by Steve McHugh
Thomas sucked in air. "One of them brought down Christopher. He was my friend and I watched one of them eat his face. I can... still hear his screams in my head."
"It'll get better," I said and then realised that lying to him helped no one. "Actually, it won't. But you'll be able to cope with it. It'll take a long time though."
Thomas sat back and breathed deeply for a few seconds. "Who are you?"
"I was on my way back to England, I'd heard about what happened here and wanted to find out if it was true. I found you on a pile of bodies, along with a large and angry werewolf."
"How did you get me away?"
"I killed it."
Thomas studied me, his eyes said he was curious, even mesmerised with what I'd told him. But there was fear there too – fear of the world he'd just been brought into, and fear of me. "What are you, and what do you want from me?"
"I'd hoped that you would be able to tell me why werewolves were here, and maybe who they were. As for what I am, that's complicated."
"A devil?" he asked, inching away from me.
I smiled. "No, definitely not a devil."
"Will you help me get out of this accursed city? I have to get home, to let my family know I'm safe."
"I need to find where that girl was kept."
Thomas looked away. He was obviously afraid, and I couldn't say I blamed him. He wanted to run as far away from this place as possible. But he also knew that I'd killed one of the things that had massacred his friends. That gave him a measure of confidence. And he was a war bow archer who had been crippled. Vengeance is a good motivator.
"If I come with you, I want to find the people who did this to me, to my friends, and to those women and children. I want them dead. I want your word that we will bring down the wrath of God on whoever was responsible for what happened here."
Thomas seemed more lucid than I'd expected for someone infected in the way he'd been. Maybe he was one of the lucky ones, to survive a werewolf attack and not go crazy. And maybe that meant I wouldn't have to kill him. I picked up a bundle of clothes from the floor and tossed them onto the bed. "Get changed, we need to move soon."
Thomas found some trousers and a tunic that were a bit too large for him and got changed. When finished he looked down at his bandaged hand. "Do we have a deal?"
I put out my hand, which he immediately shook. "By the time I'm done," I said. "They'll wish God's wrath was raining down upon them."
Chapter 5
I dropped onto the rain-sodden mud from the top of one of the stone houses. I'd used the high vantage to scout around, but still couldn't see anything living above the size of a large rat.
"You still haven't told me how we're going to find those werewolves," Thomas said as we continued through the city.
"I'm not trying to find them," I pointed out. "I want to find where that girl was kept prisoner."
"They kept her near the main square, I only saw her once." He looked up at the thatched roof that I'd been on. "Did you see anything?"
"The square is deserted."
"Why don't you sound happy about that?" Thomas pulled the cloak I'd found for him tightly around his chest, trying in vain to stop the rain's continued assault.
"Because that means either no one is waiting for us. Or, more likely, they know we'll come this way and want to surprise us." I unhooked my Jian and passed it to Thomas. "You'll need this more than me. Do you know how to use it?"
"My father taught me when I was younger." Thomas unsheathed the sword, testing the weight in his good hand. "It's a lot lighter than I was expecting."
"You don't need heavy swings to kill, as you would with a great sword. The edge is razor sharp. Even the slightest contact with someone will cut them to ribbons."
Thomas nodded and re-sheathed the blade, following me as we set off once more.
The closer we got to the town square, the nicer the living accommodations became. There was also an increase in dead bodies. People had run this way to escape the incoming French, creating an effective killing area for the invading army. A large pile of men, each wearing the English flag on their clothes, had been dumped next to an ornate fountain. Rats ran freely amongst the corpses and I tried to ignore the overpowering stench.
"Which house was it?" I asked as we walked past three women, their clothes ripped hurriedly from their bodies. They had been brutalised and then stabbed to death, left to rot on the sodden ground. The heat of anger rose inside me.
Thomas forcibly held his gaze away from them, pointing toward the building at the far end. "The Betrayer stayed there. He would come out and talk to the children as they played. But he wouldn't talk to anyone else."
