Why Do You Come to Me?

Chapter 15: The Oracle

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Preparations

August 23, 1461

The Euralene Mountains, Varakov

The road of life can take some strange and unexpected turns, he mused ruefully, but perhaps, none stranger or more unexpected, than the turn in the road that I’ve taken.

Willie sat alone at the edge of the deep gorge in front of Woodrow’s remote cabin retreat in the Euralene Mountains. He looked across the chasm to where the distant waterfall crashed below and raised a perpetual mist, but his mind wasn’t on the natural beauty of the scenery there. A light breeze swirled up from the gorge to tousle the straw-coloured hair of the strapping youth who was far from the home and the life he’d known on the Smythe farmstead. He paid the breeze no mind either.

The youth was deep in thought. It seemed like a year since he’d been tending to his chores on the Medinian farm that he’d been indentured to since childhood. So much had happened to him since those uneventful days. The fact that it had only been a month since the farm’s livestock had been attacked by the Pack seemed so surreal. He had lost his two best friends that night beneath the Thunder Moon, as the full moon of July was commonly known. Sirius and Rigel, the two herd dogs he’d loved, had nobly sacrificed their lives in a vain attempt to allow him time to escape.

Despite that ultimate sacrifice, he’d been chased down and bitten by one of the pursuing warg-wolves. He had nearly died, as well. He knew he would have perished had not Woodrow, the Pack’s leader, taken pity on him and brought him back to Varakov. The man had tended to his wound in the very cabin that was built into the rock face behind him.

In the month that followed, he had become part of Woodrow’s household, living in the manor on his estate. He’d even begun learning a new vocation in the employ of the Varakovan king whom his mentor served as castle keeper. It was a far cry from his previous farm duties.

Of more importance, however, was the undeniable fact that he was the newest member of the unique Pack that had attacked the farm’s livestock. He now suffered from the same moon-madness that brought these afflicted humans and wolves together to hunt during the three nights of the transformation under the beckoning light of Diana, the goddess of the full moon.

His life had been warped forever. He was still coming to terms with the reality of that. For the past month, he’d thought only of how he could escape Varakov and make his way home. The last three nights of the Barley full moon of August had clearly demonstrated his new reality and the dilemma he now pondered. He might never be able to go home to Medinia—at least, not to resume his old life.

He mulled over what the future might hold for him as a member of the very Pack that had changed his life forever. He’d been accepted into their fold. He had endured the agony of the three nights of transformations and of the reversions brought on each dawn, but not easily, or without incident. The rage had all but consumed him and the primal urge to run wild had been difficult to rein in. The knot on his forehead from his collision with a tree during last night’s failed hunt of the deer herd attested to that. While he hadn’t been admonished by anyone for his actions, he knew that he had ruined the Pack’s hunt and chided himself accordingly. He’d learned a valuable lesson, and he swore that he would do better next time.

* * * * *

As Willie sat brooding in his private reverie on his new situation and his recent failings, he was woefully unaware of the wolf that was quietly and purposefully stalking him from down wind. Silently, the feral predator slipped into the cover of a nearby copse of birch trees and slowly crept forward to a position where it could strike out at its unsuspecting prey.

Without a warning sound, the wolf sprang forth from the trees. In a dozen quick strides, the animal covered the ground between them and launched its attack. Its sharp teeth sank in deeply, and then with a fearsome growl, the wolf shook its head back and forth in an effort to rend its hapless prey apart.

Fortunately for the young Medinian, it was the collar of his leather jerkin that was the animal’s intended target, and not his throat. Nevertheless, the youth was jerked to and fro by the ferocious assault, before he was finally pulled over backwards to the ground.

With his victory won, Ursis released his hold on Willie’s jerkin and stood over his hapless victim grinning, before bending his head and licking the lad’s face with his lolling tongue. The youth roared aloud then and dove for the juvenile wolf, the runt of Brutus and Cleo’s last litter. The two of them wrestled, growling at each other, and thoroughly enjoying the roughhousing.

