Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf (13 page)

Mortharona laughed. “You would condemn me for thinking of lovely ways to kill our enemy. An enemy deserves no mercy. Mercy is for the weak!”

Khlekluëllin shook his head, closed his eyes and silently prayed to his goddess that their chance to escape would come soon. He knew their imprisonment and torture was changing them all but Mortharona’s change was far worse. If he was thinking of torturing Blackfang then he was beginning to slip away from the teachings and beliefs of their goddess. That was not good. 

*   *  *   *   *

Elsewhere in the fortress, Lalith was thinking the same thing. Her melodious voice broke the silence as they stared into the depths of the dark pool of water.

“Well, well… I think I now know which elf to curse.” 

Staring into the dark pool, they watched the three captives argue. Reaching down, Lalith waved her hands slowly over the floating images which tightened and slowly focused in on Mortharona. His voice, although hollow and distant, could be heard as he continued his tirade.

“Come now brother are you going to hang there and tell me you wouldn’t enjoy killing Blackfang after what he has done to you, our father, our sister and me? I don’t believe you!”

Shaking his head, Khlekluëllin disagreed. “No, I’m not saying that. Yes, I would love to kill Blackfang. And if I ever get the chance, I will. But that’s not the point, it’s the way you would kill him. Torture! That is the way of a coward, not a warrior! There would be no challenge in killing a helpless captive.”

Lalith’s gargoyle familiar, Jinx, glanced up at his mistress and grinned. His fangs gleamed a sickly red in the faint firelight of the small burning brazier as he sat on the granite stones that made up the sides of Lalith’s scrying pool. Jinx rubbed his hands excitedly. “Very true, my mistress.”  He pointed at the image of Mortharona. “That one’s heart is full of hatred.”

“Yes, isn’t it lovely?”  Waving her hands over the pool, the images faded. “We needed to find a weak spot in which to poison the elves with and now we have it. Mortharona’s hatred for Blackfang will be his undoing. Where the fire of hatred burns, the ashes of evil lie. All we have to do is fan those flames a little.”

Reaching to the side of the pool, Lalith picked up a silver pitcher. Slowly, as not to cause many ripples, she emptied the pitcher into the pool. The faint firelight reflected off dark red-black liquid.

Jinx licked his lips hungrily as the smell of blood filled the room. “But mistress, we still have to find a way to let them escape without alerting Blackfang.”

She waved a delicate hand as if to dismiss the trivial thought. “Don’t worry about that, I have a plan. As to Blackfang…” She paused to pick up a small bundle of leaves and tossed them in the nearby brazier. “I’ll take care of him.”

The flames hungrily consumed the dried leaves filling the small chamber with the fragrance of juniper and illuminating Lalith’s spell chamber.

It wasn’t very big, only a third the size of the bedchamber in the next room but it was cozy. On one wall, a small fireplace was laid out and ready to light. Directly in front of the fireplace was a bear skin rug. The rest of the chamber was crammed full of magical paraphernalia. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of herbs, spices and spell components. Most were in clay jars labeled with ornate runes or simple pictures, while some were just stacked in loose piles. Among these were seven skulls, two or three arm bones, a handful of dragon teeth and a small pile of glittering crystals. In the corner was a rack of weapons; there were swords, daggers, axes, knives, maces and flails. Several of these weapons glowed with the unearthly light of magic.

Getting up from her scrying pool that lay in the center of the small chamber, Lalith crossed the few feet between the pool and the shelves. “Come, Jinx. We have much to do before everything is ready.” 

Studying the clay jars for several moments, she began selecting certain ones and carrying them over to the pool. Jinx hopped down from the pool and began to lick the blood from the silver pitcher.

*   *  *   *   *

Grunk moved easily through the camp surrounded by the enemy. Of course, they didn’t realize he was the enemy. To them he was just another cyclopean warrior, maybe a bit better outfitted but just another one-eye.

Infiltrating the enemy camp had been easy. The why was harder to explain?

Grunk had followed the river downstream and found the tracks where three of the companions had come ashore. Unfortunately, they had landed in the middle of a goblin camp.

