A Wolf's Kiss

Chapter I - Paying Tribute

I don't know who needs to hear this, but its pronounced Yay-gur

Everyone in the Northern kingdom had heard of them. The Vargensmann, the half-wolves. Creatures that stood up and walked as men, where intelligent and complex like men, and in most ways even looked like men, but they came from wolves. They were taller than men, but they had the appearance of them, with the exception of their ears and their tails. They were powerful warriors with great skills for building ships and hunting. They were loyal, but they could be cruel at times, much like their lupine ancestors. Some said that they were savage brutes who ate human meat, others said they were protectors of the innocent.

Chief Jagur couldn't care less what any of the Northern men thought of him or his pack. He didn't care at all for the little games and squabbles of the high lords, or what laws the king introduced from his throne in the capitol. It didn't matter to him, none of it was binding. Jagur had an agreement only with the lords of the North, and it was simple. As long as he didn't harm them, or any of their banner-men, they would not harm him, or any of his pack. He would also be called upon to collect taxes from nearby villages, but everything else was his.

And he took as he liked. Now half the North was under his control.

Hoards of men came from all over the North to offer taxes and gifts in exchange for the Chief's benevolence in the wolf's city of Krigarstad. Of course only the rich and powerful were required to make the pilgrimage, peasants and commoners had little to offer, and Jagur found them deserving of mercy. Wealthy visitors came once every month, to offer their gifts.

Before noon that day there was a line of men going out the Chief's house, all offering him different gifts.

Jagur sat on his wooden throne, accepting tribute after tribute. It was all so boring. Most lords brought a collection of gifts, should the Chief reject the first, and he would simply say "yes" or "no" in the language of the common man to indicate his acceptance. And if he didn't accept the gift... well... no one wanted to know what that meant.

Some brought weapons, others brought gold, and Jagur gladly accepted each one. It wasn't until a Magister from the Green Hills came that Jagur became intrigued.

The Magister offered his obligatory courtesies, pretended he was happy to be there, and offered the Chief gold. It was a big chest, filled completely with large bars of the precious metal. But Jagur couldn't have been less interested in that. Jagur's eyes were on the small boy that stood next to him.

The Magister kept talking, but Jagur only fixed his eyes on the boy. He had the most beautiful messy hair that Jagur had ever seen. It was silver and gold at the same time, and shone whenever the light hit it like a torch. His skin was ivory white, apart from his sun kissed cheeks. His lips were full and red as blood, and he was small and skinny in form. Jagur thought he was the most beautiful boy that he had ever seen.

"No." Jagur said without listening to what the Magister said. He stood up from his throne, towering over the Magister and everyone else in the room. "No gold." The Chief elaborated. "The boy."

Jagur could smell the powerful stench of the Magister's growing fear and anxiety, though he didn't need to. Anyone with eyes could see the sweat on his brow. "I know just what you would like!" The Magister exclaimed, feigning enthusiasm. "I'll have my servant bring you-"

"No." The Chief cut him off, stepping closer to him. "The boy."

The Magister glanced at his servant. "Oh no, my Chief! You don't want him. I have many more servants, ones that you will surely find more pleasing! This boy is an Easterner savage, a witch defiled by dark magic. I promise you, there are others." Western men didn't have a high opinion of the East and their foreign gods, but Jagur didn't care.

Jagur didn't even listen, he approached the boy expressionlessly.

The boy looked up at him with full eyes, each black as the night sky. "My Chief..." The boy said respectfully in a gentle voice, bowing on the ground.

"Name?" Jagur asked, gesturing with his hand for the boy to get up.

"Ceres, my Chief." The boy said, standing up straight.

Jagur buried his nose in Ceres' messy hair, and sniffed him gently. He smelled like mountain flowers and fruit. His blood was sweet, and unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. Not like any ordinary man's scent. He moved behind Ceres, and grabbed him by his hips. He rubbed himself against the boy's backside, still sniffing his hair. His tail started wagging involuntarily.

"Take the boy to my quarters and get him ready." Jagur said to one of his servants in the wolf's language of Vargs tongue. "I'll soon be there."

The Magister pleaded with the Chief for him to reconsider, but he stopped when Jagur turned and growled at him. The Magister then left the Longhouse, and took his gold with him, not daring to say anything else.

Jagur sat back, claiming the rest of his tributes, waiting for the line to end so he could retire to his own quarters...