The young wolf had survived its ordeal with the huge bear they’d confronted and fought with that first night of the past transformation. The juvenile warg-wolf had come valiantly to Willie’s rescue, but had suffered a severe battering for its efforts. Thankfully, between Woodrow’s medicines, and the healing effects of the final two moonlit transformations, Ursis had regained his health.

Okay, Willie, he heard Woodrow call out from the porch. I think that’s enough exuberance for the moment. Those damaged ribs of his have healed nicely, but we don’t need any fresh injuries to deal with.

The man most responsible for the Medinian youth’s new lot in life had come out onto the porch and was stretching his arms and rotating his head in an attempt to work the morning kinks out of his neck. He then ran a hand through his greying hair and yawned.

Willie’s hazel eyes sparkled as he laughed. He gave Ursis one last mauling before the two of them separated and he got to his feet. The young wolf yipped at him, and then bounded away, seemingly quite content with the demonstration of its hunting prowess.

Do you think I might be allowed to train him? Willie asked as he approached the Pack leader.

Train him to do what? Woodrow scoffed. Are you going to teach Ursis how to fetch, or how to herd livestock? I think he just demonstrated that he already knows far more about the hunting of prey than you do.

Besides, the Pack leader added. When a pairing between a wolf and a man is sanctioned within the Pack, it’s a lifetime commitment—by each of them. From what you’ve told me, it’s pretty clear that you plan to leave here as soon as the next full moon cycle is over. That’s what we agreed to.

What if I didn’t go?

Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it? Woodrow suggested, but not unkindly. Don’t get me wrong, Willie, I think you and Ursis could be paired. You’ve already developed an affection and loyalty for one another. That’s a good start, but it wouldn’t be fair to Ursis if you decide to leave—and it wouldn’t be fair to you to have to make that decision now. It’s too important.

The Medinian youth took that in, and then slowly nodded his head in agreement. I’m not ready yet. You’re right about that. I don’t know what I’m going to do. It wouldn’t be fair to Ursis if I decide to leave.

Or, to you, Woodrow added in a gentler tone. Now, let’s get our belongings packed up. We need to be heading for home soon. We’ve got duties waiting for us to get back to.

The Pack leader watched the youth set off to attend to his backpack. He was pleased that Willie understood the way things were. There was hope for him—if the future was kind. He just wasn’t sure that it would be.

* * * * *

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Last Quarter – Half Moon

August 28, 1461

Dumas, Medinia

Then everything is arranged to your satisfaction, Sir Reginald? King Renaud asked, seeking confirmation from the commander standing before him in the great hall of the castle in Dumas.

The Medinian king was in his early fifties. He was fit for a man of his age, although his hair and cropped beard had grown considerably greyer over the past decade. His eyes were clear and alert, however, and they reflected the intelligence behind them.

The veteran knight commander, Sir Reginald Toutant, gave his liege a brief nod in the affirmative. The jagged pale scar that was etched below his left eye stood out in sharp contrast to the weather-beaten and tanned skin of his clean shaven face and scalp. Although the commander preferred to wear unadorned leather, he had changed his attire for a quilted doublet, along with the white cape of the Medinian knighthood with its royal blue chevrons embroidered across the back. He did so in deference to the protocol of the king’s court.

I believe that it is, milord, he confirmed. The Skolish liege and his son greeted me well. In our discourse, I found them to be of the same mind concerning the wolf attacks on our farms along the western border, and the raids on their farms that were made to look like we were responsible. Like us, they’ve expressed concern that we may have a mutual enemy of a yet unknown strength and intent.

The war between Medinia and Skoland had been fought off and on for over ten years now. The losses suffered on both sides had been horrendous. The truce that was to lead up to a peace summit had almost been derailed when a skirmish had broken out by the river crossing separating their two kingdoms. The true culprits behind the attacks and subterfuge were still unknown.

I was most impressed by King Verdonk’s resolve, sire, and of that of Prince Paulo. The Skolish liege agrees that we should be on our mutual guard against future incursions into the region, the knight commander added.

