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To Bargain with Wolves

By Laz Briar

By the damned, it was cold.

In all the southlands, Hane had never felt such a resentful, unrelenting chill. It ate him to the bone, a frozen fire seeping into his blood. His fists clenched, and he rubbed his arms through cloak and leather, staring out at a miserable, endless sea. That too was adorned with snowy teeth and jagged ice, like the maw of some dreadful beast.

Suppose it was. The Fat Gambit had taken to sailing trusted waters, not too far from the mainland of Solaria. The problem was, once it neared the bitter coasts of Vyskaal, the temperature changed rapidly. So came days of cold rain and snow, as the small galleon traversed black waves to reach its destination. Long gone were the golden-washed lands of Hane's chapter. In place, the miserable, wild north.

The ship groaned and broke against frozen sheets, sending gentle tremors through the ship. Damned this north! He wasn't supposed to be here! A Solarian knight had no place so far from home, much less on a mission of diplomacy. Words were frail and cheap, and you could scarcely find their measure without action. He was a man of the blade and battlefield, where the tricks of the world fell away and only duty mattered.

But as if in some devil's jest, as though a ploy to torment him, his superiors were sending him to this hellish cold. This Vyskaal. His chapter captain asserted he was an ideal candidate for the expedition, and so agreed the Scarlet Clerics which arranged the meeting in the first place. Honor bound, Hane dared not decline, but he was infested with questions.

He shuddered, marching away from the ship's side as it lurched, cutting through more icy fragments. He had thought of going to the deck below, but it was scarcely warmer. The deck hands – white chittering sea rats – were also afflictions of misery, constantly whispering their strange songs and bombarding him with inquiries of home. He didn't need to remind himself where he wasn't.

Instead, he resigned to walk around the deck one more time, reflecting on his task, pondering who exactly should he blame. The Clerics? Certainly. They were pompous and opulent, fanatics of red and brass sending swaths of Solarian men to death on grounds of religious fervor alone. They – in their zealous nature – were the ones who dictated this order, yes?

But no, he could always blame his chapter captain. Master Aden was wise beyond his years with more veterancy in his finger than those who served – so surely he must have known Hane was hardly fit for a diplomatic task? Hane was a loyalist, a man of action, not a weaver of words.

But then again, he could also blame the accursed north and its inhabits. Cursed nordwulvs.

Vyskaal was entrenched in their wild mysticism and stubborn ways. Sometimes travelers would visit his citadel, sharing wild accounts. All of it was seeped in deeds of legend. Oh, great wolves in snow white fur wielding hammers of enchanted stone or blades of eternal ice. Some called down ferocious storms of frost, and others had fur as harsh as blood. Those travelers always talked with such wonder in their eyes, citing memories with immense halls of giant bone and ageless oak, songs that shook the heavens, giants carrying entire trees, and so on.

Well, a fine and dandy load of codswallop it was, Hane was sure. All it meant is they were stubborn creatures of tradition. Tradition which dictated their diplomacy. Nordwulv did not respect the word in the same way, or so Hane was told.

“They like a mouth that knows how to swing a sword."

Meaning – or so Hane assumed – they only listened to warriors. The problem was, warriors knew fuck all about politics. Hane could break a pike formation or keep a frontline from crumbling but asking him to settle international squabbles was an errand beyond foolish.

It didn't help the damnable order left everything to imagination.

“We've negotiated a brief military alliance to help with efforts down at the Throat. If, of course, we convince them of our merits. So – Hane – convince."

Aden said it without a hint of sarcasm. When Hane asked what the hell that was supposed to mean, his chapter master had little else.

“Convince them we're worth their time. Don't fuck it up, soldier."

Trying to pull answers out of the ancient chapter master was harder than fucking a stone, so Hane was left to stew in his confusion and task. Beyond that, his orders were to board the Fat Gambit, sail four days to the southeastern coast of Vyskaal, and meet with the leaders of Ulfang.

As he paced around the deck, yes, he settled to blame them. Damn north beasts. How anything could scrape a living out in such obliterating cold was beyond him.

But it wasn't just that. He looked out to the midday sky – an overcast of bleaching grey – and felt. . . fear. Small saplings of anxiety. He knew not this place, or these people. He could happily die with his boots on out in war, where at least his purpose made sense. But this? What if he failed? What were the repercussions for failed diplomacy? In war, it was simple. You fail, you die. If this didn't go well, someone else might die, and that was a vile notion indeed, a stain on his path to protect all those in Sol Solaria.

His own fate did not concern him. Flay him alive, scatter his entrails to the rending north winds if you must. But suffer not the crimes of one man and inflict it on the innocent. If he could not convince the leaders of Ulfang to send their best to the Broken Throat, people would die.

Unfortunately, diplomacy was not a great beast to slay with a blade. It was subtle, everything he was not.

-*-

A hair after midday, one of the sea-rats beckoned him for lunch. A sheepish git of a girl with wide eyes who let her gaze wander over his sword brought him the foul stews of below, some dreadful salty brine with deep ice fish. It hardly settled his appetite, or the tendrils of anxiety wriggling in his stomach. It only helped distract him from the emptiness of the ocean's horizon, clouds of steam rising from the the bowl.

Normally, he preferred eating on his own, seeing as there was no ale to be had over a night's fire. But, he needed more information. Not just about Vyskaal, but about the nordwulv too.

When the rodent brought him one of the galleon's drinks – a nasty spirit with an almost seawater aftertaste – he stopped her.

“You lot travel this way often?" he said, keeping his tone gentle. “Seems far too cold."

The girl squeaked, her ears twittered, and she almost flushed. She looked up to the knight in wonder – only half his height – buck teeth clacking together.

“O-oh! M'zir! We, oh, urm, travel everywhere. We go everywhere. The sea is our home, yes, home."

Her scarlet eyes banked and she fidgeted. Not much of an answer.

Hane attempted to force down a spoonful of the soup, smiling. “As it looks. One of your deck hands had a southlander's blade. I recognize it. You get around the coasts a lot then."

Her nose wriggled. “All coasts, any coasts, yes, yes!"

“Even Vyskaal? Even near those scary north wolves?"

She looked at him, blinking. “Scary? No, no! Big teeth not scary! Big teeth loud, big axe, give big bright stone! Sing bigger songs!"

Hane forced another gulp of soup. That sounded promising. If brittle, white rats held no fear of north-kin, perhaps he didn't need to either.

“You trade with them often?"

The girl's bulbous eyes darted around the deck, as if taking inventory of the ship's contents.

“Sometimes, m'zir, sometimes. Big teeth not trade like others, big teeth like different things!"

Hane nodded. So it was implied by Master Aden. This was an important distinction, because half his plan had him offering Solarian riches in compensation for soldiers. Of course, he didn't know if this was a claim he could make, but better than nothing. However, if nordwulv didn't like traditional things. . .

“What kind of things? I'd like to bring back something for my daughter, you see."

A lie. He didn't know why, but perhaps appearing as a father might enamor the girl.

Only a wiggle of whiskers was the response, with another glance over his sheathed weapon.

“Songs! Songs! Big teeth trade us them! We sell them our whispers and they tell us their tales!"

Hane grimaced. Not exactly a promising point of wealth. He only knew the Hymns of Donan Orth, a long list of dull prayers, and a few vulgar shanties sung by his chapter brethren. He highly doubted noble wolves wanted to hear about I Fucked Bella the Big Titted Bessy _or _Jon's “Pike."

“No gold?"

The deckhand's expression changed, lips pouting. “Big teeth like old shinies too much. Keep it all. Never leaves island! No, they like stories and songs and. . ."

She pointed a dainty claw at his weapon. “Big swords!"

Hane sipped the rest of his soup, but after a retaliatory grumble in his stomach, decided to stop.

“You're telling me they want my weapon?"

The rat rubbed her cheeks, shaking her head. “No, m'zir. But yes! But no!"

“What?"

Her tail wiggled, her thoughts skittering for the right words. “Swords have stories? Knight from sunny lands has stories? Tell them big sword stories, and they give you words back!"

Hane blinked. “If I tell them about the sword, they'll give me a song?" How pointless, he thought.

But again, the white rat shook her head. “No! Big words! Songs! Songs which can break! Call snow! I've seen, I've seen! Songs making light and storms and fire!"

Hane tapped the hilt of his sword. Was he drunk from their briney ale, or was he hearing this right? Songs that could call storms? It sounded like magic. If it was, that might prove useful, but didn't address the nature of his diplomatic plan. At least, not yet.

He was hardly a yarn spinner. He certainly wasn't an old nanny telling tales of Iglar the Lonely or some such.

Curiosity pushing him, he continued his inquiry.

“And what about you, lass? You trade anything with them?"

At once, the girl's face went hot red, and she started to squeak, covering her eyes, imitating a giggle.

“Eee, y-yes, eee. I trade, I trade."

She pulled free a trinket on some string – what appeared to be a stone. It was unlike any rock Hane had ever seen, smooth and black, almost glassy. In it was some pocket of deep crimson, like a heart.

Hane nodded. “It's quite nice. What did you trade it for?"

She giggled again, hiding her eyes. “Nmm, eee, nmm. Big, young, strong wolf. Tribe wolf. Big wolf."

She started licking her lips. “Big arms and big touch. Liked his rat girls, yes, mm, yes. . ."

Her voice trailed. But. . . Hane didn't need to know the rest.

“I see," he said. He paused, considering.

“So, either I tell them grand stories or let one of them shag me."

