Traveling underground was as natural to dwarves as swimming is to fish. The elves on the other hand, felt the imagined weight of the tons of rock overhead pressing down on them; only the fear of discovery by the gnomes drove them on. After several minutes, the passageway opened into a larger rough hewn passageway that was obviously the old mine shaft Rjurik had mentioned.
Climbing down, the three elves immediately felt less claustrophobic in the airy mine shaft. As soon as Hawkeye leapt down from the passageway, he shifted back into human form. All three elves watched in utter fascination at the transformation. One moment, a huge white wolf was standing there, the next a fur wearing barbarian warrior.
“Hawkeye, I have seen you shape shift twice now,” Khlekluëllin said. “Once into your wolf form and now back to human shape; both times you were fully armed. I have to ask, what happens to your gear when you transform?”
Reaching up, Hawkeye pulled out a small leather pouch that was tied around his neck. “This is my medicine bag. Not every Highlander receives the blessing of the totem. It is a rare gift from Luna. Gaining the shapeshifting ability is a long quest but during the process the warrior must craft a medicine bag of their own. It acts as a storage place for our belongings when we shift forms.”
He tucked his pouch back under his tunic. “Those that no longer follow the teachings of Luna, like Blackfang and his followers, find that their medicine bags no longer work. The fallen still have her gift but not her blessing.”
Khlekluëllin shifted the torch to his injured arm, wincing slightly. “Thanks for that explanation. It has bothered me from the first moment I saw you change shape.”
A loud crash echoed from the passageway they had just exited. The elves looked back only to see Rjurik walking up to them with a large grin on his face.
“No one will be followin’ us that way, at least not right away.” Nodding his head, “Come on, we ain’t gettin’ nowhere standin’ round here with our jaws a flappin’.”
Following the old dwarf, the party moved through the mine shafts with ease. Tatianna was helplessly lost and yearned to feel the wind on her face. Glancing over her shoulder at Hawkeye, she felt her pulse quicken with the knowledge that his shadowed form was only a few feet behind her. He radiated a sense of calm that soothed her frazzled nerves.
Turning her attention back to their journey through the mines, Tatianna failed to notice that Hawkeye was watching her every move.
After about an hour, the companions noticed a different scent in the air. Instead of the damp, musty smell of the mines; the air was full of musk.
They had entered the lair of Grimclaw.
Even Rjurik stopped in his tracks as they crossed the imaginary line that separated the mine shaft from the grizzly’s lair. Turning slowly toward his companions, Rjurik placed one finger in front of his lips in the universal sign for silence.
Creeping through the cavern, the companions stepped over the loose rocks and scattered bones that littered the area. A rhythmic heavy breathing filled the air, while the musky scent grew stronger. Rounding a corner, they found themselves at a crossroads with the heavy breathing coming from their right. Rjurik nodded to the left with his head but took several steps down the right passageway.
Khlekluëllin paused to watch the dwarf, while Mortharona and Tatianna moved slowly down the indicated passageway.
Hawkeye drew up alongside the elf, bow strung and an arrow at the ready. Rjurik pulled forth the remnants of the uncooked boar from a large sack he’d been carrying over his shoulder. Moving up to the sleeping form of the grizzly, the dwarf dumped the carcass at Grimclaw’s feet.
Now that Rjurik was next to the bear, Khlekluëllin could make out the immense size of the creature. The brief sensation of fear moved up the blue haired elf’s spine. There was something primordial about this bear, something so unnaturally powerful.
Moving slowly through the cave, the companions gave the bear a wide berth to finally exit the lair. Stepping out into the evening sky, the companions inhaled deeply of the cold mountain air. To the west, the sun was just setting behind the Darkmoor Mountains while to the south Rjurik’s tower was in flames.
Without comment, Hawkeye moved off to the north and away from the cave. Silently, the companions fell in behind the barbarian. Moving slowly over the rough terrain, Hawkeye led them over seldom used trails through the evergreen forest. A light dusting of snow covered the tree tops but the forest floor was thankfully still free from the snow.
Near midnight, Hawkeye called for a break next to a fast running stream. Mortharona and Tatianna collapsed almost immediately while Khlekluëllin moved up next to Hawkeye before slumping to the ground.
“Might I inquire as to where we are heading?”
Scanning the forest with his eyes Hawkeye said, “A couple leagues north and east is a small trading post. Hopefully, we can barter for some horses.”
