Kuruk was in trouble. So much trouble. Not that it mattered too much because he was about to die.

Jak had a plan. Mayhap Jak always had a plan. And they were always crazy. And usually dangerous.

Yet his mother had insisted that he and Jak were “on the same path” and that he should heed his headstrong friend.

The sandclans were the natural enemy of the Ankan anyway. Slavers especially. Every year they snatched Eagle Clan braves for their grimy pits of death. Slavery was wrong, Jak was dead right about that, yet their chances of survival seemed so slim. Especially his. He was basically bait. And everyone knows that when you stake a goat to entrap a wolf, you can forget about getting all of the goat back.

Kuruk took a deep breath then began checking the fletching on his paltry few arrows - six in total.

Beside him, Jak had borrowed Kennison’s keys on the pretext of opening the locked supplies chest on the guard wagon and was using them to play fetch with Fang.

“Get the keys boy. Keys, keys.” He rattled the ring in front of Fang’s face before flinging them into the dark. A silly game but all part of Jak’s stupid "master plan".

Another part was about to begin too, Kuruk and Ox had first watch. Four hours from dusk to midnight. Erek and Jak were rostered to relieve them. Jak had better be there was all he could think.

A tap on the shoulder interrupted his reverie. A fist bristling with feathers was shoved in his face - his friend was gifting him five of his own arrows. Touched, Kuruk gave a rueful smile in return. Jak was a far better archer than him, better than almost everyone, he wouldn’t need to check the fletching on these ones.

He stood with a grunt of reluctance, gathered his cloak around him, and strapped his large bastard sword Notaku across his back. Behind him, Jak tugged at its leather strap and buckle for a final check. Tapping Kuruk on the thigh to signal all was in order, Jak turned and headed towards his bedroll.

“See you soon” he called over his shoulder.

"You'd better," Kuruk replied, trudging off towards the dense brush while getting lost in deep thought

His whole life had turned topsy-turvy since Mayhap Jak Foster had forced his way into barely a year ago. Fourteen year-old Jak had been the very first Pakeha he'd ever met, which had been a real eye-opener for a sheltered young Ankan brave. It had been hair-raising adventures and hairbrained schemes ever since. Hair everywhere, a Wolf Clan Jak hallmark...

Lying about their age and joining a trade caravan as guards had, naturally, been Jak's idea as well. And muggins Kuruk had gone along for the ride - albeit spurred on by his mother.

Not all of it had been bad though. His caravan guard partner Ox had become like a treasured uncle to him... He had a new baby sister Mika... He'd met Marion... Jak had gifted him Notaku, his much-loved magical sword. He'd also travelled far and wide, learning so much in the process. Particularly about fisticuffs and swordmanship - Jak's twin reasons for being.

Also, Jak's animal Wolf Clan mates were all amazing. As an Ankan he naturally honoured Arn the giant eagle his clan had been named after - although it was common knowledge the shaggy wolf Fang was his favourite. Star, the warhorse, was an impressive specimen but no dispirited palfrey. Not the friendliest creature on the gods' green earth... Then there was Squiz, Squiz was... well... freakish. A marmot-sized squirrel that was smarter than some people he knew... Maybe most people he knew? Smarter than Snake and Karn combined...

Lost in his recollections, his guard duty flew by for once. Before Kuruk knew it, it was his final circuit and time to slip away into the darkness. He’d been hoping to better prepare himself for the challenge to come. Time to set his affairs in order and all that. Get things set in his own head at least. His mother wanted him to toughen up and Kuruk could think of nothing tougher than this...

Even the bandit attack didn't seem as bad. in hindsight. Sure it had been brutally chaotic but it had come out of the blue and was all over in a flaming flash. This foolhardy endeavour he’d heard about hours ago. And it had been churning up his guts ever since. Dread was the difference. Death was at hand, yet while the high stakes remained the exact same, dread made a massive difference…

He scowled. Too much thinking, he was a fully blooded Ankan warrior he would endure. He was Kuruk Tatonka. The Bear. Fear the Bear not the other way around.

With a low growl, he blended seamlessly into the tree line, heading west to kill reavers.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A single throbbing thought echoed through his mind: "Jak better be there."

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Captain Kennison was shaken awake. Half awake leastwise.... leaving him at least half asleep. Blearily he propped himself up on elbows to better see who dared disturb his hard-earned repose.

Ahh, naturally it was the annoying enigma himself. The problem Kennison couldn’t quite solve: Jak the Lad. Unfulfilled potential in spades. Three months of intense sword training had only managed to polish up his many positives, yet not at all addressed his one glaring negative - a potentially fatal vulnerability to any straight thrust.

Remarkably, the boy was equally good with either hand. True ambidexterity was a rare trait, yet when your defensive deficiency was dead centre - which was the exact same spot from either side - switching sword hands didn't matter one whit. His instincts were skew-whiff. It seemed ingrained in him to draw his sword back to strike again, rather than employ a standard middle-guard parry. Once you were skewered though, there's no coming back, let alone striking back...

