Wolves at the Door
Mr Terry Pratchett, the great and devious creator of the Discworld owns everything about it – no copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note 1: This is a sequel to my first Discworld story "Currency of the Heart". Although I think "Wolves at the Door" will stand up as a story in its own right, it will help to know that Avor is a country in the mountains between Klatchistan and Überwald rich in magic and diamond mines. In "Currency" Silana, the heir to Avor's failing King, Chose Lord Vetinari to be her partner. The story continues….
Author's Note 2: Following invaluable feedback and story ideas from Mercator (waves) the first two chapters have additional scenes, and if improved it is all due to Mercator's very generous help.
Chapter 1: The Tempting DishLord Silk of Ankh had been very precise with his instructions to the catering supplier, but still the dwarf argued, "Surely his Lordship would want such a magnificent serving platter to be finished in silver?"
Angrily Worik Silk responded. "Under no circumstances should the dish or its lid have even a hint of silver – oiled steel is what I want and steel will be what I get." The artisan bowed his obedience to the insistent Lord, but again looked in puzzlement at the drawing on the parchment of the strangely designed, oversized platter and its accoutrements, he frowned to himself, but it did not do to ask too many questions of these aristocrats.
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Drumknott rushed along beside the Patrician taking last minute instructions, the message had come through that the baby was coming early and the Patrician wanted to be with his wife as soon as possible. Vetinari had put a contingency plan in place for just such an event, ensuring that his rule of the city would have the minimum of disruption.
They reached the carriage. "Re-schedule the meeting on Thursday for the following week, with my apologies, and clacks me with the final trade figures please."
"Yes my Lord." Drumknott said. And shyly, once the Patrician had climbed into the carriage. "Good luck my Lord, to you and the Princess."
Vetinari gave one of his quick smiles. "Thank you Drumknott." And he was gone, the horses thundering towards the palace gates and the long road to Avor.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\
Vetinari was dozing when the coach made the crossing of the Smarl river on the new bridge, somehow his subconciousness registered that they then turned Hubwards rather than staying on the road to Avor - he became alert immediately but gave no outward sign.
When the coach next slowed for a tight turn Vetinari sprang into action. Drawing the sword from his stick he grabbed the coach door handle and tried to turn it. The handle stayed solidly in place, but as soon as he had in haste touched the handle he realised his mistake, something had pricked into the fingers of his hand – he felt the poison enter into his bloodstream and race up his arm – he felt the paralysis take hold of his body, all too soon his mind became the only active part of his existence; at first wondering just how much the Assassins had been paid and then mourning for making his wife a widow so soon, he lost consciousness on that sad thought.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\
Silana, Princess of Avor and new wife to Lord Vetinari of Ankh-Morpork felt two quite different pains at once. First her baby kicked quite hard inside her and the old eagle's wound at her shoulder flared. One of her ladies, Hejace, noticed her sudden paleness and went to her aid but was silenced by the Princess' outstretched palm. "Hold." Silana closed her eyes and concentrated on the partner to her shoulder wound… nothing… no consciousness… nothing (which was strange in itself, the bond of magic had grown between them since their marriage, she could normally judge his mood, if nothing else). So she concentrated on Havelock's direction from Avor, reached out to him with her blood and her soul, finding his direction, she was immediately concerned - the tug was further hubwards than it should be. She frowned and rose; with the aid of Hejace she went to find her father the King.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\
Vetinari woke, bound and gagged with a familiar face above him, Lord Silk – well it had to be one of the lords, no one else would be stupid enough or ambitious enough to want him out of the way.
"Glad to see you are awake old man. Just thought I'd let you know that General Audice Paggett is going to take your Princess - and I do mean that literally - once she is your widow, and I am going to hand you over to someone who has paid me a lot of money to have you for dinner." Worik Silk smiled. "And I know you won't enjoy the evening one bite." He snorted at his little joke. "And for myself; I believe there is going to be a vacant post at the palace." Silk reached out and scratched a pin across the Patrician's neck and Vetinari felt the now familiar drug begin to take effect. 'Silana!' he called with all his will and soul, his mind fading fast.
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In Avor the old King gathered his wolves to him. "Time to hunt, but first my friends we must prepare you with weapons to destroy the prey."
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Sam Vimes received an urgent coded clacks from the Princess of Avor – the messenger knocked at the Ramkin-Vimes mansion during dinner and as it was Willikins' night off, Vimes opened the door himself. Sybil looked up when Sam walked back into the dining room and watched with interest as, chewing on a pencil, he slowly deciphered the message.
