The Wolf King (41 page)

And in this final and seemingly everlasting darkness and bitter cold, only the hunters could live, and the other quasi-humans fell away, dying of hunger when the cold stripped the trees bare of fruit, flowers, then leaves. When drought scoured jungles into deserts and the wide plains were scorched tinder, dried by the unending heat in the tropical latitudes and then burned when heat lightning lanced down from skies darkened by thick dust. And rain never fell.

The rain, the fecund water of the skies, never fell, and the things, being not yet savage enough to kill, died. They had taken another path than the hunters, a more gentle, seemingly wiser road than Matrona’s people, but it led only into an eternal night.

Only the hunters, masters of fire and wooden spears, survived. They could triumph, feed on the corpses left by the carnage and chaos, and so survive. The weak, the loving, the kind, the compassionate, the beautiful, and the intelligent served the hunters who mimicked the ways of wolves and dire wolves, or they died.

And the world held its breath and waited for the sun to return.

And Matrona’s people strode through the vast desolation and brought humanity to birth and, for a time, humanity cowered in the shadow of their strength. Matrona’s people took fire from their hands and it shone as cold, put an end almost even to them.

This Maeniel the wolf understood in a twinkling. As he lunged toward Matrona for the kill.

Matrona threw back her head, white teeth gleaming, and laughed. Laughed as, too late, Maeniel realized he’d flown free of the world of humanity and was flung, following Matrona, into another.

The sounds of combat were growing louder and louder. Lucilla, still facing Adalgisus, bared her teeth at him. “Sounds as if Ansgar or his son might have arrived.”

“His son?” Adalgisus asked.

“Yes,” Lucilla whispered. “He was present when you took Stella away. She was afraid for him.”

“My son?” Stella whispered. “Oh, Lucilla, do you think it could be my son?”

Adalgisus made a lunge toward Stella.

Lucilla lifted the club in her hand above her head. “Touch her, go ahead, touch her,” she screamed. “I’ll kill you.”

Adalgisus backed away toward the door.

Just then Dagobert appeared at the door. He took one look at what was left of Eberhardt and spoke to Adalgisus. “Come. It wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter. How could they get in so easily?” He seemed both distraught and bewildered. And, indeed, he was outlined against the scarlet glow of a fire.

Lucilla heard a long, agonized, animal scream.

Dagobert glanced back in terror. “They are killing them, killing them and burning the church.”

Lucilla heard the explosive sound of glass breaking.

“If we don’t leave now, we will be next. I can’t understand it. The Lombard king is Ludolf’s overlord. How could he dare slaughter the king’s soldiers?”

“Possibly kidnapping his mother had something to do with it,” Lucilla suggested with an ugly laugh.

Adalgisus made another move toward Stella. Lucilla let out a yell of fury.

“Are you insane?” Dagobert shouted. “Look at what’s left of Eberhardt and what she’s already done to you. We must go and go now. Ansgar’s son is in a killing mood. How do you think he’ll behave when he finds his mother in the condition she’s in?”

“Whose fault is that?” Adalgisus screeched. “You hit her. I didn’t tell you to hit her.”

The firelight was very bright now, the garden was filling with smoke. Lucilla lowered her weapon.

“That’s it, go on arguing. Keep it up until Ludolf finds you. Both of you listen. I’ll come with you without a fight if you leave Stella here and do her no further harm, but we must leave at once, hear me? At once. Adalgisus, your father will be furious if you don’t salvage something from this disaster, and I will be the something, but you go and leave poor Stella alone.”

Lucilla dropped the oak butt she’d used as a weapon and moved toward the door. Adalgisus seized her by the arm and they fled. More glass broke as they ran through the garden. Lucilla looked at the church. Fire had seized the beams supporting the apse above the altar and the whole bell tower was involved. Sounds from the rest of the cathedral indicated that some of Dagobert’s men had been sober enough to make a stand, but they were losing. More and more Lucilla heard cries for mercy and the screaming of those being slaughtered.

Flames were spreading quickly across the stable’s thatched roof when Lucilla and the two men reached it. Lucilla knew they had no time to spare. Still, she had to do their thinking for them. They remained addled by drink, but she managed to get three horses saddled, then snatched up their bridles and led them to a door at the back. The stable was filling with smoke.