The deckhand didn't respond, only turn into a shriveling, shaking mass of giggles and blushes. She left, squeaking, leaving Hane to observe the cold, desolate north in an entirely different way.

Solarius take him now.

-*-

The docks of Tuthhalk were only a slightly more welcoming sight than the abyssal waters. The cold, however, was adamant at sticking to every branch and rock which dared to exist in its hoary hold. Hane, upon leaving the Fat Gambit, wrapped himself as tight as he could, as the lands of Vyskaal spread before him.

Here at the port, white sea rats and nordfolk did their business. Piers of weathered wood bore strange ghostly barnacles and the long hooks of fat, blubber-coated chimera. The scent of frost fish cut the air while wraiths of black smoke twisted into the clouds, brothers to enormous pit fires dug in parts of the town.

Certainly then, Hane looked the stranger. Beady, black eyes of the long-toothed residents cast him a curious glance, while others no doubt scoffed at Hane's armor and blade. He was certainly not prepared for this land, if the thin pelts adorning him was any indication. But he ignored them. He wasn't here to dally or make friends.

After paying the galleon's captain, the pale rat directed him to meet the nordwulv a mile north out of Tuthhalk. When pressed as to why the damned beasts couldn't just meet him here – preferably in a warm tavern – the chittering thing only clicked his tongue and shrugged.

“Too proud, too big," the captain had said. “They like cold. Cold is strong to them. So be strong, sunny-knight."

The sea-rat pointed beyond the town.

“Follow the smoke."

Beyond that, the crew and captain crept away to go about their business. It was clear they were interested only in the job, and now Hane was truly on his own.

He had thought of stopping some of the corpus villagers and asking about the nordwulv, but their grunting, harsh language deterred him. Likely he wouldn't get much help from their guttural words. The buildings and signs weren't much help either. Hane winced at the twisted, black-oak buildings, where spires of cone and bark jut upward like cylindrical teeth. Bones and hooks and fish lined them by the hundreds, marked with logographic symbols as curled as a snake's tail.

He swore, wandering through the town, stopping by one of the giant pit-fires to at least warm himself before making his trek. Even the sun could not breach the veil of grey above, as though the eyes of Solarius were blinded.

A test. It was a test. These north things were a proud lot, giving no quarter. No warm welcomes or diplomats, just Hane and the cold. If he could not reach them, then he wasn't worth their time. That, he assumed, was the logic.

He spread his palms and drank the fire's heat, his only friend in this alien world. He paused, musing over his purpose here. He remembered the sun and the golden lands, the proud white citadels of the capital, his knight chapter, the wild battles of the Broken Throat, sleeping in a warm bed, of home. A bar mare with big tits too, that was a good thought.

Icy wind rushed through him, a whisper of the north. He braced himself, then moved on. At once, his eyes darted beyond the wooded walls of the town. Eyes narrowing, he made out a tiny, almost indiscernible shape. Small, like a little black worm – the smoke trail the captain had spoken of.

It was this or nothing. Hane had few supplies, save for some silvers, a medoc, cured meat, the terrible salt-liquor from the ship, and water. Enough to venture out, and enough to die in the cold.

Adopting a marcher's pace, he left Tuthhalk as quick as he arrived. None of the bulbous chimera stopped him as his silhouette vanished in the pale northern oblivion, likely content to see him go.

Quiet settled over him with eerie swiftness. The fishing town shrank to a distant landmark as Hane ventured into the wild, keeping away from dense forest to maintain sight of the smoke. All around him, the crisp whistles of shuddering trees chattered at him, their long, skeletal fingers pointing with snow covered branches.

Strange bluish grass broke through heaves of snow, stretching into a near endless horizon. Hills were frequent, and every pause Hane could see distant, jagged mountains breaking the terrain like a deformed spine. No doubt, they were thousands of miles away, yet as clear to him as the capital city.

The smoke drew closer, and he shivered. His boots were drowning in icy snow, and they brought an unfortunate dampness too. The metal layers of his armor felt tighter as well, like it were trying to choke him. He kept his arms firmly wrapped and near his chest, warming his core as best he could. God, how long was it? Nary the scratch of an hour and already he felt he might freeze to death.

By the time he reached an array of distant shapes, his short beard teemed with ice. He clenched his teeth, for they ceaselessly rattled from the cold. His only salvation now was the coil of smoke, which grew into thick, dense puffs. It carried an odd stench, the unfamiliar cinders of unfamiliar trees. Well, either this was the camp of nordwulv, or the knight happened upon a gathering of brigands. Either was preferable.

As he approached, he could see the camp below him, down a hill. It was near an opening in the snow, close to a gash of deep water with massive skin-tents dotted about. Much like Tuthhalk, a large pit fire lay in the center, while Hane spied a few silhouettes.

He was no hunter, but even he sniffed out the definable aroma of, well, fur. Chimera always held it about them, a subtle musk unique to their species. In fondness, he recalled the mares always smelled like fresh earth and hay.

Well, they must have spied him out too. As he descended the hill, two figures appeared at the camp's edge. Their eyes pierced into the Solarian knight, as cold and devilish as the unforgiving ice.

He slowed, making them out in the pale day's light. Tall figures of deep grey-white fur and sinew married strips of bloodied leather, hands gripping skull-cracking axes embroidered with screaming runes beset with long braided hair and coiled brass, angry tails lashing to mix with murderous teeth, figures of flesh made mountain piercing the cold air with size insurmountable and bearing a gaze with a hundred deeds and a hundred dead monsters and a hundred tribes.

By Solarius, Hane thought.

“SKAS!"

Their roar ripped the dead silence of the air, sending pale carrion crows fluttering from trees. Hane knew not the word, but he knew to stop.

He raised his hands. The nordwulf which spoke approached with an executioner's pace. Even through the tufts of snow, Hane's ears drummed from the thud of his footseps.

The nordwulv spoke again, in the sharp, rhythmic language of his home. Hane could do nothing. Be damned, did none of them speak in Sol's Tongue? The wolf now towered over him, the might of a Vyskaalian son brandished before the sun-loving intruder.

It was clear to Hane why his superiors were so adamant to hire the nordwulv to fight at the Neck. This beast was thrice the size of a man, the head of its axe larger than Hane's torso.

Again, the wolf spat down at him, a tone as harsh as cut rocks and broken teeth. Hane could only imagine what the thing was saying.

“I'm a knight of Sol Solaria," Hane said, lowering his head. “Sent here by Chapter Master Aden of the Heikval chapter."

The wolf's ears flicked, as though insulted by the simpler tongue.

“Solaria," repeated the wolf, not without a speckle of distaste. He grunted, smirking, turning to his companion which approached from behind.

“Sul-maan," he said. The other shadow chuckled, but the voice was alarmingly feminine.

Because it was. Now coming to the grey wolf's side was a figure a hand shorter, but no less frightening in stature. She bore numerous straps of blue cloth at her waist, while deep marks of writhing black ink marked her from shoulder to waist, and upon her belt were the bones of god knew how many foes. Her own fur was pale as death, a sickly white, met with pitch braided hair and a grin that might crack iron.

“Sul-maan," she said. “Haha. Sun knight."

Hane snapped his attention to her. “Do you understand me?" he said, teeth chattering. Keep his arms raised had allowed the cold to snake into his chest.

She didn't answer at once, only looked him over. Her eyes were bright, bright as all the gold in the vaults of Sylidor, bright as the heart of his god, unsettling, horrifying, mesmerizing.

“Sun knight is smaller than I thought," she said. She said something to her counterpart in Vyskaal, the bigger wolf chuckling.

Hane grit his teeth. Size aside, he wasn't about to die parrying words with a few deranged beasts.

“My fuckin' cock is freezing off. Can you understand me or not?" he said.

The wolfess sneered. “You don't like the cold?"

Hane grunted, inciting a laugh from the pair.

“I understand," added the she-bitch. “Expected more. Expected other sun-knights. Only you?"

Hane watched the other wolf relax, planting the hilt of his weapon in the snow. Tired, he lowered his arms, nodding.

“Only me. My superiors were confident I could handle this task alone," said Hane, in a more matter-of-fact way than intended.

“I'm supposed to meet with the leaders of Ulfang?"

He wasn't sure. He only remembered the name. His ignorance, yet again, caused the pair to rumble with laughter.

“Hoho. Bradvi. Little sun knight thinks he is worthy of Ulfang? Cold kill you before you even get there, sul-maan."

Hane shuddered. Any longer here and his feet might snap.

“Fine, fine, I'm not. What then? I'm here, ain't I? Either I stay or go, but tell me now afore my nuts turn to ice!"

The wolfess crackled with more howlish laughs, muttering to her companion. Likely repeating what Hane said, and he chortled.

“Not worthy of Ulfang, not yet. Need to look at you. Yuana must approve."

Well, it was something. “Who's that?"

The pair only sneered, the marked wolfess turning as she went into the camp's embrace. The large male gestured with hand.

“Fohse," he said, pointing. By this, Hane took it they wanted him to follow, so he did.

Even within the camp's perimeter, it was notably warmer. The belching firepit radiated with life giving heat, the crackling flame dripping relief into Hane's body as he passed it by. But it was the only familiar thing now.

Around him, several pitched tents stood as markers, thick hides of unknown lower beasts large enough to house a family. The scent of wet fur and ice washed over Hane, as he looked between each, noting the denizens which looked back with eerie scrutiny. Indeed, there were nordwulv by the dozen, at least on Hane's first count, each as intimidating as the other.