What does the prince propose that we do … to defend our people? Lady Hillary Michelle asked, leaning forward in her chair. The princess swept aside a lock of her raven hair that had fallen across her eyes. Those same eyes never took their focus from the knight commander.

It was not lost on King Renaud that his elder daughter’s question concerned the thoughts of the Skolish prince and not those of the father, that kingdom’s rightful liege. The Medinian king found it understandable, however, given the possibility of her marriage to the prince to seal the peace accord.

It’s one of the key subjects that they would like on the agenda at a harvest summit, milady, Toutant replied courteously. As I’ve reported, they’ve offered to host the summit at one of their baron’s estate. It’s only a few leagues from the river crossing.

All in all, I think it’s a sound plan, your highness. We can establish our base camp at our own frontier post and travel across the border a short distance to the designated site. The Skolish commander has also pledged to keep the frontier region under a joint control with regiments from both our troops.

And we’ll be free to monitor and ensure that only the invited regimental knights from each kingdom are allowed into the region? King Renaud asked. I want to be assured that our forces are equal to theirs.

It will be as you requested, milord, Toutant confirmed. I also proposed your idea that we hold a joint harvest-market and tournament to mark the occasion.

They thought that was a splendid proposal, sire, he added. Arrangements will be made so that farmers and villagers on both sides of the border on the western frontier will be made welcome. The commoners will be able to sell their produce and buy wares at the festival site. I’m told that the baron’s estates are substantial and can easily accommodate the crowds, as well as the foreign caravans, should they come through the pass again this year.

It sounds like you’ve met with much success then, the king’s eldest daughter remarked.

Yes, milady, Toutant concurred. It will be good for the people in the western regions of both kingdoms to witness the peace initiatives. They’ve had a hard go of it out there.

All our subjects should know that we will protect and safeguard them, the princess stated firmly. It’s our sacred duty.

A fall festival with food, music, entertainment, and tournaments, would go a long way to putting their minds at ease, the knight commander said. The Skolish king agrees that the celebration would create the right atmosphere for us to hold the peace talks in, and it would demonstrate to the people of the frontier that they will be protected.

Have they had some of their people leaving the frontier region, as well? the king asked.

King Verdonk confirmed that a number of farmers and their families have already left the district, Sir Reginald reported. Between the raids on their farms and the rumours that have spread concerning the attacks on Medinian farms, they’re getting the same grumblings from their people that we’ve been getting from ours. Many of the common folk believe that there are devil creatures in the mountains and that they command some sort of pack of monster wolves.

That’s complete and utter nonsense, Lady Hillary Michelle spoke out. Surely, no one gives those silly rumours any credence. There has to be a saner explanation for what’s gone on in the region.

That may be the case, milady. Yet, it remains a mystery as to what, or with whom, we’re actually dealing with. I’ve seen the remains of the animals from the raid at the Smythe farm. A prize bull was rent completely apart. I can’t believe that was the work of the dead wolves that we came across.

The wolf carcasses that you found were normal in both their size and in their appearance, were they not? the princess challenged. "There weren’t any remains of giant wolves, were there?

They were of normal size, milady. Yet the tracks that we found suggest there were other animals of some sort involved. Whatever four-legged beast made those, they were considerably larger than any wolf paw print that I’ve ever come across before. In fact, although we found a few dead wolves, there were no signs of their normal-sized prints anywhere to be found.

Rather, the commander added, there were only the tracks of farm animals … and of these unknown creatures. Not even our best trackers can identify what type of animals made them. To make the puzzle even more compelling, are the other sets of tracks that were found. They concern me even more.

You’re referring to scoundrels of the two legged sort, Toutant? King Renaud asked.

Precisely, my liege, the knight commander replied. Those tracks weren’t the imprints of ordinary men either. They were barefooted, but the feet that made them were larger than a normal man’s, and they’re oddly misshapen. They were much broader, and they showed elongated toes with claw-like nails. I don’t really know what to make of them, sire. Neither do any of the trackers.