"What is it Sam?" She asked, concerned.
"The Princess says Vetinari has been abducted – says he didn't arrive at the coaching stop after the Smarl. She and Vetinari have got that Avor magic affinity thing and she says she thinks Vetinari is being taken to Überwald, she can't say where but she says he is in great danger. The King is going to investigate but his power continues to fade, she's asking me to go as well…." Sam looked up at Sybil, they both knew how close to disaster their last trip to that country had come.
For a moment their eyes locked over the unspoken question, Sybil took a deep breath. "Of course you should go Sam, and I will go to the Princess – she is so close to her term, this must be terrifying for her."
Vimes sprinted upstairs and took down his 'Next time I visit Überwald' case from the top of his wardrobe. The swords, daggers and cross bow bolts no longer glinted, the surface having tarnished a little since Vimes had received his special order from the armourers, the silver which coated the steel having reacted with the air. He added a couple of sturdy wooden stakes and he was ready to kick rears in Überwald.
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At the Watch house Vimes scooped Carrot and Angua up in his wake. "I can't order you to come with me but I need your help."
"What's up sir, I am sure both Sergeant Angua and I would like to do our best to assist." Carrot said.
"The Patrician has been abducted and is being taken to Überwald."
"Do we know which faction is responsible Sir?" Angua asked, very aware of her former country's politics.
"At this point we have only a brief message from the Princess of Avor – so we know very little. Just that the Patrician is in danger and needs rescuing."
"Or his captors are in danger and need rescuing from the Patrician." Carrot muttered almost to himself. Out loud he said. "We will of course come with you." Angua glared at him. "I just assumed…."
"You always do." She said testily, but to Vimes. "I will come with you, but you must realise that my influence with my family is non-existent, if we need their help I will not be able to call on them."
"Noted." He looked at them both. "I've got fast horses being delivered here in half an hour. Pack what you need, its summer so snow only in the high mountains but we may have to camp out."
"Yes Sir."
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\
The large trolley with the oversized platter was rolled in. The banqueting guests quieted of their own accord, all eyes hungrily focused on the new dish. Baroness Serafine Von Überwald rose from her place next to the Baron at the head table and walked to the dish. To say that the Baron's tongue was hanging out with anticipation would not have been far from the truth.
"Friends, I present to you the man responsible for the destruction of my son and our present low standing in this, our own country." The servants dramatically pulled off the lid to reveal a naked man lying full length, his long limbs manacled to the dish – garnish spread around him, parsley covering his more private parts and a mock apple trapping his jaws open. The prisoner closed his eyes at the sudden light, pulling weakly against his bonds. The room erupted into cheers, catcalls and applause. The Baroness' smile froze on her face when she noticed how feeble her prisoner's struggles were. She beckoned Lord Silk over. "He is drugged?" She whispered, trying to control her anger.
"I would not bring a trained assassin into your presence Baroness without drugging him, Vetinari is dangerous even when bound and apparently helpless."
The woman's eyes flared. "This is far from satisfactory Silk, drugged he cannot appreciate the true horror of his situation, and the pain will be dulled, and why that stupid apple in his mouth?"
"It is acting as a gag Madam."
"I want to hear his terror."
"But he could use sarcasm, and even irony against us – believe me the gag is safer."
"You give Vetinari too much credit, he is still just a man."
"If you ever think that Baroness then you vastly under estimate your enemy."
Serafine gave Silk a cold look, 'The coward, that's what you get for employing weak city nobles. Still, another day would not make that much difference'. She raised her voice to her still cat-calling (unusual for a dog related race) audience. "Friends, we will enjoy the terror of our tempting dish another night…" the audience made disappointed noises "…but we all know good meat needs to be hung before it is truly tender." The wit of the remark and the idea of the victim's continued suffering pleased them. Serafine waved the lid to the platter back on – she had barely looked at Vetinari but had decided that away from his city and his minions the slender man on the platter did not look like much of a challenge for even a Werewolf child. Silk had obviously been overawed by the Patrician's reputation.
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The meat was quite well hung Serafine decided as she walked into the cell. The Patrician's head came up, blue eyes burning as the woman in the flowing green dress entered. She tried to meet those eyes with a haughty stare but realised there was something unsettling about them, something in them said 'death' very quietly in the night next to your ear when you thought you were safe in bed and made you cower under the sheets. Something in those blue eyes said 'assassin' and 'I have assessed your weaknesses and at the right price you will be inhumed'. Serafine tried not to turn away but had to, she covered it by calling a guard and angrily saying "I ordered his gag to be removed."
