Chapter 26: The Wolf and the Jackal (Part One)

“Close up! Close up! Don’t scatter!” the count shouted, his cries more an outburst of fear than a warning or command, almost redundant.

After all, everyone who followed him possessed decent martial skill, including the cultivators—who could also gallop on horseback while swinging hammers.

When there was no war, knights passed the time and honed their skills through tournaments or hunting; though these two activities weren’t much different—hunting’s prey were beasts, while tournament prey were knights just like themselves—but tournaments were rare, while hunting was one of the knights’ regular duties. Previously, to entertain Count Etienne, the castle steward of the Holy Cross Fortress had urged the knights to hunt more frequently.

Thus, when the group heard that long, shrill, blood-boiling howl, their first reaction was to rush back to their companions.

Count Etienne and his knights had made no mistake—they had not entered the dense forest. Though the darkness was quiet and warm, they knew it was merely a devil’s trap.

They rested only among the shrubs at the edge of the pine forest. Even when a knight later suggested searching for pheasants or rabbits, several showed extraordinary caution—each step taken, these seasoned hunters would glance back at the flickering firelight, carefully judging how far they had strayed.

They had gathered some harvest—emptied a squirrel’s nest, finding many plump pine cones, hazelnuts, chestnuts, and unidentifiable shriveled fruits; a knight’s footsteps startled a rabbit, which bolted out and slammed into his shin, knocking the knight off-balance while simultaneously knocking itself unconscious.

One squire had picked up several feathers of a brown fish owl from a glistening spiderweb. He looked up, carefully observing the movements above. Soon he heard the bird’s distinctive chirping—brown fish owls bred either in June or December; if they had encountered a bird breeding in December… he quickly found the nest, not far from the ground. He climbed up, seized the incubating bird, snapped its neck, stuffed it into his coat, and descended the tree with a clutch of eggs.

The brown fish owl’s mate—whether male or female—cried and circled wildly above the humans. It likely did not know it had just avenged its family—between the cobalt sky and the silhouette of the black pine forest, the frantic flight of a single bird stirred more than mere human attention.

About two or three farsangs from Count Etienne’s party, a pack of gray wolves rested. The bird’s disturbance caught the alpha’s attention. It lifted its head, staring at the source of the commotion, its long snout open, eyes narrowed. A wolf’s sense of smell was limited to half a farsang; logically, it should have smelled nothing. But as an experienced leader, a wild animal’s instinct compelled it to act.

It rose, growling low, urging the pack’s second-in-command—the young, strong adult wolves—to stand. They were the pack’s “pathfinders,” tasked with tracking prey before the hunt. They rose, initially confused, for the air carried no scent of deer or wild boar. But under the alpha’s relentless prodding, they dashed off.

As the light grew dimmer and the wind stronger, the first pathfinder returned—empty-handed. Then the second, then the third. They circled the alpha, expressing their discontent. The alpha waited, firm and patient. Finally, the last adult wolf returned, bringing good news.

The alpha let out a long howl. The pack awoke. Adults led, aging wolves followed, then subadults and pups, with the alpha bringing up the rear. As it walked, it periodically lifted its head, sniffing the air. Tiny snowflakes landed on its black nose, melting instantly from its warm breath.

This erratic weather—snowing, overcast, then clearing—caused great trouble for humans, but for wolves, it was a rare advantage. Their toes were webbed and covered in fur, their claws slightly blunt, allowing them to grip firmly on icy surfaces with near-zero friction, slippery mud, or thick moss without slipping.

The pads beneath their paws were lined with specialized blood vessels that regulated temperature independently from the rest of their bodies, preventing frostbite. They also possessed an innate “cloak”—thick, dense fur that nearly completely blocked sharp winds, snow, and rain.

Aside from the initial howls used to rally and summon, the alpha made no further sound. Twenty or thirty wolves moved silently and orderly through the forest and beside the river, disturbing only rabbits or birds—no trouble drawn. Bears slept in their dens; wild boars awoke but merely waited for the pack to pass; deer and leopards may have watched too—but none wished to provoke such a formidable enemy.

After traveling about two farsangs, they could already smell blood and feces. The adult wolves grew visibly agitated. Winter had come, snow had fallen—meaning the pack’s food was growing scarce. They longed for a bloody, exhilarating battle, to fill their hollow bellies with prey’s flesh and survive until spring.

The alpha stopped. A low, uneasy growling rose from the pack—across a nearly dried-up stream, a clan of jackals suddenly emerged from the forest depths. Wolves were jackals’ natural enemies; they slaughtered and devoured each other, especially each other’s pups. The alpha’s gaze met the jackal alpha’s. The gray-furred leader faced the reddish-brown-furred leader.

They should have fought. The wolf pack was large, but the jackals here were also an unusually large clan, numbering over forty.

Moments later, the jackal alpha lowered its head. The wolf alpha hesitated, then turned and led the pack onward. These jackals, too, were searching for food—so they marched in harmony along opposite sides of the stream. The air grew thicker, clearer: human, horse, fire, and the pungent scents of spices, wine…

——————

The watchful squire let out a sharp cry, “Who’s there?”

Count Etienne, his knights, servants, and the guide—who had finally regained some awareness, or perhaps been roused by the smell of meat broth—leapt to their feet, weapons in hand.