Lucilla grabbed Adalgisus’s arm. “Up. Up. Mount up!” she commanded.

He was shaking all over. “How… How do you know they’re not waiting for us out there?”

“They probably are,” Lucilla snapped. “But you go first anyway. You, Dagobert, bring up the rear.”

Obediently he mounted behind her.

God,
she thought as she slipped into her own saddle. The smoke was so thick she could barely breathe. She dropped her head down near the horse’s neck, trying for clearer air. It was very dark inside the shed but behind her she saw Dagobert reeling in his saddle. He was still half drunk, too drunk to protect himself from the thick, choking smoke.

“Good,” she whispered to herself. “Good.”

She sidled her horse toward the door. Then one solid, hard kick from her riding boot opened it. And what Lucilla thought might happen, did. The stable became a tunnel of flame as icy air from the outside roared through the open door. The horse Adalgisus was riding shot through like a loosed crossbow bolt. Her own mount bucked, but Lucilla knew that to be thrown was death. She let go of the reins and clung to the pommel like a burr, and when the beast’s hind legs hit the ground he took off at the same pace Adalgisus’s had.

Then the air flow reversed itself and the back draft caught Dagobert. Both horse and man screamed in terror as the fire played on their backs. Her own horse was dug in, his back hooves lunging forward on a wild runaway. Her head was near and to one side of the horse’s neck.

Dagobert’s head slammed into the lintel of the stable door. His skull didn’t so much fracture as disintegrate. Lucilla saw him die. She saw his head split; even the jawbone was torn away by the impact. Then what was left fell, landing in a blazing heap near the doorway. His horse, saddle empty, dashed past her, and Lucilla, a fine horsewoman, caught the bridle and gathered the reins into her hands and led him behind her. Then they were beyond the trees surrounding the monastery and riding through pastureland. Adalgisus looked back, saw Lucilla at a gallop behind him leading the other horse. Lucilla shook her head and then Adalgisus spurred his mount to the best speed possible out across the open countryside and away.

Once alone, Stella lay quietly on Lucilla’s discarded mantle, listening to the dying sounds of carnage in the church. She was numb, the pain oozing away slowly in the silence. She was so frightened that she didn’t feel fear any longer. Suddenly Ludolf was bending over her.

“Mother,” Ludolf said, touching her face.

“Oh, my dear.” She caught his hand. Dulcinia glanced around the room. “It’s a pigsty,” Stella whispered. “Cold, empty, without even a lock on the door. We were offered no comfort at all.”

Ludolf nodded and tried to gather Stella into his arms. She made the most dreadful sound that either of them had ever heard.

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Stella whispered. “Don’t, don’t touch me. Please, please, just give me a few moments. I’m sure I’ll be better, but please don’t touch me now.”

Dulcinia went down on one knee beside Stella. She pulled off her own veil and made a pillow and slid it under Stella’s head. Stella was still curled on the stone floor. Then Ludolf covered her with his mantle.

Dulcinia explored Stella’s abdomen very gently with her fingers. It was swollen tight and hard.

“Lucilla?” she asked softly.

“Lucilla made them go with her, thank God,” Stella whispered. “I was afraid—afraid they would touch me again. They wanted to take me with them. I’m sorry, my son. When I move, I’m in so much pain. Please, give me some time to get myself together.”

Stella smiled the shadow of a smile. “I’m sure in a little while I’ll be able to ride.”

Ludolf stroked her hair. “Yes, Mother. Take all the time you need. I’m in command here. You’re perfectly safe. Now, what happened?”

Stella looked distressed. “Adalgisus came. My fault, I wrote him. He wanted Lucilla but took me hostage, too. What he planned I don’t know. Don’t know even if he had a plan— so many of these warriors are so drunken and foolish…”

Stella closed her eyes. She seemed weary.

Dulcinia had never seen a more terrible look than the one Ludolf had on his face. He was cradling his mother’s head and shoulders in his arms, trying to keep her from the cold floor. A moment later Stella opened her eyes again.

“In the night, they came in the night—”

“Who, Mother?” Ludolf whispered.

“Adalgisus, Eberhardt, and Dagobert…” Stella seemed in very deep distress.