“Horses,” said Khlekluëllin. “That would be nice. I haven’t done this much walking in decades.”
Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. “Decades? You don’t look like you’ve seen more than twenty seasons.”
Khlekluëllin chuckled. “As a matter of fact, Mortharona and I are one hundred and twenty two years old. Elves have a long life span barring death in battle.”
With a nod toward Tatianna, Hawkeye asked, “And your sister?”
“According to the standards of our people, she is young. She just celebrated her fiftieth birthday which makes her an adult but just barely.” Seeing the incredulous look on Hawkeye’s face, Khlekluëllin added, “When the average elf lives over five centuries, years seem like a drop of water in a large pond.”
Hawkeye nodded toward the old dwarf. “I know Rjurik has his two hundred and seventy-fifth birthday coming up. We humans must seem like children to your two races.”
Rolling onto his back, Khlekluëllin stared up at the stars. “There is truth in what you say, yet your race tends to live each day to the fullest while we pass the time. Maybe it was all a big joke by the gods, to bless our races with long life but to give your race the motivation to truly live.”
“Are all you elves so philosophical?”
Khlekluëllin grinned. “Aye. It’s the curse of long life.”
“Let me ask you something.” Hawkeye’s face grew serious. “Why would Blackfang chase your sister? One lone elf on the run through the Highlands isn’t a threat”
Sitting up, the blue haired elf glanced at his sister. “That is a good question my friend, a good question indeed.”
Tatianna couldn’t hear what her brother and the barbarian were talking about but she knew it had something to do with her just by the looks they gave her.
She felt confused by Hawkeye. She felt herself tense up every time he got near, the similarities between him and Blackfang were overwhelming. They each radiated an animal magnetism that was intoxicating. Even their smell was similar.
Closing her eyes, Tatianna let herself remember the events of the last few days. She had tried to repress the memory of her flight through the forest and her rape by Blackfang but they kept resurfacing, especially when she got near Hawkeye. As tired as she was, only the need to place one foot in front of the other during their trek north had chased away the memories. Now that they were resting, her mind kept drifting back to those painful memories.
“How ya doin’ lass?” Rjurik asked as he moved up next to her.
Shaking her head to clear it, she flashed him a weak smile. “I am well master dwarf.”
“Now don’t cha be lying to me lass. I can see ye are in pain.” Rjurik asked, “Is it your wounds?”
“They ache but there are some wounds you cannot bandage.” Looking the old dwarf in the eyes she added, “The wounds to my soul are beyond your skill.”
Rjurik nodded and sat down next to her. “Aye lass, those wounds are beyond all but the gods. But don’t ye be givin’ into dark thoughts. You didn’t cause it to happen, it ain’t your fault.”
He nodded toward Haw
keye. “Just like it ain’t da pups fault for being a lot like Blackfang.”
“How…how did you know I was thinking that?”
“It don’t take a genius to see where your thoughts have been,” Rjurik said.
“But don’t you go judging Hawkeye by the actions of monsters like Blackfang or even other of his kin. There is something different in tha’ one; he is an oddity even to his people. He is highly respected even feared by some but he is more civilized than most, yet can be as ruthless as any. He has chosen to walk a lonely path.”
Tatianna stared at Hawkeye’s back for several minutes before speaking again. “Why?”
Rjurik shook his head. “Tis not my place to tell his story but suffice to say, he has suffered great tragedies in his life.” He placed a reassuring hand on her knee. “Now lass, get ye to sleep. Da dawn will be here soon enough and we still have a long way to travel before we’re safe.”
Hearing the wisdom in his words, Tatianna glanced at her two brothers. Mortharona had fallen asleep the moment they stopped, of course with a head wound that was both dangerous and expected. Khlekluëllin had lasted a short time talking with Hawkeye but even he was asleep. A gentle snore from her left told Tatianna that the old dwarf had taken his own advice.
Moments later, Tatianna followed them into the restless sleep of the weary. Only Hawkeye remained awake and vigilant, watching the night for any signs of the pursuit he knew was coming.
Chapter 6
Blackfang wandered through the lower passageways of the cavern beneath his restored fortress deep in thought. His failure to kill the elven princess and his defeat at the teeth of Hawkeye sat heavily on his shoulders darkening his mood.
To further complicate his day, a runner had come in with reports that his patrols had found Hawkeye and the elves in a small tower several leagues north. Before he could organize a larger force, a second runner arrived saying that he had once again escaped.
“Blackfang!”
