2
Gary Reed kissed his wife to cease her protesting.
“I’ll come back, I promise,” he said, his hands brushing through her long hair.
He knew she wanted to believe him, but her tears fell all the same, and he wiped one away with his thumb.
“You better,” she said.
Taking his sword, he left his home and walked to the town center. Fifteen men gathered there, a third of them holding torches. The rest held knives, pitchforks, and the occasional sword. They surrounded Bobby, who lifted a torch high above his head.
“It means a lot,” Gary heard him saying as he neared. “Can’t tell you all just how much, but it does. My Susie would be damn proud, I do know that. We can’t let anyone else get hurt.”
“Damn straight,” shouted an older man named Trent, the closest thing Durham had to a blacksmith.
“We ain’t sheep for them to hunt,” said another, Gary recognizing this one as a fat farmer named Gruss.
“But you are sheep!” cried a voice separate from them all, and the crowd turned. Darius approached them, wearing his full plate armor, which seemed to soak in the light of the setting sun, giving it a frightful look. Painted in white across his breastplate was the face of a roaring lion. He kept his greatsword sheathed on his back, and Gary was thankful. He’d seen the dark paladin draw it only twice, but both times the fire that glowed upon it had made him uneasy. There was something unnatural about it, as if instead of giving light it stole it and hid it away.
“Sheep,” Darius continued, for none dared challenge him. “That is, until you take up arms, as you have. This land belongs to the strong. It is weakness that lets men ignore the dangers about them, causes them to remain quiet in the face of injustice, to turn blind eyes to the chaos of this world. Tonight you do more than make his Susie proud. Tonight you do yourselves proud, your families, and your entire village! Let the wolf-men fear our wrath!”
The rest cheered, and Gary joined in. He still clung to his youth, his only child still in her second year, and he keenly felt the call for strength and pride. His sword shook in his hand, but it was from excitement, not fear.
“To the river!” cried Bobby, and the rest took up the call.
“To the river!”
Gary followed, imagining the cheer he’d receive if he were to behead a wolf-man. Bobby insisted there would only be one or two nearby, three at most. With the group of them, plus the dark paladin at their front, they would crush any of the monsters they encountered. Gruss liked to brag about the time he beat down two men from Ker unarmed, and Trent would go on for days about the jeweled bracelet he fashioned decades ago for an elven queen (whose name changed depending on how drunk he was), but who could top the bravery of him facing down a wolf-man and plunging his blade through its eye?
At the town’s edge, a man slipped into the group beside Gary, remaining at the back. His red hair was long and well-cut. He wore silvery armor, heavy plate that made Gary feel naked in his simple farmer’s clothing. At his hip swung a flanged mace, its grip leather, its metal dark. Across his back hung his enormous shield.
“Coming with us, Jerico?” Gary asked the paladin of Ashhur, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s great. The wolves don’t stand a chance now.”
Jerico glanced down at his breastplate, and Gary saw the thick scratches across its front, dulling the shine. Some of Gary’s excitement faded, replaced with a cold fear in his belly.
“I pray they don’t,” said the paladin, his face grim.
They arrived at the river. Gruss had agreed to let them take his boat, which he used for the rare trip south to sell extra crops to Ashhur’s paladins at their Citadel. It seated four, but only Darius and two others crossed the first time, not wishing to overload it because of his heavy armor. Back and forth the boat went, taking several minutes for each trip. The river was wide and slow, its waters cold from the mountain streams that fed it. Gary hung back with Jerico, feeling safer at his side.
“We’ll be able to kill them, won’t we?” Gary asked as his nerves continued to grow. He felt fine when moving, as if filled with a sense of purpose, but now that he stood at the edge of a dark forest, watching a small boat travel back and forth across the Gihon, he felt his confidence falter.
“Darius and I killed one by ourselves,” Jerico said, smiling at him. “And with all of you here, we can handle many more. But do not hope for combat, nor a chance to be a hero. Pray we all come home safe, and that your village will never see another one of those wicked creatures for many, many years.”
