Unless the Crown is going to send us their copy of the Control Acts along with thousands of soldiers to enforce them, we will have ample time to respond in a way that makes the Crown reconsider. Our response would take six weeks to get to Norisle, and we’d not hear back for at least another six weeks. If a ship arrives with the Acts tomorrow, it would be September before the Queen could respond to our reaction, and that really means this time next year, if she is planning an armed intervention.”
“You’ve told me what you’re not going to do, and I applaud your caution.” Vlad patted the man on the shoulder. “Now, what will you do?”
“Highness, you know I have the utmost respect for you.”
“I consider us friends, Caleb, and no matter what you say, our friendship will not be affected by it.”
“Even if it is treason?”
“Let’s see how far down that road you are going to travel.” Vlad threw his arm over Caleb’s shoulder and guided him back around toward the new laboratory. “As you did me a favor to inform me what is happening, so shall I keep what you tell me in confidence.”
“Thank you. Highness, the Control Acts cannot be allowed to stand. A copy of the message we received will be in Samuel Haste’s hands before the week is out. I’m sure he’ll write another book and it will influence many people. We will also support and print notices for community meetings and debates on the Control Acts if they pass. We will print stories of how the acts are enforced. We will not advocate armed resistance to the Acts. We might report about same, but we will not glorify what happens.”
“This is all assuming the Control Acts are real.”
“Yes, Highness.” Caleb shrugged. “If they are not, the alarm is for nothing.”
“It’s not for nothing, Caleb. It never is.” Prince Vlad smiled. “As a friend, thank you for telling me all this. As Governor-General, I am pleased that you bear your responsibility to the community so highly.”
“You don’t think anything I would do is treason?”
“It might border on it, but only just.” Vlad nodded solemnly. “As long as I am Governor-General, speaking the honest truth about injustice will never rise to the level of treason. And if my aunt doesn’t like that, she can recall me and I shall explain it to her, face to face.”
Chapter Eighteen
2 May 1767 Dire Wolf Draw Westridge Mountains, Mystria
The wolves came after darkness fell, silent as death, dark as shadows, only betrayed by sparks of firelight glinting in amber eyes. Nathaniel couldn’t figure out why they’d come. Growls and snarls in the distance had communicated the fate of the three they’d already killed. If the valley was at all like Little Elephant Lake, they should have had more than enough to feed on. Could have been they didn’t like the intrusion. In his experience, however, despite their fearlessness, they’d always been inclined to let men pass unless someone was bleeding or food was scarce.
The meager fire provided a sphere of light just less than thirty yards in diameter, so when they came, the dire wolves came fast. Nathaniel, crouching behind the low wall, tracked the biggest of them and shot. The bullet caught it square in the chest, dropping it. Other wolves leaped over it, giving him just enough time to club his rifle before they hit.
Other shots had killed wolves, but the holes in their line closed fast. Rathfield hit another with a pistol-shot, then cast aside the handgun and stabbed with his rifle. The bayonet was almost long enough to go clean through a dire wolf’s chest. The beast’s momentum and weight forced Rathfield to raise it, thrashing, as if his rifle was a pitchfork, tumbling him back from the line.
Makepeace, roaring like the bear that had once mauled him, stepped up with a long knife in one hand and short ax in the other. He split a skull with an overhand blow and buried his knife in a wolf’s breast. The stabbed beast twisted, ripping the knife from Makepeace’s hand, then closed its jaw on his left forearm.
Beyond him Kamiskwa brandished his warclub, in the half-light looking every bit the sort of demon that preachers warned would torture the unworthy in Hell. The heavy wooden club came up and around in an arc that crushed skulls. Blood sprayed from the obsidian blade as it slashed through thickly matted fur. Kamiskwa matched the wolves’ snarls with curses and challenges, then broke those that came at him.
Owen fixed a bayonet to his rifle, just as had Rathfield. Owen benefited, however, from having had years dealing with wild creatures. Instead of stabbing heavily as one might with a man, intent on driving him into the ground, Owen’s strokes came quickly. He slid steel into their breasts, then pulled it free. His rifle butt came around to fend them off, driving them back so they could bleed out.
Two wolves came over the wall at Nathaniel. He caught one with his rifle’s butt, hitting it a straight-on blow right between the eyes. It fell back, twitching. The other one came on and bit him in the leg. It tugged, teeth finally piercing deerskin and the flesh beneath, and pulled Nathaniel down to one knee. He drew his tomahawk and killed it, but it took four blows to sever its spine, and that didn’t loosen its jaws.
The wolves kept coming. The low wall had done its part, but had collapsed near the middle. The wolves leaped over the dead and through the gap. They turned left and right, snapping at men’s flanks and legs. The fight might have been lost there, save for Ian Rathfield.
If Kamiskwa had been a demon, Rathfield returned to the line a man possessed by demons. He shrieked inhumanly, his face a mask of fury. He waded into the wolves, heedless of their worrying his legs, and smashed them with his musket. He knocked two flying, then a third, and shattered his musket’s butt on a fourth’s skull. That didn’t matter, however, because he just reversed the weapon and stabbed with the speed of a scorpion. When a wolf finally got hold of his rifle’s sling and tugged it out of his grasp, he bent down, grabbed one of the stones that had been in the wall, and hurled it two-handed, splattering that wolf’s brains.
Screaming defiantly, he stepped over the wall, kicking dire wolf bodies out of the way. Makepeace came quickly up beside him, but the wolves had already decided to retreat. A handful limped away into the darkness, their howls short and pain-filled.
Owen and Makepeace sorted out the bodies, slitting throats. Kamiskwa, using an obsidian knife, cut the jaw muscles of the beast with its teeth in Nathaniel’s leg. As he did that, Nathaniel reloaded his rifle-both because it needed to be done and it let him think about something other than the pain.
Rathfield, fists balled, stared into the darkness after the wolves.
Nathaniel nodded to Kamiskwa. “Thanks. We’ll be needing to find us some mogiqua.”
“I have dried leaves I can make into a tea. After brewing, we can use the wet leaves for a poultice.”
“Best be getting Colonel Rathfield on the outside of a swallow or three.”
“Agreed. He is tired.”
The way he said it, Kamiskwa meant the man was in shock. Nathaniel guessed it was the simple ferocity of the fight more than it was pain. Everyone save for Kamiskwa had gotten gnawed on, but none of the others were still locked in the fight.
“Colonel.”
No response.
“Colonel Rathfield, sir.” Nathaniel slowly stood. “Colonel, I’ve got me the first watch. You go and rest now.”
Rathfield turned slowly, his eyes eventually focusing on Nathaniel’s face. He looked him up and down. “Woods, you’re wounded. Get that taken care of.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you’re more gnawed on than I am, and I have a rifle. Kamiskwa will fix you up.”
Rathfield looked down at his empty hands then found the splintered remains of his musket on the ground. “It will take some work to fix that.”
“We’ll see to it, sir.”
The Norillian nodded torpidly. He turned and watched Owen and Makepeace stretch the wolves out and begin skinning them. “Is this a time to be taking trophies?”
“Ain’t quite looting the dead.” Nathaniel jerked a thumb toward the bodies. “Iffen they’da kilt us, they’d have eaten what they could, left the rest for crows and the like. I ain’t much for eating wolf-don’t know many who is-but
