Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf (17 page)

One thing that amazed her though was the respect each warrior gave to the speaker. No one spoke out of turn, argued or seemed to lose their temper. Each warrior waited until a small stick with a skull attached to one end was passed to him before speaking his piece. After which he would pass it to the next warrior and so on. When the stick reached Hawkeye, he stood up slowly and looked around for a moment before telling his story. It was in his native tongue but she knew it was the tale of her rescue because everyone kept glancing at her and nodding. When Hawkeye was done with his story, he passed on the talking stick and walked over and sat down beside her.

“That went better than I thought,” he said. “Many of the chieftains already knew of the problems with the Black Wolf Pack.”  He nodded toward a group of old men on the far side of the bonfire who were talking amongst themselves in low tones. “They’re debating the situation. Evidently, several other packs from each tribe have also turned to evil. Blackfang’s minions now control the eastern village and have completely destroyed the southern village. This is not good news.”  

Nodding, Tatianna watched and waited. When Hawkeye didn’t continue, she asked a question which had been bothering her all night. “Hawkeye, may I ask you another question?”  Seeing him nod in response, she continued. “Why do Amani and the others refer to you as the Wolflord?”

Hawkeye grinned slightly before explaining. “The title of warlord is given to the strongest warrior of each pack. Any warrior of a particular pack can become the warlord. All he has to do is challenge the present warlord to a duel; it is usually not to the death but to some pre-stated condition. A warlord shares the responsibility for the safety of his people with chieftain and the council of elders. A wise warlord only enforces his dominance in matters of defense of his community and during times of war. He waits and listens to the council of elders. They have been around a long time and many are former warlords.”

Pausing slightly, Hawkeye turned his body to face her more. The light of the fire shadowed his face and made him seem more mysterious.

“I tell you this for you must understand my unique position. I never knew my parents. My father died shortly after I was born and my mother disappeared shortly after my birth. Anasazi raised me for the first couple years of my life until I was adopted by the chieftain of the White Wolf Pack. Although Whitefang was my mentor, the whole pack shared the responsibility of raising me. It was a hard life but very rewarding. During my twentieth summer, I became the warlord after the tragic death of Whitefang at the hands of the cyclopean raiders. I led the White Wolf Pack for many years and only had to defend my title of warlord twice.”

His face grew hard and his voice turned colder. “Then three summers ago my life changed. Blackfang and the Black Wolf Pack with the help of several cyclops raided my pack’s campsite. They killed everyone and left me for dead. I vowed to survive if only to have my just revenge. Odovacar, a young brave of the Silver Boar Pack, found me and brought me to his camp. They nursed me back to health until I was strong enough to address the Great Council.” 

The tone of his voice changed becoming softer, yet not the soft gentle voice Tatianna was so used to hearing.

“The Great Council heard my tale and granted me the ‘Right of Vengeance’. This would allow me one of two choices; I could take another wife and rebuild the White Wolf or join another pack. For according to the Laws of Luna, only a member of a tribe may seek rightful vengeance on another Highlander but I refused both choices. I felt that taking another wife or joining another pack would only diminish the memory of my family and friends. So, I was adopted by the other five wolf packs. The Great Council bestowed the title of Wolflord on me when I beat all existing warlords save one, in single combat. So I am like the shamans, I belong to all wolf packs and none. Therefore, I am the Wolflord.” 

Tatianna watched Hawkeye’s eyes as he told his story. She could see them sparkle and shine with the good memories, yet flash with anger and pain at the bad ones. Although something told her that she already knew the answer, she felt compelled to ask. “Who was the one warlord you didn’t beat?”

Staring into the heart of the fire, Hawkeye nearly spit out the answer. “Blackfang. He refused to come to the gathering. He and the Black Wolf were the first to forsake the ways of Luna and turn their back on the Great Council.” Looking up into the heavens, his voice was faint as if speaking directly to his goddess. “One day, Blackfang and I will meet in combat and I will have my revenge.”

One of the elderly chieftains stood up and pointed at Tatianna. He was wearing an immense war bonnet of eagle feathers with several of the feathers at the crest of the headdress dyed completely red. All gathered were quiet when he began to speak. His voice was rough yet strong when he asked, “Would the young elf honor us by telling us her story?” 