We reached the front door, a huge piece of oak, which probably took three men to place, and I pushed it open. The weight of the door made it move slowly, with ominous presence as it showed us the darkness beyond. "Stay here," I said. "If anyone comes, yell and get inside."
Thomas nodded. I stepped inside the building, closing my eyes and willing my magic to life. When I opened them a moment later, there were dim orange glyphs over my hands and arms and I could see perfectly despite the darkness. Unfortunately, everything had a slight orange and red tint to it, as if observed through a flickering flame.
I took a moment to search around the large room. A long table ran the length of the room. Several wooden chairs sat around it and dozens of leather bound books were piled high on it. Some had fallen onto the rug-covered floor.
A lap of the downstairs rooms produced only a kitchen and dining area, both untouched by the ravages that I would have expected. Paintings hung on the walls and ornaments were still prominently displayed. The Betrayer's home was untouched, and that meant the werewolves and French had been told that this property was off limits from ransacking.
I finished with the ground-floor search and made my way up the wooden stairs to the top of the house. It contained a few bedrooms and a latrine, but that was it. Something didn't feel right. There had to be something I was missing.
I took another circuit of the entire ground floor and this time noticed that the dining area looked much bigger from the outside than inside. I placed my hand against the stone wall inside the room. White glyphs immediately mixed with the orange. I used magic to create a fog, which traced the stone work as it left my palm, searching for an opening.
It wasn't long before the fog vanished behind the wall on one side. I tested the stones and found one loose, pushing it until a click sounded. The wall slowly moved back.
The stairs beyond led down, deeper into the darkness.
I stepped over the lower portion of the wall and descended the poorly-made stone steps. An iron gate at the bottom, the empty keyhole taunting me, prevented further exploration. Or at least that was the idea. Once I'd placed my hand against the rough metal, the orange glyphs glowed brilliant and the lock began to melt. The door swung open a few seconds later.
The room inside was large, easily the length of the house. Despite the size, it only contained some tables, chairs and more pieces of paper. Dirt covered the floor—presumably it was easier to leave it than keep it tidy. In the middle of the room, surrounded by a dozen chairs was a large cell, probably the size of one of the bedrooms upstairs. A small bed sat inside it, the only clue that someone had been held prisoner.
The bars gleamed, even in the darkness. The closer I drew, the more I made out the runes carved into both the base and the top of the cell.
The solid silver bars made a dull thud as I tapped them with the tip of my finger. I pushed the cell door open. What in God's name was kept in here?
I stepped inside and was immediately blinded as my glyphs vanished. I darted out of the cell, my heart pounding in my chest. Panic and the need to defend myself fought for space inside me. I took a deep breath and reapplied my vision. The sight of orange glyphs reappearing on my arms calmed me.
There was no one else in the cellar, no imminent threat. I turned back to the cell. The runes carved into it had
removed my magic. Runes are commonplace and can be created by anyone with access to magical energy. The more energy applied, the more complex and powerful the runes' end result. Most sorcerers learn them early in their teachings, although few ever use them in any meaningful way as they can take a long time to prepare.
I made a few more circuits around the cell, intently studying the runes. I touched one of the markings, it shimmered black. I immediately knew what magic had been used to create the runes. I stepped back, stumbling over a metal bar that had been driven into the floor and concealed by the dirt. I took hold of the bar and pulled, revealing a hidden wooden trapdoor as it moved. More runes were carved into the wood, probably to mask the stench of what lay inside.
Blood magic had been used to make the cell's runes. To use that much energy would have required sacrifices. A lot of sacrifices. I looked down at the mass of bodies, men and women, even children. Throats slit, blood used to fuel magic and then bodies discarded.
*****
Laughter and shouts rang in my ears well before I'd removed the magic sight so as not to damage my eyes when I stepped outside of the house.
