Rise Of The Wolf

Ariánne woke with frost pressing through her blanket and a howl splitting the dark.

It came from beyond the village palisade, long and ragged, rising over the roofs before breaking into a sharp cry that made the stones beneath her cheek seem to tremble. For one breath she lay still beneath the leaning ash tree, listening to the last thread of it fade.

Then the eastern watchtower burst into flame.

“Lio,” she whispered.

She was on her feet before the fire found the roof. Sparks whirled upward, bright against the moonless sky. A bell clanged once from the tower, then stopped with a wet crack. Men shouted along the wall. Somewhere inside the village, a child began screaming.

Ariánne seized her knife and ran.

The ash tree stood at the edge of Veyr, where the packed earth gave way to black grass and scrub. Her sleeping place was hidden from the houses by a low ridge, close enough that she could reach the kennels in minutes. That was where the youngest wolves slept, including Lio, the smallest of the pack and the one who still followed her heels instead of the older hunters.

Smoke rolled over the ridge.

Ariánne stumbled through it, coughing, and saw the village gate sagging inward. Fire climbed the timber walls in orange sheets. Two villagers dragged a water barrel toward the blaze while others crowded around them, shouting over one another.

“Get back!” someone yelled. “The south lane is gone!”

“Where’s the pack?”

“Inside the kennels!”

Ariánne pushed toward the voice. A hand caught her shoulder.

“Stop, Voss.”

She twisted free. “My brother is in there.”

“Your brother is at the north wall,” said Bram, the gate captain. His beard was singed on one side, and blood ran from his temple. “The kennels are burning.”

“Then open the gate.”

“There is no gate to open.” He pointed.

A fallen beam had crashed across the entrance. Beyond it, the lane burned from roof to roof. The heat struck Ariánne’s face hard enough to make her eyes water. Under the roar of flames came another sound: frantic scratching, then a chorus of yelps.

The wolves.

She stepped forward.

Bram seized her again. “You’ll die before you reach them.”

“Move.”

“Girl, listen to me. The east quarter is collapsing.”

A roof beam fell behind him, scattering sparks. The crowd lurched back. Ariánne saw fear pass through the faces around her - not fear for the wolves, or for the houses, but for the fire crossing the village. They were already deciding what could be abandoned.

She drove her elbow into Bram’s ribs. He grunted, and she slipped past.

The lane narrowed between the cooper’s shop and the old shrine. Flames poured from both windows of the shop, turning the iron hoops stacked outside red. Ariánne wrapped her sleeve over her mouth and ran low. Heat clawed at her back. A burning shutter struck the ground behind her with a shower of sparks.

At the shrine, the path split.

The straight road led to the kennels, but a wagon had overturned across it, its wheels burning. The alley to the left was crowded with villagers fleeing toward the north wall. A woman carrying a bundle saw Ariánne and stopped.

“Don’t go that way,” she said. “The whole kennel roof is down.”

“Did you see the wolves?”

The woman’s eyes flicked toward the smoke. “I saw men.”

“What men?”

But the woman had already turned away.

Ariánne ran into the alley.

The air grew colder there, funneled between stone walls. Ash stung her eyes. She heard boots ahead and slowed beside a stack of split wood. Three figures hurried through the smoke, wrapped in dark traveling cloaks. One carried a sack that moved.

A small paw pushed through the torn cloth.

Ariánne’s breath caught.

“Lio.”

The sack jerked. A thin whine came from inside.

The strangers stopped.

One of them looked back. His face was covered by a strip of gray cloth, but his eyes found Ariánne at once. He held a short bow in one hand.

“Keep walking,” he said.

Ariánne drew her knife. “Put him down.”

The man with the sack laughed softly. “This one is marked.”

The words struck harder than the smoke.

The pup’s paw vanished. The sack swung as the carrier turned toward the north wall.

Ariánne lunged.

An arrow buried itself in the wood beside her fingers. She flinched, and the strangers disappeared through the smoke. She followed, ignoring the second arrow that sliced her sleeve. The alley opened behind the granary, where the ground dropped toward the dry streambed.

The village burned above her.

Below, the strangers moved fast among the reeds. The sack bounced against the carrier’s hip. Lio cried once, then went silent.

Ariánne slid down the bank. Loose stones tore through her trousers. She landed hard, pain flashing through her ankle, but kept running. The smoke thinned near the stream. Moonlight spilled over the pale stones, and for an instant she saw the strangers clearly.

There were four of them.

The last wore a red cord around his wrist. He turned as Ariánne reached the stream and flung something into her path.

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