Gary shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and he stared at the leaf-strewn ground.
“I just don’t want to be a coward,” he mumbled.
The paladin put a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked over, his eyes were kind and unafraid.
“I know you well enough, Gary, to say there isn’t the slightest chance of that.” He pointed to the shore. “Our turn.”
Darius was organizing men into groups of five on the other bank when they beached.
“Jerico,” he called, seeing their boat arrive. “Care to lead a smaller group, or would you rather remain up front with me?”
“Four groups should be enough,” said Jerico. “Give me the smaller, and I shall watch our flank.”
Darius pointed at Gary, the paladin, and a third bearing a torch. As he neared, Gary recognized him as the eldest son of his neighbor, a good lad named Dirk. He wasn’t even fifteen yet.
“What in the Abyss are you doing here?” Gary asked him. “Your pa know you’re out?”
Dirk blushed and refused to meet his eye.
“It won’t hurt none,” he mumbled.
“This ain’t a deer hunt, boy.”
“It’s all right,” Jerico said, pulling his shield off his back. A soft blue-white glow came over it, and immediately Gary felt his anxiety sliding away as it bathed over him. “Stay at my side at all times, Dirk, and keep your torch raised high. The wolf-men hate fire, and the light will hurt their eyes.”
“Fight with honor!” Darius shouted. “I have their trail, and they will not dare run from our challenge.”
Darius led the way, four of their strongest at his side, three wielding swords, one dual-wielding a torch and dagger. The other two groups marched behind and at either side. Jerico let them gain a bit of distance, then followed.
Gary felt his stomach twist into knots as they walked deeper into the Vile Wedge. It was said that the elven goddess Celestia cursed the land after the Gods’ War, ruining the soil and stripping the land of wildlife. Gary didn’t know if this were true or not, for this was his first time within. The grass was a pale yellow, though that could have been because of autumn’s rapid approach, not any curse. There were no trees beyond the edge of the river, instead long, sloped hills looking barren in the growing moonlight. A thousand campfire stories ran through his head, and try as he might, he couldn’t banish them. The Wedge was rumored to hold all kinds of villainous creatures, from orcs and goblins to the various animal-men, all twisted and formed to fight in the Gods’ War. The wolf-men were one such creation, and of all the stories, he knew at least they existed. He’d seen the corpse tied at the town’s entrance.
Deeper and deeper into the Wedge they traveled. Dirk grew increasingly nervous, but strangely, that made Gary feel better. His pride refused to let him show fear to a young boy approaching manhood.
“Maybe they’ve turned tail and run,” he said.
“You sure Darius knows where they are?” Dirk asked. “I don’t see no tracks.”
Gary had looked himself and saw nothing in the light of the torch and Jerico’s shield.
“Too many men ahead of us marching over them,” Jerico said. “Trust him, and the others.”
The river was but a distant shimmer when they heard the first howl of a wolf. It cut through him like a knife, and for the first time it seemed like Gary realized where he was, and what he was doing. He looked to his sword, an old relic passed do
wn for four generations. He hadn’t even sharpened it before coming out, ignorant of the proper way and not thinking to check with Trent. Men from the other three groups were certainly thinking something similar, for he heard them muttering among themselves.
A second wolf howled, this time from the opposite side.
“Careful, Darius,” Jerico whispered. It did little to help Gary’s already crumbling bravery.
They followed the lead groups into a gap between two gentle hills, their slopes hardly taller than a man. Their pace had slowed considerably, and Jerico lessened the distance between them and the others. When the howls came again, they echoed all around them. Gary swallowed, his mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. Beside him, the torch shook in Dirk’s hand.
“Just two,” Jerico said. “Either side of the hills. Don’t panic. Stay with me, always with me.”
