Run with the Wolves: Volume One: The Pack - Softcover

TOMBS, T C

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1462011330 ISBN 13: 9781462011339

Publisher: iUniverse, 2011

Synopsis

It is the fifteenth century, and three kingdoms are caught up in the dire conflicts of their time. As the possibility of a peaceful resolution provides hope that a decade-long war will finally end, no one realizes that dark forces are waiting to invoke chaos as a full moon rises. On a farm nestled beneath the Euralene Mountains along the western border of Medinia, young Willie works for the Smythes as a serf. One moonlit evening when the Smythes are gone to a neighbouring village, Willie hears the terrified cries of animals in the pastures. When he goes to investigate, he discovers that this wolf pack attack is like no other. Badly injured during the raid, he survives-but now he is afflicted by the full-moon madness that will soon transform him into one of the wolf creatures he dreads. With his life seemingly warped forever, Willie must face the prospect of a lifelong descent into horror. In a time of witchcraft, superstitious folk lore, and fearsome creatures roaming the night, Willie struggles with an uncertain destiny and must seek help from the one man he holds most responsible for the dark fate that awaits him during the next full moon cycle. "Beware of the full moon. This one is for all of the werewolf lovers" -Top Book Reviewers A well-written and addictive first novel. -Blue Ink Review A well-developed, tightly plotted fantasy; readers will want installments two and three. -Kirkus Reviews

About this title

From the Back Cover

Willie crashed through the darker woods in a wild panic, not knowing where he was going but only that he had to get as far away as quickly as possible. His heart was pounding so hard that he felt it was going to explode in his chest. His legs were cramping and his lungs burned. As yet another branch whipped across his face, the youth seemed to sense the danger rising up behind him.
Without turning to look, he stopped short, spun about, and swung his staff around and down as hard as he could, all in one desperate motion. The lone warg-wolf advancing behind him was just about to make its leap and pull down the fleeing prey. The fierce predator was already committed to its attack and could not avoid the fire-hardened head of the staff that crashed into its skull. The creature went down in a heap at the young serf's feet.
Dropping the bloody staff, Willie stood gasping for breath as he eyed the motionless creature, which could only have come from the gates of hell itself.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

RUN WITH THE WOLVES

Volume I `The Pack'By T c Tombs

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 T c Tombs
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-1133-9

Contents

Chapter 1. Attack of the Pack............................1Chapter 2. Captives of Varakov...........................21Chapter 3. Woodrow's Retreat.............................40Chapter 4. Lord Victor...................................64Chapter 5. The River Crossing............................89Chapter 6. The Feast.....................................113Chapter 7. One Last Guest................................137Chapter 8. Man and Wolf..................................155Chapter 9. Sanctuary.....................................180Chapter 10. The Great Forest..............................199Chapter 11. The Multinationals............................219Chapter 12. Port Lupus....................................236Chapter 13. Duties to the Kingdom.........................259Chapter 14. Courts and Cargoes............................283Chapter 15. Discussions...................................307Chapter 16. The Gathering of the Pack.....................336Chapter 17. The Transformation............................360

Chapter One

Attack of the Pack

There's no light quite like moon light There's no night quite like a full moon night There's no sight quite like the Pack's plight And there's no bite quite like a wolf's bite

July 23, 1461 Medinia

"Willie, c'mon out here!"

The barn doors opened and a tousle-haired youth appeared, still holding the pitchfork he'd been using to clean out the horse stalls. Willie was of average height, but strongly built for his age, which he didn't know exactly, although he did know he was at least sixteen and maybe seventeen. The most noticeable thing about his appearance was a pair of sparkling hazel eyes that showed a youthful intelligence. He gave a hopeful grin to the stocky man perched on the heavily laden wagon in front of him.

Jacob Smythe was a middle-aged freeman farmer whose land nestled beneath the Euralene Mountains along the western border of Medinia, and Willie was a serf who worked for the Smythes in return for his room and board and a small wage. He'd been abandoned at the nearby monastery when he was still a young child, and the small order of monks who raised him for a time had placed him with the Smythe family when he was about eleven years old.

