Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf (8 page)

Tatianna felt her stomach lurch as she realized someone had also urinated on the headless corpse. Turning away, she could see that the remains of the other children had also been similarly mutilated.

All three elves paused, overwhelmed by the carnage around them. Elves have the oldest surviving empire on Terreth and can trace their heritage back ten generations before the dark times, before the war of the gods. Elves have earned the reputation as fierce warriors for their nation has been under siege nearly its whole existence. But this wanton destruction and callous slaughter of animals and people alike went beyond all reason.

Turning north, Rjurik and Hawkeye moved toward the forest with heads bowed low. Glancing back Hawkeye said, “Come we must go.”

“But… but we must bury them,” Tatianna said. “We must put them to rest.”

Hawkeye shook his head. “Nay. They stay as they lie.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Tatianna’s face became flush with anger. “How can you be so cruel?”

“Do you believe in the spirit?” Hawkeye asked.

“What? What does that have to do with the matter at hand?

“It’s a simple enough question. Do you believe in the spirit? Do you believe in some form of the afterlife?”

“Yes.”

Hawkeye pointed at the corpses. “If you believe in an afterlife, then what is lying here are empty shells, broken vessels that are nothing more than food for scavengers. The force that animated them has fled to a better life. Nothing beneficial can be gained by taking the time to bury them.”

Tatianna’s jaw dropped. “That’s so cruel!”

Turning back to the forest, Hawkeye spoke over his shoulder. “Be that as it may, they stay as they lie, undisturbed and unburied. Now, we must move.”

With one final look at the bodies, the three elves fell in behind Hawkeye and Rjurik. 

The weather began to turn colder as the companions travelled further north. Snow had begun to fall constantly, covering the Highlands in a white blanket which complicated their journey. The elves were still nursing wounds and couldn’t travel far without rest. They had covered less than seven leagues over the past two days due to the numerous raiding parties that were roaming the area. Hawkeye took extra precautions in selecting their paths; ones that would hopefully avoid any trouble.

The raiding units they saw were well organized and usually numbered about ten gnomish soldiers, five goblin scouts and one or two barbarians who acted as commanders. One unit passed within fifty feet of their hiding spot even had a cyclopean enforcer along.

Thankfully, the companions heard the raiders coming long before they could be seen. They had given up hope on finding help in this region of the Highlands. It wasn’t very populated in the best of times but since the raiders were patrolling the area, they had found only empty or burnt out homesteads.

On their third night out from the destroyed trading post, Hawkeye led them off the game trail they had been using, out of the protection of the trees and up the snow covered ridge. Scrambling over the broken rocks that littered the area, the companions were buffeted by the cold north wind. Soon they reached a point on the north-western slope where two large rocks stood like silent sentinels.

Hawkeye stopped and motioned his companions to a small opening behind the rocks. Stepping into the crevice, they discovered a small cave with a campfire already laid out and ready to light, along with a pile of sleeping furs and several boxes stacked against the back wall.

Moving inside, Rjurik immediately set aside his shield and backpack and began to light the fire. Mortharona stumbled in and promptly collapsed on the furs. His head wound had begun to seep again and he had found travelling the last few hours extremely difficult. Khlekluëllin and Tatianna paused at the cave entrance and studied their surroundings.

Khlekluëllin noticed that Hawkeye had not entered with them. Glancing at his sister, “Where did Hawkeye go?”

Tatianna’s eyes widened at the realization that he had left them. “I don’t know.”

A flash of light illuminated the cave as the campfire flickered into life. Putting away his flint and steel, Rjuirk spoke softly. “Now don’t ya be worryin’ about da pup. He’s gone off  scoutin’ the area.” He pointed at the crates. “Now lass, make yourself useful and go through them crates and find us something to eat.” He handed Khlekluëllin an empty bucket. “And you can get us some water.”

“Where is the closest stream?” asked Khlekluëllin.

“Probably the bottom of the ridge,” Rjurik said turning away. “Personally, I would just fill it with snow but you can hike all the way to the bottom and back if you want.”

Khlekluëllin turned and moved toward the cave entrance as Tatianna opened the first crate and asked, “Rjurik, what is this place?”

