Leaping Wolf Read online

  Leaping Wolf

  JP Harker

  Published By JPH

  Copyright © James Thomas 2017

  Cover Art by Creative Covers

  Prologue

  Ierryn tramped down the Leviathan’s gangplank and wondered how he would adapt to a life without raiding. The boards beneath his feet were dry and solid and made barely a creak as the big man strode along them, trying his hardest not to limp. A Gaian sword had scored a long cut across his thigh at Nantwyn, and mere scratch though it was it still pained him to put weight through the limb. Ierryn grimaced and scolded himself for his whining. He had lived to see his island again hadn’t he? The chieftain took a deep breath and then sighed it out again, taking in the familiar smell of his home port as he did it; salty air, damp cloth, and the heavy aroma of raw fish. Trethoer was one of the largest towns on Niswyn, with a broad front of trade-houses and drinking halls before the scores of round houses began, dotting the green landscape beyond like so many stars at midnight.

  Ierryn stepped from the boards onto solid ground, whispered a quick thanks to Morannan for his safe return, then continued to mull as he walked. He’d been raiding the mainland since he was barely fourteen, and in thirty years he had made a fearsome name for himself. Ierryn the Black, High Chieftain of the Dariniae, was a name known and feared from the Breiryn in the south to the Gorvicae in the north, though the Caderyn in the centre were his most favoured target. He had no particular grudge against that tribe, but their coastline was close and thus the easiest to attack, and he had taken grain and tribute from them more times than he could count. Not that they were an option to him anymore.

  He took another deep breath as he walked along and unclasped the brooch that held his heavy cloak, tossing the garment to Fearghal who walked behind him. After Kyran, the First Man of the tribe, Fearghal was probably the best fighter Ierryn had, but he was a naturally humble man and didn’t mind carrying his chief’s cloak as well as his own. Like Ierryn he wore a Gadarim’s tattooed battle-marks along his arms and body, snaking up his neck onto his jaw. Any tribesman could paint his skin with such designs in simple woad of course, but only the elite Gadarim were permitted to make their marks permanent. Like Ierryn, Fearghal also bore the tiny scar below his eye, testament to their tribe’s unique rituals for their warriors. Unlike his chieftain however he was lean of build, and his long hair and beard were chestnut brown rather than black. Both men carried themselves with the easy grace of the skilled fighter, though neither one expected to find trouble today. But then, real trouble may soon be a thing of the past. Ierryn only half-believed that but it was a serious possibility nonetheless.

  The Dariniae, the Gorvicae and the Caderyn had formed an alliance of Lurian tribes against the aggression of the Gaians, something akin to a single tribe that had been called the Caledon. Ierryn was returning from a decisive battle with the legions which had forced their would-be-conquerors to agree to terms of peace. Most of his warriors he had left behind with Kyran to lick their wounds but Ierryn knew that Niswyn needed its chieftain back; to explain to them how their way of life was about to change forever. He did not look forward to it. Part of the agreement, bound in with Ierryn’s own word in sight of his brother Gadarim, had been for the Dariniae to cease their raids against the other tribes of the Caledon. The various headmen of the island would hardly greet such news with enthusiasm.

  Niswyn was fertile enough in places but there was not sufficient farmland to feed the whole population, or not easily anyway. It was by raiding the mainland tribes that the Dariniae kept their own tribe going, and the good news of the Gaians’ defeat would be tempered by resistance to the new alliance. Ierryn frowned to himself. He’d had his doubts about all this as well, but Reaghan the druid had convinced him of its wisdom, and the Wildcat had convinced him it could work. He scratched at his beard as he thought of her. Rhianwyn daughter of Carradan was the unofficial chieftain of both the Caderyn and the Caledon, and he had to give it to her, she would probably be good at it. She’d proved herself as a Lurian warrior but had spent time with the Gaians as well, and would understand them far better than most. A bit skinny for my taste but a fine woman nonetheless – best of fortune to her sorting all of this out.

