The Lost War, Karl Gallagher [recommended reading txt] 📗

standing around playing sentry is a waste of time.”

“Mine are working,” said Wolfhead Alpha. His voice projected over the crowd without effort. “They’re hauling water up the bluff and hunting deer on top of guarding the wall.”

Pernach shouted, “Have the royal guard clean the privies. They’ve watched it done every day, they know how.”

The monarchs had been watching without speaking, blessing the Autocrat’s actions by their presence without interfering, as was traditional. Now Queen Camellia spoke. “Our Guard is needed to maintain security and order. They cannot be spared for menial tasks.”

On their thrones to the side King Ironhelm and Queen Dahlia gazed at her in astonishment. No one gathered around Estoc and Camellia reacted at all.

Autocrat Sharpquill fixed his eyes on Wolfhead Alpha. “The water hauling is appreciated. For the hunting—how many near-deer have the Wolfheads caught?”

“One. They’re still learning the trade.”

“Indeed. While Newman Greenhorn comes home early every afternoon because he and his companions can only carry so much meat. I hereby declare the Wolfhead hunters apprentices of Newman Greenhorn, to be his load bearers until he declares them fit to hunt on their own.”

Newman’s attempt to work out the implications of that was shattered by Wolfhead Alpha’s bellow.

“Who are you to give us orders!”

Sharpquill was too astonished to respond.

Master Sweetbread muttered, “Dammit, we talked about this, you promised to wait.”

“He is my delegate, issuing orders on my behalf,” said King Estoc. “The orders he gave you carry my authority.”

“Your authority is on Earth!” retorted Wolfhead Alpha. “There’s nothing giving you authority here.”

The populace all shouted at this. Some declaring his statement treason, rebellion, or some other crime. Many others agreeing, claiming the Crown wasn’t valid or had exceeded its authority. Even some of the courtiers shouted back, though Newman couldn’t make out what they were saying through the roar.

No one had the nerve to confront Wolfhead Alpha, but people were arguing in the crowd. Some started shoving.

King Estoc rose from his throne and walked into the crowd, lowering the noise as people turned to watch him.

“Silence!” he commanded.

Most obeyed from long habit.

“If the Spring Crown Tourney isn’t considered valid by all, then we will have a new tourney. A week from today. This will settle the rule of us all. Until then, follow the Autocrat’s orders.”

He stalked back to his throne.

The announcement quieted the crowd more thoroughly than the command for silence had. No one seemed to be sure how to respond. The exception was Queen Camellia, who bore a smug smile.

Sharpquill’s brief horrified look—understandable to anyone who’d ever planned a tourney on less than three months’ notice—was replaced by his usual dour expression. He returned to the initial purpose of the meeting.

“A schedule will be posted for sanitation work. All fit young men not needed on more important work, such as hunters, will have the duty one day a week. You may trade shifts as long as the work gets done.”

There were murmurs but no actual objections. The Autocrat went on to list some other task assignments.

“That’s an improvement,” said Pernach.

Pinecone snapped, “How is us hauling shit again an improvement?”

“If there’s fighters on the detail the royal guards won’t be so free with their sticks. They were appointed for sucking up to Camellia, not fighting skill, so most of the fighters can kick their ass.”

They broke off the conversation as Wolfhead Alpha approached with half a dozen men. “Master Greenhorn,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “Here are your new apprentices.”

Newman had no idea how to handle apprentices, so he fell back on old habits. “Welcome. Get your gear, everything you need for a full day in the woods, and meet me outside the gate in twenty minutes.”

They responded with a mix of nods and “ayes.”

He pointed toward the Wolfhead encampment. “Move!”

They departed at a brisk walk.

Wolfhead Alpha gave Newman an approving nod before letting Master Sweetbread drag him off for a private chat.

Goldenrod whispered in Newman’s ear. “Should I offer congratulations or condolences?”

“I’ll let you know when I get back tonight.”

***

The Wolfheads were chatting with Beargut and Deadeye.

“Yeah, all he lets me do is carry the bodies,” said Beargut. “But I get a cut of the meat. And he always gets some meat. Beats hanging around the common pavilion waiting to see what the Autocrat doles out.”

Borzhoi noticed Newman approaching. “Good morning!”

“Morning,” said Newman. “Form line!”

The Wolfheads formed a line off Borzhoi’s left. Deadeye and Beargut took places at the end.

Newman stood in front of Borzhoi. The Wolfhead held his bow out for inspection. Newman ignored it. “Show me your knife.”

Extracting the knife from Borzhoi’s belt pouch took a few moments. Newman pulled it from the sheath, checked the sharpness, and handed it back. “Find a way to carry it so you can get at it fast. If a predator jumps you there won’t be time to nock an arrow. Canteen.”

Borzhoi’s canteen had a satisfactory heft. His bootsoles had no holes. Newman moved down the line. A couple had plastic water bottles shoved into pockets instead of real canteens. Everyone’s blades and footgear were acceptable.

Newman posted to a spot facing the middle of the line. “Food’s getting short. Just about all the food we brought with us is gone. We’ve eaten bare the roots and berries close to camp. The game is getting scared of us.

“So we’re going farther out than anyone but the scouts have been. Five or six miles straight out. Then we cast about for prey, take down all the near-deer we can carry, and head home. Can do?”

Borzhoi belted out a hearty “Can do!” Everyone else grunted or mumbled some vague agreement.

Probably the best he could get. “Let’s go,” said Newman. He led them into the woods.

Rhino trails were the fastest