I can’t say that I like the sound of that, the king retorted. "Have you posted more troops to the frontier?

Already dispatched, sire, Sir Reginald affirmed. The Skolish have done the same on their side of the border. We’ve agreed to send a regiment each to augment our respective posts. We don’t want to alarm the people with any larger a military build-up, as yet. If something does occur, we’re prepared to send out additional troops as needed.

It would seem that you’ve got things under control, the king stated, satisfied with the commander’s diligence.

I believe so, milord, but I intend to keep a close vigilance on the area until I can satisfy myself, and you, that there’s no further threat of hostilities.

When will we be leaving for the outpost, Commander? the princess enquired then.

Your entourage leaves in about a week’s time, milady, before the harvest moon arrives, Toutant replied. I’ve already given instructions to the knights who will act as your escort. They’ve been selected from throughout our regiments to compete in the tournament. I’ll be leading a preliminary troop to the western frontier tomorrow with the necessary supplies to prepare for your arrival and comfort, and that of the other ladies of the court.

That was most considerate of you, Sir Reginald. I should have thought of that myself, the Medinian king declared.

Also, milady, lest I forget, Toutant added, Prince Paulo requested that I extend his personal greetings. He asked that I convey to you that he’s looking forward to the day when there is peace between our kingdoms. He said that if there is any way he can be of service to make that eventuality come to pass, he would welcome the opportunity.

It sounds like he cares not if he and I are truly meant to be together as husband and wife, just so long as there’s peace to be had, the elder princess declared a little stridently.

What I just said sounded trite, even to my ears, the princess thought. But then … shouldn’t something be said about marrying for love? Shouldn’t that be a vital part of the whole matter, too? What if I can’t stand the sight of him, or he of me?

I’m sorry father … Sir Reginald, she apologized. That was most uncalled for. We’ll gladly meet with the Skolish king, and the prince, just as you’ve planned.

If you’ll excuse me now, she added. I think I’d better find Sarah Elizabeth and tell her the news of our pending trip.

The princess took her leave of them at that point. The same nagging questions and conflicting thoughts still milled about unresolved in her brain, however. She knew what was good for the kingdom. She could only hope that the same would hold true for her.

* * * * *

September 1, 1461

Skoland

Prince Paulo and a small troop of Skolish knights of the Royal order rode into the newly fenced-in grounds at a steady canter. The burly and taciturn Sir Christos LeSage rode at the prince’s side, armed with the giant battle axe he favoured and wearing a helm of burnished blue steel over his shaven pate. The lanky Sudcott twins, Sir Timos and Sir Tomas, with their long-flowing blond locks, brought up the rear of the column. Only their close friends could tell one from the other. Longbows were strapped across their caped backs and quivers of arrows hung from both sides of their saddles. They were reputed to be two of the finest archers in all of Skoland.

It had been a long and dusty ride from Kragonus. The Skolish troop brought their war steeds to a halt in the middle of the festival site. Squires rushed up and quickly gathered their reins in, as the prince and his men dismounted and brushed off some of the trail dust before carrying out an inspection of the ongoing construction.

Everywhere the troop of knights looked there were crews of serfs at work. There were already a multitude of frames erected for the colourful tents that would be soon hoisted for the buying and selling of wares. One large work crew was in the midst of building the viewing stands for the tournaments. Another was setting up the tented quarters for the housing of the incoming visitors. Other crews toiled at any one of another dozen tasks in preparing the host site for the upcoming summit.

The flaxen-haired, youthful prince stood quietly for a few moments while his men awaited his pleasure. His clear blue eyes took in each facet of the construction going on around them. He nodded approvingly at what he saw. While he noted a few areas that could do with further attention, by and large, he was pleased with the progress being made. The festival was still weeks away, and he felt sure that the work would be completed well before then.

Milord!

The site planner called out a greeting to Prince Paulo as he and his organizing party approached them. In their company was the local landowner, Baron Stregger, whose property they stood on and who was helping to oversee the project.

