“Lake Avon?” said the legionary. “At the haskoli?”
“Yes, at the haskoli.”
“What kind of work, sir?” asked the legionary, hooking his thumbs into his belt.
Vigtyr looked up at the soldier. “A message,” he said.
Roll of Black Legions
Full Legions:
Ramnea’s Own Legion
Blackstone Legion
Pendeen Legion
Greyhazel Legion
Skiritai Legion
Auxilliary Legions:
Gillamoor Legion
Saltcoat Legion
Dunoon Legion
Fair Island Legion
Ulpha Legion
Hetton Legion
Hasgeir Legion
Soay Legion
Ancrum Legion
Houses and Major Characters of the Black Kingdom
Major Houses and Their Banners:
Jormunrekur—The Silver Wolf
Kynortas Rokkvison m. Borghild Nikansdottir (House Tiazem)
Roper Kynortasson m. Keturah Tekoasdottir (House Vidarr)
Numa Kynortasson
Ormur Kynortasson
Lothbrok—The Wildcat
Uvoren Ymerson m. Hafdis Reykdalsdottir (House Algauti)
Unndor Uvorenson m. Hekla Gottwaldsson (House Oris)
Urthr Uvorenson m. Kaiho Larikkason (House Nadoddur)
Tore Sturnerson
Leon Kaldison
Baldwin Duffgurson
Vidarr—Catastrophe and the Tree
Tekoa Urielson m. Skathi Hafnisdottir (House Atropa)
Pryce Rubenson
Skallagrim Safirson
Baltasar—The Split Battle-Helm
Helmec Rannverson m. Gullbra Ternosdottir (House Denisarta)
Vigtyr Forraederson
Alba—The Rampant Unicorn
Gray Konrathson m. Sigrid Jureksdottir (House Jormunrekur)
Indisar—The Dying Sun
Sturla Karson
Oris—The Rising Sun
Jokul Krakison
Algauti—The Angel of Madness
Aslakur Bjargarson
Randolph Reykdalson
Gosta Serkison
Kinada—The Frost Tree
Vinjar Kristvinson m. Sigurasta Sakariasdottir
Neantur—The Skinned Lion
Asger Sykason
Hartvig Uxison
Rattatak—The Ice Bear
Frathi Akisdottir
Other Houses and Their Banners:
Eris—The Mother Aurochs
Atropa—The Stone Knife
Kangur—The Angel of Divine Vengeance
Alupali—The Eagle’s Talon
Keitser—The Almighty Spear
Brigaltis—The Angel of Fear
Tiazem—The Dark Mountain
Horbolis—The Headless Man
Denisarta—The Rain of Stars
Hybaris—The Mammoth
Mothgis—The Angel of Courage
Nadoddur—The Snatching Hawk
Acknowledgements
It is fair to say that, since writing this, my image of the author as the lone creative dynamo behind each book is in smithereens. Particular thanks must go to my agent, Felicity Blunt, and my editor, Alex Clarke—both of whom not only had faith in this book, but also substantial creative input, helping to shape a much better novel than the one I originally submitted to them. Very many thanks must also go to the rest of the team at Wildfire, Headline and Curtis Brown, particularly Ella Gordon, Katie Brown and Jess Whitlum-Cooper.
Special thanks also to my mum, who has put a great many hours into the book and whose insight, opinion and support have been indispensable. There are very many more members of my family and my friends to whom I owe thanks for their inspiration and emotional support during the writing of this: too many to list, but they are no less appreciated for that.
Finally, very great thanks to Michael Dobbs, for some early and gratefully received support, and valuable words of wisdom.
extras
meet the author
Photo Credit: Leo Carew
LEO CAREW is a twenty-six-year-old Cambridge graduate of biological anthropology, currently studying medicine. Apart from writing, his real passion is exploration, which led him to spend a year living in a tent in the High Arctic, where he trained and worked as an arctic guide. The Wolf is his first novel.
if you enjoyed
THE WOLF
look out for
A CROWN FOR COLD SILVER
The Crimson Empire
by
Alex Marshall
“It was all going so nicely, right up until the massacre.”
Twenty years ago, feared general Cobalt Zosia led her five villainous captains and mercenary army into battle, wrestling monsters and toppling an empire. When there were no more titles to win and no more worlds to conquer, she retired and gave up her legend to history.
Now the peace she carved for herself has been shattered by the unprovoked slaughter of her village. Seeking bloody vengeance, Zosia heads for battle once more, but to find justice she must confront grudge-bearing enemies, once-loyal allies, and an unknown army that marches under a familiar banner.
FIVE VILLAINS. ONE LEGENDARY GENERAL. A FINAL QUEST FOR VENGEANCE.
Chapter 1
It was all going so nicely, right up until the massacre.
Sir Hjortt’s cavalry of two hundred spears fanned out through the small village, taking up positions between half-timbered houses in the uneven lanes that only the most charitable of surveyors would refer to as “roads.” The warhorses slowed and then stopped in a decent approximation of unison, their riders sitting as stiff and straight in their saddles as the lances they braced against their stirrups. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in the autumn, and after their long approach up the steep valley, soldier and steed alike dripped sweat, yet not a one of them removed their brass skullcap. Weapons, armor, and tack glowing in the fierce alpine sunlight, the faded crimson of their cloaks covering up the inevitable stains, the cavalry appeared to have ridden straight out of a tale, or galloped down off one of the tapestries in the mayor’s house.
So they must have seemed to the villagers who peeked through their shutters, anyway. To their colonel, Sir Hjortt, they looked like hired killers on horseback barely possessed of sense to do as they were told most of the time. Had the knight been able to train wardogs to ride he should have preferred them to the Fifteenth Cavalry, given the amount of faith he placed in this lot. Not much, in other words, not very much at all.
He didn’t care for dogs, either, but a dog you could trust, even if it was only to lick his balls.
The hamlet sprawled across the last stretch of grassy meadow before the collision of two steep, bald-peaked mountains. Murky forest edged in on all sides, like a snare the wilderness had set for the unwary traveler. A typical mountain town here in the Kutumban range, then, with only a low reinforced stone wall to keep out the wolves and what piddling avalanches the encircling slopes must bowl down at the settlement when the snows melted.
Sir Hjortt had led his troops straight through the open gate in the wall and up the main track to the largest house in the village … which wasn’t saying a whole lot for the building. Fenced in by shedding rosebushes and standing a scant two and a half stories tall, its windowless redbrick face was broken into a grid by the black timbers that supported it. The mossy thatched roof rose up into a witch’s hat, and set squarely in the center like a mouth were