Several of the men on the right cried out and pointed. Gary looked but saw only the hill. Another howl sounded, this one directly behind them. He spun, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword. The grass was empty. Someone from the lead group startled and was swiftly ordered quiet. More and more howling, and this time it was the men on the left who pointed. Gary caught sight of a dark blur, and he couldn’t believe how fast it glided over the hill, vanishing on the other side.
Their groups halted, each one facing a direction. Moments later, Darius arrived and grabbed Jerico by the arm.
“Surrounded,” he whispered. Gary stared back to the river, pretending he didn’t hear and almost wishing he couldn’t. Blurred shapes approached, hovering low to the ground. His heart crawled up his throat.
“How many?” Jerico asked.
“I don’t know. Seven? Nine?”
“We need out of here, Darius. We aren’t prepared, not for those numbers. Such a large pack-”
The wolf-men howled, and it came from all sides, merging together so that Gary couldn’t begin to know how many there were. He imagined hordes of the creatures, enough to blot out the eastern grasslands, snarling and howling while drool dripped from their fangs…
Jerico grabbed his mace, and Darius drew his greatsword. Dark fire bathed its blade.
“We hold!” Karak’s paladin cried.
“To the river, Darius, we must flee to the river!”
“No! We hold, all of you men, hold, we will hold!”
He rushed to the front, leaving the three there to defend. Jerico stood before them, his shield raised.
“Cry out if any come from the side,” he told them. “Gary, stand firm, and watch for an opening. When you see it, do not hesitate. Do not be afraid. Kill it, and live.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Gary said. The dark shapes grew more pronounced, three wolf-men running at horrific speed toward them.
“You will,” Jerico said. Somehow a smile was across his face, and for the first time in their whole trip, he looked calm.
The wolf-men howled just before colliding with their forces, hoping to break the spirits of the defenders. Jerico stood firm, his legs planted and his shield in place. The three approached side by side, and in unison they lunged. Gary watched, feeling as if his feet were buried deep into the ground. Dirk, however, let out a cry and swung his torch. The rightmost wolf-man, having focused on Jerico, howled and turned its head away. Its slash went wild, and then it dug its claws into the earth to slow its momentum.
The other two slammed into Jerico. Gary expected him to fly back, unable to endure such power, but then the light of his shield flared. The wolf-men cried out in pain, and then it was they who fell back, one staggering on two legs, the other falling to all fours and snarling. It shook its head as if to clear away a fog. Jerico gave it no reprieve, stepping in and bashing its skull with his mace. It hit with a crack that made Gary’s stomach turn.
The one that had sailed past returned, this time more carefully. Dirk waved his torch back and forth at it, as if shooing away a stray cat. At first Gary feared he’d been injured, seeing something slick on his clothes, but then realized the boy had lost control of his bladder. He couldn’t blame him. From up ahead, he heard constant screams of pain, snarls of wolves, and chaotic orders combined with pleading.
“I’m no beast scared of fire,” the wolf-man snarled at Dirk. Gary nearly felt his own bladder let go. The creatures could talk? Why had no one told him they could talk? Bobby had said it laughed at him, but he’d thought him hallucinating, caused by sorrow to hear strange things. The creature’s voice was deep, grumbling. He realized the intelligence they must possess if they could communicate in such a way. Bobby had made it sound like they’d gone to hunt mindless monsters. But this…this…
The corded muscles in its legs tensed, and then it lunged. Dirk struck it with his torch, but he was young and outweighed thrice over. The torch bounced off the wolf-man’s chest, causing no harm. The two rolled to the ground, Dirk’s arms pinned, the wolf-man growling, its bared teeth reaching for Dirk’s exposed throat.
Gary stabbed its side before it could. His sword sank halfway to the handle, then snapped when the creature twisted. Claws slashed across his face, the pain immense. Blood blotted the vision of his left eye, and he clutched it with a hand. Be brave, he told himself as the wolf-man jumped off of Dirk. He saw only teeth. The dead one hanging in their town had had its teeth ripped out, he realized. He’d never have come if he’d seen them like he saw them now.