A guttural voice boomed in the darkness of the large cavern, interrupting his thoughts. The barbarian warlord saw Thantos the joten chieftain rushing across the cavern floor to join him.
Blackfang studied his ally as he waited for him to catch up. Standing nearly fifteen feet tall, Thantos was the largest and ugliest cyclops he had ever seen. His skin was the grayish-black color of the majority of his race while white scars criss-crossing his chest and back. A large patch of scar tissue covered his left chest, shoulder and neck. It looked slightly melted, like it had been burned from his body.
Rumors had it that Thantos received that scar fighting a dragon. His one extremely large eye, located in the middle of his forehead was blood shot and gleamed red in the dim firelight of the cavern.
Forcing himself to be cheerful, Blackfang grinned. “Thantos my friend, what can I do for you?”
Storming up, Thantos poked his dirty finger into Blackfang’s chest. “When we go to war?!”
Looking up at the towering hulk, Blackfang wasn’t scared or impressed, he was angry.
‘Who does this brute think he is?’
Feeling the wave of anger flow over him, Blackfang let the shift from man to werewolf happen. In a matter of seconds, Blackfang stood in his hybrid form. Letting a low growl escape his throat, Blackfang raised his hackles as his voice took on a more bestial quality. “What was your question again?”
Undaunted, Thantos pressed his question.
“You promised us blood! When we go to war? Me no like….”
Thantos never finished his sentence as Blackfang’s arm shot out like a bolt of lightning. Grabbing the cyclops’ genitals with one of his clawed hands, he began to squeeze.
The great cyclops fell to his knees, howling in pain. Thantos’ one great eye fixed on the black werewolf who was causing him such pain. Instinctively, Thantos attacked. Reaching out with his massive arms, he tried to wrap Blackfang in a bear hug.
It didn’t work.
Ducking the clumsy attack, Blackfang squeezed harder with one hand and grabbed the larger cyclops by the throat with the other. Digging in his claws on both hands, Blackfang lowered his voice till it was just barely above a whisper.
“Now listen here you smelly brute! I’m in charge of this army, not you! You will address me with respect or I will rip off your balls and shove them down your gutted throat.”
Releasing the cyclops, Blackfang took a step back but remained in his hybrid form just in case the stupid brute wanted to continue the fight.
Rubbing his manhood with one hand and his neck with the other, Thantos shifted into a sitting position. Lowering his head slightly he said, “Me hate to wait. Me want blood but not yours. Me sorry. It not happen again.”
Blackfang let the shift back to his human form come over him. “Good! Then, I will consider this a lesson learned and one not to be repeated.”
He glared at the cyclops for a moment. When they locked eyes, Thantos was the first to look away.
“But to answer your question, we attack on the eve of the Yuletide Festival.”
Snapping his head up, Thantos grinned at the thought of bloodshed. “We attack da hated dwarves?”
Blackfang shook his head. “Not yet!” Seeing the disappointment in the cyclops face, Blackfang added, “But I believe that there will be a large contingent of dwarves in the village. Our two enemies will make a treaty in a futile attempt to defy our might. It doesn’t matter. We will crush all who oppose us.”
Standing slowly, Thantos towered over Blackfang. “We be ready.”
“Excellent. I expected nothing else from my strongest ally.”
Beaming at the complement, Thantos strode away.
Watching him cut across the cavern floor, Blackfang chuckled to himself as the hundreds of goblins that were scurrying across the cavern quickly got out of the joten’s way. He shook his head. “Buffoon! I am surrounded by idiots.”
Shrugging his shoulders, he turned back toward the dark passageway ahead of him. “But he and his kind will make great fodder for the upcoming war!”
Letting the matter drop from his mind, Blackfang entered the lowest part of the fortress. Walking quickly, he navigated the twisting tunnels like a moth drawn to a flame. Coming around a bend in the passageway, Blackfang came upon three gnomish guards that were playing a game of chance that involved dice, bones and coins.
So involved with their game, the bald and beardless gnomes didn’t even notice Blackfang until he was standing just outside of their torchlight. Snapping to attention, the guards let fall their winnings. Sneering at them slightly, Blackfang purposefully walked through what remained of their game. Stopping in the center, he let his gaze fall on the scattered game, then slowly to each gnome. None would meet his gaze.
Finally Blackfang broke the silence. “I see you’ve been hard at work. I’m sure our enemies are working just as hard.”
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 lif
eblood 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.
Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf Page 5