  Ierryn strode on, ignoring his injured leg with an effort of will, and his frown deepened as he recognised the three figures walking towards him from the town. His nephew Caserach was striding at their head. Ierryn almost sighed. And best of fortune to me in sorting my own people out! He slowed his pace a little and the men around him did the same. He was clearly not going to be able to avoid talking to Heuryn’s son, and he made doubly sure that he wasn’t limping. It was always important to appear strong when speaking as High Chieftain, especially in front of potential malcontents like his nephew.

  Caserach was tall and strong with black hair and a trimmed beard, the very image of his father, and seeing his nephew sometimes made Ierryn regret that he’d had to kill him. Heuryn had tried fighting his brother for his position as High Chieftain, and Ierryn had reluctantly buried him for it. Caserach had accepted his father’s fate in public but had done so with poor grace, and his would doubtless be the first voice to object to their agreement with the Caledon.

  As he approached Ierryn once again resisted the urge to sigh aloud. This would not be easy. He would have to emphasise that there was no rule against raiding the Breiryn further south, or they might even take their ships around the Gorvicae coast and raid the Sarrac tribes of the Black Mountains. They were practically as foreign as the Gaians were and fought enough among themselves that they would be a challenging target. Plenty of Dariniae headmen would be glad to try their hands against them, simply to prove to one another that they could. Now we are at peace, we could even re-supply in Gorvicae ports along the way. Yes, that would have to be the first thing that he brought up when council was called; it would soften the blow of telling them that Caledon lands were now forbidden.

  He almost smiled to himself. Change was never easy and he’d felt old for most of the journey as he’d pondered all of this, but tonight he would call Tegian to his room and she would make him feel young again. Since the death of his wife Ierryn had taken three lovers so far, but Tegian had been the best of them and she alone had shared his bed for a year. I should probably do the decent thing and wed her soon before I get a bastard on her. She’s a good girl and she deserves a more decent reputation.

  Caserach and his companions stopped just in front of their chieftain and nodded their heads respectfully, Caserach more shallowly than the others. The one to his left was a lanky, hard-faced warrior named Idwal, while to his right stood Fearghal’s sister by law, Aerona. She was hardly a great beauty but had a nice, homely sort of face, with broad hips that had already brought forth at least four children for Fearghal’s brother. She stepped closer to the Gadarim and started talking to him, probably to complain about his brother again, and Ierryn didn’t listen too closely. Caserach was looking at his chieftain impatiently and Ierryn knew he would have to speak to him first, and that neither one of them would enjoy the conversation. But it had to be done and so he took a deep breath, ready to get in early with his argument.

  ‘Nephew,’

  But that was as far as he got. His instincts screamed out a heartbeat too late and he twisted on the spot just as the knife was thrust under his ribs. At first it felt like nothing more than a solid punch to his torso, but soon the burning pain began and he let out a coughing gasp. A group of men had slipped behind them with short daggers beneath their cloaks, and even as Ierryn turned he saw two of his guards struck down. They were Gadarim, the finest warriors that a Lurian tribe could make, but they were also unarmed and taken unawares, and iron plunged into flesh before any man could draw his sword. Fearghal was stag
gering with Aerona’s knife stuck in his side and Ierryn too found himself struggling to stay upright.

  Rage flooded through him and he grabbed his attacker by the throat, smashing his other fist through his face before the coward could stab again. Teeth cracked under the impact and blood dribbled to his chin, but Ierryn didn’t stay in place to pummel him. Instead he shuffled around him, his side burning horribly, and shoved him into his nearest comrade before turning to face a third. To their credit his Gadarim were not dying easily and were battering at their attackers with fists and heads, though the fight was lost, and Ierryn knew it. It was more than half a dozen knifemen against four wounded warriors, and brave though they were the Gadarim were as good as dead already.

  Ierryn grabbed another of the craven bastards and clamped his hands onto his head, bellowing in righteous fury as he drove a thumb into his eye. The man screamed and stabbed weakly at him but Ierryn knew that he was dying and he paid no heed to it. He would cross Annwn’s Bridge with his head held high, and no feeble wounds from cowards would slow him down. His thumb was wet up to the base before he let the wretch go and he was searching for another foe when more knives plunged into his back. Without even looking he knew that Caserach was behind him and he whirled around, his arms flailing out.