Its jaw closed on his shoulder; its weight slammed him to the ground. Warm blood spilled across his chest. He screamed.
“The Abyss take you!” Jerico cried, smashing its body with his shield. Gary saw the light stab into it, as if the glow were a dagger capable of cutting flesh. It released its grip on his shoulder, and he let out an involuntary gasp. Down came the mace, catching the retreating wolf-man across the snout. Teeth flew, and its blood sprayed across them both.
“We will feast!” it shrieked. Jerico’s shield shone brighter, and amid his delirium, Gary thought he heard the paladin chuckle.
“No,” Jerico said. “You won’t.”
The wolf-man charged, struck his shield once more, and then fell. Jerico’s mace smashed the bones of its face, and it stayed down.
“Dirk?” Gary asked, trying to stand. But Dirk was fine, and he grabbed Gary’s arm and helped him up.
“To the river,” Jerico told the two as he turned to the battle beyond. “Run, and don’t stop.”
“Ashhur be with you,” Gary said, leaning some of his weight on Dirk.
“You as well.”
They stumbled west, between the hills and toward the Gihon. They’d taken no turns, the path Darius led them on perfectly straight, and soon they saw the river in the distance. Gary’s shoulder burned, and every breath he took felt like fire in his lungs. Dirk didn’t look much better, but guilty as he felt for burdening his wounded friend, Gary knew he could not run without aid. They glanced back only once, the torches looking like glowing dots in the distance.
It seemed like an eternity, but they reached the river and the waiting boat. Dirk helped him inside, then prepared to push it into the water.
“Wait,” Gary said. His head felt light, but damn did it feel good to sit down. He clutched his shoulder and wished the pain would go away. Dimly, he wondered how badly the creature had scarred his face.
“No,” Dirk said, realizing what he wanted. “Please, no, we can go…”
“We stay.”
Dirk sighed, then shook his head.
“Fine. You’re right.”
They watched and waited for the first to show. A minute later, three men appeared, two relatively unscathed, but the third limped along in their arms, his left leg mangled and missing its foot.
“Hurry,” Gary said, beckoning them to the boat.
“We thought you’d leave,” said one of them.
“Never. Push us off, and then get in, Dirk. This boat’ll float with five.”
Out on the peaceful water, it seemed the fight was a hundred miles away. If not for the pain, Gary mi
ght have convinced himself it was a horrible, horrible nightmare. When they reached the other side, one of the men helped him out, and he lay against a tree beside the other wounded man.
“The others,” Gary said, pointing back to the Wedge. He felt sleepy, and knew if he closed his eyes he’d succumb to it, but this was important. “You must…you must go back…”
Dirk was crying, his face wet with tears, but still he went to the boat and started to push.
“No,” said a larger man. Jacob Wheatley, he realized. Jacob was always quick to argue, more temper than sense. But he seemed calm here, and he eased Dirk out. “I’ll go.”
He stepped into the boat, angled it, and began rowing.
Time grew slippery. Gary remembered the first boat returning, weeping men disembarking. He heard muttering, names listed off. Counting the dead, he realized. He wondered if they counted him or not. More men appeared, though he didn’t remember their arrival. The water splashed the shore, and he wished to dip his hand in it. Suddenly he was thirsty, very thirsty.
“Gary?” someone asked. He opened his eyes, not remembering closing them. A young face hovered over him, blurry and unrecognizable.
“Get back,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”
“Gary, it’s Dirk. You got to stay awake. Gruss says you got to…”
Darkness, filled with the sound of water. Something touched his shoulder, and the pain awakened there. He opened his eyes and saw Jerico kneeling before him. White light shone from his hands, which pressed against his shoulder. His drowsiness faded, and the pain, which had been all encompassing, shrank down to something he could endure, something he could comprehend. Carefully Jerico wiped the blood from Gary’s left eye with his bare thumb so he might see.
“Stand, Mr. Reed,” he said, taking his hand. “You have a wife and child waiting for you.”
Night of Wolves p-1 Page 2