Judging from the tracks, Grunk knew it was the two elves and the dwarf. They had been captured without a fight, bound and marched south to this ancient dwarven fortress. This was extremely unusual behavior for goblins. This had heightened Grunk’s curiosity, which only partially explained why he was wandering around an enemy’s camp.

He had spent the last three days learning the workings of the camp. It’s amazing what soldiers will discuss around a campfire or in a chow line. He didn’t know the exact location of the dungeon but he reasoned it would be deeper into the fortress than he could wander without proper authorization.

Of course, Grunk had to worry not to draw too much attention to himself since he wasn’t a true member of the army. He had overheard enough of the army’s organization to deflect the most common questions. His major concern was being caught up in a situation where more than a cursory examination would take place. Grunk also never stayed in one tent, messhall or section of the camp for long.  Most of the other cyclopean guards generally ignored the gnomes or goblins, taking food or drink from them at will. So his noncommittal grunts and gestures spoke volumes to the smaller races.

Grunk was sitting in a chow hall on the east side of the camp, the same one he had visited on his first day inside the enemy’s camp. Out of all the eating establishments he had visited, this cook seemed to have the most talent or pride in his work. The food wasn’t excellent but considering some of the other slop he had choked down over the last three days, it was wonderful.

Grunk looked up from his meal and spied a well armed and armored dark elf moving through the crowd, the surrounding gnomes and goblins parted at his approach.

He was dressed in solid black leather pants with a vest of black chainmail and moved with the grace of a panther; smooth, confident and deadly. A brace of throwing knives were strapped to his hips and the hilts of his twin sabers could be seen over his shoulders. His stark white hair was shoulder length but pulled back into a ponytail and a silver choker inset with a glowing red ruby encircled his neck. Everything about his movements and manners spoke that this dark elf was a warrior supreme.

Grunk felt the hackles at the back of his neck rise when the dark elf stopped at his table.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Glancing around, Grunk noticed his was the only empty table. Feeling slightly cornered, he nodded his head and grunted.

Taking that as permission, the dark elf set his food down, reversed the chair and seated himself.  Taking a bite of the stew the dark elf looked up at larger cyclopean warrior. “I’m curious, why do you Jotens always grunt? I know you can speak but all of you seem to do is grunt or growl at everyone?”

 Grunk couldn’t hold back his grin at the straight question. “Most of the other races think that since we are big and strong we are also dumb. So, we act that way. Why rock the boat?”

Nodding, the dark elf took a swig of his mead. “That makes sense.” He gestured to the surrounding gnomes and goblins with his free hand. “Kind of like these damn digger and gobbies, they think all shadow elves are vicious murdering bastards.”

Looking around, Grunk could see the fear on their faces. Very few even looked their way and those that did averted their eyes immediately when they saw Grunk or his companion glance in their direction.

“I can see what you mean. They were a bit cowed when I sat down to eat but since your arrival they are positively frightened.”

“Aye, it’s so sickening. There isn’t a true warrior among them. They will be nothing more than fodder when the battle starts.” Reaching out his right hand, the dark elf said, “Darnac Penumbra at your service.”

The cyclops clasped forearms with the dark elf, his huge hand swallowing the elf’s slender arm. “Well met. I am Grunk Nightslayer.” 

Darnac raised an eyebrow as he turned back to his meal. “Interesting surname you have, family title?”

Grunk shook his head. “Nay, in my youth I was bold and reckless. I once fought a black dragon, hence the name.”

“You make it sound so nonchalant, like killing a dragon is an everyday thing.”

Grunk shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like to brag, it lessens the deed.”

“I agree but that is very different from many of your brethren. Thantos constantly brags on his prowess as a warrior.”

Grunk stiffened at the mention of his father’s name but tried not to show his discomfort. Instead, he took a long swig of his mead. “I just don’t like to talk of my past.”

“I can understand that my large friend. My past haunts me daily and I too do not like to discuss it.” Darnac gestured to those around him. “Of course, I have very few people to converse with.”

“Why is that?” Grunk asked as he set down his mug. “I have seen several of your kin wandering around here.”

“I don’t associate with them; or should I say, they don’t associate with me.”

Grunk could tell that there was more to that story but didn’t know how to broach the subject. So, he remained silent.