To mask this damned blind spot, he’d taught Jak to go aggressively all-out on attack. To bury his foe in a flurry of flashing blade strokes lest he notice the lack of a central defence. The other guards still hadn’t cottoned on. He’d seen several second guess themselves but get lost in the moment. To be fair, he was so damn good at the flashier stuff that such a basic flaw stunk of a trap. Besides, he rarely gave anyone time to second guess. He was a handful and a half from the drop of the handkerchief.

This hairy swain wanted it so bad too. No-one worked harder, be it wrestling, the sword or the bow. He was a hell of a huntsman as well. At merely seventeen, Wolf Clan's pride and joy had the makings of a fine soldier. He'd certainly earned his stripes this trip, time and again in the last three months.

In many ways, he'd become Kennison's second in command. Nominally only mind, there would be no wage rise forthcoming... Not working for this company... He'd be officer material in the army though, the lad had the right stuff. He felt bad for the boy... but worse for himself, because Kennison felt sure he was missing something...

“Kuruk.”

Ahh, Kuruk. Thankfully a not so problematic child... The much beloved son of his old brother in arms... From next week he'd have the burly boy using a buckler. While he’d eventually become a solid, stolid and steady swordsman, his future was always going to be a battleaxe or heavy mace. After all, in the right hands, or on a strong enough arm like his, a shield could be employed as an offensive weapon too.

His father had been a master of braining his foes with his own blood-spattered shield. Or he simply shunted them aside using the buckler - along with a boulder-sized shoulder - to make space...

Hmm, maybe a small shield could cover over the hole in Jak's defences as well ?

“Missing.” Jak said.

Something's missing alright... The solution was right there, on tip of his tongue... Lurking in some shadowy corner of his mouth? Or shoud that be mind? Yes, definitely mind...

Wait, what? He felt his shoulder shaken again, harder this time.

“Hurry, Kuruk is missing,” he finally heard Jak say.

Seven bloody hells! Kennison sat bolt upright. Hanska would have his head on a platter. Tear it clean off a man's shoulders he could... Just using those huge mitts he had for hands... He'd seen him do once during the war - dropped his axe and dug those iron bar thumbs deep into a Sarkian's neck, then ripped his head right off... To this day, recalling that gristle-twisting schluck sound still sent shivers spiralling down his spine...

Panic logically set in, but thankfully Lieutenant Jak had a plan and wasn't shy about sharing it.

Though bells were clanging in his head, Kennison hadn't sounded a general alarm as Jak insisted Fang could track Kuruk by scent alone. Strangely, Kennison believed him, that wonder dog could do almost anything.

Ox had agreed to stay on for a second watch with Erek, so there was no need to roust the other guards. As for the caravan traders, it had always been Kennison's policy to keep them in the dark. What they didn't know they couldn't charge coin for as far as he was concerned. They'd saddled up Star and Kennison's courser and set off south, albeit at a slow amble, into the gloom of the forest.

Normally, Kennison adored a forest sojourn, finding it relaxing. During the day, sparkling light danced between branches setting his soul at ease... Now though, he found it downright spooky and unsettling. In the darkness, sight was dominated by sound - a sporadic seemingly random cacophony of insects and birds of prey vaguely reminiscent of a demonic orchestra warming up...

An hour later, lying face-down flat on a ridge overlooking a shallow gully he felt even worse. With a groan he rolled onto his right side to regard the stoic swain at his side.

“There’s so many of them - must be more than thirty.”

“I think those ten with the manacles might be prisoners," Jak said.

"Kuruk must be amongst them somewhere," he quickly added.

What manacles? Where? Kennison squinted once again into the gloom with a darkened brow.

"Gods above, it's the Sandclans on a reaver's raid," he gasped.

“Correct, you can tell by the curved scabbards the guards are wearing?”

“You can see that far?” What freakish senses the lad had.

“Can’t you?"

“Not nearly, it’s night-time you numpty."

“Oh right, what about the wagons?”

“Of course I can see wagons...”

“Nay, I mean yea, but what about what’s in them?”

“They’re covered coaches but like enough more prisoners...”

“Or mayhap," Jak paused. "...Exotic animals, lions, tigers and the like… Possibly a gorilla?”

“What are you babbling about?" Was this clown suddenly suggesting Kuruk had run away to join a circus?

“The Sandclans make animals fight in the pits too.”

“Do they now? I did not know that…” Kennison was puzzled. “How do you know so much about their pits?"

“From a book…It also said slavers couldn’t fight for toffee...”

Weird book. "What was the book's title?”

“Never mind that, Hanska’s only son is out there all alone…”

“Not alone, he has thirty slavers for company,” Kennison grumbled, feeling defeated already.

“Twenty and a few exotic animals."

Still far too many Kennison thought, a tough knot was forming in his gut. He really was between a rock and a hard place. If he didn't die fighting reavers, Hanska would surely throttle him... Then shluck!

"So are you going to get the others now?"

Lucky Jak was too young to have seen a man's head torn from his shoulders, he probably sleeps like a baby... Wait, what he saying?

"Cause I’m going to attack them in three hours time..."

“Oh, no you're bloody not. I strictly forbid…”

He was gone wasn’t he? Kennison turned his head slightly to confirm it. Yep, and somehow the huge wolf had turned into smoke too. How did this keep happening? He twisted around onto his back. Egads! The damned warhorse was gone as well. How had a two-tonne monster like Star evaporated into thin air? Black magic...