He thought at once how his own chapter might fare against them in the field. They bore little to no armor, only hides and skins, but their fur was thick and no doubt hid the threading sinew of weather-worn muscle. Even the smallest of them was taller than he by several hands, and all carried magnificent, dreadful weapons. Some were cut stone embedded with glowing gems the likes of which Hane never saw, and others were a black, abyssal metal which seemed to swallow up light. Blades, hammers, axes, accompanied by braided beasts marked with strings of tattoos.

He decided he'd rather not fight one.

As his shivers subsided, the wulv brought him to a larger tent, a totem of skulls and bone presiding near its entrance. He wagered this the homestead of Yuana.

The marked wolfess pulled upon the curtain of fur, opening the tent, as the larger wolf behind Hane nudged him onward.

“She'll make a decision of you. Either worthy. . . or meat."

The marked wolfess uttered a low cackle, as Hane found himself under the embrace of crackling light and acrid incense, pushed along past the guarding beasts.

The dense skins making up the tent cut through the cold, so much Hane felt his brow dampen with sweat. As for the innards of the homestead, rugs on carved dirt, kegs of ale, skillets of meat, stones, weapons, and numerous fetishes associated with Vyskaal populated his surroundings.

He barely saw her amongst the forest of trinkets.

Fur of faded wheat intermixed with startling green runic markets were beset by rivers of coiled braided hair, accenting a form fit for warfare and. . . perhaps even a brothel. Indeed, adorned only by strips of cloth, the wolfish silhouette sauntered into the light, bones embedded with gems flaring to life around her neck, distracting from the mangled scar running across her chiseled waist.

She could probably crack my skull with her arms. Or her thighs. Or tits, Hane thought.

By Solarius, was every creature in this sun forsaken realm meant to make him feel small. She loomed over him, wearing a studious, calm expression. One no doubt alert and perhaps unimpressed.

“And I take it you're Yuana?" said Hane. He only assumed she could speak his tongue, otherwise this was a short trip indeed.

“Skas," she hissed. Hane grumbled, a hand falling to the hilt of his blade from habit. What now then?

Peering at him, she turned a moment, going to the marked kegs. Though she was frightening, Hane had a chance to give her his own once over. And, certainly, her backside was generous. He'd been with quite a few southborn mares during his early campaigns, and even they couldn't hold a candle to how. . . dense she was.

The bands in her braided hair clinked as she moved, where soon, the warrior wolfess produced two stone-carved mugs of a stern smelling liquid. In the middle of her tent was a small table, where she sat opposite side, slamming down her drink. She stared at him, waiting, placing the other mug on opposite side.

Hane didn't need instructions. With careful movements, he took his seat – though shrunk in its size – nodding in appreciation.

“Words are not spoken until drinks are had in the home of nordwulv."

Her words were crisp and pointed. Spoken so well she sounded better than many locals Hane knew.

She took a draft, a long, gulping sip slipping past her muzzle, a swig that downed half – what Hane assumed – the ale she poured. By all gods unnamed, she could drink too? Hane started to wonder if the beasts here were too noble for the concept of bedwives.

The stone mug found itself slammed on table once again, as Yuana stared at the Solarian knight expectantly.

“I see," he said, bringing the large cup to his lips. The scent was harsh, but carried the gentle hint of berry. Possibly honey?

He readied to sip, but then remembered his task. Diplomacy. And something the sea rats mentioned: stories. So, he ventured to make an impression, good or bad.

“When we drink in my homeland, we drink to something. So ah. . ."

He raised his mug, forcing a smile. “Good health to the north."

Then came the draft. He almost coughed! It was like fire! Sweet, spicy, harsh liquid fire. The warmth the liquid bore was like nothing he'd tasted before. It scorched his throat and overwhelmed his nostrils, as Hane struggled to gulp down the feverish liquid. Yet, for all its feisty flavor, it was refreshing, seeding his chest in comfort, and he felt as though he could strip bare and run into the snow so long as he had this to drink.

He set the mug down, coughing, wiping his beard. “Damn fine stuff," he said, hoarse.

All the while, Yuana regarded him with quiet judgment. As Hane steadied, she appeared to muse over his fate.

“Fryndr-Ees."

The knight blinked.

“Now you may speak among the nordwulv, fire tongue."

Her ears swiveled, her nose flared. “Words are currency. Spend yours well."

Hane was quiet, though began to understand. A hundred things stampeded through his mind, about what to say, or what he could say. But given his position, and perhaps his taxation of this wolfess' patience, he decided on directness.

“I need to speak with your leader at Ulfang. My superiors are asking for military support along the Broken Neck and. . ."

He trailed off. Doubtful these words had much meaning to the great she-bitch.

“I request a humble audience with your leader at Ulfang," he said, trying again.

Yuana leaned forward. “Who are you to ask this, suul?"

Bloody hell. Hane's mind scrambled, and all he could dredge forth was his chain of command.

“Hane Yeigmet. Knight of Sol Solaria, son of the Aeslann, servant of Chapter Master Aden, shield of the people, blade of Her Holy Eminence the Empress Eternal Karletta Frampt."

He spat it out like a drill, having done so a hundred times in front of chapter commands and cleric zealots alike. It did, at least, sound impressive, gaudy and nonsensical as it were.

Perhaps it was the ale, but he chanced a bit more. “Visitor and admirer of your north lands, oh great wolf."

That, at least, held some measure of authenticity.

Pregnant quiet formed between them, and Hane took to sipping the ale, filling the gaps. Part of him considered against turning to a drunken fool, but then again, perhaps the nordwulv respected that more than a haughty southborn knight.

Yuana smirked. “The sun does not shine here."

Hane heard the crackle of wind howl over the tent, and he shifted.

“Ain't it so," he said. “Shame. It's a pretty thing, if you don't look right at it."

The massive wolfess finished her drink, her unblinking eyes feeding on Hane's uncertainty.

“You are only Hane in this land. Deedless."

The knight felt he was running into a wall. “Then what?" he said.

“If I need to prove myself to score an audience, well, better than sittin' around and freezing my stones off."

A quiet chuckle escaped the wolfess. “Prove yourself?"

He shrugged, tapping the hilt of his weapon. “Better with a sword than words. Can't kill an army with those. Suppose I can do something to show, what was it? The south is worth your time?"

An amused smirk tugged at Yuana's muzzle lips. “Perhaps."

Here, the she-bitch stood, the titanic curvature of her muscular frame once more looming over the knight.

“Curious suul, covered in metal and swords. Small, nake. Cold should've killed you. But. . . interesting. More interesting than the sea-pigs and water vermin."

Hane felt his head slosh around in molten ale, so he merely nodded. “Better than boring."

She crossed her arms, and Hane's swimming mind couldn't help but appreciate the way her frothy breasts squished together against the embrace of her biceps.

“You are interesting. You interest me. But you must also interest my packmate. We will go to Ulfang, go to Ryn. And then perhaps – if we don't crack in you half – Anghala will speak with you."

The words settled over Hane like stones. Who the hell was Ryn? And what did she mean by. . . crack him in half?

“What now?" he said.

She grinned, gesturing. “Go. Thwa. Speak to Hrogir, the red-claw. We leave soon. But remember, Fryndr-Ees, words are currency."

It was hardly the explanation he wanted. The jagged tongue of Vyskaal combined with the fiery drink didn't help either. But, seeing as how he didn't want to anger the she-bitch near twice his size, he stood, shaky, offering one last heavy nod.

“Spend it well," he muttered.

-*-

Hane was fortunate the naming conventions of the nordwulv were direct. It didn't take long to find Hrogir, another impressive wolf with a forearm as deep as dreadful scarlet. Why this fur was scorched the color of blood Hane didn't know, and didn't want to ask.

But, once found – a silhouette standing by the enormous fire pit – the wolf regarded him with an instant understanding. A strange way to do things, as Hane at least expected the two previous beasts to escort him around, but instead, Hrogir barked the same words and bid Hane follow. For the remainder of the afternoon, Hane spent his hours in a smaller – but still comfortable – tent, which he was allowed to sit and even partake of some of the rations offered to him.

The red-claw watched him with cautious eyes, a long halberd of pike-bone never leaving his side. But, he did provide generosities which Hane was quite grateful for, and the salted meats offered helped wash out the taste of the revolting brine-stew he had before.

It remained this way for a handful of hours, as Hane let himself rest a while, mulling over his task. Once again, thoughts drifted to home, of the mighty sun, of pale citadels and gold hammers, his brothers, the Bucking Brandy tavern west of his home in Aensland. . . and even of Yuana.

What do they put in the water here, he thought. God, bigger than a man's head they were.

If he could just see her bend over one more time. . .

THRUM.

He shook himself. Was he asleep? At once, he was alert, gloved hand gripping hilt. A deep, booming noise rumbled his chest, like a stone fell into the earth.

Again. THRUM. Louder this time. And then something else. A groan? A roar?

“What in the fuck. . ."

His eyes darted to Hrogir, who had hardly moved. But this time, the red-claw wasn't looking at him. Instead, the beast wore a smile.

“Laugdra."

Solarius knew what that meant. Steadying himself, Hane rose, the faint tendrils of the previous brew having faded off, stepping out in the damp chill.

The sun – were it present at all – had receded, revealing a sky of dark pitch. There were no stars, no doubt hidden by the veil of thick clouds above, the only light washing over the camp the ever present pit fire. But again, that sound. THRUM. It shook the land, like some terrible war machine.

Behind him, Hrogir appeared, who did not look worried. Was this some new test?