After several minutes of silence, Darnac spoke in a soft whisper. “My honor is my life. I gave my word to serve and so serve I shall. Unfortunately, my services led me to this place.” Shaking his head to clear away the melancholy thoughts, Darnac forced a smile and asked, “You in camp long?”

Finishing his bowl of stew Grunk said, “Only for another day or so, then I must head back out. You?”

“I am here as long as my mistress remains.”

Grunk gestured to the surrounding messhall. “You eat here often?”

“Nay. My mistress is entertaining a guest, so I had a few hours of free time. I miss the underworld, so in my spare time I like to wander the caverns beneath the fortress. They are vast and largely unexplored. I can see why Haldar built his fortress in this location.”

“Haldar?”

“The dwarven hero who built the fortress above almost a millennia ago,” Darnac explained.

“I didn’t realize that these ruins were that old.”

“Yes, they have a long history and are quite extensive.” Finishing his stew, Darnac changed the subject. “Are you going to the games tomorrow night?”

Not really knowing what the dark elf was talking about, Grunk decided to play it off and shrugged. “If my duties allow, why?”

Darnac took a long swig of his ale. “It should be good sport. A couple of elves and a dwarf were captured by some goblins. It seems that Blackfang has declared that they shall fight in the arena to entertain the troops. It’s my guess they will fight nightly until they die in the Pit.”

Grunk felt his heart quicken at this news but he forced himself to stay calm. “Sounds interesting but speaking of duties, I should get back.” Standing, Grunk picked up his large helmet from the table. “Thanks for the company Darnac.”

Also standing, the dark elf offered his hand once more. “The pleasure was mine Grunk. You are a rare individual.”

Returning the handshake, Grunk walked out of the messhall and into the enemy camp but now he was armed with some knowledge that might actually help him achieve his goal.

*   *  *   *   *

Khlekluëllin strained to see through the small window of his cell door. He had heard the gnomes coming long before he saw them and he could smell them long before that. Peeking through the small opening, he watched as three gnomes dragged his unconscious brother down the prison hall.

Judging from the blood dripping down the side of Mortharona’s face, they must’ve beaten him severely during this latest torture session. The lead guard opened the cell door across the hall before stepping aside while the other two gnomes deliberately threw Mortharona against the back wall. The dark haired elf landed in a lump and didn’t move.

Concern for his twin brother overcame his caution and Khlekluëllin called out. “Mortharona!” 

He didn’t answer but the lead gnome glanced up at the blue haired elf with a toothless grin. When the jailer spoke, spit and salvia sprayed the immediate area.  “Don’t cha worry! You’ll ‘ave your turn with the Dark Lady. If I was in yous boots, I’da be wishin that I died before dat day arrived.”

Glancing down at the filthy gnome, a sense of loathing filled him. Knowing that he should keep his mouth shut, Khlekluëllin felt he had to make a comment. “Open this door and I’ll grant your wish.”

The old gnome smacked the cell door with his club. “Yous just watch yous mouth! Just cause you ‘aves a date with the Dark Lady, don’t mean you’ll make it. Accidents do happen. Besides, no one ever says yous ‘ave to be able to walk to yous appointment.”    

Figuring that discretion is the better part of valor, Khlekluëllin remained quiet until the three guards left. As soon as they were gone, he again called out to his twin brother. “Mortharona! Mortharona!” 

There wasn’t any answer.  Numerous thoughts filled his mind, most of them unpleasant. Fearing the worst, Khlekluëllin thought to himself.

‘What did they do to him? I guess I could try to use our link. We haven’t used it in so long, I wonder if it still works?’

Sitting down in the lotus position, with legs crossed and his feet on top of his thighs, Khlekluëllin closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He forced his thoughts to remain calm, as he pictured his brother’s face. With his mind’s eye, he could see the mischievous twinkle in his brother’s eyes and the sly grin he constantly wore. Softly, he mentally called out to his brother.

‘Mortharona! Mortharona!’  

Although he didn’t answer, Khlekluëllin slowly felt their minds connect. It was a subtle thing. It was an empathic connection they had shared since birth. Even as babies, one could feel the other’s thoughts and emotions.