Seven werewolves stood by the fountain in the centre of the square, their backs toward me. They pointed and laughed at Thomas who stood on the fountain, sword swinging from one wolf to the next. One of them had a deep gash on its shoulder, fresh blood ran down its yellow-furred arm. I removed my Guan Dao and stabbed the spiked end into the saturated ground, causing a loud crunch when it hit rock. That drew the werewolves' attention.
"Another survivor," one of them proclaimed in French, its voice a deep rumbling laugh. "But, not for long." The remaining wolves joined in with the laughter, now oblivious to Thomas, who used my distraction and jumped off the fountain. One of the wolves darted into his way, forcing Thomas to swipe with the sword. The wolf easily avoided the attack, but his stepping back allowed Thomas to dive over a nearby wall. The wolf watched him with amusement before re-joining the rest of his pack. They were in no hurry to finish their fun.
I grasped the Guan Dao, lifting it out of the ground and lowering the curved, bladed end toward the pack. "Who's in charge here?" I asked, speaking French.
The largest of the wolves stepped forward. He was covered in black fur. His yellow eyes the only splash of colour. "I am the Alpha." His tone suggested he was humouring me. That was his first mistake. "Your pig-sticker does not frighten me. Run little man, before I deicide you've become a nuisance to me. Your friend will stay with us."
“I will not abandon him to your hospitality."
The Alpha howled, his subordinates following his lead. "Your friend is one of us, one of ours. If you do as I say, you may live to see the next sunrise."
I placed the tip of the blade on the ground and adjusted my grip on the pole as three of the werewolves closed in on me from the sides. "If you want him, you'll have to fight for him."
The pack sprung into action. The first bolted toward me, claws extended, ready to kill me. I snapped the Guan Dao up, catching him under the jaw. I heard the wolf fall, but didn't see it as I stepped aside and continued the momentum of the pole, whipping it round to catch the second werewolf across the throat as he sprinted toward me.
The wolf's neck exploded in a sea of red, and he died before hitting the ground. A sickening crunch sounded as I buried the blade in the top of a third wolf's head. The momentum and power behind the blow brought the Guan Dao to a rest just below the wolf's eyes, splitting the top of his head in two.
A quick pull would not free the weapon, so I released the Guan Dao, pushing the dead werewolf away. The first werewolf who had attacked me, clearly not as dead as I’d expected, took the opportunity to barrel into me from behind, slamming me into, and through, the front wall of the nearest house.
I managed to twist in the wolf’s grip as we crashed onto the floor. Stone dust covered everything, making visibility minimal. The wolf's massive frame pinned me to the floor, with one of his arms stuck beneath me. If he wanted it free, he had to let me move, and that wasn't on his list of options.
I covered my chest in an armour of dense air in time to deflect a swipe at my heart with his free claw. Even so, he still managed to shred my tunic, exposing the dark, shimmering marks on my skin. He took another swipe—this time the blow held so much power that it drove the air from my lungs. I needed to get free, but I couldn't do that so long as I had the equivalent weight of a large horse on my chest.
I reached up into the dust cloud and grabbed the wolf's throat. It was slippery and warm as blood continued to spill from its face where the Guan Dao had cut it. My plan meant losing my shield, so for a few seconds, I'd be completely helpless.
White glyphs erupted across my skin. A pulse of thick, heavy air shot from my palms into the wolf's neck, immediately decapitating it.
I rolled aside, pushing the werewolf's body off me, dodging his detached head, which struck the wooden floor, followed immediately by arterial spray. I watched through the hole in the wall, as Thomas was dragged over to the Alpha. The sword I'd given him was nowhere to be seen, but he was struggling with every step. The remaining pack members laughed and howled, occasionally throwing weak strikes in Thomas' direction to see how much they could scare him.
I picked up the werewolf's head from the floor, and threw it out of the house. It rolled steadily along the ground, the werewolves oblivious to it, until it came to a rest by one of their feet.