The Smythes had taken on the responsibility of his care for an agreed-upon period of indentured service, and Willie had spent the last half dozen years learning the routines of farming and raising livestock. He'd been reared along with their children, and the Smythes treated him almost as one of the family. He was expected to work hard, although no harder than they did themselves.

"Help me tie off the wagon, Willie," the farmer directed.

The youth pulled the tarp tight over the baskets of strawberries and other produce and then carefully secured the ropes Jacob passed down to him.

"Are you sure I can't go with you, Mr. Smythe?" Willie asked, for the third time that morning.

The farmer gave him a rueful smile and another shake of the head. He understood the youth's anxious appeals. The summer market was a huge event in the distant village. There'd be stalls and corrals of prized animals, music and dancing in the evenings, and a host of food and festivities, all of which made it the place a young man dreamed of being after the labour of harvesting the spring and early summer crops.

Perhaps in late September, after the fruit trees were picked, he'd take him along to the Medinian army post for the fall market. Everything occurred in its season, and the fall festival would be an even bigger treat, especially if the caravans came down through the pass again this year. Not that this was a certainty. The fighting still brewed in the lengthy war over the fertile river valley that separated Medinia from Skoland, the neighbouring kingdom to the north.

The Kolenko River flowed down from its source in the Euralene Mountains, cut through the centre of the disputed valley, and then emptied into a long, narrow lake that surrounded a single small island. Some three miles later, the river resumed its course and continued to divide the valley separating the two kingdoms. From there it flowed on into the inhospitable wilderness to a distant inland sea.

Simple geography dictated that each kingdom ought to possess half the rich valley lands, since the Kolenko River and its lake formed a natural border between the two nations. Nevertheless, in Jacob Smythe's view, greed usually prevailed over common sense, and the result of that failing was that both kingdoms claimed ownership and control of the entire valley and its fertile soil. Over the years, some terrible wars had been fought between the two kingdoms, and the river lands had become known to many as the Valley of Blood.

King Renaud of Medinia was a determined ruler, and he'd waged three such wars with the equally intractable King Verdonk of Skoland during their coinciding reigns. The first war had been fought in the early years of their respective rules. It lasted for only a year, but there had been a great loss of lives on both sides, and neither side could claim a conclusive victory. The second war had broken out a few years after that, lasted for more than six terrible years, and was followed by another brief period of troubled peace before hostilities had broken out once more. The current war was now entering its fourth bloody year, with still no decisive victory for either side.

In all, there had been almost a decade of skirmishes, raids, and full-scale battles. Control of the valley had changed hands numerous times, and war had become a way of life, as had the loss of lives on both sides.

At long last, however, there was talk of a peace accord being negotiated, with possibly a royal marriage to seal it. The rumour circulated that the two feuding kings, now older and perhaps a little wiser, had concluded that the endless war was only depleting the treasuries of both kingdoms. Complete harvests were being lost, crops going unplanted or being burned to deny them to the enemy. The losses in manpower and the materials expended to fight the war were more than sole ownership of the river valley lands could compensate for. Gossip had it that the two rulers had begun a dialogue through their ambassadors. Peace was its ultimate goal, and the suggestion of a marriage between the two royal houses had already been broached.

Life on a farm near the mountains went largely untouched by these concerns, however, and Jacob Smythe was more than content to leave it that way. They had enough concerns of their own. The remote frontier farms had to fence in most of the foothill pastures where their livestock grazed and keep a vigilant watch. The farmers were ever leery of the forest and mountains, and with good reason. The mountains were home to numerous predators. Bears, wild boars, mountain lions, and fierce wolf packs were a real concern, more so than the war. There were other strange creatures up there, as well. Or so it was said. Many a child living in the westernmost regions of both Medinia and Skoland had trouble going to sleep at night after hearing tales of mountain ogres and various other demons recounted around the family hearth.

Climbing down from the first wagon, Jacob waited while Willie tied off the second. The farmer thought back to the old stories he'd heard as a child and repeated to his own children in turn. The tales were especially effective on nights the mountain wolf packs serenaded the sky with their eerie and mournful voices.

