Wolf-coats are they called, those who bear swords
stained with blood in the battle.
They redden spears when they come to the slaughter,
acting together like one.
- description of berserkers, from Hrafnsmal, c.900 AD
Black clouds gathered in the west. The air eerily was still, sending the villagers into a flurry of activity, securing children, property and animals before the storm struck. Sabina's return home would have to wait until all danger had passed.
"You should be safe here; the people who built this town did so on an artificial hill, to protect it from most floods and storm surges centuries ago," Cyneric said to his uncle and Sabina as he left the cottage they had been staying in. He, Swanhild, and their crew were on their way to wherever the larger ships were kept. They especially would need to be secured against any storm's fury.
The way he says "most floods" is not particularly comforting, Edelhart thought, remembering that such a storm surge had killed his sister and her husband, though he did not know the details.
"I want to come help," Sabina said, rising to follow Swanhild.
"Absolutely not. You're not going to run away a second time," said Edelhart, moving between her and the door. "Do you even know anything about sailing?"
Sabina sunk her shoulders in defeat. He was right, she'd only be in the way.
"I just want to be helpful. I've been cooped up for three days now."
"You could go help the villagers drive their animals to shelter, like my son and his friend are doing. But I cannot let you on any ships! It's unsafe with a storm coming, and I'm sorry, but I don't trust you not to run."
She crossed her arms and glared at him. There was an expensive silver ring on her finger; his wife once owned a similar one, it was part of her dowry when they had been married.
"Or you can stay here with me. It's up to you." He hobbled to the hearth and threw another log on. For someone who hated Dame Barbara so much, he sure acts a lot like her, Sabina thought ruefully. At least he was genuinely interested in her safety and not in her being a proper Lady; he didn't care if she were up to her knees in mud driving cattle with young men, so long as she could be delivered back to her uncle safe and sound.
Sabina pulled the boots she wore as Dennis and left. Combined with her man-short hair, she was an odd sight. Most of the people here went barefoot in the summer, but Sabina's feet were tender from a lifetime spent in tailor-made slippers and boots. It was yet another irritating reminder of her sheltered upbringing. As she splashed through the streets, she watched the people rush to prepare for the storm. A young man had paused to flirt with a barefoot girl holding a fat chicken. Sabina frowned and pressed on. She had only a few days of freedom left, only a few days left with her friends and especially Johan; she was not going to spend them sitting inside a cottage being helpless.
Edelhart secured the doors and shuttered the single window covered in oiled hide. He brought in some firewood before his leg began to hurt and he rested on one of the long benches, drifting off into sleep.
He awoke not to the rumble of thunder or the rush of wind bringing the storm ever closer, but to the rattle of food being prepared. He sat up with a start, grabbing his broadsword instinctively. A small figure crouched in front of a clay pot sitting directly in the fire of the hearth, obscured in shadows. Frizzy black hair was pulled into a coiled braid on the crown of the man's head. Or at least, it appeared to be a man, judging by his clothing.
"Who goes there?" He demanded, rising; hand still on the hilt of his sword. The man ate a few more spoonfuls of cheese pottage, and slowly turned, head bowed, hands raised.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"I just wanted to eat and leave." A woman's voice!
"You didn't tell me who you are, and why you are here stealing."
He took a step toward her. She crouched into a defensive stance, hand on the hilt of her own small sword, and looked at him with panicked yellow eyes. Edelhart froze mid motion, speechless. He had seen men with those eyes before, in the North, before he was injured. Brutal, inhuman shock troops, they could change into wolves at will and shake off injuries that would kill a seasoned knight. He had seen them spread terror though his army, taking heads to present to their leaders as trophies. What did some of the men call them? Forlorn Hope.
Maenad frantically thought of a means of escape while Edelhart sized her up. She took her hand off her sword hilt; there was no way she could defeat him that way. As a wolf, she could kill him with little effort; he was a crippled old man, after all. But he was also her friend's father. The look of shock and the smell of fear and anger told her he knew what she was.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said, slinking to the door.
"Just like a demon to lie," Edelhart growled, lunging at her, sword drawn. She shifted in the space of a heartbeat, just missing the sweep of his blade.
Damn, my cover's blown, too! Why did the one person in this whole wretched village who would have seen werewolves have to find me?
Edelhart wobbled, regaining his balance and preparing for another strike. This was her chance. She lunged at him, aiming low, and knocked him to the ground. She ran, claws tearing up the dirt floor and knocking a stool across the door. Edelhart struggled to his feet and tried to follow her, but she vanished into the growing shadows. The wind blew fiercely, carrying her scent away with it.
That black wolf - black dog – that was Johan's dog! Did he know she was a werewolf? First Sabina, now this…thing. His son was either a fool or not being truthful about all these shapeshifting women in his company. Perhaps there was an explanation. There had better be an explanation! Best not to alert the already worked-up villagers about a semi-mythical threat until he got it. The storm would be here soon; he had better go fetch the youths.
Maenad found Peewit astride Biquette driving a herd of sheep to a cottage, singing off key as usual. The sheep seemed eager to get away from the terrible noises and safely into their pen. She loped towards him and grabbed his shoe with her teeth.
"Hey, stop it! Bad dog! Can't you see I'm busy?" Maenad snarled and bared her teeth. Briquette started bucking and rearing.
"Fine, fine! What do you want?" She gestured for him to follow, and they ran into the stable after the sheep.
"Johan's old man found me eating in the cottage," she told him, panting as soon as they were enveloped by darkness.
"So? You could tell him you're a village girl."
Her eyes blazed in the dark. "Like this? No, he's fought werewolves before. Soldiers react the same way every time they see us. He knows, Peewit. I have to find Johan and Sabina, and hide, before he convinces the whole village to hunt me down."
"You're overreacting, Maenad…right?" Peewit asked skeptically.
"The pack. I could go to them. I'll have to lie low first, don't want to endanger them, not with…well, I promised to keep them hidden."
"You mean the wolves you were with when you rescued us from Lothar and his men?" Maenad had been strangely silent when they questioned her about the mysterious wolves, and he had decided not to press her about the matter. He had promised the Smurfs to keep them a secret, after all.
The werewolf ignored him and shifted back to four paws. She sniffed the wind and scurried out of the cottage stable, leaving Peewit bewildered and worried.