The Cost of Inheritance

Wolfstan awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The morning air was sharp with the tang of dew-drenched earth, and the light that filtered through the canvas of leaves overhead painted the world in shifting hues of green and gold. For a moment, all seemed still and quiet, the calm of the forest unbroken. But something was off. His eyes darted to where Rolo should have been—his faithful black Doberman, a constant companion in a world too often filled with peril.

"Rolo?" he called, his voice cracking with sleep. No answer. No shuffle of paws on the undergrowth, no familiar grunt of acknowledgment. His chest tightened. He stood quickly, brushing dirt from his cloak, and turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning every shadow and hollow.

"Rolo!" he called again, louder this time. Still nothing. A surge of unease coursed through him. His mind raced. Rolo had never wandered far from him before. He had always been at his side, watchful, loyal. Something was wrong.

Driven by a rising urgency, Wolfstan moved. He followed faint tracks in the dirt, the disturbed leaves and snapped twigs that hinted at recent passage. Every rustle of the forest set his heart hammering, but none of them heralded the return of his dog. Minutes stretched into an hour, the anxiety gnawing at him with every step.

That's when he spotted the man.

A figure stood at the edge of a clearing, leaning casually against a tree. He wore a patchy cloak of browns and grays that made him seem a part of the landscape, like bark given form. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of a broad hood, but Wolfstan could see the glint of eyes watching him.

"Looking for something?" the man's voice came, smooth and sharp like a whetted blade. Wolfstan's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, instinct tightening his muscles.

"Aye," Wolfstan replied, squinting at him. "My dog. Black Doberman. Pointed ears."

The man's lips twisted into something that might have been a smile or a sneer. "I know what it looks like," he said, his voice laced with knowing amusement. "I know what you call it."

Wolfstan's breath hitched. Cold realization crept up his spine like icy fingers. His eyes narrowed. "Is it with you?" he asked slowly, his voice tense with barely restrained fury.

"Of course," the man replied easily, his eyes glittering like chips of obsidian. "And it will remain with me... as long as I get paid my debts."

Wolfstan's brow furrowed. His gaze flicked down to the ground, then back up to the man. "What debts? I don't know you."

The man's smile widened, sharp as a fox's grin. "Your father does."

Silence hung in the air, taut as a drawn bowstring. The birds in the trees had gone quiet, the forest holding its breath. Wolfstan's jaw clenched as his hand settled firmly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes locked on the man, his gaze hard and unyielding like tempered steel.

"I have nothing to do with my father," he said slowly, each word a stone set in place. His fingers curled tighter around the grip of his sword. "If you think to hold me to his debts, you've made a grave mistake."

The man tilted his head, his hood shifting just enough for Wolfstan to catch sight of a sharp cheekbone and a knowing grin. But something changed. The grin faltered. His eyes flicked to Wolfstan's hand on the hilt of his sword, and whatever confidence had fueled his words now began to drain away. His tongue darted over his bottom lip before he spoke again, his tone notably more cautious.

"Easy, friend," the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just a ratter. No blood needs spilling here. I only want to be paid, that's all. No threats, no trouble." His eyes darted to the shadows at the edge of the clearing, as if hoping someone—or something—might intervene on his behalf.

"Paid for what?" Wolfstan's words came like iron striking stone. "What's my father promised you that you think you'll claim from me?"

The ratter's face hardened, his eyes narrowing. "What he promised, aye," he said with a bitter edge. His eyes flicked down to the dirt at his feet, his lips pressing into a thin, grim line. "I did work for him. Dirty work. Cleared out his root cellar. Rats big as hares — the biters. Two days at it. Blood on my hands, stink in my nose that wouldn't leave. Thought I'd catch fever from it." He sniffed, glancing back up, his eyes tired and hollow. "Your father said I'd be paid at season's end. Said I'd get silver when the harvest was in."

He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "That was two seasons ago. No coin. No word. He forgot me, plain and simple. But I can't afford to be forgot, see?" He glanced back at Wolfstan, his jaw tight. "So I thought maybe if I had somethin' he cared about, he'd remember me."Wolfstan's gaze didn't waver. His hand remained firm on the hilt of his sword.

"You think my father cares about this dog?" he asked, his voice cold and steady as distant thunder.

The ratter sneered, his eyes filled with spite. "Don't play coy with me, lord's son."

"Not a lord's son," Wolfstan growled, stepping forward, and the shift in his tone made the ratter take a half-step back. "Not anymore."

