Blood of the Wolf

The Western Army

Ameliya, Shura, and Ira entered the council chamber together.

The atmosphere in the high hall had changed drastically since the morning. The quiet diplomacy was gone, replaced by the clutter of war. Leather maps were pinned to the long board, surrounded by inkpots, carved wooden markers, and a half-dozen garrison commanders speaking in muted tones.

At the center of it all stood Prince Aleksandr, his hands resting heavily on the table as he studied the river routes.

Ameliya took her place beside Queen Yeva, "What is the council's decision?"

King Askold looked up from the table, "We are under attack."

Aleksandr you looked up immediately. "Jarl Erik’s warriors came ashore before dawn. They marched on Borislav, formed a wall of shields, and waited. Lord Egor took the garrison out to meet them."

"How many men did Lord Egor lose?"

"Enough to hurt his pride," Aleksandr said flatly. "Not enough to compromise the fortress walls."

Ameliya leaned over the map, "Then why assemble an army? If Egor holds the stone, let Erik exhaust himself against it."

"Because I don't intend to sit behind gates and wait for him to pick his moment," Aleksandr replied. "Erik has fifteen ships moored at the coast. Jarl Solvi’s fleet is alongside him. If they remain there, they can raid every settlement along the western border at their leisure."

"Or they might take their plunder and sail home before the autumn storms," Ameliya countered.

"They could," Aleksandr admitted, "But they won't."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because they didn't come for silver or cattle," Aleksandr said quietly. "They came for land."

Queen Yeva looked down at her son, her expression unreadable. "Egor’s messenger said the same."

"The commander who just lost the plain?" Ameliya asked.

"Egor has held that valley for twenty years,"  "Do not dismiss his judgment simply because he was caught off guard."

King Askold smoothed his grey beard, turning to his son. "Egor asks for steel. But a king does not march his entire host into the mud for every coastal skirmish. War should be a last resort, not an instinct."

"This isn't an instinct, Father," Aleksandr pressed, stepping back from the table. "It's timing."

"Explain," Askold commanded.

"Erik is young and untested," Aleksandr said, his voice carrying across the chamber. "He has won a single field, and already the coastal lords are murmuring his name. If we allow him to hold the river head, the story spreads. Men follow strength, Father. Halfdan kept the Wolf Coast divided for a generation. His death should have fractured Gutagard, but his son crossed the sea and broke a Kievan line on his first attempt. If he sails back untouched, every chief from Kvenland to the northern fjords will ask what else the South is willing to surrender."

Ameliya nodded slowly. "And Solvi's Ravens are already flying his banner."

"Precisely," Aleksandr said, looking back at Askold. "Give me the Western Army. I won't give him time to gather the rest of the clans."

King Askold remained silent for a long moment, the crackle of the hearth fire filling the heavy pause. Finally, he gave a single, decisive nod. "Take the Western Army."

Aleksandr bowed his head. "Thank you, Father."

"Reach Borislav before Erik can mount a proper siege," Askold added sternly. "Reinforce Egor, secure the supply lines, and push the Northmen back into the sea."

By mid-afternoon, the wide plaza outside the palace gates was choked with iron.

The Western Army had not been mobilized in full force for years. Wagons groaned under the weight of grain sacks and extra spear shafts. Armorers moved through the ranks checking rivets and shield straps, while the heavy stomp of warhorses echoed off the stone walls.

Royal banners of red and gold fluttered above long ranks of armored infantry. Aleksandr moved among his men without pretense, stopping to check a saddle cinch himself or offer a stern word of encouragement to a young spearman.

Ameliya watched the preparation from the high stone steps, flanked by Ira and young Ivan.

Ivan leaned against a carved stone pillar, whistling low. "That’s a terrifying amount of Soldiers?"

"Enough to make you rethink joining the garrison?" Ameliya asked with a faint smile.

Ivan grinned. "Nothing frightens me."

"A goose chased you through the lower courtyard last winter," Ira remarked casually.

"It was a gander," Ivan corrected, defensive. "And it had violent eyes."