Many of the others nodded their agreement.

Hawkeye whispered. “That is Red Crow, chieftain of the Raven Tribe. Those red feathers indicate that although he had been severely wounded in battle, he was still able to vanquish his enemies.” 

Standing slowly, Tatianna leaned heavily on her eagle-head staff and did her best to speak in an even voice. “I am the Princess Tatianna Amarth, Bladeweaver and the daughter of Queen Circe, ruler of the Elven kingdom known as the Elfholm. I will tell you what I know.” 

Closing her eyes, Tatianna let her mind drift back to the last few days before her encounter at the Shrine of Luna. When she spoke, her musical voice seemed distant and far away, as if she was reliving the past…which she was.     

*   *  *   *   *

I was traveling with a small patrol along the great barrier cliffs known across the lowlands simply as The Wall. The moon was just a few days from being full as we camped in a rocky ravine a few miles west of the Great Falls. The autumn breeze was cool and light, carrying the sweet scent of pine on its wings. As the night fell, the air became full with the mournful cry of wolves. They seemed many miles away, their voices floating on the autumn wind. When one wolf would end his song, another would pick it up. I found their song to be quite enchanting however most in my party didn’t. They seemed slightly frightened at the songs and stayed huddled near the campfires while lightly fingering their weapons.

I remember walking to the edge of our camp; I wasn’t sure why but the song of the wolves didn’t frighten me at all. Something in the song pulled at my inner being, at my very soul, stirring deep emotions that must have lain dormant since the beginning of time. I felt the urge to rip off my clothes, sprint into the darkness to join the pack and howl at the moon.

As a pair of milky white hands gently touched my shoulders, a light musical voice broke my reverie. “Beloved sister, what is it? You seem so sad. Is there anything amiss?”

Turning to face my eldest brother, I couldn’t help but notice that even in the weak firelight his hair still radiated a shimmering blue. The delicate features of his face, normally bright and shiny with happiness, were dark and overcast with concern. Shaking my head, I said, “It is nothing Khlekluëllin. The song of the wolves just sounds so sad. It is like they’re mourning the loss of someone dear to them.”

Reaching out, Khlekluëllin gently pushed a few stray locks of my crimson hair behind my ears. “You might be right but only the wolves and the Moon Goddess know what their song really means.”

A deeper voice broke in.

“You both are crazy. The wolves are just stupid beasts that howl at the moon because it’s there. They know nothing of Luna or any other god.” A handsome elf with jet-black hair stepped into the firelight. Dressed all in black, my brother glided across the clearing with the grace of a panther.

Frowning, I snapped at him.

“Mortharona, you don’t know if that is true or not. There are more things in this world other than the Elven Empire and I seriously doubt that wolves are just stupid beasts, as you call them!”

Folding my arms, I fixed him with an intense stare.

Laughing slightly, Mortharona gave in. “That’s very possible sister! You’re right, I don’t know if they are stupid or not but I still think you give them too much credit for why they sing to the moon.”

I was about to say something more when two figures walked into the radius of our campfire. One was my father; a tall, regal looking elf, dressed in his customarily blue traveling cloak. The other was Stamm Grimaxe; a squat, muscular dwarf with a waist long yellow beard dressed in a shiny chain mail vest. My father seemed the younger of the two, looking to only be in his early thirties but his eyes told a different story. At first glance his crystal blue eyes seemed bright and young but if one stared into them for long, a profound wisdom and sadness could be seen.

My father called out to us. “Come my children, Stamm has a story you should hear.” 

We glanced at each other, slightly confused but we joined them at the fire and sat down.

Absentmindedly stroking his thick yellow beard with his left hand, Stamm stared into the heart of the fire. That’s when we noticed for the first time that he was missing two fingers from his left hand. When he spoke, his voice was a great contrast to the musical tones of my family; it was a deep baritone and rough.

“Tomorrow we will reach the Halls of Haldar also known as the Fortress of the Black Falls. It is a very dangerous and foreboding place. I have been there before and I have very bad memories of my last visit.”  He cast a quick glance at my father. “Prince Corwin are you sure you want to enter that accursed place with such a small party?”

My father nodded slowly. “We have no other choice my friend. The fate of Terreth could hang in the balance.”

We were even more confused but didn’t say anything. My brothers and I knew all would be made clear soon, we hoped.