Moments earlier, they had eaten and drunk their fill. The guide had told them they were likely north of Antioch. He knew the area well and knew the nearest village. After resting tonight, he would lead them there, to meet its steward or priest, and rest properly before continuing.

If they preferred to return to Arassal, that was no problem either—he knew several captains, and one would surely take the guests of the Lord of the Holy Land.

Hearing this, Count Etienne and the others finally relaxed. The count allowed the guide to sit beside him and eat and drink like a knight, even giving him a bottle of wine—worth nearly as much as gold at this moment. The guide accepted it respectfully, yet comfortably, his smug satisfaction making others sick to look at.

They knew nothing of what the guide was thinking. Though Count Etienne had promised him ten silver coins if he led them to a Christian city—God willing, under normal circumstances, he would have knelt to kiss the count’s boots for such a reward—he now carried a bulging purse of a hundred gold coins. All he needed was to lead these people into Mule’s territory…

Of course, merely driving beasts into a trap wouldn’t earn him the four hundred gold coins that followed. He must also contact the knightly order’s traitor—the cowardly, despicable thief—Prince Mule of Armenia—and ensure these people fell into his hands, to suffer endless torment.

But upon waking, he had quickly surveyed his surroundings and was delighted to find himself in a pine forest he knew well. He even spotted his own secret marks—only he could recognize them, invisible to others. This was no other place—it was Mule’s domain. His task was already one-fifth complete. All he needed now was to summon a Turk.

So when the watchful squire cried out, the guide, unlike the tense others, felt wild joy—followed by unease. He worried: if the Turks refused to let him see Prince Mule, what should he say? Should he openly reveal these Christians’ identities? That would mean surrendering his greatest leverage.

Should he say nothing? He feared the savage, ignorant beasts might slit his throat, silencing him forever, and his gold would be stolen.

But in an instant, he no longer knew whether he hoped to see beasts standing on two legs—or four-legged hunters…

It was the wolf pack.

In the darkness, their eyes, reflecting the firelight, resembled white clamshells and white fluorite embedded in black lacquer.

They gave humans no time to react. After a howl like a trumpet’s blast, a massive gray wolf leapt into the circle of light. It was as large as a young bull, body length including tail equal to a spear, shoulder height exceeding a knight’s thigh.

The squire facing it screamed in terror. He should not have revealed his fear so quickly, so easily—though it wasn’t his fault. Yet the giant wolf, whose gaze had been fixed on the horses, instantly turned its head. It bared its long snout, as if grinning savagely. Count Etienne barely had time to shout before the squire was knocked down.

The squire was Count Etienne’s brother’s illegitimate son. The count had no time to think—he charged forward, dagger in hand, stabbing the gray wolf’s shoulder. As the wolf twisted to bite him, he leapt nimbly over its back, pressing his elbow and knee tightly against its ribs.

A nearby knight rushed over and struck the wolf’s skull with a short axe. The blow sent the massive head lolling sideways. The wolf let out a whimpering cry. The count could clearly feel the body beneath him rapidly going limp.

He rose, pulling his nephew up. Yet in that brief moment, the battle between humans and wolves had erupted fully.

Wolves were never solitary fighters. They were the devil’s army, masters of deception and ambush. They even knew how to lure enemies—chasing, intercepting, and dividing were their specialties. They split into several groups: one to tear at the horses, three to target the most dangerous foes—the knights and their servants…

And one group—these were the true hunters.

Their targets were the weak, the old, the sick in the party. The weak, of course, were the young servants and attendants; the “crippled”? Obviously, the guide, whose head still buzzed intermittently.

This wolf detachment did not rush to kill them—killing a human was not easy.

They took turns attacking, dodging swinging clubs and swords, grabbing their feet, tearing their clothes, baring their teeth to intimidate. Whenever fear caused them to lose balance and fall, a hidden wolf would burst from the darkness, seizing their hands, feet, or shoulders and dragging them into the pine forest. In such chaos, once dragged ten or so feet away, those still fighting could no longer spare them.

The guide was the second to fall. Though he had no father who was Count of Champagne, one knight, mindful that they still needed him to guide them, rushed over, swinging a burning pine branch to drive off the wolf gnawing his shoulder. He grabbed the guide’s hood, trying to pull him back toward the firelight…

More claws reached out, snagging the guide’s clothes and flesh. He screamed in pain. The knight, chilled to the bone, cried out: “Devil!” Indeed—he had always found it strange. He had lived over thirty years and had never seen a wolf pack larger than fifty.

The wolves gripping the guide had been only two clearly smaller subadults. But when he drove them off, what rushed back… were jackals. Jackals and wolves were like infidels and Christians—they fought to the death. And what did he see now?

Wolves and jackals had formed an alliance—and were hunting them together!

If a man saw one wolf, unless he was too old to move or too young to understand, one wolf could never defeat him. A wolf had only one mouth to bite; a man had two hands—he could throw, crush, or strangle it…

But here was a pack. If only wolves, they might still have won—then wolves would become their food and clothing. But now, besides the dozen or so wolves, they faced jackals numbering at least as many. Jackals were smaller, usually hunting only rabbits, chickens, birds, even insects—but numbers could outweigh strength!

(End of Chapter)