The words hung in the air, sharp as the point of a spear. The ratter blinked, his brow furrowing as confusion rippled across his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes scanning Wolfstan's worn cloak, his travel-stained boots, the roughness in his hands. The realization dawned slowly. His eyes flicked back up to Wolfstan's face, searching.

"They put you out, didn't they?" he muttered. "Tossed you out like the rest of us." His lips pulled into a bitter grin, but he didn't laugh. He stared for a moment longer, then gave a small, slow nod like he understood something now. "Not much difference between us, then."

"Careful," Wolfstan warned, his voice low and sharp as a knife drawn in the dark. "We're not the same."

The ratter opened his mouth to say something but stopped. His eyes shifted to the ground, his hands hanging loose at his sides. His breath came out slow and tired.

"No, I reckon we ain't," he muttered, voice hollow as a dry well. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was trying to wring the thought out of his head. "You've got that steel in your hand, after all."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The forest was quiet but for the rustle of leaves above, the soft calls of unseen birds.

"You still haven't told me the whole of it," Wolfstan said at last, his tone quieter now, though no less firm. "What are you afraid of?"

The ratter hesitated, eyes flicking toward the edge of the clearing, like something might emerge from the trees at any moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Wolfstan like a man about to admit something shameful.

"Them", he muttered, his voice low and raw. "Bandits. Three of 'em. Sometimes four. They come every month, knockin' like they own the place." He swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously. "They say I owe 'em. But I don't owe them nothin'. They don't care. They take what they want — pelts, coin, food — whatever I've got. When I've got nothin', they leave me with bruises instead." He tapped the side of his face, where a faint bruise ran from his cheek to his jaw. "Last time, I barely kept my teeth."

His gaze flicked back up to Wolfstan, his eyes hard but filled with something that looked a lot like shame. "I know what they are. I know they'll come back. They always do."

"And you think a dog would stop them?" Wolfstan asked, his voice as cold as a blade in winter.

The ratter let out a short, bitter laugh. "No, but I thought your father's coin might," he admitted, glancing at the ground. "If I could make him pay me what I'm owed, I'd have somethin' to give ‘em. Maybe that'd keep ‘em off me for a month." His face twisted in something too bitter to be called a smile. "Didn't think you'd come instead."

Silence stretched between them. Wolfstan's gaze remained sharp on the man, cold and steady.

"Where's Rolo?" he asked at last, his voice hard but calm, like a father scolding a child.

The ratter raised his hands again, palms out. "He's fine. Didn't hurt him, I swear it. He's close. I'll take you to him."

"Then move," Wolfstan said coldly, stepping forward.

The ratter nodded and trudged ahead, his shoulders slumped, his head down like a man leading himself to a whipping post. They moved through the undergrowth, their boots crunching softly on dried leaves. Wolfstan's eyes stayed on the man, his hand hovering near his sword. He didn't trust him, not fully. Not yet.

But the ratter didn't run. He didn't lie.

They reached a hollow framed by leaning trees. A sharp bark rang out, and Wolfstan's heart lifted.

"Rolo!"

The bark came again, sharp and strong, and then there he was — sleek black coat, pointed ears, bright, alert eyes. Rolo bounded forward like a streak of shadow, and Wolfstan knelt, catching him in his arms. His hands gripped the dog's neck, holding him firm. Rolo barked again, pawing at his chest.

"You're safe," Wolfstan muttered, pressing his forehead to the dog's head. "Good boy."

He rose slowly, his hand resting on Rolo's back, his gaze lifting to the ratter. The man lingered at the edge of the hollow, eyes low, shoulders slumped like he was waiting for a blow.

Wolfstan stared at him for a long moment. He could see the bruises on his face, the hollowness in his eyes. A man pressed down by the world.

"When are they coming?" Wolfstan asked quietly.

The ratter hesitated. "Two days, maybe one," he muttered. "Sometimes early, sometimes late. They never tell me."

"Good," Wolfstan muttered, his voice barely above a breath.

The ratter frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Wolfstan scratched behind Rolo's ears, his gaze still on the treeline. His hand slid to the hilt of his sword, fingers curling around the grip.

"Let them come," he said quietly.

The ratter's brow furrowed. "You mean to stay? Fight them?"

Wolfstan didn't answer at first. He stared into the woods like he could already see them coming.

"They're used to taking," he said, voice low but firm as iron. He drew his sword slowly, the blade glinting silver. "Time they learn how it feels to lose."

The ratter stared, wide-eyed. His breath was shallow, like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or run.

"Let them come," Wolfstan said again, eyes fixed on the treeline. "We'll see who walks away."