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The Black Dog and the Grey Wolf

Or, The Further Adventures of Samuel and Alison

By Valentina Jett

(originally published in serial form in Witch Weekly magazine, reprinted with permission)

xXxXx

Part Seven: The Wolf’s Mate

Caudalis sucked air between his teeth. "Have a care, Mistress," he hissed, digging the shard painfully into Henry’s neck. "Perhaps I can’t kill him, but I can hurt."

xXxXx

"Truer words were never spoken," said Mary Mustela, a fierce look in her eye.

Caudalis shrieked aloud in pain, and his grip on Henry’s arm loosened. Henry tore himself free and landed a fist in the pit of the man’s stomach. Gwen Mustela rose up, wraithlike, from between the tables as Caudalis doubled over, and Margaret heard the metallic jingle of a blade being dropped.

She only feigned to swoon, to get to a place where she could help Henry—

Gwen and Henry clasped their hands together and brought them down on the back of Caudalis’ head, then released one another and tumbled away, Gwen over the nearest table, Henry under it.

The other children, released from their bonds by Henry’s loosing, were already swarming forward, shrill shouts and angry yells filling the hall—Caudalis had disappeared under the tide of bodies—

Henry rose up from the other side of the table and whistled loudly, silencing everyone. He looked pale, and a graze on his neck trickled blood, but otherwise he seemed well and whole. "Sir," he said to John, nodding. "Captain." A two-fingered salute to Samuel. "Orders?"

"Alex, Carl, hold him," said Samuel, taking control of the situation from his seat, likely because his knees would collapse if he tried to stand, as Margaret could feel her own would. "Lance, fetch rope. We’ll take no more chances."

"All heed Guinevere," Alison interjected, "for a quick mind and a quick body."

The Wolf’s Pack drummed on the tables for Gwen, who flushed at first, but then smiled proudly at her mother and father. "And all heed Henry," she called out, "for not looking down to give me away."

The drumming increased in volume.

"I say," said Morta, rising, "all heed our wise young ones, who trusted one another and waited for the right moment to strike!"

Pounding and whoops of joy greeted this.

Margaret laughed shakily. "Is it often so lively here, Uncle?" she asked.

"Lively, yes, but never quite in this way," Lord Albert confessed. "But that is why I come to the Wolf’s Den. Each visit is unique."

Margaret watched Lance reenter with a coil of rope, tossing it to one of his brothers, who began to bind the unconscious Caudalis. "I doubt any will top this one," she said.

"I doubt any will come after this one," said John, leaning over to join their conversation. "Once Samuel’s name is cleared, he’s sworn to use the Niger fortune to make good our debts. We will have no further need of outlawry."

"Unless, of course," Morta added, "Samuel should default on his promise." Her eyes rested speculatively on the pirate Captain.

"Who, I?" Samuel pointed to himself, a picture of innocence. "Not I, m’lady. I value my life and my health too much for that. Not to speak of my…generative qualities."

"Really, Samuel!" Alison slapped him on the back of the head. "As if I would let harm come to any part of you, especially that."

"Let harm come to me, I have no doubt that you would not," Samuel replied. "Cause harm to me, of your own accord…"

Alison sniffed. "Only if you fully deserved it," she said.

At this inopportune moment, motion from across the hall caught Margaret’s eye.

Her cousin Septimus stood in the doorway, looking in sourly at the raucous scene before him.

"Pardon me," Margaret said hastily, and rose to hurry across the hall. "What is the matter?" she asked, stepping into the corridor with him. "What brings you here?"

"A troop of King’s Men en route to this place."

"What?"

"I have just come down from the palisade." Septimus scowled. "Apparently they think enough of their fine fortress that they do not even bother to post sentries."

"On normal nights, they do," said Lord Albert from behind Margaret. "But this was a very special feast, to celebrate their prospective return to society. A return which is now, apparently, threatened. You are sure it is the King’s Men and not the regular army?"

"I saw their device, Uncle. I am sure."

"Why bring warning?" Margaret asked, looking closely at her cousin. "I know your feelings towards these. Why did you not merely stay where you were, then claim protection as one abducted by the outlaws?"