“This is one of our campsites. Many a time, da pup and I have had to travel this far north, either hunting game or goblins. If you want to live a long life in the Highlands, you tend to scout out defendable campsites long before you may need them.” He gestured at the supplies around them. “Then you outfit them the best you can and try to prepare for any situation.”

With a shrug, Rjurik pulled out an old battered pipe. “You never know when you will get caught in a blizzard or behind enemy lines.” Pointing with his pipe at one of the sacks Tatianna had just removed from a crate. “Would ya mind passing me that bag o’ leaf?”

Hefting the small leather bag, Tatianna raised one eyebrow. “Leaf?”

“Aye lass, leaf from da tobacco plant. That bag came all the way from Southfields.”

“Southfields? Isn’t that a halfling community near Asylum?”

Rjurik nodded and began packing his pipe. “Aye, it’s a small farming community mostly halfling families but a few dwarves have settled there also. My cousin Gram has a farm on the west side; every year he sends me several bags o’ leaf.”

Lighting his pipe from a coal out of the campfire, Rjurik took a deep pull. “Of course, this is the last bag. For some reason, Gram didn’t send a shipment this year. I hope nothing has happened to him.”

Khlekluëllin returned with his bucket of snow and Tatianna discovered some dried beef and beans. Rjurik pulled some potatoes out of his backpack and proceeded to combine everything into a stew. The small cave became filled with the wonderful aroma making Khlekluëllin’s stomach rumble loud enough that everyone awake could hear it.

Giving the stew another stir, Rjurik flicked a glance at the blue haired elf. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re hungry.”

Sitting cross-legged, Khlekluëllin smiled. “Until you began cooking, I’d forgotten how hungry I was.” Scratching his chin, he added, “Which doesn’t make sense. We have eaten rather well these last few days all things considered. I never knew that rabbits were so abundant in the Highlands.”

Tatianna nodded. “Or that anyone was so adept at catching them.”

Adding a pinch of salt from a small pouch, Rjurik looked up from his stew. “Conies are easy to catch once ye know how but eating them every day, like we’ve been doing, can sap a man’s strength.”

“Really?” Tatianna raised an eyebrow and asked, “How?”

Taking a sip of the stew, Rjurik grinned. “Now see here, I ain’t no expert. I can tell ye what I know; not why I know it.”

“Rabbit meat is too lean,” said a voice from behind them. Turning, the companions discovered the snow covered form of Hawkeye standing in the cave entrance.

“About time ya showed up,” Rjurik said. “I thought we would have to eat without ye.”

The hunter dusted off the snow. “I’m not late. I arrived at the time I planned, when the stew was ready and not a moment before.”

With a nod of greeting to Khlekluëllin, Hawkeye sat down at the fire and turned slightly to face Tatianna before continuing. “I was saying that rabbits are an extremely lean meat. A diet of only rabbit meat will fill the belly but starve the soul.”

Cocking her head slightly, Tatianna felt herself straighten her back ever so slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“I agree with Rjurik, I am not an expert either. I was taught that a true warrior must maintain a balanced diet, one rich in meats and vegetables.” He pointed at the stew. “Now this isn’t exactly what my uncle had in mind when he said that but it will do.”  

“Bah,” was all Rjurik said although he was grinning the whole time.

The elves noticed a change in the dwarf now that Hawkeye had returned. He seemed more relaxed and he no longer glanced at the cave entrance. Obviously, the highlander’s sudden departure had worried him more than he let them believe. Rjurik produced several wooden bowls from his backpack, filled them with stew and passed them out. Filling a fifth bowl, Rjurik moved over to the injured elf. Mortharona seemed to be running a fever.

Rjurik looked up at Hawkeye and said, “He doesn’t look good.”

“I know. That’s just one of the things worrying me at the moment.”

Setting aside his bowl of stew, Khlekluëllin asked, “Is there anything we can do for him?”

“We need to get him to a shaman soon,” Hawkeye said. “He’s only going to get worse.”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Tatianna.