Ameliya shook her head, a soft laugh breaking through her tight mood. For a brief second, the shadow of war receded.

Then a horn cut through the noise of the courtyard. Aleksandr swung his leg over his stallion, settling into the leather saddle. He glanced up toward the stone balcony, his eyes meeting Ameliya's. He raised a gauntleted fist.

Ameliya raised her hand in return, her face setting into a serious line.

Aleksandr looked at Ivan next. "Keep the city quiet while I'm gone."

Ivan called back down, "Try not to break your horse!"

A laugh rippled through the nearby soldiers. Aleksandr shook his head with a faint smirk, turned his mount toward the iron gates, and spurred the horse forward.

The Western Army surged after him—fifteen hundred men marching out onto the western road in columns.

Ameliya stayed on the balcony until the last trail of dust settled over the horizon.

Ira stepped up beside her, wrapping her shawl tighter against the rising breeze. "Do you think he'll crush them?"

"Aleksandr is a fine commander," Ameliya murmured, "But I don't think it'll be easy."

The Western Army reached Borislav by sunset.

Aleksandr had driven his men hard, covering the distance in a single relentless march. The roads had been clear, and the sight of the gray stone fortress rising above the valley mist brought a quiet relief to his officers.

The gates remained shut. Smoke still drifted across the churned mud outside the walls—blackened patches where fallen supply wagons had burned during the morning clash.

Aleksandr reined in his stallion at the ridge, looking over the battlefield.

The bodies had been dragged away, but the earth bore the violent scars of the morning. Splintered shields lay discarded in the tall grass, and deep gouges showed where the southern cavalry had slammed into the Viking line and stalled.

He shifted his gaze past the fortress toward the coast.

A mile out, black hulls rested in the shallow waters along the gravel beach. War fires dotted the shoreline like fallen stars, casting long shadows across the sand.

"How many ships?" Aleksandr asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Fifteen war-barges," his captain reported. "Lord Egor estimates six to eight hundred shields."

"And Solvi?"

The Raven flag was spotted near the center camp.

"So the young wolf brought a seasoned hound with him."

"Aye, my Lord."

The iron gate of Borislav groaned open, and Lord Egor rode out to meet them, accompanied by a small escort of heavy horsemen.

Lord Egor looked worn. His iron breastplate was deeply scored, and a linen bandage was wound tightly around his neck where a spear-point had grazed him. He reined in his mount before the Prince and inclined his head. "You made good time, Aleksandr."

"I said I would," Aleksandr replied, inspecting the commander's line. "Tell me about this Erik."

"He is not what I expected. He fights with twin blades and moves like a shadow, but his mind is what caught us. He didn't panic when my horsemen hit his flank. He held his line, let us overextend, and then drove straight through our center."

Aleksandr met his gaze. "He beat you because you assumed he was just another sea-rover."

"Perhaps," Egor conceded grimly. "But I advise you not to make the same mistake. He fights with cold patience."

Aleksandr turned his horse toward the coastline, watching the flickering fires of the Viking encampment. "And where are they now?"

"Curled up around their ships," Egor said. "Resting. Tending their wounded. They expect us to stay behind stone."

"Then they will be disappointed," Aleksandr said, his voice cold and even.

Lord Egor raised an eyebrow. "You intend to give them battle?"

"At first light," Aleksandr declared. "We won't let them dig in or build siege engines. We crush them against the sea before they realize the Western Army is here."

"Be careful, Prince," Egor warned softly. "The North does not break easily when its back is to the water."

Aleksandr raised his hand to his officers. "Form the camp along the ridge. Rest the men and feed the horses. At sunrise, we ride."

Down on the beach, the tides lapped against the dark wood of the longships. Erik son of Halfdan stood by the water's edge, looking up at the long line of torches crowning the ridge above Borislav.

He did not know the prince had arrived. But as the wind shifted from the east, carrying the scent of fresh horse-manure and steel, Erik rested his hands on the hilts of his twin swords and waited for the dawn.