A deep, guttural rumble caught the knight's attention. In the distance, it was an ugly, booming groan, accompanied by those same, pounding echoes. And then, Hane realized. . . they were footsteps. Footsteps to what?

All around him, the nordwulv appeared in clusters. But they – like Hrogir – seemed quite unalarmed. In fact, Hane noticed some of the tents were pulled down, where some of the beasts carried immense sacks and holdings of stripped leather. They looked to the west, quiet, expectant.

And then it appeared.

An unfurling mass of herculean size, a leviathan of fur and muscle bearing chains of deep brass and symbols driven into labyrinth of sinewy flesh, plated with armors ripped from the veins of the earth with two frozen, undulating bones appearing at its sides accompanied by a lone, mighty tendril, a marrowless finger, accosting the air with wild points as it crushed the impudent snow beneath its tyrannical footfalls, hosting thick roots of rope and a chariot of bone and elderwood behind it, driven by wild beastmasters with feral eyes, controlling this machination of raw, northern terror.

Once, in his time, chatting with the bards back home, he recalled them recounting songs of great northborn monsters. Pale giants and sea dragons and living fungi. Then beasts larger than a hundred horses with fur thicker than the armor of a shield wall.

Laugdra.

Hane felt spears of fear lance into his heart. He wasn't sure what frightened him more – the size of the monstrosity or the fact that the wulv had appeared to tame it. Because, as the honking, groaning, roaring thing wandered into camp, its eyes small and wretched, the wolves approached it like a man to his dog. Familiar, unconcerned, going to the chariot it was dragging to load up their tents and belongings.

With a beast of this size, a man could move a city if he had a dozen of them.

He stood in awe as the nordwulven went about their tasks, some even petting the great thing as it responded with prods from its lone, brown trunk. And he realized. . . he was going to have to ride it. Ride with them. Further into the void of cold to Ulfang.

There was no going back now. Hrogir nudged him from behind, ushering him on. Hane could say nothing in protest, not that he would at this point.

He approached, keeping a safe distance from the leer of the laugdra, eyeing the lengthy chariot behind its mass. The hosting wulven did not regard him with interest – and perhaps this was better – for they were barely clothed and looked driven by mania. Suppose they might to host a primal-beast like that.

Upon the caravan of wood, there were spaces for boarding supplies and places for sitting underneath a thick tarp of animal hide. The knight found himself a corner, preferring to stay out of sight until he reached Ulfang. He was “joined" again by Hrogir, who appeared keen to keep the knight in his gaze, while other nordwulven started loading the contraption with their supplies.

Hane did not see Yuana again, but assumed he would once they reached their destination. A part of him wanted to sleep, but the other wanted to see what lay ahead.

Soon, the pack of nordwulven finished loading the caravan chariot and found themselves their own spaces, huddled and comfort. There was only a handful of them, less than a dozen by Hane's count, yet they still felt an army. Yuana was not among them. Perhaps she rode the laugdra as its true master.

With an echoing roar, the land leviathan started to move, dragging its citadel legs through the frothy snow. Farther into Vyskaal, farther into this alien land of strange creatures. Farther to Ulfang.

-*-

Two suns and two nights passed before Hane spotted a scribble of shapes on the pale horizon.

Before, Vyskaal was an unrelenting domain of deep snow and pockets of glowing ice. Rocks speared through the ground and blossomed with sparking energy. Fearsome birds with wingspans longer than a man circled the sky. Trees held silent guard among hill and river alike. Every so often, there were timid villages scattered throughout the northern oblivion, houses of dense stone and wood bearing wisps of irritable smoke – but the caravan did not stop for them.

It was hard to believe anything or anyone could conjure a living out in these wilds. Hane saw no fields, no temples, no markets, no supply roads, nor any indication of civilization as they travelled.

Until the distant shapes caught his attention. Small at first, like black pebbles thrown into a white lake. Then larger, a cascade of oddly shaped buildings reaching forth like snarling teeth. Overlooking them was a stunning stone ziggurat, dense with black rock, immense like a miniature mountain, a lordly silhouette watching all under its domain.

Then, as the tireless laugdra marched on, other buildings danced into view. Dense with thick wood, some made of mighty carved rock, some wearing long brass chains with bells of belching fire. Then, the snow gave way to form, where paths of rock were visible, frozen sneaks leading into the immense city. So it was, this mighty place, this grand Ulfang.

Hane shifted to get a better view. Strangely, the cold wasn't as harsh here. Still better, yes, but lacking the cutting winds from before. In fact, the sky broke, letting rays of gold sun trickle through the armada of clouds above. Anywhere Sol could reach was a blessing indeed.

As the caravan made its way towards the city, Hane recycled his thoughts. It was easy to forget why he was here – so lost in this unfamiliar land. But all tasks returned to him, and now he had to prove himself, somehow. Big stories, big words, like the sea-rat said. They were currency here, so he had to spend well. He convinced Yuana, yes, but now he had to convince another, to have a chance to speak with this “Anghala."

Though the indomitable steps of the laugdra were slow, they felt faster than a hammer striking the anvil, as Hane found himself on the edges of the city. The immense beast stopped at what was like a magnificent chapel for wild, immense creatures, as yet more of the gigantic things were tended to by a ceaseless array of masters and nordwulven. Skittering, quick, the nordwulv greeted each other, packing their things as others arrived, all speaking in their harsh, Vyskaalian language.

Hane stepped free of the caravan, though cautious. Ahead of him, the immensity of the city dwarfed him, grand with black stone and tireless oaks. The scent of scorched meat and hot ale met his nostrils, and a lively chortling of doggish voices and clanking metals greeted his ears. Never did he imagine such a spectacle of life in an unforgiving land like this.

Hrogir was not content to let him sightsee, however. Hane felt a sharp nudge on his back, the red-claw catching his attention.

“Fohse, Yuana," he said, leering down.

She wasn't far off. The pack master soon appeared, adorned with a thin armor of leather and beastly bone, halberd at side. The gravity of her position kept other nordwulf at bay, but certainly the folk were curious, sniffing at the unspoiled flesh of a sun-knight.

Yuana spoke to Hrogir in native tongue, the great wolf's expression changing.

She pointed at the caravan, barking orders. Hrogir looked between Hane and the pack master, maw clenched. With an aggravated snort, he turned, going to the beast as Yuana loomed over the knight.

“Won't be joining us then?" Hane said, relieved to be free from the wolf's gaze.

Yuana didn't acknowledge. “Follow," she said.

Hane chanced no argument. The faster this went, the better. He had no idea how long it might take to broker a deal.

Yuana showed little mercy in her strides. She was a quick thing, tail sashaying about as if to keep the knight following. It certainly worked, as his eyes darted in wander, catching all the strange sights of Ulfang. Plenty of north folk in every corner at every street, certainly. Some were not as big as the guard, though still quite formidable in size. Then there were unfamiliar chimera, beasts Hane heard in fable.

What was it? Bruin? Brudga? They were north bear, stout like the wolves, though portly. Yet, different. The handful he saw did not fashion armor or weapon like the wolves. Chains of stone and axes of sparkling gems, instead. Were they visitors too?

And then the corpous, fat, husked beasts. Long whiskers and longer teeth, carrying enormous hooks of brass or bone, barrels of smoked fish at their backs. Other creatures bore immense horns and wool so thick they hardly needed clothes, and others were short, like the sea-rats but slicker. Otter, perhaps? Then, the foxes, of sparkling white fur that looked tinted with dewdrops of ice. They glanced at the passing knight with indifference, their eyes ghostly and blue.

Hane ignored them best he could, keeping pace with Yuana. But he could feel their judging gazes, and there wasn't a single man or woman to grant him comfort. Truly, he was the only human in this northern oblivion.

Yuana and he arrived at a building dissimilar from the others. Where many of the housings were pointed like cut teeth, this structure was like a dome, a hut made of the ancient wood. Around its grand rim were gigantic skulls larger than a score of men, undulating shapes of marrow that put the fear of death into Hane. Symbols were cut into each bone-work, and under them were scrolls of tanned hide, perhaps recounting the deeds bringing down each leviathan. A trophy house, Hane thought.

Yuana, glancing back, pushed into its entrance, a great carved door opening like a maw as Hane did his best to appear nonchalant. No going back now.

Within, it was. . . invitingly warm. Torches populated several carved pillars and a small pit fire rested in the center, bellowing a glow of ambient light. Around him were furnishings fit for several nordwulf, garnished with rugs and trinkets and maps and weapons. A thin staircase ran up to a second floor, perhaps to bedrooms, while a gentle scent of crushed fruits, honey mead, and salted meat scented the air.

“Home," said Yuana, setting aside her halberd on a weapon's rack. “You are welcome here for the moment."

“An exactly how long is a moment?"

Yuana strut over to a pair of immense barrels, pulling free a hanging stone mug.

“The extent of Ryn's patience."

The wolfess poured the golden ale. “You are welcome to food and drink, knight. But both eyes must see you worthy. If Ryn does not, then you will leave. If we both do not, you might not leave at all."

The splinter of comfort Hane felt from the notion of good drink and food washed away at Yuana's words. A life and death scenario then? Wonderful.

He sighed. “I'm not much for guessing. What do I need to do to prove myself?"

Yuana took a frothy gulp of the harsh liquid, a little foam dribbling from her lips.

“The only way that matters to a wolfess," she said, licking her chops.