The normally robust jailor said. "We did Baroness but…"
"But what?"
"He said things your ladyship…"
"What things?"
"Ah, it was not so much what he said but the way he said it… we just put the gag back… for our own peace of mind you see… I can take it out for you now." He hurried to put deed to word then scuttled out of the cell. Serafine thought the jailor's undue haste was to avoid her anger but the guard knew that what the prisoner could do verbally was far more menacing.
Ungagged the man remained silent. Serafine tried to meet his gaze again but to her own amazement failed, she tried to play the silence game too but something in his eyes made her want to babble at him. Movement, a Werewolf needs to move, she walked round his bound form, noting the long limbs, lean muscles held taught by the chains at wrists and ankles. The white skin just asking to be marred by her claws.
"Do you know why you are here Vetinari?" Silence. Silence. Her circuit of him brought her back to face him. "At home in your pathetic little city you may be important but here you are nothing." She slapped him hard across the face, he rolled his head with the blow, then, not acknowledging the pain, brought his eyes back up to stare, a stare that said she was an insect under his magnifying glass. If it wasn't for the red mark growing on his cheek there was no evidence on Vetinari's part that the exchange had taken place – she had to admit, he was unnerving.
She walked behind him – partly to get away from those dammed eyes. Before he arrived she had considered how to punish him, but had dismissed torture as not the Werewolf way, she had decided he should be the main dish at her banquet – but his drugged state on arrival had made that impractical. But his insolence and silence were making her want to force a reaction from him, any normal man would be shaking in terror just to be captive in the castle of the Überwald Clan – but Vetinari just seemed to be waiting. Perhaps a little pain would awaken his mind to the danger he was in. She morphed her right hand into its wolf alter ego and slid a sharp claw from the top of his shoulder down over his shoulder blade. He could not help but try to move his body away from the pain, muscles straining against his bonds, stretching to escape the cruelty of her cut. Serafine just followed his movement, keeping the pressure to slice him in one long red slow line down his back past his waist to his buttock. Serafine did not have the satisfaction of hearing him cry-out but at least she knew the basilisk of a man could feel pain.
"You took both of my children from me. You sent your henchman Vimes to kill my son – you did not have the grace to come in person. And you gave my daughter shelter, without you and your damn City Watch she would have come back – eventually – but now they are both gone and my empty den is because of you."
She walked in front of him, wanting to see pain in his face. She placed her razor sharp claw to meet her first scratch on his shoulder and brought it slowly down his chest, down his chest muscle, scratching across the sensitive flesh at his nipple, passing along his ribs, down his slim belly to the sharp bone at his hip and to his thigh. Not even a twitch of his facial muscles, and as he had learnt the lesson that there was no point in trying to pull away, she did not even have the satisfaction of seeing him try to flinch to escape the pain. "I'll go after Vimes next, once he knows he failed to defend his master – he'll die wallowing in that failure and knowing I revenge what he did to my son. Then will be the turn of your bitch wife and pup…." Finally a flicker in his eyes. "…by then her father will be too weak to defend her and she'll be mourning her lost husband – I'll make sure she knows why, as I slowly kill your child in front of her, make her know that terrible loss – I might even let her live so she knows what it is to live without the flesh one's body bore." The blue burn of his eyes was more controlled than she expected but it was still there. And yes, he had a weakness, the Jewell of Avor had got inside his heart and his vulnerable child was important, this iceman burned inside for the plight of family, finally a weapon to use against him – to make him know her own pain of loss.
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After the Baroness left him Vetinari tried to assess his situation dispassionately. The wounds she had inflicted, though painful, were mostly surface scratches – she had not gone as far as damaging muscles yet – he would still be able to move once free. She had threatened his eyes but had not followed through. On the whole he was still in reasonable shape – though blood trickled down his chest and back at the moment – it would stop before he was overly weakened. He had been refusing water but realised from what the Baroness said that the water probably wasn't going to be drugged anymore, and he needed to keep his strength up – they hadn't offered him food and he would have to assume that would remain the case. He was cold and he had lost feeling in his arms from them being chained above him for so long – something that would have to be taken into account when making his escape. His wrists and ankles he knew were damaged from their bindings and he was sure he had been kicked while unconscious – probably by that coward Silk– his ribs were bruised and aching. He was un-gagged again, he had his voice – which gave him another chance to get to work on the guards' minds.
