Victory's Price

Mollen - Wolf (Part Sixteen)

Chapter 16

“We have discussed your proposition, Master Sante.”

Moll sighed. He knew what was coming next.

“The king isn’t here yet.” He pointed out, hoping to delay his disappointment.

To Moll’s relief, it had not been a petty court day so, again, he stood alone before four seated men. Hecter’s Phoenix was nowhere to be seen either: another blessing.

“The king is otherwise indisposed.” Azra’s expression did not flicker as he spoke and, had Moll liked the man better, he would have been impressed.

“Look, Mollen, we appreciate your dilemma.” Hugh Grimlet leant forward earnestly but Moll’s encounter with his king had made him bad tempered.

“With all due respect, Hugh, appreciating my dilemma does nothing to solve it.”

“We cannot risk war.” Azra cut in haughtily.

“A part of me thinks we’re already there.”

“We are just experiencing diplomatic tensions, sending in a destructive force would be an overreaction and political suicide.”

Moll bristled at House Callen’s self-righteous representative. The man was obviously blind as well as old.

“Diplomatic tensions,” Moll spat the words scornfully, “have not killed sixty eight men in three months.”

“We did not bring you here for argument, Mollen.” Miken soothed.

“No, you brought me here to gently tell me you care nothing for the importance of my troubles and pack me back off to Seria where you can forget about me because, let’s face it, no one cares if a Sante is killed by rioting peasants. He is not even a part of the Noble Families after all.”

“You think that’s why we sent you to Seira?” Marcus was incredulous but Moll had had enough.

“Don’t think I’ll be hurrying back.” He warned. “I’ve left a good man in my absence and I shan’t be leaving until the problem has been solved or I’ve enough men to quell it myself.”

Moll turned on his heel, face burning. Petty court was held tomorrow: he would stand before witness and bring the issue to his king.

xXXx

 

It could be argued that he was standing in the cradle of the Nyambe. Their stream had joined up with at least three others and the waterways trickled in languidly together. Wolf stopped to mark the occasion and appreciate the natural beauty of his surroundings. Phoenix, cretin that she was, had already disappeared down the gentle slope of the river.

The beginnings of the river danced as they flowed but the water was only a few inches deep. Wolf pulled himself laboriously into the saddle and clicked his tongue in conjunction with his heels and spurred the mare onwards.

The increased width of the river opened up a crack in the distant canopy and sunlight warmed his shoulders. All in all, Wolf’s mood was high. The deep forest made him uneasy but with the unhindered daylight, it already felt like he had reached the fringes. Of course, Phoenix’s obstinacy would make a forty minute ride a three hour walk but they were still likely to reach the coast by evening. Wolf was going to be sleeping in a bed tonight.

The mare’s mood was lighter as well and she almost pranced along the riverbed. Wolf leant forward to give her an affectionate pat on the neck. It was then that he realised she had no name.

“That hardly seems fair does it?” He mused as they left the birthplace of the river.

Wolf spied Phoenix’s slender form up ahead, slogging tirelessly onwards. For someone who seemed so compelled, so focused on a single goal, she was surprisingly resistant to his attempts at help.

Wolf tapped the nameless mare again and he drew level with the not-girl. Wolf smiled at the thought: what a group they made.

“So remind me.” He smiled down at her but, as he had come to expect, she made no sign that she even accepted his existence. “Why are we not riding?

“You are riding.” She pointed out, not quite sullenly, but more like she had no care for his conversation.

“If we were both riding our journey time would be halved.”

She rolled her shoulders in a distinctly masculine fashion.

Wolf leant in towards her.

“You just don’t want to get close to me do you?”

Phoenix just kept walking; back stiff, demeanour cold.

Wolf allowed the conversation to die. He was getting better at reading her moods and if she didn’t want to speak she wasn’t going to.

“Somebody’s coming.”

An ominous phrase. But from her mouth its deliverance remained identical to her previous statement and her flat tone served only to unsettle him more.

“Who’s coming?”

Wolf looked around him. He guessed they were just about close enough to Bluestone to be within the castle’s diction but he really would not have expected company this far from the core of civilisation.

Without breaking her determined pace, Phoenix drew his sword. The action was fluid, expert, but it did not fill the vulnerable Wolf with confidence.

She held a finger to her lip, silencing him.

“You need to start listening.” She said.

Wolf extended his senses but he really perceived nothing, even Phoenix’s footfalls had return to their noiseless gait. He looked down. She had in no way altered her gait, Wolf was tense enough to have noticed, but suddenly her feet landed only on those rocks that protruded above the waterline.

The mare was relaxed. Animals were supposed to have a good sense for these things.

The next corner came and went without disruption. Phoenix continued to walk poised and alert but Wolf was losing trust his in her.

“No one’s here.” He said as another empty corner came and went.

“They’ve seen the sword.” Phoenix replied. “It confuses them that I am the one to wield it so they just watch for now.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Wolf’s tone was accusing. “The countryside is absolutely silent, there’s no one here.”

Phoenix bristled, indignation rolling off her body.

“People,” she hissed, “Do not just make noise with their feet.”

“Put the sword away.”

“Tell me where the bird song is.”

Wolf strained his ears. When he had concluded that the woodland was silent, he had been absolutely right.

“Where are they?”

“A person’s thoughts take up space. Emotion is easier to read than sound.”

Wolf was still looking at Phoenix, trying to make sense of her words, when she stopped. Slowly he returned his gaze to the route ahead.

A lone man was planted in the centre of the Nyambe, his feet spread and his expression dark.

“From where I’m standing,” He growled. “There’s a toll as needs to be paid.”