The non-answer did little to aid Hane. But soreness stifled his next query. Everything was heavy, his muscles reddened by the grip of armored bracings, and his stomach grumbled. He needed some rest, true rest, to see the rest of this through.

“Ryn will return soon," said Yuana, as if understanding Hane's discomfort. “Better prepare."

Hane said nothing. He could only imagine the scenario ahead of him. Yuana then directed him to a wash room, where Hane was eager to excuse himself. Within the small chamber he drained himself and began stripping away the attire of his habit and armor. The embossed plates fell away with heavy clanks while the leather scraped against his raw skin. Fortunately, no trace of frostbite, though his flesh screamed in relief and pain once he was free from his tomb of plates. He hadn't realized just how overworked he was.

He could, however, appreciate the nordwulv architecture. A mouth of stone poured a river of hot water. Where this heat came from, he wasn't sure. However, getting it here and keeping it that way were no easy things, and demonstrated a technical competence he didn't think the wolves had.

Closing his eyes, he sank into a stone tub, letting the filth of the travels wash away. He took a moment to clean his beard and straighten his hair, soaking until the pains of the earth left him. Soon, he was refreshed, so relaxed he nearly fell asleep.

Not long after though the door ripped open, the great Yuana barging in. Startled, Hane sat up in the tub, looking for his weapon. The wolfess, however, merely tossed a few strips of fur on the ground. She herself was mostly bare, in thin hides, the curvature of her titanic bust on display.

She didn't let him speak. “Something better than your frail steel against the cold."

The she-bitch turned, and Hande noticed her cheeks were. . . rosier than before. Indeed, even from where he was, the faint ambrosia of harsh alcohol lingered on her.

Well, he indeed welcomed the fresh clothes, and the sight of the large beast sauntering away, her hips swinging in nonchalant strokes with a gentle jostle to what was visible of her rump. Damn shame there weren't more like her back home.

Hane soaked a bit longer then left the bubbling waters, quickly dawning the thick furs given to him. They were immeasurably soft, finer than most pillows he'd slept on, and encased him in a barrier of warmth.

In the empty hall, Hane hunted down food. Yuana was absent, but his thoughts were on consumption. Tables of sharp cheese and smoked fish were accompanied by fat berries and salted strips of honeyed meat, mixed with tubs of buttered onions and vegetables. Legs of roast bird glistened with red glazes and thick loaves of seasoned bread played neighbor to crisp tomatoes. A damn fine feast.

Hane found a plate and took a few portions for himself. The meat melted from the bone and the fruits dribbled with waves of sweet juice. The ale was bitter and hot but still refreshing, filling him with the strength for another seven campaigns. An army was only as strong as its stomach.

He could barely finish the slab of salted flesh by the time Yuana returned. She regarded him with a softer expression, perhaps amused he had finally partaken of the wolf's feast.

“Eat well. You'll need the strength."

Hane glanced to her. Of that, he had no doubt.

-*-

A pocket of time later, and Ryn had returned. Hane had – once again – found himself a corridor of silence while he meditated on events to come. He rotated through his prayers to Solarius and mused on the people of home, cut off only by the sharp whistle of a dark, outside cold.

Entered the she-wolf.

She was none dissimilar from her sister, a creature with the proportions of a warrior and a woman. Grey was her fur, gray like deep stone set with hair as black as ink, eyes cool and blue. A sprawl of markings – far more elaborate than her counterpart – snaked over her thighs and arms. Bracelets of stone embedded with brilliant gems accented her frame, and her attire – though leather – appeared more refined, as though cut from a higher quality beast. At her sides, the frightening edges of two hand axes, black metal wreathed in incandescent veins of scarlet.

At once, her gaze snapped to Hane. He felt the uneasy judgment roll from her, and realized this was the wolfess to convince. And beyond having a drink, he didn't know what the nordwulv wanted.

“Hmph."

The chamber door closed, and she marched off, long black hair whipping behind her. Up the stairs she went, without a word, and Hane feared he had already lost.

Yuana – sitting by the pit fire – smirked.

“Ah, so you aren't dead."

The blonde wolfess stood, stretching.

“My sister is a claw of action. She will spare no words until you prove yourself. Come, knight."

By that, Hane assumed Ryn would have decided his fate right there. Suppose he was glad there wasn't an immediate need to kill him.

Still, even as he watched the enticing Yuana saunter up the stairs, he hesitated. He didn't know what to say or expect, and any wrong move would cost him dearly. And the empire. Chapter Master Aden was relying on, and by proxy, civilians.

Well, a soldier had no place on his ass.

He thought to take his blade, but what good would it do him now? Instead, he resigned to whatever fate had in store, going up the steps. As he emerged, an entirely new layer of the hut opened up, a small vista of bedding and warm light. It was a large room without pillars, like an attic, save it appeared to be for leisure versus storage.

But as his eyes wandered, looking over the various shields and trinkets the nordwulv collected, something caught his gaze. Well, not thing, but someone.

This Ryn wasted little time, so it seemed. Her figure of pitch grey was no longer covered by the various armaments she waltzed in with. No, instead, she was bare to the room air, her fat frothy breasts and immense figure on display with casual indifference. She wasn't looking Hane's direction, flexing and stretching her physique, the delicate sinew of her flesh warping with each motion. Her tail tossed from side to side and long raven hair fell over her like black ink.

“She had me wanderin' as far as Lahkiri. Off on some damned wild hunt. Fool errand from a fool girl," said Ryn, notable agitation in her tone.

Yuana was to the side, her eyes passing to Hane, then back to her packmate. A smile.

“Fool, or bold?"

Ryn scoffed. “Two aren't different."

At this, Yuana pulled away at her own fabrics, and the fat, hefty bust wobbled free. Enough that the immense flesh gave a gentle 'clap' as her earthy nips glistened against fire-light, where Ryn sniffed the air.

The sister guard finally regarded Hane, who was a bit awestruck.

“Ack, finally, the new meat. Smells a lot better than the ruddy pack, too."

Ryn gestured to Hane, who had stopped at step's edge.

“Come. I think I've had enough empty beds for a spell."

Yuana started to laugh. “Far more eager than I thought. And here I spelled tales of dread to our dear Fryndyr-Ees."

Hane blinked. “Begging your pardon, but what?"

Ryn grumbled. “A nice thing you've done then, always chasing off the meat. Save some of that tradition for Anghala, why don't you? Girl could use a lesson."

Her tail flicked, agitation growing. “And you, I said come. What, are ya' daft? See a gal with tits the size of your noggin and you aren't figuring it out? I thought you south men were the bright ones, bandying around with that damn sun of yours."

Yuana chortled. She went to Ryn, hands coming behind her pack sister, palms running under the frothy tits, squeezing and bouncing them a bit. The darker wolfess hummed in amusement, hands on hips.

“Easy, easy now. He's new. He has to prove himself, remember?"

At this, Hane stirred. Well, much of him did, and now he certainly was bearing a blade. Of all the broken ides, the sight of bouncing tits never failed him. But this was different, and these wolves were. . . well. Beyond him.

His mind reached back to the ship, what the rat had said. And he realized: either tell them or story or let them shag me.

“I don't think I'm drunk enough for this," he said, rubbing his chin.

Ryn grumbled. “Oh, by the rings on the beard of Talga, always something."

She nudged Yuana. “Go and fetch him a damn drink."

Ryn, in the meantime, left the embrace of her sister guard and strolled to a large, round hide-covered bed. She let herself fall into the warm sheets, sighing, spreading her thighs, gold gaze squarely on the knight.

Yuana shrugged. “Ah, fine, fine, put more honey in him then. Might help your diplomacy, eh knight?"

The other wolfess sauntered away, likely to fetch the drink, while Hane was left to the machinations of. . . this. He was part delighted, part terrified. Chills of uncertainty spiked through him, yet arousal clutched at his loins like the tender workings of a bar maid.

Aye, the stress of coming so far north could put any man out of sorts. No doubt his dreams had lingered on the fat titted mares of home. But this was wild, dangerous, different. Maybe it was risking life and limb.

“Are you having an existential crisis over there?" barked Ryn. “Get the fuck over here, south man. You see a cunt and you just want to paint it, that it?"

Well, at least she was to the point. And certainly, Hane's eyes wandered to the supple, dark entrance, the nether lips black as the night, enticing and exotic.

“No," he said, stepping forward. “Suppose I'm just taking a measure of things."

Ryn snorted, taking one of her plump breasts and giving it a toss. “Ya need to measure my tit from there? Get over here and touch me, or you'll regret it."

Of that, Hane was certain. Wasting no time, he went to the wolfess, crawling atop the bed. He felt small on it, and the immense size of the wolfess didn't help. But then again, it was a nice comfort. There was so much of her to get lost in, and his cock bristled at the opportunity.

Yuana wasn't gone long either, her footsteps catching his ears along with the wet slosh of a frothy mug.

“Always so aggressive," chimed Yuana. “Don't think I'll let you have all the fun."

Hane hesitated, if only briefly. Was he going to have to handle two wolves at the same time? Could he? Fye, he could stand firm against legions of painted heathens and armored lunatics, but this?

Still, he was bid to touch, so he did.

He proceeded with generous caution, his fingers first coming to Ryn's snatch, digits roaming across the sensitive lips, provoking a pleased murmur from the she-bitch. He caressed and massaged the folds, not quite plunging with digit, slow in his motions, while free palm went to her hip, squeezing through the thick soft fur and hide of muscle.

