A.N.D. - Wolf Woods

The Troll Trio rejected the request for the return of prisoners, Beantown and other border towns wracked by the wars were desperate for help to bring in the harvest but there was nobody spare to help them, Kissingtown and other tourist attractions were losing business and blaming it on fears of wolf attacks, blah, blah, blah. Wendell sighed, closed his eyes, and let the horribly familiar bickering wash over him.

Underneath the rising shouts, he heard the door click open behind them. Through barely slitted eyes, he watched a new man walk into the room. The king had never seen him before, but he was wearing livery marked with the crest that had been bestowed on Lord Anthony. This must be Sebastian, the new secretary that Anthony had been bragging about. Handsome man. Wendell noted with amusement that Lord Rupert was surreptitiously checking him out too as Sebastian bent to whisper in his master’s ear.

Suddenly, the king’s eyes flew wide open, and he bolted upright. There was something about the way the secretary moved... “You’re a wolf!” he blurted.

The assembled lords and councilors silenced their arguing, frozen for a brief moment, then lunged away from the table, shouting in horror and fear. One or two of the braver ones plus the personal guards at the door marched forward with their swords half drawn.

Sebastian merely looked pained.

Lord Anthony jumped to his feet, facing the world-be attackers, protectively shoving his liege man behind him. “How dare you! This man is working for me!”

“That ‘man’ is a wolf,” Chancellor Griswold snapped.

“Yes, I believe I pointed that out already,” Wendell drawled insolently. “I fail to see why you’re ready to gut Lord Anthony’s secretary over it.” His voice took on a warning note. “Did someone rescind my pardon when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, Sire.”

Griswold was going to have to see a tooth fairy if he didn’t stop grinding his jaws like that, Wendell mused.

“How novel, a wolf outside the woods,” Rupert quavered, obviously trying to be open-minded even while he leaned backwards out of biting range. “How are you enjoying working in a castle, Mr. Sebastian?”

“I am proud to be of service to the father-in-law of the Wolf of Wolves and,” Sebastain turned and bowed low, “to King Wendell the Liberator.”

“He’s wonderful,” Anthony had that familiar self-assured grin that Wendell hadn’t seen since their journey. “He’s fantastic at details. It’s those wolf senses.”

“Really? Close your eyes,” Wendell ordered. The wolf obeyed, and the king rapidly shuffled the papers and folders in front of him. “Do you know what I am doing?”

“I hear paper moving. I smell fear and curiosity. The man to my left,” he pointed accurately at Griswold without opening his eyes, “is drawing his sword slowly. I hear the steel rasping in the sheath.”

Wendell cleared his throat warningly and Griswold backed down. “All right, open your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Sebastian cocked his head, scratching his temple in a familiar manner. So all wolves did that. Huh.

“You have shifted the thick report from your right to your left. The yellow folder is now on top of the red folder, when it had been on top of the blue. The blue folder is now underneath three single pages which had been spread out in front of you.” He took a deep sniff. “The fear is abating and the curiosity is rising. A man behind me has taken two steps forward, but I didn’t hear him draw a sword. That’s all I noticed, your majesty.” He bowed again, and Wendell’s jaw dropped.

“Told you he was good!” Anthony crowed. “I bet your secretary couldn’t do that.”

“No. He couldn’t.” Wendell rubbed his chin. “Sebastian, are all wolves that good at details?”

“Yes, your majesty. We are hunters. Not noticing the turn of a leaf or a snapped twig is the difference between eating and starving. Sometimes it is the difference between eating and being eaten.”

“How about fighting, can you do that?”

“Personally, sire, or are you asking about wolves in general?”

“Both.”

Sebastian looked down, digging a toe into the carpet bashfully. It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, his voice was so low that Wendell had to strain to hear him. “I am not a good fighter, your majesty. I would never be more than a mid-level pack member, if that. I will always serve someone stronger than I am.”

“And wolves in general?”

“There is only one way to lift your status within a pack, sire. Only the best and cleverest fighter is strong enough to protect the pack.”

Wendell sighed, leaning back in resignation. “So that is why my idea for a wolf army didn’t work. The best fighters won’t take orders because they want to lead.”

“Incorrect, sire.”

“Did you just contradict the king, you impudent animal?” Griswold shouted.

Sebastian didn’t even bother turning around; he just glanced over his shoulder, curled his lip, letting his eyes flash yellow for a second. Griswold put his hand on his sword again, but he also fell back a step. The secretary didn’t continue the fight. He turned back to the king, and for a moment Wendell was jealous. He wished he could intimidate Griswold that easily!

“Sire, my cousin tried to join your army, and returned home in defeat. Your training methods do not work for wolves. We do not think in terms of platoons, drills, and marches. We think in terms of family packs. You teach all soldiers to do the same things. Each wolf has his or her own task in the hunt, our specialty. We do not switch around; why make a bad tracker follow the trail when the same wolf is so good at making the first leap? We follow our skills and we follow our leader.” Sebastian was starting to get excited, gesturing with a nervous enthusiasm that reminded Wendell of Rupert. “Sire, your human sergeants do not understand the needs of wolves, much less trust us. So how can we trust them to understand our strengths and weaknesses?”

“But a human has to lead the wolves,” someone protested.

“Why?” Sebastian asked passionately. “Why? You pardoned us, King Wendell, now trust us. Many of us would die for you, but not pointlessly.”

Wendell stared him straight in the yellow eyes. “If I asked for volunteer wolfpacks to slip into the Third Kingdom, rescue my people from the trolls, bring them back alive, and guard my border from a reprisal, would you do it?”

“Gladly, your majesty!”

“Then put out the word to your people. That is what I wish.”