by James Hunter
Her eyes popped open, roaming around the room in sheer fury. Dizzy wasn’t scared. She wasn’t hurt. She was mad. She sprang to her feet, reaching for her maul, but Sam stopped her, grabbing her wrist in a white-knuckled grip before she could draw the weapon and go berserk.
“No time! Things are about to go south here… in a big way.” Sam pulled out the crude map he and Bill had made earlier and thrust it into her hands. “You know the way out?”
“Yeah,” she replied with a frustrated nod.
“Good. Think you can carry these two out of here?”
“As if you even had to ask,” she shot back, bending over and unceremoniously scooping up first Finn, then Sphinx, tossing one over each shoulder like sacks of grain. “But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me, Diz. Bill and I will stay behind and make sure this thing is over. For real. But you? You need to run. Don’t stop for anything. This place is about to go up like the Fourth of July. If I survive, I’ll meet you guys at The Grater Good. Just hunker down there until I show up. I’ll get there… one way or the other.”
She hesitated for only a moment, her gaze searching his face. Finally, she nodded. With a grunt and a heave, she set off. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Good luck, Sam,” she hollered over one shoulder before disappearing into the stacks of books.
Bill sighed, the sound long, heavy, and reminding Sam of the wind ruffling the pages of a book. Not really a surprise.
Taking a deep breath, Sam lifted himself as far as he could and slid across the room like a stealthy gecko, giving the magical siege tower a wide berth and pulling himself into the connecting aisleway. The sounds of battle quickly faded behind him, muted by the shelves of endless books. Sam moved as fast as possible, keeping his head on a swivel as he took one twisting turn after another, searching for any signs of the College guards while simultaneously allowing Bill to navigate him through the confusing warren of shelves, racks, isles, and display nooks.
Cautiously, Sam faced the bookshelf lining the left-hand side of the hallway and peaked over the top edge of the books. There was a thin slit of light. It was hard to see, so Sam pulled a single volume free—stowing it in his spatial container for later use—then stole a look through the narrow opening. The breath caught in his throat as he saw a very familiar scene unfolding before him.
Sure enough, Bill had led them to one of the many stacks that ran parallel to the study area Octavius had been using for his spell. Sam was currently staring out from behind one of the small study nooks, which looked on to the larger chamber. There was no way Octavius would be able to see him, but he had an almost unobstructed view of the floor, the grimoire, and the mini mystic siege tower positioned in the center of the room.
“What do you want us to do about them?” Tullus’ voice was low and raspy.
“Despite your utter incompetence,” Octavius spit, “there’s no way they will get out of the library this time. Elsia, I want you to go alert Mage Solis and the College guard. Now. I want them combing over every inch of this library. Every. Single. Inch. Do you hear me? As for you, Tullus, you’ll stand here and watch my back while I finish my spell.”
“But shouldn’t we maybe… you know… wait? On the spell that is?” Tullus suggested. “At least until the Warlock is captured?”
“I’ve wasted enough time with that piece of sentient pond scum. Just make sure another Wolfman doesn’t ambush me mid-spell, again? Do you think you can manage that, you oaf?”
“Of course.” Tullus bobbed his head and averted his eyes. Speaking of the Wolfman, Sam was surprised to see there was no sign of the Velkan anywhere. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There were claw marks absolutely everywhere and more blood than seemed humanly possible, but there was no Wolfman body.
That meant that the Scout had managed to slip away even after tangling with three powerful Mages. An impressive feat that made Sam wonder just how exactly Sir Tomas, the dungeoneering professor, had captured the sly creature in the first place.
“Enough dawdling! Move. Both of you!” Octavius snapped, clapping his hands together as though to shoo away a pair of misbehaving hounds. Elsia turned on a heel and set off without a word, though her face was a thunderhead of hate. Tullus merely nodded and posted near the entrance to the study area, his face stony and unreadable. Meanwhile, Octavius headed for the grimoire, his face twisted up in a sneer of absolute hate.
“Attack me, will you? You mangy, flea-ridden dog,” he muttered loudly enough for anyone in earshot to hear. “Well, I may not have been able to kill you, but I’ll get even yet. Once I do, I’ll ascend to Journeyman, and then the rest of your kind will pay. Everyone who ever doubted me will pay!”
Octavius positioned himself in front of the lectern, cracking his neck and placing his palms face down on either side of the grimoire. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply through his nose, his forehead creased in concentration… probably trying to clear his mind for the spell to come. Anything other than crystal-clear concentration and laser-focused intention could spell doom when working on a spell of this magnitude. Sam had to lightly slap himself. Bill’s tendency to make puns at inappropriate times was rubbing off on him.