Like their farming neighbours in Medinia and similar farms in Skoland, the Smythes found it prudent to bring their herds down to the lower pastures, nearer the farmhouses, before nightfall. Even with this precaution, there were still losses in the herds and flocks over the course of a year. That was to be expected. It was wild country, after all.

To be sure, the four-legged predators coming down from the mountains and woods accounted for some of the loss, but two-legged thieves added their share to the total. There were occasional raids by the enemy troops across the river and even some poaching by their own soldiers, although that was difficult to prove. In any event, the farmers in the western frontier of both kingdoms were kept busy just trying to protect their livelihoods.

"Sorry, Willie, but you really can't come this time," Jacob repeated patiently. "I need you to stay behind and keep watch over the place for a few days. Someone's got to take the dogs and bring in the sheep and cattle before dark. There are a lot of chores to do too. The haying is all done, but I still need you to chop up that pile of logs we cut so we'll have firewood for the winter. It needs to dry out through the fall, so it's best to get a head start on it now."

The usual sparkle had left Willie's eyes. The farmer ruffled the youth's sandy hair and gave him another apologetic smile. He climbed into the driver's seat, beside his wife and their young daughter.

"Maybe you can go to the outpost in the fall, Willie," Mrs. Smythe called back as the wagon pulled out.

The second wagon followed a moment later. Their tall and gawky redheaded son, Adam, turned and waved a regretful farewell as he drove away. The two youths were about the same age and were friends despite their difference in station. Earlier, Adam had done his best to convince his father to allow Willie to come along, but Jacob had his mind set. Someone must remain behind and tend to the farmstead.

The disappointed young serf watched the procession until it passed out of sight down the dirt road that led to the closest village, some ten miles away. He took some solace in the hope of going to the fall market at the army post. If the caravan came again this year, he knew there'd be wonders that none of them had ever seen before.

At his side, as nearly always, his two faithful friends, Sirius and Rigel, also watched the departing wagons. He'd raised the two large herd dogs since they were pups. One, he'd named after the brightest star in the heavens, Sirius, in the Canis Major constellation. It was known as the Dog Star, which he'd found appropriate. The fearless Rigel was named after another star of the first magnitude, located nearby in the Astron constellation, which was also home to mighty Orion the hunter, who, legend had it, had been placed in the night sky upon his death.

Willie had little formal education, but he was fascinated by the stars of the night sky and had learned their names and positions from the scholarly monks. Before placing him with the Smythes, the monks had done their best to raise and educate the child who'd been left in their care and they passed on what knowledge they could to the growing boy.

The monks regretted the abbot's ruling when it had been decided that the boy was old enough to earn his own keep and to learn a vocation. He had an inquiring mind, and several of the monks were sure it could have been developed further, perhaps even leading to service in the Church. Unfortunately, the monastery hadn't the means to fund such a vocation, and their charity went only so far.

So now, while Willie slept in the loft of the barn and worked the Smythe farm from dawn until dusk, he would still often venture out after dark to look into the night sky. He'd usually lie on his back on the crest of one of the foothills, with his two four-legged companions resting beside him.

On cloudless nights, the stars put on a spectacular show as they hung over the mountain peaks with brilliant clarity. It was truly wondrous to see a shooting star or follow a rare comet as it streaked across the heavens. It made Willie feel small and insignificant whenever he looked up at the looming mountain range, and he felt smaller still when he considered the immensity of the universe, with its uncountable star clusters, yet he felt connected to it all somehow, as if a part of some grand scheme.

If truth be told, despite the gratitude Willie felt towards the monks for taking care of him and for what they'd taught him, he did not truly aspire to become one of their order. His dreams ventured more towards the excitement and chivalry of Medinian knighthood, even though he knew full well that was impossible goal for someone of his lowly position.

"All right, you two," he said to the dogs, "I've got chores to do. Maybe they'll let me go to the post in the fall. If the caravan comes again, it'll be way more fun anyway."

Willie set about chopping and stacking the wood alongside the barn. As the afternoon wore on, he worked up a good sweat. Despite hands well callused from his daily labours, he had a sizable blister on his left hand to show for his efforts. It didn't slow his work pace, however.