“Don’t bother to say it, Mother,” Ludolf whispered. “I know what they wanted. Don’t distress yourself by saying it.”

“They called us whores—”

To Dulcinia the pain in Stella’s voice was simply inconceivable. She whispered, “No,” and turned away. Her hand was on Ludolf’s arm. She felt him flinch slightly as her fingers bit into his flesh. They were both kneeling by Stella.

“Lucilla said not to fight. I was too small, they’d hurt me. But I fought. You will tell your father I fought, won’t you? Please? Tell him I fought. Love you… my son.”

The last words were spoken so softly they were almost not even a whisper, only a breath. And they were the last words Stella ever said.

Dulcinia still had the opium and valerian Lucilla had given her. She mixed them in some good wine, then warmed it. Stella was able to take a small amount of the medicine, and after that she seemed to find some physical comfort. Ludolf and Dulcinia were able to move her gently to one of the bed platforms, suitably padded with feather ticks and blankets looted from Dagobert’s stores. In fact, Ludolf received so many bed coverings he had, in the end, to turn them away.

Stella had been deeply loved and not only by her husband and son. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body and she had done thousands of kind deeds among her husband’s people. Had Ludolf not restrained his men, they would have put every living soul in the monastery to the sword, but he behaved with almost superhuman restraint. Of the culprits, Dagobert was already dead. He was identified by his jewelry and weapons near the stable door. The prior who tried to block the entrance to the monastery Ludolf’s men hanged without bothering to ask permission. As for Eberhardt, Lucilla had left him badly wounded. Someone, persons unknown, cut his throat before he was identified. Apparently this was done simply as a necessary housekeeping chore after they finished off the wounded in the church.

The church burned brightly, vigorously, with a roaring blaze that rapidly spread to the all the other buildings except the guest house. The monks, seeing the prior’s fate, fled. No one came to make even an attempt to save the buildings. Ludolf’s men did only enough to ensure they were able to remove any and all objects having the slightest value. Once the place was thoroughly looted, the fire was guided or cheered on by the very vengeful company for whom it had some entertainment value.

Dulcinia stood in the doorway with Ludolf and watched the place burn.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I have sent for my father. I hope he comes soon. She hasn’t long.”

“What now?”

“We will want you to speak to the pope for us, and Rufus. Neither my father nor I is a turncoat, but we can no longer maintain our allegiance to the Lombard king. He has insulted us too egregiously, injured us too deeply; moreover, if I get my hands on Adalgisus, I’ll kill him. There is no going back now.”

Ansgar rode in near dawn. Stella never spoke again but she seemed to smile when she saw him. She died not long after he arrived—in her husband’s arms.

The bear dropped back, cursing Hugo’s feckless abuse of his body. It was not nearly as strong as the bear wanted it to be. He was faced with complicated logistical problems. If he fought as a human, he faced getting Hugo’s body killed. If he fought as a bear, he was in a much superior position, but even he couldn’t destroy six men and three dogs. And one way or another, Hugo’s body would die anyway.

They were coming and getting closer. He took Armine aside. “They are too many, even for me.”

“If worse comes to worst, abandon the rest of us and take Chiara. I trust you more than those fools.” Armine indicated the two men escorting him.

Considering what Armine knew about him, the bear decided this was a high compliment. Just then they topped a rise and the bear saw that they would descend into another of the small river valleys that threaded through the countryside. The mist still clung to the swampy ground and covered the water. The sun was up around them and shining brightly on the hilltops, but it had to yet to penetrate the sometimes deep water-cut passages between them.

“I’m going to try an ambush down there.” He gestured toward the mist. “If necessary, I’ll spend this carcass I’m wearing. I can fight on even if it is ostensibly killed. And after that there are other things I can do.”

The bear gave another one of those hollow laughs he was so fond of, one of the blood-chilling kind.

“Stop that,” Armine said. “Save it for our pursuers. I am sufficiently frightened of you.”

The bear laughed again, this time sounding more human. Chiara dropped back to join them.

“We’re being followed, aren’t we?” She sounded frightened.

“Yes,” her father said.

“You were discussing what to do about it, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Well, tell me something,” she shouted. “I can see by the expression on your faces it’s bad, isn’t it? Are we going to die?”