Finally, Octavius opened his eyes, nodded to himself, and began to recite the complicated words scrawled so carefully into the book while his hands danced in the air, executing enormously complicated gestures and patterns which had taken ages to learn. His chanting grew more fervent as he progressed, his hand movements growing faster yet simultaneously more fluid with each second.
As Octavius intoned sacred words that Sam couldn’t even begin to comprehend, the siege tower began to hum with ominous life. A *buzz* like the droning of some great wasp filled the air, while the enormous stone suspended above the machine burned with toxic emerald light. Faster still the words came, flowing from Octavius’ tongue like an auctioneer trying to make a commission.
Energy built around the man like a storm cloud as the spell came to a crescendo, coalescing into something elemental and deadly.
Octavius’ voice was sure, his pronunciation flawless and exacting. “Et matrem terræ devorabunt eos.”
“Hostis noster caro et sanguis. Lupus nocte luna profanum!” As Octavius spoke the last word, profanum, the grimo
ire sprawled across the lectern exploded into a column of blistering fire, mule-kicking Octavius right in the teeth. He staggered back, reeling drunkenly from the blast, though still very much alive.
Book Maker’s Book Bomb was a powerful weapon but not powerful enough to take out a Mage of Octavius’ level. Luckily, they weren’t just depending on the bomb to do the heavy lifting. No, they’d just provided a spark. Now, the powder keg of Octavius’ magic would finish the job.
The cloud of power that had gathered around Octavius flickered madly, arcs of electricity spitting out and zapping anything that got too close. The siege tower itself was now letting out a tortured shriek as metal rubbed against metal, wood splintering and fracturing under the weight of barely contained Mana.
“What is happening!” Octavius screamed into the room, spinning in a slow circle as he fought to control the magic surging through him and threatening to spill out of the strange weapon he’d built. Sam couldn’t resist. He pulled free several more volumes, making a large enough gap to poke his head out.
“Hey, Octavius! How’s your spell going?”
“You! What have you done?” The Peak Student rounded on him, eyes locking on Sam. His body was shaking under the strain of trying to contain the magic, his lips pulled back in a snarl.
“What? Me?” Sam replied with an innocent shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Maybe Sam wasn’t a master of the arcane yet, but there was at least one thing he’d learned about spells since coming to Eternium. The bigger they were, the more dangerous they could be. If you interrupted a spell at the wrong moment… Well, that power needed to go somewhere. The most likely place to go was back into the caster, who served as a conduit between the spellform and the Mana pool that powered it.
“Surely, there’s no way I could’ve done this,” Sam sounded completely aghast. “Why, don’t you remember? I’m just a commoner! I can barely comprehend the sheer responsibilities and dedication required of a licensed Mage. You’re the practitioner of the arcane arts, Octavius! You’re the one who can shape the elements, the herald of all knowledge. I’m just a pesky nobody in way over his head. You’ve got this!”
Octavius opened his mouth in reply, but whatever he had planned to say never left his lips. Blinding, blue-green lighting erupted from his mouth and eyes, while more bolts of wild energy surged through his arms and legs, lancing outward. For a moment the world inverted… then it turned white.
As white a fresh canvas. No sound, no motion. Just blank emptiness. A formless void. The world seemed to shudder uncertainly all around Sam. The ground rumbled; everything spun topsy-turvy. Sam was sure he’d died. It was the only plausible explanation… but then sound returned.
A high-pitched squeal filled Sam’s head like a buzz-saw slicing into a sheet of metal. Smells came next—the scent of scorched wood, burnt meat, and smoldering paper. Last of all came sight, shapes slowly resolving from the scene of formlessness. Sam blinked several times, grinding his palms into his eye sockets, then shook his head to clear away the purple afterimages seared across his retinas.
The machine, or what was left of it, was scattered across the study chamber in a field of smoldering debris. Where the machine had previously sat was a smoking crater, eight feet deep and five feet wide. Of Octavius… there was no sign at all. Not even a scrap of robe remained.
He’d been wiped out as completely as anyone could be wiped out. Obliterated root and branch. Tullus’ had faired only a little better. He hadn’t survived—he was far too close to the epicenter of the blast for that—but at least there were bits and pieces of him remaining.
Only enough to fill a beach pail, but at least there was something. Now… he needed to find a health potion so that he could get on the move again. He just so happened to know where Mage Solis stashed the supply he used to stay mobile. It was a bit of a trek at this pace, so Sam got to crawling.
Epilogue
Quest complete: Trust of the Pack. Congratulations! You’ve thwarted the plans of the Mage’s College to wipe out the Wolfman Outpost with a deadly new spell. In doing so, you and the members of the Wolf Pack have openly declared war on the Mage’s College and successfully betrayed humanity! All in exchange for a permanent place among The People. Is that the smartest move? Hard to say, but no one will ever be able to accuse you of commitment issues!