  His nephew dodged back quickly and he clipped Idwal’s jaw instead, and the tall man was knocked sideways. Ierryn tried to charge at Caserach but Idwal recovered too quickly for him, and he grabbed the chieftain by the hair, pulling him into another stab. Ierryn snarled and lunged for him, catching him by the flesh of his cheek and dragging him in close. Another stab almost took the fight from him but he clung on like a madman and the two men collapsed to the ground. Ierryn almost cried out in pain as his wounded body struck the hard earth but he was too angry to care about that and simply snarled as he sank his teeth into Idwal’s ear. The lanky man let out a yelp but he could do nothing to shake him off, and Ierryn ripped the ear free with a vicious jerk of his head, the metallic taste of blood almost sweet on his tongue.

  The something very hard struck the back of his skull. Then again. And again. Bright spots appeared in front of him and he lost his grip on Idwal. His enemy wriggled free, howling in pain, but Ierryn didn’t follow him. He couldn’t. His head and torso were a screaming mess of blood and pain, and try though he might he couldn’t focus his eyes. The best he managed was to roll over so that he was facing upwards, and for a moment he saw Belenos shining down from the clear blue sky. Then Caserach’s boot struck his head again, and Ierryn knew no more.

  Chapter 1. The New World

  It didn’t feel like autumn. The leaves were on the turn and the blackberries were ripe, but still Gawan couldn’t quite believe that summer was done. Belenos was blazing hot in the sky above, and the air around him felt thick and heavy. The Gorvic hadn’t needed his green cloak for days and even at the column’s easy pace he could feel himself sweating in the heat. He ran a hand through his hair and it came away wet, and he felt a little pang of sympathy for his mount. Gawan was not a man known for his sympathetic side but while he would happily belittle a man for griping about the heat, his attitude to the ponies was quite different. The beasts were not just walking out in the hot sun but were carrying big men on their backs as well, or heavy bundles of supplies or stolen weapons. The Second Battle of Nantwyn had yielded a great deal of Gaian equipment to the Caledon, and what gear hadn’t stayed at the hillfort was coming back with them to Bryngarth.

  Gawan reached for his waterskin and took a quick gulp. They shouldn’t be too far from the Caderyn’s capital by now and then both he and the horses could enjoy a rest from the road. Along the column in front of him he saw dozens of riders in a similarly overheated state, and a quick glance behind him showed several hundred more sweating bodies. Most were Caderyn fighters heading home after the battle, and despite their tribes’ alliance Gawan felt uncomfortably outnumbered. With their common enemy defeated, for now, keeping the Caledon together would be a challenge to say the least, and he was only half-convinced of the wisdom of it. The Caderyn had been his enemy long before the Gaians came, and were it not for the terrible battles he had seen recently he might have thought the fledgling Caledon had already outlived its usefulness. But he had seen those things, and so long as there was any chance of the Gaians coming back it made sense for old enemies to become partners, even if they could never be truly called friends.

  He was lost in his thoughts when Emeryn spoke beside him, and she had to repeat herself before she got a response.

  ‘Gawan?’

  He turned in his saddle.

  ‘Hmm?’

  Emeryn shook her head.

  ‘I’d swear sometimes that you can sleep standing up for all the attention you pay.’

  Gawan shrugged, not quite apologetic but acknowledging his rudeness at least. He had found himself growing fond of Emeryn, and she was one of the few people with whom he’d make an effort to be polite. She was the childless widow of a fellow Gorvic and though she was still young enough to bear sons, she had not re-married as yet. Why Emeryn had chosen Gawan as a lover was still something of a mystery to him, given that he was a grim-faced man almost a decade her senior, but for some reason she had. She was still waiting for him to answer but Gawan was enjoying looking at her. Like him she was dressed in plain tunic and breeches but somehow she managed to make herself appealing in them, being as well-shaped in her body as she was pretty in her face. To many men her looks alone would be enough to draw them to her, but Gawan knew from long experience that the world was full of pretty girls, and most of the ones he’d met had tried his patience. No, far more important than Emeryn’s looks, at least as far as Gawan was concerned, was the woman’s temperament. She had a mischievous nature that ought to have been at odds with Gawan’s stoic one, but somehow it managed to complement it instead. He kept looking at her. Her straight hair was shining blonde, a stark contrast to his own black tangles, and he wondered quietly if anything about them was actually the same. Well, we share maybe one or two interests…

  The First Man of the Gorvicae answered casually.