Rigel heard them first, and a warning growl sounded deep in his throat. Sirius pricked up his ears and then he too growled. Willie took a last swing with the axe and left it imbedded in a log, and then he turned and watched as a growing cloud of dust signalled the approach of riders from the south. Moments later, he could hear the distant but definite sound of horse's hooves pounding over the ground.

Some five minutes later, a troop of Medinian knights crested the hill below the farmhouse. They rode up the dirt lane, scattering the chickens and geese milling about. The knights reined their steeds to a halt where young Willie and his two herd dogs waited outside the barn.

"Where's the master of the house, lad?" the captain of the troop demanded from the back of his snorting destrier.

Willie stood, frozen in awe of both the knights and their giant steeds. The war-horses bore almost as much protective mail and armour as their masters did. The knights wore pure white cloaks over their habergeon coats of mail with the royal blue heraldic chevrons of Medinia embroidered on the back. They carried every kind of weapon, including long lances, sheathed broadswords, and boot knives. Some carried longbows across their backs. A few had deadly looking crossbows strapped to their saddles.

Willie managed to stammer out an answer. "The Smythes left this morning ... for the market in the village, sire."

"I'm not your sire, son. I'm just a hardworking knight of the realm. We've been on the ride for two days and nights now. My men need food and drink, and our steeds need oats and water. They could use a good brushing down, too." The captain swung down from his horse and ordered his knights to round up what they needed to care for their mounts.

"We're on our way back to the river post," he explained. "Tell your master when he gets back that there's been a pack of wolves attacking the herds and flocks to the south of here, all along the foothills. Judging by the remains they left behind, I'd say they were a large pack, too, but I'll be damned if we could find them. We tracked them into what looked like a blind canyon near here, but we lost their trail in the damned rocks."

The knight stretched hugely to loosen the kinks in his neck and back. "Give me a good battle with enemy troops anytime," he said, sighing.

"Is there any beer or cider, lad?" the captain suggested. "And maybe you could provide a meal for us, too. Your master will be recompensed of course ... in due time."

"There's food and drink in the house, Sir Knight, and more down in the cellar below the barn. Can I fetch some for you?"

"I'll find it, lad. This nose may be packed with trail dust, but it can still smell out good strong ale. You go to the cellar in the barn and tend to my men." The captain strode off, somewhat stiffly, towards the farmhouse.

It was common practice for the frontier farms to supply passing knights with food and drink when requested. Still, Willie was reluctant to let the captain have the run of the Smythe home in their absence. He suspected that Mrs. Smythe would be aghast when she returned.

Willie was in charge of the farm during the Smythes' absence, but what could he do? He lacked any real authority. He was a peasant serf. The Medinian knights were the brave defenders of the realm. Who was he to challenge their captain?

Then, too, the knights represented all that a lad his age could aspire to. They were the stuff of legends. They were valiant and fearless heroes who were trained in swordsmanship and carried an array of other weaponry. They rode large and fierce war-horses that cost more than he could ever possibly afford. To achieve a knighthood was as far beyond his reach as the stars in the night sky. Still, a young man could dream, couldn't he?

Willie put the dogs in the barn to keep them away from the warhorses, which he and the knights led into the farm animals' enclosure to feed and water. It was best that the dogs were kept out from underfoot; if they got in the way, they were apt to get kicked by either a temperamental mount or by a dusty, surly knight.

The Medinian troop kept Willie busy for the next few hours while he helped care for their horses and their personal needs. They quickly consumed the food and drink that he brought them from the cold storage cellar beneath the barn, and then looked for a place to rest before the last segment of their patrol took them back to the outpost.

The knights were content to laze away part of the hot afternoon lying in the shade by the barn while they watched Willie do the hard work. After all, tending to such trivial details was the work of grooms and serfs; their job was to defend the realm. Their only concern seemed to be that their swords and crossbows were kept close at hand even when they rested. It was said of the king's knights that they even slept with one eye open so as not to be taken by surprise.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from RUN WITH THE WOLVESby T c Tombs Copyright © 2011 by T c Tombs. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2011
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1462011330
• ISBN 13: 9781462011339
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 410