Wolf's Hold
During the night the first snow had fallen. The garrison and the surrounding fields lay buried under a dense blanket of snow; the wind whistled coldly over the battlements of the watchtowers, and the warriors on guard marched back and forth, stamping their thickly lined boots on the ground to keep warm.
Wulfger stood on the northwest tower of the inner fortress, one of the six great defensive towers. In the north and south walls were the heavy gates through which one entered the large inner courtyard; here were the barracks of the troops, the stables, kitchen, laundry, smithy and workshop, as well as the officers’ quarters and the house of the garrison commander. The inner fortress was surrounded by an outer courtyard where drilling and training took place; behind it lay the outer defensive wall with its ten smaller but equally massive watchtowers and the two narrower gates: one in the northeast, one in the southwest.
The garrison itself was surrounded by a moat, followed by fields and pastures, and after that the dense forests of the north, criss-crossed by a network of heavily traveled roads. The northern regions were cold, the winters long and harsh; but the soil was fertile and there were many settlements, villages and several towns.
Far to the north, mountains rose steeply into the sky. In the light of the summer sun they appeared dark and forbidding; in winter they were cold and deadly.
Wulfger wrapped his arms around his body and slapped some warmth into his limbs. He wore thick furs and several layers of linen, but the cold penetrated everywhere. After his shift he could go to the mess, eat and drink beer, and then take care of his equipment before he was allowed a few hours’ sleep.
A patrolling warrior stopped and demanded a report. Wulfger answered in terse words. A few hours earlier it had stopped snowing, but the sky was still gray and overcast and snowfall could resume anytime. At the moment the visibility was good; everything was clear. The warrior nodded and continued on his way.
Soon afterward a group of riders slowly emerged from the forest in the northwest, and Wulfger gave the signal. Other guards confirmed. At the North Gate, which the group was approaching, warriors were being assembled.
Wulfger narrowed his eyes. In second position rode Tiernan, whom he recognized by his posture: always impatient. Wulfger grinned; he had never known Tiernan any other way.
The patrol approached the northwest gate. Wulfger recognized more and more until he could make out individual faces. Tiernan looked up at him, Wulfger raised his hand in greeting, Tiernan greeted back, as did some of the others. They disappeared into the shadow of the outer wall, crossed the outer yard a few moments later and finally rode through the North Gate into the inner courtyard.
The horses snorted, horseshoes clattered on stone. The warriors dismounted and led the animals to the stables, where they would unsaddle, rub down and cover them before they themselves were allowed to go to the mess.
Wulfger turned away and let his gaze glide once more over the white landscape to the north and west of the garrison. Apart from the tracks of the patrol, the snow cover was untouched.
When his relief arrived, he clapped the young warrior on the shoulder, wrapped himself once more thickly in his furs and set off for the mess. Tiernan was already sitting with some others at one of the large wooden tables. His friend raised his hand, Wulfger nodded, went to the counter where another warrior was on kitchen duty. Wulfger received a bowl of strong broth with vegetables and plenty of meat, along with a quarter loaf of bread and a tankard of beer. He thanked his comrade and went over to Tiernan and the others.
Grunting, he sank onto the wooden bench and began to eat. The hot broth warmed him and after a while he took off the first fur. Gradually more followed. He raised his tankard and clinked with his comrades, but only after he had finished eating was he ready to join their conversation.
“Anything to report?“, asked Tiernan.
“Nothing.” Wulfger shook his head. “Everything’s quiet. At first it was still snowing, visibility wasn’t good, but later we had a wide view. The world is sleeping.”
Tiernan nodded. “It was similar outside. We rode a few miles north, then west and finally back by a roundabout route. We saw nothing.”
“How was it in the snow flurry?”
Boswig snorted. At the beginning they had been on the fields and had hardly been able to see anything, then they had ridden into the forest and the trees had shielded them from the worst of it.
“When it stopped snowing, the world lay under a shroud”, Tiernan murmured.
“Tracks?“, asked Wulfger, though he already knew the answer.
“Hare tracks”, said Tiernan, frustrated. “A deer. No sign of orcs.”
“Do you even know what orc tracks look like?” Wulfger laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Their comrades joined in, but Tiernan stared glumly at his empty bowl.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any”, he grumbled. “Far too long.”
“Then that’s good”, Wulfger replied good-naturedly. “Then the land is at peace.”
Tiernan spat. “I’m a warrior. Not a watchdog.”
Wulfger shook his head. He was content when peace prevailed. He did not shy away from battle, but he did not seek it either; a warrior was more than just his sword. Tiernan’s dissatisfaction, however, had grown even more in the past weeks.
“Duty in the north is compulsory service”, said Wulfger after a while. “You know that. Securing the borders. Securing the population. The less there is to secure, the better.”
“Your opinion.” Tiernan shook his head. “I don’t share it.”
“I know.” Wulfger nodded. Boswig, Geralt and Arnulf remained awkwardly silent.
“I say: let’s head into the mountains”, Tiernan slammed his fist on the table so hard that some other warriors looked over at them. “Let’s take the fight to our enemies. Let’s hunt the orcs and exterminate them. Securing the borders isn’t necessary if the enemy no longer exists!”
“Perhaps even orcs have a right to live.”
Tiernan flared up. “Those monsters forfeited that right long ago. One apple tree was enough.”
Wulfger laughed dryly and shook his head. “A legend. Who knows what really happened back then?”
“Humans have been fighting orcs for millennia”, said Arnulf.
“We drove them back into the mountains”, Boswig agreed.
“They only dare small raids out of their tunnels and caves anymore”, Tiernan continued. “A cowardly race. Not worth living.”
Wulfger hesitated. Orcs were monsters. But what had Nabor himself once told him?
“Every life has its value”, he murmured.
“Tell that to the settlers who are attacked by orcs. Tell that to the people who are massacred by these cowardly beasts.” Tiernan was incensed.
“Nothing has happened for a long time”, Wulfger reminded him. “We ourselves have only found tracks once. In a year and a half.”
“A long time”, Tiernan agreed, but impatience and discontent lay in his voice. “Something has to happen. I’m going to go to the dogs here in the north.”
“Not much longer”, Wulfger soothed his friend. “Three-quarters of our service is behind us. Another half year and then we go to our lords and perform great deeds.”
Boswig snorted, but no one paid him any attention. Tiernan’s eyes sparkled.