That was his assessment of his physical state, mentally he was nearly free of the drugs but being distracted by the hunger in his belly. And he was tired; being drugged unconscious was not as restful as it sounded. Plus sleeping standing up was not a talent he had mastered so every time he had dozed off last night the weight of his body on his arms soon became excruciating and woke him. He assumed tonight would be more of the same.
Emotionally he had been trying not to think of Silana – she was too much of a distraction - but he gave himself some minutes to consider the plight of his wife and their baby. The Baroness had mentioned his child, so was the baby yet born? He had been hard pressed not to ask. He had assumed that the message saying that the baby had started to come early was just a way to get him to travel to Avor when they wanted him to. He needed to know if Silana and the child were safe, and what of Silk's threat about Audice, it seemed unlikely that the King's General would do anything to hurt Avor's heir? However, he remembered Paggett looking strangely at Silana once when he thought no one was observing – gods he was scared for her and it was distracting him from the task at hand - escape – one of the prices of getting emotionally involved with another human being.
Too many questions, too few answers – and he wasn't going to ask any of those questions of the deranged she-wolf.
Perhaps there was another way. He held the image of Silana's smiling face and mischievous green eyes in his mind – and for a second there seemed to be a presence, his eagle scarred shoulder ached and he had a feeling of re-assurance, perhaps being the Chosen of Avor was of benefit. Silana had tried to take back the Choosing all those months ago, but maybe there was enough of the magic left in the eagle scar on his shoulder. The thought crossed his mind that he wasn't quite as alone in this as he had thought. He concentrated on his shoulder and on her image, nothing. Concentrated harder till sweat stood out on his brow despite the chill in this cold cell. Then something, something… "HAVELOCK!!!" Good gods! Silana was in pain, terrible pain. "What….?" Moments more of that shocking pain and then her thoughts weekly "I've sent father." Then the presence was gone. Shuddering from the shock of the contact, for a moment his mind raced in confusion, then the realisation entered his head that his wife was in the extremis of childbirth – she had reached out to him. So their child was yet to be born. However, Silana would at least have been safe if her father was still there – but she had sent the old King to rescue him – leaving herself vulnerable. Vetinari's only hope would be to keep Serafine long enough distracted, and if he fell, then he knew Vimes would do his best to fight the Werewolves, perhaps buying enough time for Silana to be strong when the bitch Baroness came for her. His young wife was a lot more resourceful than Serafine would anticipate – he just hoped Silana would be ruthless enough when it came to it.
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Vimes and his party rode hard, changing horses at way stations they rested only when the alternative was to drop exhausted from their horses or their horses drop exhausted from under them.
A black driverless coach stood at the border into Überwald. On his last visit as the Ambassador of Ankh-Morpork Vimes had been obstructed by the border guards. This time when he and his party were forced to stop by the wooden barrier, Vimes was waved respectfully towards the black coach by the guards. He dismounted and opened the door. Somehow he wasn't surprised to see Lady Margolotta Von Überwald sitting in the darkened coach. "Sir Samuel, how pleasant to see you again."
"I wish I could say the same Margolotta, what do you want? I haven't got time for your games."
"I know, and if I had found out sooner, believe me Baroness Serafine would not have received delivery of Lord Vetinari two days ago."
"How do I know that is not just a blind to get me off the scent?"
"Because if I vanted Havelock here I would have invited him." And Margolotta's look implied that the Patrician would have come at her bidding. "However, za Baroness has been strange since you executed her son – I zink she has chosen to vent her revenge on the Patrician – her attentions are unwelcome. I vish to help."
"And I should trust you?"
"Do not judge all vampires by your prejudice Sir Samuel, some humans even call some of uz friends." Vimes wondered if she meant for him to include Vetinari in that remark. "And now I vould tell you that the Baroness intends to hunt the Patrician in The Great Game tomorrow morning."
Vimes gave her one of his harder – 'You look guilty son' looks that made miscreants shiver in their boots back in Ankh – Margolotta tried not to be impressed. "And you have not tried to rescue him because?" He asked.
"The Verewolves know how to keep out vampires, just as I know how to defend against zer kind. You are vasting time Commander, you are losing daylight, much more and Havelock will lose his life."
Vimes hated to admit it but Margolotta was the only game in town. "Where is he?"
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The feeling was just about coming back into Vetinari's arms and shoulders as they led him out of the castle dungeon in chains – he was regretting the return of feeling, the pins and needles were excruciating as the circulation returned. He squinted against the sudden daylight. They had not given him any clothes or boots, he gritted his teeth, stood up straight and wrapped his dignity around himself like a cloak. The cobbles and stones of the courtyard were sharp on his feet. The sun was hiding behind clouds making the day dull and grey and cold, Vetinari tried not to shiver. 'Perhaps a run would warm me… for a time'. He thought with irony.