"The King’s Men, cousin," Septimus reminded her. "They are not known for their wisdom in treating those they find at the scene, and I have no desire to discover what an arrow in my throat feels like."

Margaret swallowed. "Indeed." As she now recalled, the King’s Men had been the ones who had seized Samuel Niger and shipped him away to Kabaz, claiming there was no doubt of his guilt. Will they treat us the same way? And these children—

She turned to look at the group, laughing and jubilant, so unaware of the doom riding up the valley to destroy their lives, and resolve rose in her heart.

No. They will not have the children. I will not allow it.

"There are plans in place for precisely this," Lord Albert said calmly. "The Wolf has always known that one day his Den might be discovered. The adults will escape or remain as their hearts dictate. The children will come to us. With us, more precisely, since by fortunate chance we are here tonight."

"And how do you propose to transport them, Uncle?" Septimus asked, glaring towards the knot of laughter to one side. "Surely you do not suggest that we walk back to Mellis?"

"I shall explain all that after we have informed John and Samuel of this unfortunate development." Lord Albert turned and started back across the hall.

"I hope this is not our doing," Margaret said worriedly. "If our carriage was followed..."

"There would not have been a full troop of the King’s Men merely lurking about the highway for no purpose but to watch for the Grey Wolf," said Septimus acidly. Then his face grew reflective. "Or would there? The King has been more and more adamant about catching him of late. And if there was suspicion that by catching him, one would also catch the Black Dog..."

The named gentleman was rising to his feet, his face uncharacteristically somber. "Silence!" he bellowed in what Alison had described over dinner as his storm-at-sea voice. It cut through the noisy banquet hall just as effectively.

"Thank you," Samuel said as the children slowly climbed off one another and seated themselves again. "I am afraid I have only bad news to give you, friends. We have little time. The King’s Men approach." He held up a hand to stem the gasps and babble which ensued. "Anyone not yet seventeen will travel with Lord Albert and Lady Margaret to Mellis Castle. For the rest of you—I cannot command, but I hope that you will flee. There is no reason for you to stay and face death."

"Are you suggesting we abandon you?" Carl Mustela asked hotly, rising at his place. "Run from the King’s Men like hunted animals?"

"The King’s Men shoot first and ask questions later," Anne Portop countered, fixing the young man with a matriarch’s glare. "You’ll be little comfort to that girl of yours with an arrow through your heart."

"I’d hardly have him if he didn’t want to fight," Lady Theodora countered, lifting her chin. "What sort of man would run from a battle?"

"The sort who is wiser than his years," said John in a quiet voice, but one which nonetheless stilled the talk which was rising again. "The sort who would let wisdom override folly. Friends, I ask you by all that has passed between us to leave this place now, while there is still time. Fighting would achieve us nothing but harsher sentences for killing men who were doing their duty to the kingdom."

"But if they find the Den abandoned, they will search the woods," said Boris Cuorben, one arm around his daughter Selene. "They will surely find some of us."

"Not if the prize they seek is already within their grasp," John said.

"No!" cried Morta, just as Margaret understood. "John, you cannot!"

John embraced his wife gently. "My love, I must."

"You will not stay alone," Samuel said harshly.

"You, they would kill on sight," John retorted. "Until your name is restored, you are not safe. They will have no reason to kill me."

"No reason but that they like killing, fool," said Alison, catching John by the shoulders and shaking him ungently. "No reason but that they will be angry, to find only one man alone in this fortress. And a live man could tell tales of them to the guards at the palace, tales of the sport they will have with you."

"To what end?" John gave a brittle laugh. "Who heeds a prisoner’s words?"

"Why take the chance?" Alison released John. "Better to kill you and be sure you will never speak."

John shook his head. "We are wasting time. Hurry, friends, to your rooms. Pack what you will need. Lance, run to the treasury, take everything you can. Share it carefully, it will have to last."

"Father, Alex, help me," Lance called as he ran out the door. "Quickly!"

The hall emptied swiftly, Samuel and Alison among the last to leave. John sat alone at his table, Lord Albert some distance away, watching him. Margaret and Septimus stayed where they were.