  ‘I was just thinking.’

  Emeryn looked cynical.

  ‘Well think on something useful; you’ve been this way before, how far do you think we have left to go?’

  Gawan thought of the other times that he’d been to Bryngarth, first as a prisoner, then as a victorious enemy, and finally as a reluctant ally. And what am I now? I am Gorvicae and Gadarim before all else but am I also Caledon now? He put the thought aside and scratched at his beard, considering.

  ‘Not far now, I’d say we should see the hill before dusk.’

  Bryngarth wasn’t actually that far away, but the country was all little hills and valleys and they were currently riding through one of the dips. For all the limited view ahead Gawan had to admit that the landscape was pleasant, though as usual he compared it unfavourably to the Gorvicae lands of the north. Up there the grass was more vibrant and the trees stood that much prouder, the air was clear and the mountains tall. Or perhaps that’s just your pride talking? Perhaps the Caderyn lands are just as fine as yours? Gawan’s lip twitched. He doubted it.

  Emeryn nodded her head.

  ‘So long as we’re there soon, my arse is killing me.’

  He’d never admit it but Gawan’s legs and rear were aching too, though probably not quite as badly. He was accustomed to this sort of thing. He’d spent much of his life riding far and wide in the company of Baercban, the last Gorvicae chieftain. Until you killed him that is. The thought was not a welcome one and he pushed it away and tried to think of something more pleasant.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll do nothing but lie there tonight?’

  Emeryn smiled a little.

  ‘And act like some clueless new-wed? Come now, some things are worth a little discomfort, provided you are up to the task of course?’

  Gawan almost smiled back. He was not a man prone to smiling but if anyone could bring it out in him,
it was Emeryn. He was aching plenty himself, less from the ride and more from the various blows he’d suffered in the battle, but his lover was right; some things were worth the discomfort.

  ‘Behave yourself and I’ll maybe show you later.’

  Emeryn winked at him.

  ‘How bored would you become if I behaved myself?’

  She took out her waterskin and drank, he suspected to draw attention to her mouth. He felt himself start to harden thinking of her and tried to put his mind somewhere else. It was never comfortable to ride in such a condition.

  He was still uncertain about the whole idea of the Caledon, but tried to comfort himself by thinking that the Caderyn at least had always been a decent enemy. Both the Gaians and the Dariniae had shown themselves to be untrustworthy but the Caderyn had always fought with pride and honour. He remembered the fight he’d had with them at Broken Stream, what was it... five, six years ago now? The two sides had battled fiercely and it had ended with a duel between the Gadarim, with Gawan son of Dearg fighting Madoc son of Derfel; the Leaping Wolf clashing swords with the Smiling Fox. It had been a fine fight, and Madoc had beaten him fairly and called an end to the battle.

  Gawan frowned a little. Madoc was dead now, as were most of those who’d fought that day, both Caderyn and Gorvicae. Many had died during the massacre at First Nantwyn, where Gorvic and Gaian had fought side by side thanks to the deal Baercban made with Lepidus. It wasn’t a memory Gawan treasured. Most of the rest had died at Second Nantwyn, when the Caledon had united against the Gaian shieldwalls. Gawan sighed. Victory or not it was a gloomy thought. He realised he’d not spoken for a while and looked back to Emeryn.

  ‘We shall have to make the most of a decent bed while we’re there. It should only be a few days before we head for home again.’

  The only reason Gawan was coming to Bryngarth at all was to take part in the Wildcat’s testing. He had named Rhianwyn to the Gadarim but the rules of the warrior elite meant she still had to be tested. Since a First Man had already named her certain allowances had been made, but the rituals of the Gadarim were sacred and the Caderyn’s future chieftain could be no exception. Emeryn nodded in agreement.