The Baroness stood near the drawbridge with about 30 other Werewolves – most still in human form, the Baron was among them. "It is the Lore that I give you one hours lead, Bonk is 7 miles that way, you may not enter a dwelling – reach Bonk and we will let you live. Let us catch up with you and we will breakfast. What say you murderer?"
Vetinari finally decided to speak, now that he had more than the insane Baroness as an audience. He had no delusion that he could sway them, but every moment of speech was another moment of time in which, by some million to one chance, something might happen to rescue him. He raised his voice, the rabble quietened. "I interpret your abduction and threat of harm to the person of the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork as an act of war against my domain – withdraw your threat and return me safely to Ankh and the matter may be settled peacefully."
The Baron growled. "You have no standing army. No one cares enough about you to raise one. Your threat is empty."
"Do you think the same of Avor, Baron? I am the Chosen Heir – the whole Disc must be aware of the force raised to liberate Ankh – do you think they will rest until I am revenged."
Serafine laughed. "We do not fear Avor's ailing King, his General is as good as being our General and your wife is little more than a child."
Two burley male Werewolves came forward, one held Vetinari while the other removed his chains – they stepped back quickly. "And if I choose not to run?" Vetinari asked.
"Run or we breakfast, here, now." The Baron moved forward threateningly.
"Then I wish you bad hunting." Vetinari set off down hill glad of the grass on his feet. Appreciating how Vimes must have felt when he had been the victim of the Great Game – Vimes had been running through snow, at least Vetinari did not have that extreme cold to deal with but he would soon need to find something to protect his feet – and weapons. His assassin discipline had kept him reasonably fit, but the old gonne shot wound in his thigh pained him – he tried to ignore it and set such a pace for himself that soon had his lungs aching and muscles complaining – plus the abuse Serafine and Silk had put his body through made even small exertions at first seem like mountain climbing. He pressed on wanting to get as much distance in that first all-important hour as possible. He tried to remember the geography and Vimes' description of his own flight – but that had been from a different start point.
Vetinari came to a streambed and spotted some likely stones, he gave himself a few panting moments to catch his breath, scooping up water in his palm to drink. Then picked up a stone – he found a larger stone and struck the smaller stone on it hard – and was pleased when the smaller stone sparked and cracked into three sharp pieces. The Baroness had taken away all his civilised resources so it was time to resort to the tools of the Stone Age. Holding the broken shards carefully in his fists he ran on.
He found a fallen tree with heavy bark and cut off wide strips using the sharp stone edge as a knife, then ran on. Next he found some new stringy saplings and quickly worked thin strips from their supple bark, he paused to work the two elements into crude protection for his feet. He tied some of the spare sapling strips round his waist and while running made a simple bark bag to carry his finds in. A little further on he took a brief minute to bend a sapling low and with sticks secure it ready to spring at the first unwary hunter to follow him, where he found more saplings he made more traps. The field skills that old Professor Highwood had taught at the Assassins Guild serving the ex-student well. However Vetinari had not eaten since his capture so his body was calling on reserves it did not have. Eventually he saw some brambles with a few sparse berries, out of necessity he stopped to pick the few that had ripened, eating as many as he dared before his instincts screamed at him to keep moving – Werewolves could move faster than a man.
He found himself a stick, a little long for a walking stick but it would do. And if he could work something into a strong enough bow string it would double for a weapon. Normal arrows would not kill a Werewolf, but an arrow through a major joint might slow one down a little. Next he spotted a hole made by the roots of a fallen tree. Professor Highwood's words came back to him over the years. 'Now young Vetinari, what is the purpose of a non-lethal trap?' 'To scare, unnerve and confuse sir.' He heard his own youthful voice in reply. 'And what is the best trap?' Young Havelock had learnt his lessons well. 'A hole in the ground sir, normal people never pay enough attention where they put their feet and assume if the ground looks solid, that it is solid.' The Professor had nodded his approval back then, and would be nodding now if he could see the mature Vetinari cover over the hole with thin branches and camouflage their fragility with leaves.
Finally he reached a river near the bottom of the valley and began jogging along beside it. Still the sun had not come out and despite his exertions he was feeling the chill – not a good sign. He was slowing down, despite what his mind wanted to do; his weary body had other ideas. Rather than sunshine it looked like rain, he would not be going out in a blaze of glory, more like a puddle of mud – not how he had envisaged his end.
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