The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

may give him. If this beast’s mate is near at hand, then they will deal with it. They have to.
    For a few moments, the wolf merely tracks them but then a sudden howl brings a sharp cry from one of Ralph’s people, and the animal darts to the left towards them.
    Ralph lunges after, shouting and waving his knife, determined to distract the wolf. The fact he is separate, on his own, should be enough, and, as he hoped, the beast turns and snarls in his direction.
    “ Go,” he shouts, commanding his men as if in battle. “Find Jemelda! Restrain her till I come .”
    Then he pulls off his cloak and, knife in one hand and cloak in the other, breaks through the lightest of the trees and runs towards the wolf. It snarls once more at him and he sees the glitter of teeth in the weak winter sunlight. Along its body the ribs stand out – by the stars it has been a hard winter – so he knows it will be hungrier and more deadly than the wolves he has encountered before. Whatever happens, he must survive. The wolf leaps towards him. He flings the cloak across its jaws and the beast howls, a muffled sound through the cloak’s fabric, and tumbles to the ground. Its claws slash into his arm as it falls and Ralph cries out at the pain, falls with it.
    For one wild heartbeat, he remembers once more the dogs on the mountain and Simon’s terror, and then there is no time for memory as the beast is upon him, biting and scratching and snarling, its hot breath a foul gust against his face as the cloak drops away. Ralph grips the knife more tightly in his right hand as he struggles to keep clear of those deadly jaws with his left. A piercing stab to his shoulder tells him the wolf has hit home. Soon it will be at his throat and then his hopes and plans will be as dust in an autumn-season breeze. He twists again, brings the knife up but the animal’s fierce and frantic lunges slam his arm away and the weapon falls with a thud to the earth.
    By the gods he is done for, but he will go down fighting. As the maddened wolf lets go of his shoulder and goes for his throat, Ralph manages to turn towards it and punches it right in the jaw so that the beast’s head ricochets back. There is a moment when the power balance between them is up for the taking and Ralph seizes it. He pushes himself away from the wolf and leaps towards the knife which lies tantalisingly just out of his reach. It’s not enough. As his fingertips touch the handle, excruciating pain plunges into his already damaged leg and upward through his whole body. Ralph screams, understanding the wolf has him in its jaws and will not now let go until he is fully finished.
    The animal drags him backwards, releasing its grip on his leg for one blessed moment before burying its teeth in his flesh again. Ralph glances at the knife, even more distant than it was before and curses his own slowness as bright stars and blackness dance before his vision, a counterpoint to the pain which threatens to overcome him. Then, suddenly he hears a shout and the knife slides across the icy ground towards his outstretched grasp. He can scarcely believe it but has not time to ponder on such miracles. The handle fits in his hand perfectly, he pushes himself off in the direction the wolf is taking him and before the beast can even snarl in astonishment Ralph buries the blade deep within the animal’s chest.
    Hot blood spills over his fingers, the wolf howls once and then falls away, silenced. Pain radiates across his leg and he glances down to see more blood, his own, flowing along his skin.
    “My lord?”
    He spins round, wiping the sweat from his eyes. In front of him stands a figure stooped over him, breathing harshly. For a moment or two, Ralph fails to recognise him but then reason once more rises within him. It is the man he ordered to take his people to the edge of the wood. He has come back. Disobedience indeed but this time he is grateful for it.
    “Did-did you give me the knife?” he stammers out, ashamed of his weakness in front of this villager.
    “Yes, my lord. You had need of it.”
    That much is true, and Simon, if he were here, would appreciate such humour. Ralph nods. “Thank you.”
    He pulls the knife from the wolf, as a soldier never abandons a weapon, come what may, and the villager helps him to his feet, tearing off a strip of the cloak and binding it in rough fashion around Ralph’s bloodied leg. He is proud of the fact he only winces once.
    “Take me to where our men