one” was Baltar’s reply.

The guard was just about to walk past their position when Baltar emerged from behind the coroner. Baltar grabbed the guard’s right shoulder with his left paw; before the man could react, Baltar stabbed him in the stomach with a knife in his right paw.

The guard grasped at his stomach whilst he dropped to the floor, trying to pull the knife out.

The other two guards were unaware of what had just happened, however they did hear running and saw cloaked figures running towards them. They were however too late to react properly.

Baltar tackled the guard nearest him, biting into his neck. The other guard was starting to draw his sword, turning towards his quarry. But was stopped as a hatchet hit him right in his chest, sending him sprawling onto the stone floor. Though the metallic sound off metal hitting a stone floor echoed a bit, the gurgling death throws of the guards were much louder, and more continuous. These were of course, unable to be heard by snoring man, in a deep sleep, and behind a closed door.  

However, Baltar took no notice of all this commotion as he knew that this noble was now on his own, and continued on his mission. He had a noble to kill.

His hood had fallen down during the brief fighting, revealing a grey and brown pattern on his face, along with maroon and yellow eyes.

He opened the door enough for him to sneak his body through. The hinges squeaked slightly, and he froze for a second, waiting for any hint of stirring inside the room. But he was reassured after he heard more snoring.

He crept into the dark room, it was as he expected, walls covered with trophies of hunts and victorious battles. A window with its view blocked by stone walls, a smoldering fireplace from a fire long since lost of its warmth, and a bed with fur covers. The bed only had one occupant, as the man inside it was a widower and reaching roughly into his early forties.

By chance, Baltar spotted the noble’s sword lying on the floor beside the bed. Baltar crept over; he grabbed hold of the hilt and pulled the steel blade from its sheath, as quietly as possible. It was a regular “war” sword used by the nobles: a steel, double edged blade, the hilt was made of steel with leather wrapped around it for better grip to hold. The quillon, often called the cross-guard, contained the symbols of the owner’s family passed from the earlier generations. He grasped the weapon with both hands and positioned himself roughly beside the man in the bed.

He positioned his hands was read to thrust down when he saw out of the corner of his eye, his comrade, he looked sideways towards him. He saw his fellow comrade lower his hood; he may have looked black in the night but he was grey, his eyes, hazel and yellow, were fixed on the sword, almost surprised at the scene, and then looked at Baltar. Their eye’s met and an immediate agreement was made between the two of them, this life wasn’t to be spared.

Baltar looked back down at his sleeping victim, his snores being an annoyance that Baltar wanted to be rid of. He got himself prepared both mentally and physically for what he was about to do. He had no second thoughts of killing the man, his earlier dealings with humans was self-explanatory. No, this moment would define the future of the wolf race, and destiny had put this weight on his shoulders, he was preparing himself for what lay ahead.

He pulled the sword put as far as he thought was necessary, gripping the hilt as tight as he could and then thrust down. The thrust woke the man from his sleep, like as if he were awoken by a bad dream, he gasped from the force being pushed into his chest. Baltar merely pulled the sword out from the man and stabbed back down again. He made two more such quick stabs into the man’s body.

After he pulled the sword out for the final time, he looked down at his foe. The man, though old looking, was very much full of strength. This didn’t matter as Baltar looked into his face. He saw a face of surprise and shock. There was a little stream of blood running from the man’s mouth, running down his cheek and jaw. His eyes, staring up at Baltar, were losing much of their life, thus time was running out on the man’s life. He tried to breath in air, but only felt his lungs fill with fluid, his own blood.

“Tell God” Baltar said to the dying man, “that if he should love his children, then he should free my people from hate and persecution” he continued. “If he won’t do that, then I shall slaughter his children from the face of the world” he finished. At this he walked away from the dying man, still carrying his sword and even grabbed the sheath from the ground, having every intention of keeping the sword.

“I didn’t know you believed that there is a god” said his companion, quite surprised at Baltar’s words, following him out of the room.

“Just in case there is a god, I want him too consider freeing us peacefully, Runner” replied Baltar, not really careing for peace and didn’t really believe in god. He grabbed a lit torch from the wall.

“Couldn’t you just have prayed?” asked Runner, referring to the religious ritual of prayer.

“True! But if he is real, I doubt he’d listen to a wolf.”

*******

The others waited in silence, they had waited weeks for this all to happen, with all of their parts in the plan over all that was left was for Baltar’s signal. And then they saw it.

The light from a torch appeared over the keep, waving back and forth. This was a signal that everyone was to move and that the lord of the land was dead.

There were several other dark figures roaming in the night, and they headed towards the now unguarded gate on the north side. Dozens of wolves passed through the gatehouse, unhindered from an enemy that was asleep, or dead.

They split up into several small but very mobile groups, heading off in all directions to find any guards left on duty or soldiers that were still asleep.

The garrison quickly fell too the silent assault, most soldiers never got out of the world of dreams. Those that did, didn’t last long against their more nocturnal foes. None were left alive, this may seem as cruel and unnecessary but the truth is they had every right to do so. Man hunted them down for sport, destroyed their homes, and murdered entire families in their sleep, why should man expect any different?

By morning, all was finished. Over top the castle, the flags and banners of the previous owner had been taken down during the night. The villagers of Nenana awoke to find white banners and flags flying in the light wind, a black wolf’s head as its symbol. These had been hand woven only a few days earlier and would soon be the symbol of resistance against all of man and canine kind. 

Chapter 1

(Six days later)

Emperor Harold of Alaska was dining in his hall at Anchorage, a small city but none the less the capital of his empire. He of course had gotten much of his current lands from his father, a man who is with god now. Emperor Harold was starting to approach a middle age, his years starting to grow past his once youthful abilities. He looked relatively young and was still young enough to fight in a battle if need be.

He had the usual people surrounding him; his ministers who helped run his empire, they were also his advisors though frankly they’re a bunch of yes men. There was also a general by the name of Costovna, his right hand man, a cardinal who was there to make sure the emperor was following the Christian path. A few diplomat’s from far reaching kingdoms and his own son, sixteen year old Joseph, the heir to the throne. As a prince he too was a general in his father’s military, eager too prove himself his father’s son.  There were also a few women of the court there, some wives, some nurses, others mistresses or daughters, and there were also the usual servants.   

It was a regular day of running an empire, getting reports from the provinces, receiving their tax money in return for his protection and of course his kind ruling leadership. At the moment, though eating lunch, he was still doing the duty of being a man of power and high office.

However, today he was missing a report from Nenana province. This was not uncommon; in fact there had been three other missing reports from other provinces the previous day. These were of course the norm, some arrived early, some on time, and others arrived really late. The report from Nenana, along with its tax money, was seen as such, a very late arrival. He had a large realm to maintain, he couldn’t rely on everyone to be punctual.

Thus when the messenger arrived with a large wooden chest, carried by two other men, that there was no cause for alarm.

“Some men from Nennana your highness” shouted a servant from across the room. The men entered behind him.

“Ah, excellent! What news from Nenana?” asked Harold

The messenger looked rather fearful, if not terrified, almost as if he’d been attack or seen a ghost. “Rather grave news your Highness!” he said, almost trembling from fear of what might happen to him being the bearer of bad news. The other two men put the chest down.

“What is it?” Harold asked, rising from his chair, all eyes on the messenger.   

The messenger unrolled a scroll of parchment, with a pre-written report on it. “The province of Nenana reports that the regular collection of taxes has been met and that all amongst the subjects is good and stable.” He started, “That doesn’t sound so bad” replied Joseph.

“Please son, let the man finish” said Harold, he was gentle but firm