Sons of Lur: A beginning

The nights had been getting colder as the land turned towards autumn. Frost gave the trees a ghostly edge, cladding the stark branches in their hoary winter finery. Breath plumed from the mouths of men and horses and fetching water from the streams and rivers which crossed the plains meant hacking through the thickening ice at the edges. It was yet to snow, but the smell of it was the in air and there was a presence, a weight, to the grey clouds overhead. None travelled now without provisions and gear for long nights and days under snow, accompanied by a guide who knew the way of the grim Northlands out of Rhegan.
The turning season had elevated Ifan to the rare position of awe amongst his companions as he sat with his face to the small morning cook fire, a thick skin map spread across his knees. He toyed with his belt knife as he plotted their path, glancing occasionally at his surroundings to confirm his suspicions. They had made good time and would be at Stormhaven within two days, perhaps one if they pushed on and stopped infrequently. Particularly if Heruld and his pack decided to make The Change, allowing the rest to travel unburdened.

Someone handed him a small wooden bowl, hand carved and deep with the smell of spicy meat rising in the steam. He accepted it without looking up and held it beneath his nose, breathing deeply before taking a tentative sip. He rumbled his appreciation at the stocky cook who continued to pass out breakfast. But his contemplation was interrupted by the lean tattooed man who stalked up and seated himself next to the Northlander. He said nothing, but Ifan could feel the edge of his temper simmering off the man like steam from a boiling pot. He allowed the map to curl around his feet and turned to give the Wulfsrad Alpha his full attention. Unbidden the cook handed the newcomer a steaming bowl.
Heruld, marked by the twin paired arrowheads on his cheekbones, grunted as accepted the offered bowl and watched Ifan over the rim as he drank from the broth. Wiping his lips on the back of his hand, he narrowed his eyes at the map. "So"
"So" Ifan was used to the ways of the Alpha and did nothing to hurry the man. He had a question, he was sure, but it could obviously wait.
"Where are we?"
Ah, Ifan smiled inside, making his lips and face smooth to hide his amusement. The wolf was a-feared of getting lost.
"Two days to Stormhaven. One if you go cross country" He sipped from his bowl, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. It did not do to rile a Wulfsrad to anger. It normally led to missing limbs and crippling injuries.
"Tis too cold for that" Heruld dismissed the unspoken words with a wave of his hand. "Not prepared enough"
What are you afraid of, wolf man? Ifan cupped the bowl between his hands, enjoying the warmth seeping through and continued to watch the tattooed Alpha.
"The season's changing" The remark was merely an observation but the Alpha surged to his feet and spat
"We were supposed to be in Stormhaven five days ago. Five days, Northlander"
So that's it. Ifan glanced back at the other members of the pack, who had paused in their eating, some standing, all watching with the hesitant expectancy of the wolves under their skins. He's missing his Alpha. The ice blonde woman with the piercing silver eyes had been sent ahead with some of the new recruits, to meet with the Rangers stationed at Stormhaven. Heruld had been unhappy at the time, but had seemed to settle once she had ridden away a month previously. But now he was losing his calm.
"If it hadn't been for your fuss in Kedrin, we would be there by now" Heruld flapped his hand in Ifan's direction, but his comment carried through the camp. What little activity that had continued since his first outburst ceased until silence descended amongst the band. Whilst the battle of wills between the Wulfrad and the Northlander was an ongoing duel, this was the worst it had been for a while.
Waiting, Ifan let the silence fill the space between them before he spoke in soft tones. "We could not travel with a lame horse" Ifan did not mention that he had been loath to leave the quiet cloud-dappled mare behind to simply keep the pace Heruld wanted to set. "And if you hadn't been so eager to reach your bed mate, you would have slowed the pace." He saw Heruld step forward and swing back a hand to strike his Guide and closed his eyes. He would not rise to the challenge this time. Heruld had earned his right.

"That's enough" The voice was quiet but stern and Heruld slowed his swing, pulling himself back from the stocky man who had stepped between the two men. "The cold is making us all irritable, so finish your breakfast and then we can get on our way. Heruld" He put a hand on the bare shoulder of the Wulfsrad. "Kaya will understand" His gaze turned on Ifan and narrowed, causing the tall Northlander to look away.
Heruld, growling, shrugged off the restraining hand and stalked back towards his pack. If it were not for previous experience at the hands of the Alpha, Ifan might have laughed. But he didn't. Instead, he unrolled his map and continued to sip from his cooling breakfast.
Alecto was something of an enigma, someone Ifan couldn't quite read as he watched the stocky Lowlander pack away the fire, pouring damp earth over the embers. Why does he stand them? Ifan thought, not for the first time. As if he could hear Ifan's thoughts, the Wulfskarl Rider turned and glared at the Northlander with his mismatched eyes, then winked and continued his work. How did he come to be here? Ifan mused as he dug the chunks of meat from the bottom of his bowl with his slim eating knife, savoring the taste of the tender meat. Autumn had fled the Northlands, beginning its trek down from the mountains through the green heart of Rhegan to cross the river at Wintereve and then on through the Southlands. Behind it came the teeth of the white wolf as Winter prowled the land, though its full fury never cross the river that split the land of Rhegan from their neighbor Mirama. Winter struck early in the season here.

