Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Página 52

Part Six – The Wolf Approaches
I smooth my tunic and take a few calming
breaths. “It’s ironic isn’t it? That the stories about
Him have become less fantastical over time. More the
truth. Sixty years since She died.” The Ferryman looks
at me impassively but I think I see his gaze flick to
the castle. I again resist the urge to turn to look. “How
long have you served Him? My father served him for
many years and has been in the ground many more.
And yet He is still there. “I wonder…”
ry…”

“No. No wondering. I’d best finish the sto***

The man in red’s grin flashes as he turns to the
boy. “Perhaps, you’d repay me and tell me the story
of the Castle?” he said. “Once I’ve finished my story,
about the sons of Cahal, the Fouyear, new Ard Righ
and Phelan’s Select.”
The boy’s grin is wiped off his face. He looks
to his father who shrugs.
The boy blinks a few times and takes a deep
breath and nods solemnly.
“So, Phelan had gone looking for Padraig,
Andarta had gone looking for Phelan, and a war band
had emerged from the forest… ”
***
The man with the wolf’s pelt across his shoulders, the head used as a hood, fangs around his neck,
walked slowly from the centre of the war band. Ceowulf nodded to Slone, Champion of the Green Salmon,
who shouldered his spear, his off hand falling upon
his sword. The broad shouldered redhead nodded back
and walked out to meet the Wolf Brethren.

Ceowulf took stock of his men. There were
around twenty competent warriors, as well as some
young men, for whom this was probably their first
taste of battle, and some old men, for whom battle was
a distant memory.
The two men, Champion and Wolf Brethren,
met half way between the two forces. Ceowulf was
outnumbered and probably outclassed too. However,
he had Slone, and that counted for a lot, especially if
his brother decided to make it a fight of champions.
He studied the Wolf Brethren, a slim warrior, leanly muscled, hard faced, quiet and competent
looking. Slone, by comparison was a head taller, twice
as wide, his red hair a flag, his beard a sign of virility,
confident, strong, boastful.
The two men exchanged a few sentences,
Slone’s voice a distant boom, the smaller man’s not
carrying. Slone shrugs, lifts his spear and turns to
come back. The man dressed in wolfskin seems to
study the larger warrior for a few moments then strides
across to the opposing war band.
“Well,” Slone says when returning, “looks like
there are two ways to play this. Champion to champion or full on battle, your brother doesn’t want to face
you one to one it seems.”
“Maelgwn was always trying to be dark and
mysterious, but was never as brave as he’d like to
make out,” Ceowulf answered.
“What’s our answer?” the big warrior asked.
Ceowulf looked at the collection of warriors
behind him, and thought of the many non-combatants
in the hall. He shrugged. “What’re the terms?”

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