Tremors of excitement started to blossom in his chest. Even from his gentle motions, the presence of danger was ever lurking. This Ryn was boisterous and forward. If he displeased her, she may as well tear his head clean off. But if he satisfied her, then he'd have one hell of a tale to spin back home.

He felt Ryn's tail curl behind him, along with the gravity of another body. Yuana had returned, the generosity of her form pressing against Hane's back. Or, at least, the bulk of her bust, which seized his shoulders and weighed him down with her magnificent size.

Hane took a breath, an arm sneaking around his chest, full of mug and drink.

“A thousand thanks," he said, taking the ale. Oh he was going to need this. He wasn't much a soothsayer, found it hard to coax a lady with words. But a loosened body and mind? Not so hard. Well, at least not all of him.

The feisty drink ran down his throat, granting him liquid courage. So too were Yuana's brave hands, which snuck down and grabbed at his crotch, the soft digits roaming over his yet-unhardened flesh with practiced strokes. She was. . . quite silky, and gentle. Not at all what he expected from a warrior wolfess.

Hane grunted, pleased, letting himself fall into it. He didn't want to lose control – he did have to prove something, didn't he? But it was challenging, because at the attentions of a woman, especially two exotic beasts, made him want to lose himself.

“Ah, m'thinks I found where the sun-knight keeps all his fire," whispered Yuana, licking his ear. “More a pike than a sword, eh?"

He didn't know about that, but he'd believe any lie at this rate.

Ryn looked him over, eyeing the ripe mast prodding out, as Yuana removed the furs remaining on Hane's body.

“A spear's only good when the timber holds," said the grey wolfess, smirking. “Let's see if you don't snap, knight."

Hane finished his drink, somewhat alarmed. “Pardon?"

He was on his back in the splinter of a moment. Ryn had pulled him over, mounting him, her immense size bearing down him, her plush tits wiggling into view as she sneered at him like fresh caught prey.

“Fye! What!" Yuana protested. “Who said you could have first go? I fetched him out first!"

Ryn did not listen. Her plump, muscular hips wiggled and the split of her immense haunches pressed against the flank of Hane's inches, his crown teased against the pucker of her nether lips.

“Then y'should have shagged hm down on the coast. I'm taking first crack now!"

Hane didn't know what to make of it. Was he looking into the eyes of a predator, or a woman about to bed him?

“Hang on, I-“

Ryn cut him off, promptly stuffing his face with her warm tits, smothering him with he grip of her mountainous front.

“Eh? Shut it, don't need you to talk, just need you to hold still. Let's see how well the south men hold. . ."

Both excited and terrified, Hane's drunken palm reached to grip one of the immense sacs wobbling in his face, while the other found home in the silky sinew of Ryn's hip. Rather, he gripped there, holding on for dear life, as the tip of his pike felt something. The warm suckle of delicate lips wrapping around his inches, the murmur of a pleased wolfess, and the agitated grunt of left-out observer.

“Oh by Sol," Hane said, feeling his mast sink into the warm depths of hungry wolfess. Ryn sank upon him, her heavy rump cushioned into thighs while her waist eclipsed his own. She wiggled, as if stirring her honey, releasing a pleased moan as she accepted all of the knight, providing a quick bounce which sent enthusiastic wobbles through her excited form.

This time, Hane didn't speak, but grunt, if not almost yelp. The sheer weight of Ryn's formidable size wiggled on him, all her thick curves and muscle began to play in a primordial motion, yet Hane didn't know if he even possessed the body for her.

“Nnngh, not bad knight. . ."

Yuana rolled her eyes, lying to her side as she watched her counterpart begin to take slow, yet fierce, rises and dives. Each one forced the oxygen from Hane, filling him with a mix of delightful, silky suckling pressure and the fear this wolfess was about to break his pelvis.

“By Hayth, he's not bad!"

Ryn let off a timid howl, craning her neck and toying with her bare breasts, tossing her wild hips onto the knight, every collision causing a loud, echoing clap to emanate through the room. Each rise grew in haste, like the fever of battle took her over, fluff tail lashing as she started to pummel with rapid bounces.

Hane tried to grunt, though his mouth was stuffed with the stiff nips of his wolfess taker, her hands sliding to his shoulders now to get a better grasp. She hastened, slamming her hips into the knight's frame, her silky lips dribbling with nectar as the loud claps mingled with sordid moans.

“Agggghh!"

Hane had to let something out of him, his waist reddening with the creature's violent motions. His palms gripped her thighs, holding for dear life, praying to Solarius his bones remain intact. The beast's very rock shook the bed, the hard old-wood straining against her motions. By all sun, she'd bring a tavern down if they were on top floor!

Yuana snorted. “So rough and unrefined. He'll be dust by the time you're through with him."

Ryn ignored her sister's chiding, head craned, rump wobbling with generous wiggles from every strike, muzzle stretched with a grin.

“NGH! That's it boy! Keep your cock just like that!"

Hane was hardly a youth, but he certainly felt the young colt who bedded his first mare so many years ago. Many times he considered he'd given a good “ride" to an ale-waif or two, but this time, the tables were turned.

Head smothered by the plush grip of weighty bosom, he felt his rock radiate with intensifying waves of pleasure. Each time Ryn's slippery cunt tossed atop his loins, he edged closer to the brink. By the sound of the wolfess, she was getting her fill too.

Like a sword plunged in a foe, Hane abruptly lurched, his frame tensing. His loins burst with hot white dollops and he found himself groaning through teeth. Were the weight of the fat reared wolfess not so great, he surely would've toppled off the bed.

“AGH!"

His peak was a violent one, sent over the edge. Perhaps the excitement of bedding nordwulv (or rather, having the wolfess bed him) brought new thrill to their encounter. Or perhaps she was a damn good fuck, breasts thrice the size of his head with a body ready for caressing and killing. What a life – he managed to think – travelling the wilds with one of these half-nake beauties and then fucking them later over pints of harsh ale.

Ryn chortled. “Nnah! Hah! Already got the mug to tip!"

She said this through grinning fangs, still bouncing with rapid strikes against Hane's soring waist. Despite Hane's peak, though, she was hardly content to cease, using Hane until reaching her own orgasm. It was agonizing in a blissful way, the knight holding her generous waist for dear life as she made good use of him. Well, he wasn't dead, at least.

She finished, wiggling her fat rump along his softening flank. Granted, Ryn looked like this was a mere warm up.

“Bah. Had your fun?" said Yuana, not content to be left out. “Well don't hog him all like a tavern whore, he's mine now."

Hane felt a surge of relief as Ryn left him, though a strand of panic at the blond wolfess' words.

“W-what? By the sun, let a man catch his breath!"

Ryn rolled her eyes, both at the request and her counterpart.

“You'll have to do better than that if you plan to see our Anghala. Haha, murn."

Yuana huffed, outright pushing her sister from Hane, who was helpless against the wims of the large wolves.

“Don't let her insult you like that," said Yuana, smirking. “You're more than meat, right?"

Ryn barked as she was shoved away, though rushed back.

“'Course he is. All seasoned, he is," said Ryn, prodding Hane's tip with her digit. Her wild, gold eyes looked it over, muzzle leaning down to take a lick.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, as Yuana – not to be outdone – did the same. Curiosity too started to play a role, though Hane couldn't complain as the two wolves began to lap away at his poke with their wet, soft tongues.

“Hmph, certainly fresher than the dogs around here," chimed Yuana, one of her hands coming to massage his testes.

Hane's flesh hardened once more, though there was protest. It ached in a post-peak manner, so all sensations were strengthened, raw. But, if he dared to claim himself a man of endurance, he'd have to withhold. Suppose there were worse pains in the world.

Now, though, Yuana was ready to take her turn, forcing Ryn to the side as their breasts wobbled in challenge. She, however, turned her back to Hane, her beautiful locks falling down muscular back, her enormous haunches pressed into view.

“Fine, fine, have your murn," said Ryn, rising from the bed. “Need a drink to last the night."

Yuana ignored her. “Perhaps the southling likes slopes better than hills?"

Hane blinked. “Not sure what I'm likin' right now," he said, half serious. This was like a fever dream, really. Caught in the far north and getting passed around like a slab of cooked pork.

“You'll like me more," said Yuana with a wink. She was generous, at least, letting his erected shaft slip between the split of her blonde peach, the weighty cheeks caressing him in a lewd display of affection. Her tail flicked, and her autumn nether lips suckled against his inches, tunnel awaiting its new key.

Like Ryn, she wasted little time. Her hips mounted Hane's loins, assaulting him with bounces. Steady and generous, rolling hips in forward throws, then rapidly slamming her thighs against him. Again, Hane uttered groans and grunts, his waist sore yet delighted to feel the hefty warmth of a woman, pike massaged by the tight grip of deep wolf cunt.

Soon, the top room was filled again with the raucous of wolfess and man, a discordant rapture of howls and groans. The bed winced and creaked while Ryn watched, returning with an ale, unimpressed.

It didn't take long for Hane to once again find himself spending his issue into the warm, sloppy folds, Yuana moaning like a giddy girl. By this time, his flesh dampened with sweat, his eyes drifting into the ceiling as he gulped for more air.

“Not bad," said Ryn, swigging her drink. “Got some life in this one."

Hane wheezed. “Fuck, tell me that was enough," he said. Never before did the concept of more sex seem too much for him.

Both nordwulven howled in laughter.

Hane gulped. “Solarius be with me."