One by one, each of the wolves looked down at the severed head of their comrade in arms, and then slowly turned to watch the house. As they saw me step over the rubble of the house, their expressions changed from humour to horror. A whip of flame trailed down from each of my arms. The red and orange crackled as I moved, the whips scorching the ground they touched.
The fear laden silence was only broken by the Alpha's roar. "Sorcerer!"
He knocked Thomas into the fountain with a splash. His wolves advanced, spurred on by my killing of three of their pack. I spun and brought one of the whips around me, catching the closest wolf under the arm. The molten hot magic sliced through the fur, skin and muscle as if it weren't there. It left only the smell of burning flesh and the wolf's screams as the whip exited under the opposite arm pit, cleaving him in two.
I darted aside and brought the second whip across, catching another wolf in the throat, detaching his head from his shoulders.
The third wolf ignored his dead companions and charged at me, hoping to catch me off guard. I brought one whip up, catching the wolf under the jaw. The second whip hit him in the thighs. The wolf's leg and face were removed from the rest of the body and he fell to the ground, a gory mess.
I walked toward the squirming wolf, changing one of the whips into a much shorter pole of volcanic heat. His throat full of blood, choking him, stopped any screams from reaching his lips. He looked up at me, and then closed his eyes. I punched the pole through his head, ending his torment.
The Alpha dove toward me, but I couldn't swing my arms around fast enough to catch him as he hit my ribs, knocking me off my feet.
I extinguished the fire magic before I hit the mud, blasting a jet of wind from my hands, which spun me in the air and back onto my feet.
"Impressive," the Alpha said. He stepped over one of his dead pack, trying hard not to look down. "But magic won't save you from me."
I pushed my hands forward. A jet of air slammed into the Alpha's legs, dragging them out from under him and planting him face-first on the dirt. He struggled back to his feet, but another gust of wind swirled around him, pushing down on his legs and forcing him to kneel before me. I increased the speed and ferocity of the wind as it slowly climbed up the Alpha's body. It wouldn’t have taken long before it would have been capable of ripping trees from the ground. The effect on the Alpha was no less impressive as the wind cut through his thick fur, slicing his skin. His cries of pain were lost to the roar of the wind.
The glyphs on my hands dulled as I moved them slightly, decreasing the power of the
storm encircling the Alpha. I waited until the noise had died down. "Who betrayed this city?" I demanded. "I want his name."
"Go to Hell, sorcerer. You'll get nothing from me." Blood oozed from cuts on his face, one eye almost swollen shut.
I nodded and started the storm again, this time increasing the intensity. The vortex spun faster and faster, ripping huge lumps of flesh from the werewolf's body. I allowed it to continue marginally longer than I had the first time then stopped it just as suddenly.
"I don't know his name," the Alpha said breathlessly as the winds died down. "But he will kill you for this." The werewolf sprung up in a feeble attempt to surprise me. But he was too far away, and too weak, to make it effective.
I stepped back and coated one of his legs in a thick gale. "You're an idiot," I said with a sigh and increased the pressure until the bones in the Alpha's lower leg crushed like a walnut shell.
He screamed with pain and rage, as he dropped back to the ground, managing to stay on his good knee. "I don't know his name," he repeated. "I swear."
"Why was he here?"
"He used the English to get inside the city. It was just meant to be a short stay, but the English were suspicious of him and refused to allow him to leave, so he arranged for the French to attack the city." The werewolf coughed, spitting blood onto the ground. "To kill all the English and leave no one alive."
"Why was his house left untouched?"
"He couldn't risk any of the French soldiers taking something important as a keepsake, so his house was to be left alone until we burnt the city to the ground. But when we got here, the French still had English prisoners, so we thought we'd have some fun first. By the time we'd finished, we decided to wait for the inevitable English response to what had happened. We assumed they would send more men for us to kill, to make a name for ourselves."
"You're not like any sort of Alpha I've ever encountered."
"The pack we're from is much larger than just the seven of us. I was the most senior member of this group. But I'm not the Alpha."