You have earned 10,000 Experience points for completing this task and gain the favor of the Wolfmen! Reputation with The People has increased by 2000 points, from ‘Neutral’ directly to ‘Friendly’ (bypassing ‘Reluctantly friendly’). 1000 reputation points remain to reach ‘Friend of The People’ status. You have unlocked the secret title ‘Racial Traitor’, which will remain hidden during regular gameplay for the time being.
“You have done well,” The O'Baba purred, turning her golden gaze on each member of the Wolf Pack arrayed before her in a loose half-circle. Sam and the rest of his crew were all patched up or, in the case of Kai and Arrow, fresh off respawn after the battle with Octavius. They were finally safe and sound in Narvik.
Slipping out of the library had been surprisingly easy in the wake of the chaos that followed the explosion. Elsia had moved quickly, summoning a hoard of guards and junior Mages to the library, but there was so much confusion that it was a piece of cake for Sam to slip out through the secret passageway, making the rendezvous with the others at The Grater Good.
Most surprising of all was that Velkan had made it! After tangling with the Mages, the Wolfman Scout had broken loose, then disappeared into the stacks… only to pick up Dizzy’s scent a short while later. Once he had a nose full of blood to track, it was an easy thing for him to find the emergency passage on his own and meet up with the rest of the party. That warmed Sam’s soul. He hadn’t spent much time with the Wolfman—knew almost nothing about him, in fact—but Sam knew one thing, the only thing that really mattered—when Sam was in trouble, Velkan had come for him when he just as easily could’ve run.
“In truth, when this whelp here,” The O’Baba waved a clawed hand in Sam’s direction, drawing him from his thoughts, “came to us, I was sure he was mad as a water-adder nymph. Certainly never thought he would fulfill his word. Yet.”
She paused and rose from her seat in the grand lodge, nestled in the heart of the Wolfman Outpost. “Yet here he stands. With him, his own pack. A Wolf Pack in the truest sense of the word. You all may have the faces of mankind, but in your hearts, each of you have proven yourselves to be wolves. You have shed blood for our cause, both your own and our enemies. You have bled and even died to see the survival of The People, and for that? For that, you shall be rewarded.”
Her ears twitched, and Yurij BrightBlood—the Wolfman Shaman who’d nearly sacrificed Sam once upon a time—approached with an intricately carved wooden box that had polished bone inlaid into the lid. The O’Baba jerked her head, and Yurij hunched his shoulders, bending into a deep bow as he lifted the lid and extended the box, revealing the contents.
With delicate care, The O’Baba reached over and pulled out a pendant. It was just a simple leather thong with a golden medallion on the end, studded with a glimmering tiger’s eye stone in the center. Etched into the face of the stone was a single runic mark which Sam didn’t recognize… the jagged lines and hard angles didn’t belong to any language he knew. The O’Baba approached Sam, slipping the pendant over his head, then pulled another less intricate version from the box and approached Dizzy.
“These pendants are tokens of our favor,” she crooned softly, almost fondly. “The rune is from the tongue of The People, back in the days before the moon fell and the world shattered. In your language, it roughly translates to Wolf-Hearted. These pendants will make you known among The People. For Sam… this will name you a Lord among The People. The mere presence of this stone upon your person will be felt by any member of our kind. You may not look as we do, but you are of one heart with us, now and forever.”
She fell silent as she made her way
down the line, stringing one of the necklaces over each member of the Wolf Pack. When she’d finally finished, she pulled free the last item in the ornate box—a scroll, bound in vellum and tied shut with a blood red bolt of fabric.
“This is the other reward you were promised… a Guild Charter. With this, I hereby name the Wolf Pack the first Noble Guild of the Wolfman Race!”
She offered it to Sam, but he pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “No. As much as I’d like to, I’m not the Guild Leader here. Dizzy is. She’s the one that brought this group together, she’s the one that made this possible, and she deserves to be in charge. I’m happy to do my part, but running a guild is not the role I want to play.”
A blush crept into his cheeks. “To be honest, I’m here for fun. That looks like a lot more paperwork than it does adventuring.”
He reached down and patted Bill. “Besides, I already have more than enough paperwork to handle already.”
The O’Baba chuffed, her ears wiggling in what Sam decided was akin to a laugh for the Wolfman. After a moment, the ‘laughing fit’ subsided, and The O’Baba shuffled over, positioning herself in front of the armor-clad brawler.
“It is not the choice I would have made,” she growled, shrugging her shoulders, “but this is the way of our packs as well. It is not for outsiders to decide who should run the hunt. If you have earned his trust, then you have earned my trust as well, Hunt Leader. Do not disappoint us.”
She pushed the charter into Dizzy’s hand. A brilliant smile broke across the tank’s normally serious face. “Now,” the she-wolf said, raising her voice, “I would have a moment alone with the Bibliomancer. He and I, we have unfinished business to discuss.”