Indeed, the two had only whet their appetite on his cock. The night faded into a sexual oblivion, the pair having their way with Hane. Or, both, as they saw fit. They tossed his cock between their ripe rumps, as if in competition, then proceeded to bounce him through the bed again. They went to all fours, demanding a fuck at the same time, keeping Hane hard and drunk with their devilish northern nectar.

Mouths and muzzles met his tip, slurping at his seed, tasting his southborn flesh, draining him of everything, until – the knight was sure – he passed out. He didn't know if he had legs when things faded to black.

He could only remember the vanishing words of Ryn.

“He didn't break."

-*-

Morning arrived. Hane opened his eyes, but not to the glorious gates of Sol Solarius as expected. No, he was alive.

He shifted, only to feel the resistance of his legs, a gentle soreness emanating from them. Normally, this mean he'd marched through hell and back on campaign, but suffice to say he was recovering from a different battle.

Leaning on the edge of the bed, he did not find the guard. For the best, he didn't know if they intended to pummel him with another hard fuck. The one time where such a notion was unpleasant.

Regaining, he dawned the furs from before and crept downstairs, a haze of smoke filing the center chamber from cinders of the pit fire. It wasn't empty.

The two Wulvgaard were indulging themselves on the morning's feast, honeyed slivers of salted pork and peppered north-tomatoes. He thought about turning around, but they spied him first.

“Ah, he's awake," said Yuana, notably less drunk. “Ryn was sure you were dead in the chamber after you passed out."

Hane grumbled. “No such luck."

Ryn growled. “Luck indeed. Try to wear a smile, knight. You're going to see Anghala, more than most could say in the north."

At this, Hane brightened. He almost forgot about the diplomatic angles to this entire debacle.

“Is that right?"

Yuana nodded. “It is, Fryndyr-Ees. Of course, she may decide to throw you to the cold. But you've earned her ear, for a spell."

Exasperated, Hane had no intention of debating the arrangement. This was good. This was why he was here. He managed to impress the wolfess guards and, by the empire, if he pulled this off they might just let him retire when he got home. The stories he could tell. . .

He took his fill of breakfast without reprisal from the wolves, filling himself and doing his best to ignore the ache in his legs. Afterward, he dawned the straps and armor left in the wash room, though made sure to fit himself with the thick furs offered. Hoping it might help, he sipped from the bitter medoc supplied to him. Anything to prepare.

Satisfied, he left with the Wulvgaard at noon. This time, they marched toward the tall, imposing ziggurat of dark stone. Hane still felt the gazes of the people on him, who were likely as surprised as he to go to the blessed capital of Ulfang.

It was a lonely, immense building once they arrived, a structure that was like navigating the innards of a great leviathan. Past its enormous chamber doors of violent carvings, the spines of great tyrannical monsters hung upon the celing, accented with winding pillars and armies of torches. It was a hall, leading into several other massive doors, almost pyramid esque, surveyed by guards and the silent whispers of ancient spirits. Hane, at this point, had grown used to feeling insignificant in comparison to the works of the nordwulv, though it unsteadied him all the same.

The two guards lead him along – like before – to another grand door, this one seated high above on a series of stone steps. It dripped with menace, gilded with gold, gems, and metals Hane didn't recognize. There were thousands of tiny inscriptions etched into its frame, all from tongues of the nordwulv, and the knight could only imagine what story it wove.

“In, you will find Anghala. Spend your words wisely," said Yuana. “If you don't, well. . . a snapped waist is the least of your worries."

Ryn snorted. “Don't piss her off."

The two opened the doors, the frame parting with a thunderous groan. Hane took a breath, setting to his task, here to finally meet the grand Anghala.

She was a silhouette on a distant seat.

By all accounts, the stare from the magnificent Anghala should've been his undoing, as few were worthy of such eyes. But he, by virtue of being a damned good lay for a couple of ravenous beasts, had earned this moment of diplomacy.

Though, she wasn't what he expected.

Indeed, her room was a seat of power, a rightful chamber enthroned to a regal wolfess who kept control of the Aesvys – the southeastern parts of Vyskaal. Weapons and magnificent armors of embroidered snow-steel complimented robes of animal-hides, where luxurious scrolls and statutes stood vigilance, hung on the walls. Grand windows created portals to viewer the lower parts of Ulfang, so that Anghala might exact her order with swiftness and cunning.

Yet despite all this, she lacked the. . . weight of her guard, her nobility, and even her protectors. Her movements were quick and lively, like a dance. And, though covered in fur, Hane could tell she was young. Perhaps these traits – the youth, the fur of sin black, the position – created schisms in her house. Veterans often held contempt for what they perceived as a 'usurper.' Mayhaps they thought her an ill omen.

His entrance was met with keen intrigue as the doors shut with a resounding echo. Hane stepped close, though cautious, looking upon Anghala with demure curiosity.

“Well, you're not the most boring thing I've seen all day," she said, smirking. “I was expecting some old curmudgeon smelling of paper and incense. Not you though."

Hane was taken aback. Not at the words, but their clarity. They were astute, precise. In fact, far more well-spoken than natives of Sol Solarius, as if she were nobility.

She leaned from her throne, then hopped from it. “And only you? Why that's impressive. I should be insulted, you know. Only sending a single knight to the grand queen of Ulfang. But I'm not. Took a lot to survive the cold, didn't it, southlander?"

Anghala was formal, at least. Hane bowed, trying to recall how he dealt with his superiors.

“Nothing a Solarian Knight can't handle," he said.

“Let's hope you can handle entertaining me," she bit back. “I'm quite tired of Vyskaal's ancient politics, you see. When I heard the grand empire below wanted help from the wolves, ah, I thought it a new opportunity."

She approached, and here Hane got a closer look at the regal cloths tightly wrapped around her frame. Little armor to speak of, though it was likely in another chamber. Not that the knight complained. Heavens, no, she was as thick of bust and wide of hip like her guard. Without any firm strappings in place, her hefty bosom tossed and bounce with each cautious step, her thighs swinging in a sauntered, hypnotic sweep. And her fur – dark, black, pitch – seemed to swallow light, a demon in the north.

He agreed with her, too. “Ancient politics have a way of mucking things up," said Hane. “So, aye, it's only me. I was told I needed to prove myself as a show of. . . strength. In good faith, or something."

Anghala came closer, and she loomed over the knight. Though, not quite as tall as her sisters, but larger all the same.

She chuckled. “In good faith? The heathen's way."

Hane found her words surprising. They were far more critical of her own power structure than he figured. But this was good – taking away much of the 'tax' to their discussion.

“An old way," she continued. “And it's killing the tribes, sir Knight."

He smiled. “You can call me Hane, if you prefer, your lordship."

“And you can call me Anghala."

“Fair enough."

Hane felt the tension slip away. Thank god, a wolf who didn't speak in riddles.

“More than fair. Because you're the key, 'Hane.' You might not realize it yet. But this mission of diplomacy? It will give the lands of Vyskaal new blood, fresh life. The pillars of authority are far too set in their ways, and we've insulated ourselves for so long. . . we can't survive."

Hane didn't know much about borders or power, but he did know cutting yourself off from the world was a mistake. Empires stagnated, cultures degraded, and the old kept power.

“They tell me you want soldiers for the Bragh-Nuth. How is it, the 'Broken Neck?'"

Hane nodded. “It is."

Anghala gave a wide gesture, her chest wobbling. “Yes! And, so you shall have them. I think so. Because this is an opportunity, Hane. For my people of Ulfang, and the rest of this land. A chance for the nordwulven to move beyond our confining lands. Dare I say. . . expand?"

Hane scratched his chin. “Oh? Well. . ." Power. He didn't know about that. Not that he cared, so long as her definition didn't impact the people of his homeland. But his superiors might have other thoughts.

“Well, the soldiers then? I'll take that. It's what I'm here for."

She laughed. “So you will. But you'll have more soldiers, knight Hane. But, I'll have land, you see. I'm not going to extend the veins of the Ulfang clan only to have promises. You'll help me. You'll help me strike a deal to give us a piece of territory in your Broken Neck."

To this, Hane was uncertain.

“Ah, well, Anghala. Thing about lands and all that, empire folk are prickly about it. Might not like the idea of handing away. . ."

He trailed off, as the sneering wolfess had unraveled her top, letting the cloth pour away as her sin black breasts tossed free, one nip accented by a piercing.

She laughed again, dark and sly. “Ah, you misunderstand, Hane. This isn't a demand. I intend to pay you quite well for this little bargain."

Hane regretted several things. That parts of him were still clasped in armor, and that the wolfess queen wanted a go too. Maybe he shouldn't have found this surpising, considering how the wolves handled “diplomacy" here. Yet, Anghala was a beast of stature and power, surely there was another way? Well, it didn't matter.

She approached again, and this time, her heavy breasts fell on his shoulders, where the knight had to gaze up at the hypnotic, violet eyes.

“And I'll hear what I want to hear," she said, licking her chops. “Oh yes, the southland wasn't too bright sending me such a fire-blooded thing. I know exactly what you want."

She leaned, her nose coming to his ear, whispering. “I can see your thoughts. So let's make them, real, shall we?"

Hane blinked. “Ah. . ."

Her finger came to his lips. “No need for words. Let's just hope my Vysgaard didn't break you too hard."

Well, one part of Hane was hard.

The rest transitioned into a blur. As though she understand every notch and lining of his armor, Anghala stripped Hane of his protection at the waist level, where his mast was once again exposed to the mild chill of northborn air. But, he wasn't long to feel the air's touch. It was replaced with the hasty, brisk touches of Anghala's palm, who distributed caring, even strokes along his inches.