When the camp was packed away and bundled onto the horses, Ifan decided it was time. As he approached, one of the leaner members of Heruld's pack barred his way. It was merely a step towards him, nothing more, but Ifan had to step round the boy. Each member of the pack found a way to block his path until Ifan had stepped through the ranks to stand before their leader who had pointedly ignored him. It was the same every time, proving his dominance and right to approach the Alpha and Ifan had learned to school his expression to hide the building frustration he felt. He wanted to talk to the man, not try and kill him. Heruld turned, gazing down at the Northlander from his perch atop a small boulder he had been using to view the landscape. It was one of the few times he was taller than the rough blonde and it gave him an air of authority that made Ifan grit his teeth in a forced smile.
"We need to talk"
The Wulfsrad nodded to his deputy, a grizzled older man with a blind eye shining milky white in his face, who grunted at the others and the pack moved away leaving Ifan and Heruld alone.
"If you want to make Stormhaven in a day, you need to follow the wood" Ifan unrolled his map and laid it on the rock, indicating the river with a finger. "We're here" he indicated the bend in the road at the northern edge of the Tanglewood and then tapped the nearest settlement. It was in the middle of a vast plain, a blank space on the leather marked with small notches. Placing a palm on Stormhaven and their current position, Ifan muttered low under his breath for a long moment then spoke in a deep rumbling groan "CYDAN". He gasped, gulping air into his lungs and lifted his sweating palms from the map.
Heruld watched; face seemingly unimpressed or uncaring, though he muttered quietly "You need to show me how to do that one day, Northlander".

The map sprung to life, the ink moving and swirling like a pool of dye which had been stirred with a stick. When the mess settled the map had changed. Gone was the large swathe of the Tanglewood, the tiny hashed lines of the many roads crossing the empty wasteland, the rivers and streams flowing from the snowy peaks of the Ridgeback and the ice encased within its walls. Instead, shown in delicate detail was the bend in the road and the plain to the west, stretching out across the map to the corner where the walled fort of Stormhaven could be seen. The detail was beautiful, stark black ink marked the symbols for road and buildings, with deep brown lines marking scenery and the paler brown shading of the shape of the land, slashed through with the red of the river. The Dragon Riders of Irnock had done their job beautifully, depicting the landscape in exquisite detail that was not lost on the hardy Alpha. He whistled in awe and leant closer to see the route Ifan planned for him to take.

It was easiest for the Wulfsrad pack to cut through the outer edge of the ancient forest. They could run through the thickets of thorn and brambles, squeeze between the trees and they had no fear of the silence that hung thickly about the place. There were seven of them and they were fearless in numbers. But man rarely ventured into the Tanglewood and something about the place spooked the horses, so the other two would have to take the road around the edge of the forest which would take them a day without stopping. Heruld was not happy but he had no choice but to allow them the time.
"If you keep to this stream, you'll come out of here in sight of Stormhaven. Kaya will meet you in the Hall of Ages" He tapped the map and traced the route he would be riding with Alecto, noting the joining of the trade routes North and East of Stormhaven.
"Bring my Wulfkarl Rider to me in one piece" Heruld growled, drawing the discussion to a close as he stepped back.
Ifan let him go as the Alpha stalked off, placing his hand on the map. In the lower corner was the unchanging red curved dragon and rune of the Irnock Riders, and he covered the ink with his hand. Summoning the rumbling growl from deep within his throat, he creased his brow and groaned out "CIERRAN". The map shifted, oozed and swirled in the liquid ink and tan of the leather before it settled on the original map, showing the Tanglewood, the road from Rhegan and the lower edge of the Ridgeback. He rolled up the stiff leather and binding it with the rawhide tie, returned it to the packed saddlebag.
Alecto had already packed the horses and saddled them, his quiet white mare Pipkin and Ifan's barrel-chested bay gelding, though Ifan had a quiet moment with his favourite cloud-dappled mare, Storm, who had gone lame near Kedrin. The horse, with her feathered feet and hardy northern build, had been with Ifan for eight years and he had a special fondness for her. He was still getting used to the excitable gelding and checked his beloved mare daily for the first signs of her being rideable once more.