WULFRAM

Part VI.

Wulfram woke with a guttural cough. He was on the floor of his room in the boarding house still. Blinding sunlight shone through the sole window, but he had no idea how much time had passed. No more than a day, he knew, otherwise the innkeeper would have found him. He sat up laboriously and pulled the crone's knife from between his ribs. His bisht robe was covered in dry blood, and he could feel a half dozen wet spots in his fur where he was still bleeding. He was amazed to still be alive. All he could figure was that his vital organs were not where the crone expected them to be.

He pushed himself to his feet and felt a profound sense of relief to see that Thedric was gone. The crone had kidnapped him, not killed him. Also gone was the satchel. All the better, he surmised. Nothing for him to carry. He unwound the strips of cloth from around his face, shed his turban, and stripped the bisht off over his shoulders and head. Already, he felt more alive, naked, clothed only in his own mantle of feathers and fur. He closed his eyes and pictured his wolf form in his mind; his body instinctively did the rest.

When he opened his eyes, he was on all fours. He lowered his head and crashed through the bedroom door, down the stairs, and through the common room past the startled cries of the other tenants. Their fear strengthened his resolve. Outside, he quickly took up the scent of Thedric and the crone. They were continuing on the road to the north. Wulfram loped after them, out of Dzhebali, and onto the high-desert road. He glanced upward to gauge the sun and saw it was well after noon. The crone had eight or more hours lead on him. Unlike her, though, he could fly. He pictured his raven form in his mind, and suddenly his wolf legs were gone and his wings were carrying him up into the air.

He ascended to an elevation of one hundred feet, so as not to draw any undue attention to himself, and followed the meandering road northward. In this sparse landscape, nothing was invisible to his keen eyes. He saw every lizard, every desert rabbit, every slinking fox. The miles disappeared behind him and he felt no pain, no weariness in his wings. Still, there was no sign of Thedric and the crone, and before he knew it, night was falling. He dared not risk losing their trail by inadvertently flying past his quarry, so returned to earth and captured a rabbit before changing back into his wolf form. After finishing his meal, he took upon the road again and was relieved to detect Thedric's scent and confirm he was still on the right trail. He ran on for hours, seeing nothing, concluding that the crone must have had a horse or carriage, otherwise she could not have covered so much ground in such a short time. He continued on, and finally, shortly after midnight, he caught scent of smoke. He moved with caution and soon saw the dull orange glow of a campfire. The wind was blowing to the west, so he skirted off the road and approached the campfire from the west. The crone had somehow stinted his magic before. It would be unwise to let her horse catch his scent and warn her of his presence. He needed the element of surprise.

It occurred to him that it might be safer taking his raven form and attacking from above, but now that he was this close, he dared not change form or in any way focus his thauma. If the crone could stint his power, then she must be able to detect it somehow. No, Wulfram would have to do this with fang and claw.

He crept closer to the camp. When the first flickers of light from the fire reached him, he lowered himself to his belly and crawled an inch at a time so as not to be seen or heard. The scent of the crone and Thedric were strong in his nose, even with the smoke from the fire. The fur at his hackles raised in anticipation.

Forty feet out from the campfire, Wulfram could make out the silhouettes of a horse and two humans: one lying down, the other sitting in front of the fire. He inched forward, staying to the shadows of every shrub and rock in his path. His muscles ached to spring forward and attack, but he willed himself to be patient. Twenty feet out, he could make out the form of the figure sitting by the fire. It appeared too small to be the crone, by his estimation, and his confidence wavered. Still, he crept onward. Fifteen feet out, the light reflected from the figure's hair, and even though the figure was facing away from him, Wulfram could see that it was Thedric sitting there beside the fire, not the crone. Wulfram froze, uncertain. Why was the crone lying on the ground if Thedric was awake, sitting by the fire?

"I know you're there," Thedric spoke. "It's safe. She's dead."

He was not lying. Wulfram could smell the blood now. He rose from his belly and strolled towards the fire. By time he reached Thedric's side, he was walking upright in human form again. Thedric looked up at him from where he sat beside the fire. "I thought you were dead, wolf."

"So did I," Wulfram replied, looking at the crone's body, seeing the knife protruding from her chest. "What happened?"

"She was fool enough to fall asleep, so I killed her."

"Did she hurt you?"

Thedric shook his head. "Not much. She was crazy. She kept talking about her mad goddess, Tel Mathir, and how she wanted to save me from myself, that I didn't have to be Emperor of the Five Kingdoms, like she wasn't the one who already told me I was going to be an emperor."

Wulfram nudged the crone's body with one foot. "Your sure she's dead?"

"I slit her throat, stabbed her in the heart, just like Belton taught me."

Killing did not disturb Wulfram, but hearing his young king speak of it so lightly unnerved him. "We should be away from here, Your Majesty. Nothing good comes from sleeping beside fallen foes."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"What?"

Thedric rose to his feet, pushed Wulfram aside, and yanked his knife from the crone's chest. "I'm the emperor, not you. No one shall command me from this day forward."

"I wasn't commanding you, merely-"

Before Wulfram could finish his sentence, Thedric had his knife pressed against the soft flesh below his ribs. Wulfram curbed his instincts to slash open the insolent boy's throat, but he couldn't help but focus his thauma around himself protectively.

"I dare you," Thedric whispered.

Wulfram willed himself to be patient with his young king. "You dare me to what? If I wanted to strike you, I would have done so. If I wanted to kill you, I-"

The sudden pain was staggering and Wulfram reeled back to fall onto the ground. The boy had gutted him, he thought at first, but when he clutched at his belly he felt no wetness, nothing. It was his thauma. Thedric had wrenched it away from him, just as the crone had, but with more ferocity.

"I watched her when she did it to you," Thedric said, smirking. "Maybe I can't change shapes like you, or control the wind and clouds like Belton, but I know how to stop sorcery now. No one will ever tell me what to do again. Not Belton, not you, not the sorcerers of the Old World, and certainly not the dreamwielders."

Wulfram could only groan. It was all he could do to drag himself up onto his knees without vomiting.

"Are we agreed, then?" Thedric asked. "Or shall you share the crone's fate?"

Wulfram inhaled deeply and calmed his quaking stomach. He looked up at his king. The boy was smiling, so self satisfied, so proud of himself. Just like his mother. There would be no hiding in a small village now, no living a simple life. The boy would have none of it.

"Well?" Thedric demanded.

Thedric could staunch his magic, Wulfram knew now, but he was still just a scrawny child with a knife. Wulfram could easily rush him and beat him senseless, throttle him, slash open his neck with his talons if he wanted to. He sensed that he would save the world much strife if he did so. The boy was too much like his mother. He stared at the boy for a long moment, trying to convince himself to spring forward, but he could not. If he killed Thedric, he would have no reason to live any longer. That was the truth of it.

Instead, Wulfram staggered to his feet and bowed before his king. "Your Majesty, as long as she lived, I never disobeyed your mother's orders, and so long as you and I shall live and breathe, so shall I follow yours."

Thedric smiled. "Rise then. We have an empire to make."

The End.