“Oh, poor feeble thing, I can see the bruises."

Anghala giggled in girlish fashion, slipping to knees with a practiced motion. Soon, Hane's eyes were filled with the sight of the black wolfess supply kisses to the tip of his flag, inciting groans from the knight. Well, if she insisted. . .

Her tongue, wet and hot, traced over his tip, then lapped away with long, sticky strokes along the rim of his flesh. It was refreshing, to not have his loins pounded into oblivion by ravenous wolves. Each little smack and suckle send waves of excitement through him, to know that a wolfess of high status was between his legs.

Her maw encompassed his crown, slipping him into her oral embrace, smirking as he groaned and trembled from her actions. She popped him free, continuing to supply an array of gentle, formidable strokes.

“So, feeling generous with those lands yet?" she said, grinning. Hane gave a hoarse chuckle.

“Not quite," he said, petting a lock of her raven hair. “Politics are uh, complicated, after all."

This did not deter the great Anghala. In fact, in only strengthened her resolve. With a feigned pout, she proceed to push the fleshy spear into the entirety of her maw, the crown filling her throat as she hummed with satisfaction. Hane nearly buckled, gasping as his pike vanished into her tight orifice, tickled with waves of refreshing, radiating intensity.

A trail of saliva bridged her soft lips to Hane's tip, her tail wagging at her work.

“You drive a hard bargain. Fortunately for us both, I like those," she said, licking his crown again.

But this time, Anghala enchaned her approach. Her palms took her enormous, lofty breasts and proceeded to assault Hane's cock with their squishy embrace. Like pillows of silk and fur, they collided into his flank, suffocating the prick with a slew of bobs and tosses. She stroked him, massaging the twitching cock in a spree of steady, slow motions, a look of smug expression plastered over her. Because she knew she was winning.

“I'd like to establish a fort on the borders of your Broken Neck," she chimed, taking Hane's spear and smacking it against her breasts, letting his crown roll across the stiff, black nips.

“What say you?"

Hane shivered, watching his cock dip into her cheek, as Anghala tapped the end against her visage, still bearing her teeth with a wicked grin.

“I don't quite. . ."

Hane wasn't sure he even had the authority to promise something like that, though, he didn't exactly care at this point. The wiles of this northern beast vexed him, and he'd promise anything to get another feel of her practiced lips. And in truth, having these nordwulv as a potential ally was invaluable. Their laugrda could make an unstoppable war machine alone. And of course, having a few busty wolfess warriors on the field wasn't so bad either.

“Now, now," said Anghala, kissing his crown again. “You aren't holding out on me just to get more this deal, are you?"

Hane forced a wincing smile, only because it was hard not to turn into a puddle of ecstasy-soaked groans.

“Hmph. Let's try this then. . ."

Anghala renewed her assault, releasing her thick breasts and grabbing Hane by the hips. Ears forward, she pummeled his cock with vicious strikes and dives of her muzzle, the harsh lips wrapped firmly around the pole's edges as her head bounced upon Hane's groin. Each drive and rise caused a sordid array of sloppy, saliva dripping smacks to echo throughout the throne room, a sound likely offending all the noble spirits of past rulers.

“Gods unknown!" hissed Hane, his flank suckled so hard the wolfess was practically dragging him to her. But each sweep of her soft, awaiting muzzle provoked him further to peak, until he had no choice but to release.

And yet, the wolfess cared little. As seed burst from Hane's cannon, Anghala contented herself in engulfing the issue, stroking her muzzle along the edge as the knight shook and twitched, ramming himself into her hot throat.

Anghala laughed, her maw full of his cock and seed, staring up with those ravenous, hungering eyes. She released him with yet another satisfying smack, quirking a brow.

“Well?"

Hane panted, gazing down in disbelief. “I can certainly try," he said, hoarse. This did not amuse Anghala.

“Oho? No, my dear knight, you misunderstand. These are my demands, and I'll have them. You're a hard shell to crack, so perhaps. . ."

Slowly, she rose, the silhouette of her beautiful curves on display. But this time, she turned to saunter back to her throne. Not to sit on it, no, but rather, to display herself further. She bent, her full, wide rump on display, glistening cleft visible through black peach, tossing hips to entice the knight further.

“Allow me to offer more, Hane of the south. Perhaps warming yourself in the royal cunt of Ulfang's leader might get you to agree to my terms?"

Hane blinked. Not in disbelief, no. From a crummy, freezing ship to getting crushed under the beautiful thighs of northborn wolves, he was well beyond the point of understanding reality. Rather, he had to make sure what he was seeing was real.

“It's very convincing," he said, at a loss for words. He was never good at those anyway, just sword work.

So he approached, removing the cramped layers of his armor, coming the wolfess as she made use of her throne like a sexual prop.

Amused, Anghala rest her chin in palm, look back to the knight. “Just know, if you take my honey and back out, I'll have the meat stripped from you and throw you to the rivers."

She said this with that same sensual, wicked grin. Hane's cock twitched, looking between her inviting, soft nethers and the sinister gaze drilling into him.

“I see. . ."

It was do or die now. If his superiors found the deal unsavory, he'd likely be flayed. If Anghala didn't like his deal, he'd be flayed and fed to the cold oblivion. Might as well fuck a queen and hope for the best.

He did just that, driving his cock into her slippery, warm tunnel, inciting a delighted moan from the grand wolfess. His hands came to her generous, fat rump, squeezing and roaming over the black hills as he did what any simple minded, hot-blooded male would do: he fucked. He wasn't much for nuance – at least not at the moment. So much the wolves had toyed and teased him, and now, for once, he was on the giving side.

Hane drove himself into the awaiting wolfess with hard, thumping strokes, causing her rump to bicker with fleshy ripples, clapping against his bare waist. Of course, he wasn't strong enough to cause the immense beast to move – not at all. But, he delighted at hearing her growls and yelps, more so with every stroke. He pummeled her pussy, trying to punish it outright, venting his frustrations of this entire damned trip and damned north into the dribbling cunt, taking the queen's honey for his own.

“Nnh! M-my! So enthusiastic! I hope you bargain as well as you fuck!" shouted Anghala, leaning into the throne, her tits squishing against its support as Hane bucked away.

He had no response, not beyond striking as hard as he could into her damp chamber. Even post orgasm, there was enough fire in him left for one more campaign, one more march on the territory known as “Anghala's cunt."

Despite her giggles and his waning resolve, Hane fucked himself to a second burst of seed. Not as strong as before – how could he? The nordwulven had taken so much. But strike hard he did, pouring his seed into her awaiting tunnel, hoping to sate the wild leader if only for a spell.

“Ah? Quick, I see. But you're forgiven, considering the circumstances," said Anghala, wiggling her hips while Hane twitched the last of his seed into her.

He was out of breath, nearly collapsing on her back, but resolved to pull out, a slimy trail of white bridging him and her walls.

The wolfess tapped her chin, tossing hair. “So. My territories?"

Hane looked to her, in a sort of pleasant defeat. Perhaps this was why people wanted to be diplomats.

“Yours, yes. I can promise that." He didn't know if this was true, but he'd make an earnest effort. The alternative wasn't pleasant.

She turned, eyes sparking with wild purple. “Oh, will you? And what is this promise, Hane?"

He wiped his brow. He felt a fool, really. Talking politics while half nake and a mess of seed.

“That you'll give us soldiers in exchange for some territory in the Neck. Enough to make a fort, was it?"

Anghala grinned again, and oh by Sol Solarius it was one carrying the devil. A sliver of dark fear bloomed inside Hane, because he saw that kind of grin before. The power hungry one, the planning one. Many who served the pious pillars of Sol Solarius – the Clerics especially – wielded that expression. The desire to consolidate power.

“Oh, wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear, Hane. You see? Diplomacy isn't so hard."

She came to him, fingers tracing over his cock. “Not unless you want it to be."

He shivered, both from mild fright and excitement. “I'm not ever sure myself," he said.

This procured a snicker from Anghala. “Then stay a while. Let's hammer all those sordid details, why don't we. You can sign the agreement, perhaps use my ass as the table?"

“Er. . ."

-*-

His name was affixed in blood and ink and tribalistic tradition. Hane Yeigmet, signer of the deed, accompanied by the runic symbols of Grand Anghala and her Vysgaard.

The ceremony came long after he had came, many times. He was at the queen's side, her expression one of absolute triumph, while the knight watched elderly horned beasts write out an agreement along a scroll of faded paper. A ritual, overseen by the many eyes of Ulfang, all within the throne room.

Anghala made her speech, about new times and a new era. She promised fine soldiers, great warriors of Vyskaal, to the south, and in return, they would receive parcels of land in exchange. And Hane realized, should any aspect of the deal go poorly, he would suffer the crucible. That was why. That was why they sent a knight instead of a honey tongued wise man. Because no one wanted to take the fall.

He wanted to curse a hundred different names, yet all the same, swear blessings to his god. Because, for all that was on the line, he certainly met the north like no one else. He could say he bed the wild north women. He could say he saw laugdra, and lived.

Given a new task, the wolves fed him, armored him, and granted him an honorary title of Nordfrul. “North-friend." A dagger of snow-steel and a medoc of their best ale too. With it, he carried the scroll, back to the coast and back to the port, in hopes a new era of north and south might begin.

All the while, on his travels back, he kept musing over the bards and their tales, of great monsters, giants, and songs. Now he had his own story. Now he could say he fucked the queen of Ulfang, Anghala.

Diplomacy was strange.