"Sir!" Henry ran back into the room, a dagger hanging openly at his belt, and knelt in front of John. "Sir, let us stay with you. Myself and Rich and Daniel, perhaps Dominic and Lia and Gwen as well. Even Lene and Pearl could help. The King’s Men would never shoot at children."

"If those children fight back, they will." John leaned down and raised Henry to his feet. "Your courage shows your true heart, Henry. But you will go with the rest."

"No!" Henry gripped the handle of his dagger. "Sir, you let us swear the oath when we were ten years of age—we swore to protect one another, to fight!"

"You swore first," John said, looking the boy in the eye, "to obey."

Henry slumped. "I don’t want to leave you," he said almost inaudibly. "They’ll kill you."  

"They will not," said Morta, entering the hall by another door.

"How can you know?" Henry challenged her.

"I know." Morta’s two-word statement had all the majesty of a pronouncement from God. "Now go and pack your things. It is not fair to leave your brothers in arms with all the work."

Henry scowled, but turned and ran from the hall.

"How can you know so surely?" John asked, turning to face Morta. "I know some people claim you are a witch, but your only magic is that which keeps my heart enthralled. You have no cantrips which can turn arrows."

"Oh, but I do." Morta brushed at her skirt. "Do you really think that even the King’s Men would shoot a defenseless woman?"

John laughed shortly. "You, my dear, are hardly defenseless."

"But I will be. I will be terrified and vapid. I will cling to you and weep, and you will comfort me and show your hands empty of weapons in the process."

John caught her hands in a fierce grip. "And they will take us both prisoner, and have sport with you to torment me. No."

"With the woods full of our friends?" Morta scoffed. "They will wish to hurry away from here, and the castle is near enough that their stopping along the way would be questioned. They will take us both prisoner, yes, but they will bring us safely into custody."

John drew her close and held her. "I have no wish to see you in a dungeon cell," he said, his voice rough. "Or facing the same charges I must answer for."

"And I have no wish to see you alone in such an ordeal," Morta replied, drawing back enough that she could look up into his face. "I spoke the words ‘for better or for worse’, John, and I meant them with all my heart. We have had our better. Now we shall face our worse. Together."

John heaved a sigh. "Can I stop you?" he asked without much hope in his tone.

Morta merely raised an eyebrow.

"When have you ever stopped her?" Lord Albert asked quietly. "I think her plan has merit. The King’s Men may be ruthless, but they are not heartless. And they will be far less inclined towards revenge if none of them have been killed or injured."

"Perhaps." John crushed Morta to him. "But that does not stop my fears."

"Nothing will stop your fears," Morta said, holding her husband as tightly as he held her. "Your fear is what has kept us alive for these twelve years. But it is time to set fear aside and act bravely."

"Courage is easy for oneself," John countered. "It is well nigh impossible to feel when one you love is in danger."

"But I will do this, nonetheless," said Morta firmly. "Because I love you, and I will not see you suffer alone."

Patrick and Mary Mustela appeared in a far door, Mary carefully fixing the straps of her husband’s pack, and the conversation ceased as Morta hurried to help her friend. John watched her go, worry naked on his face.

"I would not try any tricks, if I were you," Lord Albert said blandly. "She will only be furious with you, and all the more determined to remain."

"I cannot let her take this risk!" John’s hands tightened into fists. "If they decide to take out their fighting blood on her—"

"You cannot stop her," Margaret said, moving into the room so that John could see her. "You said as much yourself. And she knows the risks, and takes them gladly for you. As you would for her. Do you credit her with less heart or spirit than yourself?"

"No." The word seemed wrung from John. "But I would die rather than see harm come to her—"

"And so would she for you," said Lord Albert reprovingly. "You have been her protector for many long years. Do not rob her of her chance to protect you for once."

"Do you know what you are asking of me?" John demanded. "Do you?"

Lord Albert met his gaze unflinchingly. "Yes," he said calmly. "I do."

The rest of the Wolf’s Pack had been returning to the hall as the two men spoke, and now Anne Portop hurried in, Dominic by her side, carrying her bag and his own. They embraced quickly, then the boy gave his grandmother her belongings and went to stand with his friends.

John lifted his head and smiled, with an effort, on the people who had been his friends and his companions. "I thank you all for everything you have given me," he said. "I will miss you."