My prince, I was wondering if you’ve given any thought as to where you wanted the foreigner’s caravan to set up when it arrives? the hefty baron asked. It’s sure to draw even larger crowds this year with all the Medinians here as well. We’re going to need some considerable space allotted for them to set up in.

Has the frontier post reported anything from them? the prince asked.

Not as yet, milord. Do you think there’s a problem?

Paulo looked off in the direction of the Euralene gap, considering his reply.

No … at least none that I’m aware of, he stated, as if the matter were inconsequential. I should think we’ll be hearing from their envoy any day. They’ve come every fall for years now to make arrangements for the trading of their goods. There’s no reason to think that this year should be any different.

The Skolish prince did have his doubts, although he chose not to voice them. With the strange and vicious attacks that had taken place in this region, he wasn’t sure what to think. There was evidence to suggest that the trouble may well have originated on the other side of the gap, from Varakov.

Paulo was well aware that the caravans that passed into Medinia and Skoland came through the Varakovan-controlled gap. What he didn’t know was whether they had any real ties to Varakov, or whether there was a Varakovan connection to the recent raids.

Might there be a connection? Would they show up this year, after all? he pondered for a time.

Indeed, the caravans had been coming for many years. When he’d been just a boy, there’d been a truce in place during that harvest time, as well. That was when the first foreign envoys had come seeking to trade their wares.

Separate envoys had approached both kingdoms about the possibility of doing trade on this side of the Euralenes. The goods they’d subsequently brought by their caravans had been of great value and quality, and from exotic ports of call. Even though the war had subsequently resumed, neither side wished to lose that opportunity for trade.

The two warring kingdoms had managed to come to a workable arrangement. Each year of their ongoing strife, they’d agreed to a break in their hostilities for the fall harvest. During this brief period of peace, conscripted serfs on both sides were allowed to return to work on their master’s farms. Crops could then be reaped and stored away, which would see them all through the winter months.

As far as the Skolish prince was concerned, the waging of war could be conducted in a civilized manner. Their two realms had a long history of warfare, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t honour agreements and truces that were beneficial to both kingdoms.

In the ensuing years, envoys had come each fall to make the necessary arrangements. Two separate caravans would then make their way down through the Euralene gap. The foreign traders were granted safe passage and one of the caravans would then journey into each of the two kingdoms. Once the festivals and trading of wares were concluded, the wagons would return back through the pass, not to be seen again for another year.

Just as consistently, the two kingdoms could be counted on to take up arms again before the worst of the winter weather set in. Winters could be long in this part of the world. There were few if any great battles fought in those frigid months. A major campaign in the late fall, therefore, was an ideal time to strike a decisive blow at the enemy.

In the early spring, there was usually another major confrontation over the valley lands. After being hunkered down all winter, the mindset of the knights in both kingdoms generally returned to a state of warfare. It was the time to put into action the various battle plans that had been worked out in heated and often drunken debate before their fireplace hearths, during the snow-bound months.

If the peace accords are successfully concluded at this year’s joint summit and harvest festival, perhaps that cycle of war will finally come to an end, he thought.

* * * * *

September 3, 1461

Port Lupus, Varakov

Vinnie entered the brewery in mid-afternoon with his lieutenant, Lorenzo, at his side and closely followed by Sergio, Eduardo, Filippo, and a handful of Multinationals gang members armed with axes. The gang leader wasn’t relishing what they were about to do. The frequent smile beneath his curly brown hair was absent today. The golden flecks in his green eyes showed only a hard resolve.

As per their instructions from Lord Victor, the Varakovan king they served, Vinnie and the Ohs had been on a mission to raise their collections from virtually every business that operated in Port Lupus. Their demands had been met with indignation, reluctance, and in some cases considerable resistance.

The three Turnbull brothers who owned this brewery were just such an example. With the help of their considerable work force, they had run off the four Multinationals gang members who had come to collect the additional money owed. That was after they’d delivered them a beating and a goodly soaking in beer.