Stamm shook his head as if to free it from bad memories. Reaching into a vest pocket and pulling forth a black leather pouch, he proceeded to fill his cherry wood pipe before lighting it with a small coal from the campfire. Taking several deep drags, Stamm began his story. 

“Several decades ago my cousin, King Padric Grimaxe of Darkmoor, sent a small expedition to the Halls of Haldar with one simple quest; we were to search for the lost vault of Haldar.”

Scratching his beard, Stamm looked at my brothers and me. “You see, Haldar Darkmoor was the greatest warrior of my people and originally built this fortress. Legends tell of his mighty exploits at the great battle on the ‘Day of Sorrows’ when he fought alongside of Bromios the God of Thunder the father of the dwarves against the evil Arachne. After the battle Bromios rewarded Haldar’s bravery with a mighty axe that had the magical properties of thunder and lightning. Haldar named this axe Taranis, which means ‘sky fire’ in my ancient tongue. There are many legends of his deeds and battles but there is one legend that concerns our two nations.” 

Pausing he took a few puffs from his pipe blowing several smoke rings before continuing.

“When Haldar was getting older and weary of traveling he built a mighty fortress. Haldar wanted to overlook the land he had spent his life saving but he didn’t want just a small keep. He wanted the mightiest fortress in Dwarven history. And that’s what he got, dwarves, men and elves from all across Terreth came to help construct his fortress.” 

Stamm’s eyes flashed with excitement as he talked about Haldar and the mighty fortress.

“It is one of the greatest accomplishments of my people. Even before it was finished, it had become the center of trade for my people and stayed that way for nearly a century. Haldar even designed a great vault to store his vast treasure. In it he placed ‘Taranis’, all of his gold, jewels and many books. For Haldar loved to read, it was his passion. He kept a journal of all his exploits and gathered books and scrolls from all across Terreth.”

Corwin interrupted. “This is why we came all this way, my children, the vault of Haldar. Somewhere inside it are stored the legendary scrolls of Eldath.”

Khlekluëllin asked, “Wasn’t he an ancestor of ours?”

Corwin nodded his head. “Yes. He was my great uncle. His ‘Birth Gift’ was the ability of prophecy which he used to aid those in trouble. However, due to his nature of prophesying only gloom, death and destruction the queen gave him the surname of Amarth that we still carry today; which of course, in the ancient tongue of our ancestors translates to ‘Doom’. Although many elves shunned him, Eldath knew it was his destiny to record his visions. So, he created what we now know as the ‘Prophecies of Eldath.’  I have searched all of the libraries in Elfholm but none of them contain the actual scrolls just a few incomplete copies. However, legends point to the vault of Haldar as the final resting-place of these scared scrolls. Eldath and Haldar were companions in the elder days.”

Stamm nodded. “Yes my friends. There are great many records stored in Haldar’s vault but getting to the actual vault will be very difficult. The jotens control the land around the fortress. If we do get past them, we still have to find the vault, get past the traps, both magical and mundane, and then escape.”

Everyone was silent for several minutes. Corwin stared into the fire. Stamm was watching the spiraling path of several smoke rings and I was meditating on what I had just heard while Mortharona poked at the fire with a long stick.

Finally, Khlekluëllin broke the silence. “Stamm, what happened to the dwarven expedition that your King sent in several decades ago?”

Tapping out his pipe on his left boot, Stamm replaced it in his vest and stroked his beard. “That is a very good question my young friend, a very good question indeed.” 

Everyone leaned forward, eagerly waiting to hear his story. Leaning back against a log, Stamm looked to the heavens and stared at the nearly full moon. His left hand continued to stroke his beard, as his right hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of his short sword.

“I was still a young lad when my King sent that expedition to explore the fortress. It consisted of fifty well-seasoned warriors and the leader was my eldest brother Edric. He was a brave and cunning warrior. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a beautiful midsummer’s day. The sun was out and a slight breeze was coming over the falls to the south. We were in high spirits as Edric left twenty of us, mostly the young warriors, as a reserve on the hill that overlooks the fortress. We were to guard the base camp and cover their retreat just in case something bad happened. Well, something bad must have happened. Edric and thirty of my kinsman went into the fortress at dawn and never returned.”