Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf (7 page)

One of the gnomes spoke up. “But Blackfang, nobody is going to attack us down here.”

Blackfang faced the outspoken gnome. “So, you think nobody is going to attack you way down here?”

Nodding his head the young gnome stepped boldly forward. Resting his right hand on the hilt of his short sword, he looked upward to stare Blackfang dead in the eyes.

“And if they did, we would be able to take care of them without any problems.” 

Glancing over his shoulder at his companions, the young gnome flashed them a quick wink. In his arrogance, he didn’t notice the worried looks on his companion’s faces. He was certain they would support him in his boast.

He was wrong, dead wrong!

Turning back to face Blackfang, the last thing he saw was the werewolf’s right hand which ended in a black, hairy paw with inch long claws as it shot out quicker than an arrow at his exposed throat. The young gnome didn’t even feel any pain as his body immediately went into shock from the strike.

Standing absolutely still, the dying gnome looked at the jagged pieces of flesh and blood hanging from Blackfang’s clawed hand, as his lifeblood began pouring out of the large gash in his throat. Opening his mouth, the young gnome tried to say something, anything but no sounds came out, only blood, lots of blood. Falling to the floor, the last images that went through his mind were of Blackfang leaning over him with a large evil grin on his face.

“What was that you were saying? You stupid, Digger! You forgot the first rule of survival; always expect the unexpected!” 

Turning back to face the two remaining guards, Blackfang pointed at them with his bloody claw.

“Let that be a lesson to the both of you. Take your watch positions seriously or you will not live to regret it.” 

Turning his back on them, he spoke over his shoulder as he continued down the passageway.

“Take that carcass to the kitchens. Everyone and everything is useful in some way, just be careful not to join him.”

Moving through the dungeon without pause, Blackfang entered the lower parts of the keep. From here on up, the passageways were expertly carved by dwarven craftsmen several centuries earlier. This fortress had once been a citadel of some renown but as the saying goes, ‘time makes a fool of all men’ and it had fallen into disuse.

Blackfang and his followers had taken up residence here several years ago and with the aid of a band of gnomes had restored the fortress to a shadow of its former glory. During its heyday this citadel was a fortress of good, a bastion of hope for all of Terreth. It was the center of learning and education for nearly a century until the evils of mankind whittled away the last visage of pride in its soul. Now, it was a tower of terror; remade to serve the evil of the Dark Alliance.

Turning the bend that led to his room, Blackfang stopped in mid-stride when he found a grim faced dark elf barring his way. The barbarian warlord was about to yell when a flash of recognition rolled through him. This wasn’t just any dark elf, this was the Blademaster.

The unfamiliar trickle of fear rolled up his spine at the memory of watching the Blademaster’s last round in the Pit. The dark elf had faced five well-armed and skilled Highlanders. As soon as they had shifted into their hybrid forms, the werewolves charged. The Blademaster had calmly drawn his twin sabers and proceeded to cut them to pieces with surprising ease. 

 Recovering his composure, Blackfang glared at the warrior with a conviction he truly didn’t feel and said, “Greetings Blademaster, I assume your mistress is inside?”

Darnac tilted his head to one side as he studied the barbarian with his violet eyes. “She left instructions not to be disturbed.”

Blackfang made to step past but was stopped by the cold edge of a knife at his throat. Swallowing hard, Blackfang stammered, “I…I’m sure she didn’t mean me!”

Darnac grinned coldly. “The mistress is meditating. She will not be disturbed by you or anyone else as long as the blood flows through my veins.”

The dark elf withdrew the knife and sheathed it slowly.

“If you have a problem with that you have two options, wait until summoned or attack me.” Darnac leaned back on the doorframe and crossed his arms. “I’m hoping you choose the later of the two, it is the more entertaining choice.”

Blackfang swallowed hard once again but kept his voice level when answering. “Since she is meditating, we wouldn’t want to disturb her, so I will wait.”

Moving over to sit on a nearby bench, Blackfang tried to regain a measure of his injured pride. “Besides, she would never forgive me if I killed you. Good servants are so hard to come by.”

Darnac just smiled.

The deadly dark elf just pulled out a whetstone and began to hone an already razor sharp knife. However, the grating of the blade on stone was more entertaining than the silence and he knew it would irritate the Highlander.