As reluctant as Vinnie was to impose these additional levies, he knew that he couldn’t ignore that affront. As the gang’s leader, he had to set an example. This was his responsibility. The Multinationals were the enforcers of the king’s edicts, regardless of his personal feelings that they were already collecting a fair share of the business owner’s revenues. His private views on the matter were of no consequence. Only the king’s latest directive mattered.

The extra taxes they were forced to gather at Lord Victor’s behest were a burden on the majority of the merchants. Vinnie understood the resentment they were feeling. From the reports he was getting, Sir Curtis Grottolio was meeting much the same response as he went about the countryside conscripting young men into the Varakovan army to help build the new fortifications in the foothills. It seemed that there was unrest everywhere these days.

Vinnie followed his men as they pushed open the double doors and entered the brewery. They were met by the thick smell of fermenting malted barley and bitter hops that hung in the air like a palatable fog. Five giant vats were attended to by the three brew master brothers. They’d been taught the trade by their late father, Jonathan Turnbull, a legendary Varakovan brewer. Large casks of properly aged beer were stacked along the inside wall ready for the next delivery to the surrounding taverns and brothels.

Smash them, Vinnie ordered dispassionately.

The Multinationals pushed past the brewery workers and began swinging their axes in earnest. The stout wooden casks split open and their contents spilled out in gushes, adding their heady aroma to the air. Voices rang out in anger and dismay as beer flowed freely over the brewery floor.

Vinnie spotted the three Turnbull brothers as they came running from different directions in response to the commotion. All three were heavy set, full-bearded men, who the gang leader knew were well liked by their employees and customers. They were reputed to be devoted family men, god-fearing and supportive of their church and charitable within their community. All three wore identical aprons whose pockets held the tools of their trade.

What’s the meaning of this outrage! the elder brother roared. He approached the gang leader. His bearded face was red with indignation. He stood on the balls of his feet with his fists clenched.

You know very well what the meaning of this is, Alexander, Vinnie replied. His voice was quiet and without emotion, but his gaze was firmly locked on the elder brewer’s eyes. He stood his ground.

You knew there would be consequences when you and your brothers beat the men who were sent to collect your additional fees. Did you really think that would be the end of it? If you did, then you’ve been sampling too much of your own wares.

Damn your eyes, the youngest brother swore, his hand on the handle of the small sledge secured in the strap of the apron covering his bountiful waist. The increase is uncalled for and we refuse to pay it!

Vinnie’s eyes never left the older brother’s. The increase is the king’s edict, Mathew. It’s not for you, or for Patrick … or for Alexander here, to question. You brothers live and ply your trade in Varakov, and Lord Victor is your liege.

Damn the king, too! the youngest brother swore again. He drew the sledge from its place, raised it up, and took two menacing strides towards the gang leader. His intentions were clear. He meant to bash in Vinnie’s skull.

That was as far as he got before the Eduardo’s sword flashed through the air and took his hand off at the wrist. The sledge struck the floor with the youngest brewer’s hand still clutched to it. Eduardo’s next slash would have taken his head off as well had Vinnie not drawn his sword and blocked it in a clash of steel on steel.

Mathew screamed as he collapsed. His brother Patrick caught him as he fell. Blood spurted from the stump staining both their aprons.

There was a long moment of silent shock, before voices were raised in renewed anger and dismay. Several of the brewery workers reached for the handiest implements to fight with. The other Ohs drew their swords and the Multinationals held their axes at the ready.

No! Alexander bellowed out. Put your weapons away!

His workers fell back muttering, but they obeyed their master’s order. Vinnie quickly waved his men off, as well. Eduardo wiped the blood from his blade before returning it to its scabbard.

The elder brother dropped to his knees beside his two brothers. Tears ran down the face of the disbelieving Patrick as he held his bleeding brother in his arms. Alexander tore his apron off and used it to tie off the grievously injured limb. He signalled for a few of his men to help carry his moaning brother to their office and dispatched another to fetch a physician. He then turned his attention back towards the gang leader.