“My best guess is that he has a cracked skull.” Hawkeye pointed at the bandage. “See how the seepage isn’t only bloody but mixed with a yellowish fluid, I am not sure what it is but its bad. Every person I have seen with a similar wound has died unless treated by a shaman. Even then, many aren’t the same afterwards.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Tatianna.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Hawkeye finished his bowl of stew before answering.

“Nothing in particular, many of those survivors are different. Most have some sort of memory loss but I have known warriors whose mannerisms changed so much that their families disowned them. However, only time will tell. We need to get him to a shaman soon, yet the only healers I know of are in Itasca or Darkmoor.”

Rjurik stirred the fire. “Both of those are a long way off.”

“Aye but our options are limited.” Drawing his knife, Hawkeye began to draw a crude map of the Highlands in the dirt floor of the cave. “We are just south of here,” pointing at the fork in the river. “This is Armok; it’s an ancient dwarven watch post that was used to protect the bridges built over the river. The watchtower itself has fallen into ruin but the bridges that span the river are still passable.”

“So, what’s the problem?” asked Khlekluëllin.

“Well, if I was chasing someone in this region of the Highlands, I would position my hunters at the bridges. Blackfang knows it is the only crossing within a reasonable distance.”

Tatianna asked, “What do you mean by reasonable distance?”

“At our current speed, it would take us almost five days just to reach the closest fjord which would add an additional ten-day before we reached Itasca.”

“Too bad it ain’t midwinter,” Rjurik added.

Khlekluëllin raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Between mouthfuls of stew Rjurik answered. “About a day’s travel west of here is an area that always freezes over come midwinter.”

Hawkeye nodded. “Yes, my people call the area Talulah, which means leaping water. The creatures of the region use the natural ice bridge to migrate.”

Khlekluëllin and Tatianna began speaking very quickly in their native tongue which neither Rjurik nor Hawkeye could understand. Finally Khlekluëllin returned back to the common tongue and said, “We have an idea.”

Tatianna gestured to the two of them. “We can combine our magic and create an ice bridge across that area.”

Khlekluëllin nodded. “If it was the middle of summer, it would be beyond our skill but since it is already cold outside and snowy in the area, we can use the moisture in the air to freeze the river and give us a way to cross where Blackfang wouldn’t suspect.”

“Bah!” Rjurik grumbled. “Magic…t’aint natural.”

“Is it truly possible?” Hawkeye asked.

“It should be,” Tatianna said. “Since it normally happens during the winter in that area, we should be able to accomplish it.”

“Will that help?” asked Khlekluëllin.

“Yes. It will also cut off a few days in our travel north.” Hawkeye nodded his head toward Mortharona. “I have done all I can for him. His fate rests with the gods or our ability to get him to a healer before it’s too late.”

Standing, Hawkeye moved toward the cave entrance. “Everyone should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Rjurik quickly stowed his cooking utensils and banked up the fire for the night. Khlekluëllin moved next to his brother and placed another blanket over top of him before lying down next to him. Tatianna watched Hawkeye exit the cave before settling down for the night.

Grunk felt uneasy all day long.

He had paced the perimeter of his small valley since daybreak but hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. None of his fences were down nor were any of his sheep missing. He even ventured to the northern bluff overlooking the river to see if goblin raiders were in the area. All seemed quiet, yet Grunk was at a loss to explain his uneasiness.

Grunk was a Joten, more commonly known as cyclops. They were the children of Gaul, the god of the Underworld. Originally created to do his bidding, to watch over the condemned, fetch lost souls, stoke the fires of Hell and other menial tasks. With these tasks in mind, Gaul made them big and strong. On the average, jotens stood eight feet tall and weighed over three hundred stones. They typically had charcoal gray skin and a single large eye, ranging from red to yellow.

Grunk was larger than most of his kind and a veteran of many battles. Several years back, he had left his tribe and the constant warring of his people to wander the realm. Finding this secluded valley, he had laid down his axe, built himself a home and was content to raise sheep. Now something was upsetting the peace he had carved out of this wilderness.

Shuffling to the back part of his cabin, Grunk took down his battleaxe. Although it had been through many battles, the axe’s twin blades were razor sharp and showed no sign of rust or wear. Somehow, just the act of holding the axe calmed Grunk’s spirit. This worried him more than the uneasiness.