Nestled deep in the ravine with the hills and trees around them, the companions spent a relatively comfortable night. The air was brisk with a gentle breeze coming from the west as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. In the dim light of the morning sun, Hawkeye studied his companions. They were a motley crew at best.

Rjurik was showing his age and no matter what the old dwarf would say, yesterday’s flight had taxed his strength. However, Hawkeye knew that the dwarf wouldn’t quit on him as long as there was a breath left in his body. He was as solid as the stone his kin loved. Hawkeye also knew if it came to a battle, Rjurik’s hammer and shield would make a solid dent in whatever foe they faced.

Mortharona, the dark haired twin, was a mystery. He seemed more aloof than the other two elves and rarely spoke unless it was to offer a snide remark. Of course, he had suffered a major head injury and a broken shoulder which he bore without complaint. In Hawkeye’s eyes that was an admirable trait.

Khlekluëllin, the blue haired twin, was his brother’s opposite. He was friendly, inquisitive and non-judgmental. He seemed to be the rock the other two leaned on and the overriding voice of reason of the siblings.

As Hawkeye’s gaze reached Tatianna, he paused to study her lithe body. Tatianna had rolled over onto her side in her sleep, hiding the bandages on her left cheek. She hadn’t spoken to anyone as far as he knew about what had happened to her at the Shrine.

Although he hadn’t seen it, he could read the signs they had left behind. Besides, he knew what despicable acts Blackfang was capable of committing. Judging from her actions, Hawkeye figured Tatianna felt self conscious about her wounds. Yet he found her more than beautiful, not in spite of her wounds but because of them. She had not let her injuries dampen her fiery spirit or even voiced a single complaint throughout their flight north.

With the coming of the dawn, Hawkeye roused his companions, starting with Rjurik. Tapping the old dwarf’s boot he said, “Time to rise sleepy head.”

“Hurmph,” snorted Rjurik. “Me thinks I found da hardest rock in da area ta sleep on last night.”

Stirring at the dwarf’s complaints, Khlekluëllin rolled over. “Impossible master dwarf. That honor goes to the patch of ground I am currently lying on.”

Without opening his eyes Morthrona added, “I’m not sure how anyone slept with the way that old dwarf snores!”

“I do not snore!”

Tatianna giggled as she sat up. “Yes Rjurik, you do.” Seeing that the old dwarf was about to explode she added, “But it’s not as bad as Mortharona says.”

Turning her head slightly, she noticed that Hawkeye was watching her and she felt the irresistible urge to stretch. Arching her back a bit more than normal, she grinned as Hawkeye quickly turned his gaze away.

‘Dammit Tatianna,’ she thought, ‘You’re a shameless flirt.’

Reaching into his pack, Rjurik pulled out a bundle of dried meat. Taking a large hunk, he passed it to Mortharona. With a distasteful look, he took a much smaller piece before passing it on to his brother. Khlekluëllin didn’t even hesitate before grabbing a large piece and passed it to Tatianna.

She took the offered parcel but looked up at her companions and said “I don’t particularly like meat. Do we have anything else?”

“This is the Highlands,” Hawkeye said. “You eat when you find food, drink when you’re near water and rest only where you feel safe. Anything less and you’re dead.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned back to the north. “Your choice, eat or don’t eat. Either way we have many miles to cover before highsun.” Glancing back, Hawkeye softened his tone. “I would prefer you to eat something. You will need your strength in the days to come.”

Understanding the meaning in his words, Tatianna took a piece of the dried meat and handed the parcel back to Rjurik. Biting into the meat, she nearly choked on the harsh spices that assaulted her taste buds.

Rjurik grinned. “I forgot ta warn ye lass. The first bite tends ta ‘ave a mighty kick.”

Fighting back the tears, Tatianna forced herself to swallow as she moved to the stream. Kneeling down, she placed her lips in the fast moving water and drank deeply. Looking up, she could tell that the spicy meat had a similar effect on her brothers. Still coughing slightly Tatianna asked, “What…what did you put on that meat?”

“Hrumph! Just a few spices. It’s an ol’ dwarven recipe. It’ll put hair on your chin!”

Tatianna snorted. “As if I want hair on my chin!”

