Shadow of the Wolf by Tim Hall

already the citadel was waking: hearth-boys yawning as they crossed the courtyard with armfuls of firewood; maids emptying chamber pots. The sentries in their watchtowers began the first of the day-calls – ‘Prime hour. All clear’ – the chant beginning over the main gates and working clockwise round the battlements.
    Robin filled a bucket from the well, stripped off his nightclothes, washed himself, wincing at the fresh bruises covering his muscles. The water was very cold and was helping to dissolve the memory of the nightmare. In his sleep he and Marian had been running from the Wargwolf, its lower jaw hanging slack, trees bending from its path the way a cat moves through grass.
    He ducked his head fully in the bucket. By the time he’d rubbed the water from his eyes Bones was there, yawning and scratching at his groin and filling his own bucket from the well.
    ‘Rowly’s getting worse with his snoring,’ Bones said. ‘He’s an animal, trapped in a man’s body. I’d get more rest sleeping in the swineshed.’ He splashed water on his face, rubbed at his eyes. ‘Nightmares again?’ he said. ‘Want to talk about it? No? Good, because I don’t want to hear it. Not at a time like this.’ He leaned closer, dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Listen. Here’s something to lift your spirits. I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday. I’ve made an alliance.’
    Robin raised his eyebrows.
    ‘Well, not
made
exactly,’ Bones said. ‘
Making
, I should say. But it’s just a formality. Six of us! Think of it, the ultimate company.’
    ‘Who are they?’ Robin said.
    ‘You’ll see. We’re meeting this morning, first light. Who would you like it to be? Come on, let’s get the other two, drag them out of that pit. This is our day. This is when it begins, I can feel it!’
     
    The four of them waited beneath the north tower, on the slope that led down to the moat. Robin stood motionless, leaning back against the wall, his hood up, watching Bones pace back and forth. Rowly had sprawled his big frame on thegrass. Irish was on one knee and was digging in the soil with his knife.
    ‘They’re not coming, are they?’ Irish said.
    ‘Can’t believe I missed breakfast for nothing,’ Rowly said. ‘Loxley, you’ve always got some food stashed away. What can you offer?’
    ‘They’ll be here,’ Bones said. ‘They’re being cautious, that’s all. They can’t wait to come over, you’ll see.’
    He didn’t look as confident as he was trying to sound. He continued to pace in the shadow of the tower, twisting fingers through his blond chin-beard. The citadel was rousing to full wakefulness – the echo of voices and the clopping of hooves and creaking of carts. Time was running out.
    ‘Forget it,’ Irish said, wiping and sheathing his knife. ‘They’re not interested. Let’s get back and—’
    ‘There!’ Bones said. ‘Here they come. Look. Yes, yes, this is it. Have I let you down yet?’
    Sauntering out of the north gate were Joscelin Tarcel and Ayala Baptiste. Robin was impressed. These two would be perfect. Baptiste had only been at the academy a matter of months, but already he had earned himself the nickname The Beast. He was almost as big as Rowly, and equally fearsome in the combat yard. Joscelin Tarcel, quick on his feet, and crafty, was an excellent skirmisher.
    ‘What about it, eh?’ Bones whispered. ‘Think of it. The Beast standing defence with Rowly. Tarcel joining the rest of us in attack? I could almost feel sorry for the others.’
    ‘You will forgive our tardy arrival,’ Tarcel said, as they approached. ‘My friend Baptiste refuses to do business on an empty stomach.’
    Rowly made a snorting noise.
    ‘But now time is short,’ Tarcel said in his slight Frankish accent. ‘Let us dally no longer. The Enterprise of Championsis not known for the size of its war chest, so we will not be talking of coin.’
    ‘It would be insulting to us both,’ Bones said. ‘We offer a