You’ll have your blood money first in the morning.

It didn’t have to be this way, Vinnie said. His voice was choked with remorse.

He got no further response from the elder brewer. Word would spread quickly, though. The increase in revenues would be collected without further opposition, but that wouldn’t be the end of the resentment.

The Ohs and Multinationals trailed behind Vinnie as they returned to their headquarters. The young gang leader spoke to none of them. He felt ill. The severe wounding of the youngest brewery owner weighed heavily upon him. He hadn’t intended for anyone to get hurt. He wondered if the incident would be the last, or if it was just the beginning.

* * * * *

September 4, 1461

Skoland

New_Moon.jpg

The New Moon

Prince Paulo watched the growing dust trail that was kicked up by the approaching riders. Word had arrived that the foreign envoys had come down from the mountain pass at last. The knights on station at the two borders had detained them briefly, while a dispatch rider had been sent on ahead to inform the Skolish prince. As per their instructions, a small detachment of both Skolish and Medinian knights were now escorting the two envoys directly here to the festival site.

This should prove interesting, the prince commented, speaking to the Medinian knight commander sitting astride the steed next to him.

I’m glad I came ahead to check on the festival arrangements, Sir Reginald replied. What these envoys have to say may shed some light on matters.

Toutant had ridden in the prior day with a select detail of Medinian knights in prelude to the arrival of the Royal party. He’d wanted to ascertain the readiness of their hosts in regard to the summit and the tournament, and to make preparations for the lodging of the king’s entourage. He also wanted to satisfy himself that everything else was in order. It was only two weeks until the Medinian king’s party was scheduled to arrive. It was the knight commander’s duty to ensure that the frontier site would be safe for their stay.

It was possible that the approaching envoys could give them some clue as to who was responsible for the troubles on the western frontier. Toutant certainly hoped so. They had nothing else to go on at this point. The region had been ominously quiet since the farm attacks, and there were still too many unanswered questions for his liking. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they hadn’t heard the last from whoever was responsible.

Prince Paulo looked over at the battle scarred knight commander who had fought and led the Medinians in campaigns against his regiments. He was reminded again of his own senior commander, the barrel-chested Sir Geoffrey. The two commanders were both seasoned, disciplined veterans. They were the true warriors of their time. It occurred to the Skolish prince that given their respective ages, a lasting peace might well see them both put out to pasture.

That thought saddened Paulo in a way that he likely couldn’t have explained. He’d experienced the thrill of warfare and what it meant to lead men into battle. He also knew the inner terror that each man had to face down in the heat of battle. There was always some point in the campaign when part of you just wanted to run away from the enemy and the possibility of death, or dire injury, or failure. It was a time when a man was forced to test his resolve and his courage.

It was resolve and courage that separated the conscripts of the army from the more disciplined knights, the prince thought. Conscripts could be relied upon, provided the battle was going well, but they were apt to break ranks at the first sight of real adversity. Knights fought on and they were prepared to die, if need be. They fought for the honour and the glory. They fought for their king and kingdom. There was nothing nobler.

What did men like Toutant and Sir Geoffrey do in times of lasting peace and retirement … hunt? True, it was a favourite pastime for most of them anyways, but could it be enough? Given the choice, most knights would say that they’d prefer an honourable death on the field of battle, than to die of old age in bed.

Prince Paulo shook his head to clear these thoughts. He was still a young man and did not need to concern himself with such matters. As for the boredom of peace, he preferred to look to the possible future that he saw unfolding. A time was coming when the two unified kingdoms would look to him for leadership, and that time appeared to be fast approaching.

He was his father’s youngest son, but both his older brothers were dead. They’d been casualties of the wars with Medinia. He had no rivals for the two thrones. Paulo could envision a day when the two older kings would either pass away or step down, or perhaps, need to be pushed aside. It was now only a question of biding his time. Having the Medinian princess as