Before Rjurik could say anything more, Hawkeye stepped up. “Time to go. The enemy is on the move. I can feel it.” Looking around at the forest, Hawkeye’s impatience was noticeable to all. He whispered, “Something isn’t right”

Hefting his shield, Rjurik threw his backpack over his right shoulder. “We’re wasting daylight standin’ here a yappin’!”

The three elves exchanged looks of uncertainty before Khlekluëllin shrugged his shoulders and fell in behind the dwarf. The other two followed quietly.

The companions traveled through the morning hours, mostly sticking to small game trails but always heading north and east. Walking in single file with Rjurik in the lead, followed by Khlekluëllin, Tatianna and Mortharona a few paces to the rear. For most of the day, the companions would only get a fleeting glimpse of Hawkeye at areas where the trail would be difficult to discern or when cresting a ridge; sometimes he was hundreds of paces to their rear, obscuring any sign of their passage or several paces ahead to mark the proper trail. Just before highsun, the companions were crossing a ridge when they spied a small ribbon of smoke.

Khlekluëllin asked, “What’s that smoke up ahead?” 

“That would be the trading post,” Rjurik said. “It’s run by some of Hawkeye’s people. Decent enough folk; outcasts from their tribes but very friendly.”

“It doesn’t seem like they would be able to make a living out here in the middle of nowhere.”

 “It ain’t da middle of nowhere,” Rjurik said as he pointed to the west. “About fifty leagues dat-a-way is me homeland.”

“That’s not…”

“Quiet,” said Hawkeye as he stepped out of the forest and onto the path in front of the companions. “Listen.”

All four companions froze and strained to hear whatever had Hawkeye upset but nothing could be heard even with the enhanced hearing of the elves.

“I don’t hear anything,” hissed Mortharona.

“Me neither,” Tatianna added.

Dropping to one knee, Hawkeye studied the forest around them. “That’s the point.”

Mortharona tossed his hands up. “What is that? Some sort of barbarian joke?”

Laying a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder, Khlekluëllin gestured at the forest around them. “No. Hawkeye is correct. There’s nothing. No sounds at all; no crickets or birds, hardly any sounds from the trees moving in the wind.” He pointed to the ribbon of smoke. “Considering the nature of the trading post below, don’t you think there would be some sort of noise?”

Rjurik tightened the grip on his warhammer. “Now tha’ ya mention it, I don’t ever remember seein’ smoke from their homestead before.”

Mortharona shrugged his shoulders. “Bah! That could mean anything.”

Hawkeye could see that Rjurik was about to explode onto the dark haired elf. Stepping in between them, he spoke in a low calm voice. “What it means is that we need to be extra careful during our approach.”

Gesturing to Rjurik, Hawkeye commanded. “Take the rear guard position. The rest follow me slowly and as quietly as possible. We may find that our enemy is already ahead of us.”

Tatianna felt compelled to ask. “And if they are?”

It was Khlekluëllin who answered. “Then we make sure that there won’t be anyone left alive to report on our location.”

Hawkeye nodded his agreement before leading the way down the valley. Reaching the outskirts of the clearing, he raised his right hand and quickly closed it into a fist. Knowing this was the universal signal to stop; the elves stepped off the path and melted into the foliage of the forest. Hawkeye raised his head and sniffed the air; calling on the magical nature of his race, he transformed into a white wolf and loped off into the forest.

Khlekluëllin looked over his shoulder at Rjurik. The old dwarf just shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against a tree. One of the first things a warrior learns is to rest whenever possible.

Turning his attention back to the trading post, Khlekluëllin watched as Hawkeye moved slowly through the homestead. No other living creature stirred within the clearing.

The thin ribbon of smoke that they saw from the ridgeline wasn’t coming from a chimney but from a large bonfire in the center of the clearing. Seeing Hawkeye transform back into human form as he stepped out of the closest building, the companions moved cautiously into the clearing.

None of the elves were ready for the carnage that confronted them. The doors and shutters had been completely ripped off the buildings. The livestock, horses, chickens and sheep, had been slaughtered in their pens. The traders, the men at least, had been crucified around the bonfire. The women had been gutted and left to rot but it was the fate of the seven children that affected the companions the most. Tatianna froze as she came upon one of the children, a young girl who would’ve been about six or seven. The head had been hacked off the body and then hurled against the closest wall.