"And we, you," said Patrick clearly as the rest of the group murmured in agreement. "Be safe, John. Morta."

"As safe as we can," Morta answered, her smile not untouched with irony. "Go quickly. They will see you otherwise."

Samuel, Patrick, Alex, and Carl knelt and pulled at a hatch in the floor that Margaret had not seen before. A trapdoor swung open with only the slightest of creaks and was laid gently flat on its other side. On the other side of the room, Gideon, Fabian, and Rich were hauling open their own, smaller trapdoor.

"Margaret, will you go with the children to the meeting point?" Lord Albert said. "Septimus and I will meet you there with transportation."

Margaret nodded and made her way through the crowd of children, who parted for her without a murmur.

"Let me help you, Lady Margaret," said one of the twins, leaping down into the tunnel revealed by the trapdoor and holding up his hands, interlinked as though he would toss her onto a horse. "Fabian will support you while you step down."

"Feh," Margaret said, waving off the proffered hand of the other twin and taking pleasure from the surprised looks on the children’s faces. "Out of my way, young man." Nimbly, she lifted her skirts and kicked off her shoes, then leapt down herself, landing just where Gideon had been standing a moment before. "Close your mouth before you catch flies," she directed him. "And you, Fabian, throw down my shoes. I will need them."

Fabian knelt and picked up the delicate heeled shoes, then handed them down to Margaret. She set them on the tunnel floor, slipped her feet back into them, and looked up at the children. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded. "Come!"

Gideon shook his head slightly, then reached up to help Pearl Niger down as Henry and Daniel leapt in unaided.

xXxXx

Septimus finished fastening the last buckle on the harness of his horse. "However did they find time to excavate such tunnels?" he asked his uncle. "They should have been too busy robbing and trying to keep themselves fed."

"Some of the tunnels were already here when they arrived," Lord Albert answered, buckling the other side of the two-horse harness. "They expanded upon them, likewise the buildings and palisade. This has probably been a robber’s stronghold for hundreds of years. The only difference is that these robbers have more conscience and less ruthlessness than some."

A horn blew without. "You in the palisade!" shouted a trained man’s voice. "You have no chance of winning a fight. Throw down your weapons and we may spare your lives. All but the Black Dog—where is he?"

"He is not here," John’s voice answered levelly. "But I am the Grey Wolf, and I am here. Take me prisoner if you will. I will not fight."

"You will not fight," the voice repeated skeptically. "What of the rest?"

"There is only one other here. My wife."

Septimus made sure the doors at the back of the stables were open wide enough to admit the horses and wagon as Lord Albert climbed to the driver’s bench.

"Your wife? The witch?"

"She is no witch. Only a woman as I am a man."

"Stories say she witches you in and out of your robberies," the soldier answered. "Stories say she witched this place so it’d never be found."

"And it doesn’t seem to have worked," Morta shouted, "or hadn’t you noticed?"

"Any witchcraft fades with time. Now come out where we can see you, or we’ll come in to find you."

A moment’s pause. Septimus climbed into the back of the wagon, still listening.

"Her hands!" cried a different voice, hoarse and panicky. "She’s witching us! She’ll kill us all! Stop her!"

A woman’s short scream, a man’s despairing cry, both cut off by a gunshot. Then there was silence, broken only by a soft keening howl of utter grief, one that seemed more appropriate to a wounded animal than to a man.

Lord Albert shook the reins, urging the horses forward. "We can do nothing for them here," he said as if to himself. "Nothing for them now."

Septimus swallowed against the overwhelming pain in his uncle’s voice.

I had forgotten how personally he takes the death of one he knows and cares for.

And he must be the one to tell those children that the woman they revere, quite possibly consider as a mother, is dead.

"Let me drive, Uncle," he said, moving forward. "You should rest."

"Thank you." Lord Albert pulled the horses to a stop and pressed his nephew’s hand as he handed over the reins. "She was an extraordinary woman, Septimus," he said, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the lantern which sat in the bed of the wagon. "You would have loved her, had you known her."

"I believe you, Uncle." Septimus slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. "I believe you."

And, strangely enough, he did.

I must at least respect a woman with that level of courage.

A pity she is dead.

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