Night of Wolves p-1

by David Dalglish

  “Serving Ashhur is a choice, Jerico.” Pallos frowned at him, and Jerico felt like he was back at the Citadel, being reprimanded for a wrong answer. “People cannot serve both Karak and Ashhur, and it is foolish to give them the chance to do so here. Karak’s darkness will not be defeated in such a way. You do not stop the charging bull with flowers. You kill it with a sword.”

  “Darius is a good man, Pallos. He worries about this village as much as I.”

  “Good man or not, he serves a lie, and in his ignorance, he will damn the people here. Challenge him. Watch your friendship crumble when you stop acting as if his beliefs are worth hearing.”

  Pallos looked at him, honest sadness in his eyes.

  “He serves Karak, and come a time, Karak will call him to betray you. That is when you will see your worth to him.”

  Jerico turned away and refused to acknowledge him. The silence dragged on, awkward and uncomfortable. At last, Pallos put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  “Do not be mad with me, Jerico. I am old, and have seen the evil this world fosters. I only say this because I fear the hurt that will befall you. But let us talk on other things. Your shield…is it still your beacon? I would very much like to see it.”

  Jerico welcomed the excuse to leave his presence, if only for a little while. He seethed at such condemnation of someone like Darius. Sure, the man had his faults, but didn’t everyone? But he’d been there beside him, bleeding and fighting for the safety of the village. He called the men to be strong, the women to be faithful, for all to follow laws that, while strict, often seemed fair. They were both young, and they understood the trials each of them endured, and what it meant to stand before a crowd and speak from the heart on matters of faith. Betray him? Never.

  In his room he retrieved his mace and shield and carried them back to Pallos.

  “Incredible,” said Pallos as Jerico held the shield aloft. The blue-white glow swirled over it, not as strong as it’d been on the night fighting the wolf-men, but nothing he would be ashamed of, either.

  “And your mace?” he asked.

  Jerico held it closer, so he could see it held no glow, no power. Pallos drew his sword, its blade swirling with the light of Ashhur, showing the strength of his faith.

  “When I first heard of this during your training, I didn’t believe it,” Pallos said, sheathing his sword. “Even coming here, I thought it would have faded over to your mace. Ashhur has granted you a strange gift, Jerico. Never have any of us encountered a paladin’s shield becoming his beacon of faith over his weapon. I hope you study it closely to learn its reasons, its limits.”

  Jerico set the shield down by the tree.

  “It’s a big hunk of metal that glows. I think I understand it well enough.”

  Pallos shook his head.

  “You should show more reverence to the gifts of Ashhur. The people here study the way you speak, the way you act. You are an example to them, and if you show such callousness toward the miracles of our god, then you will instill them with the same.”

  Jerico felt his neck flush.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Come now, I am no teacher, and you no wet-nosed pupil. You are a good man, and I expect greatness out of you. I would not have sent you here if I did not. There are a hundred villages, all needing to hear the word of our god. But Ashhur expects something special from you. I only pray you are prepared for it.”

  Pallos stood, and he brushed the dirt from his armor.

  “I must be going,” he said. “There are others who must learn of Mornida’s death.”

  Before he could go, Jerico stopped him.

  “Wait,” he said. “You see, I…”

  “What is it?” Pallos asked.

  “I’ve been having dreams,” he said. “The same one, really, and it comes with greater frequency.”

  The old paladin tilted his head. “Well, tell me, and perhaps I can interpret.”

  “I see the Citadel. The lower walls are cracking, and then the surrounding field bursts with fire. It’s raining, but instead of water, bones fall. I hear a sound, like the roar of a beast, and then I awake.”

  Pallos looked troubled by what he heard.

  “Perhaps you dreamt of Mornida’s death,” he said. “It is always a troublesome time when our leader falls.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Pallos gestured to the distance. On the other side of the square, Darius was gathering men and women for another sermon.

  “Perhaps it is Ashhur warning you of his presence. The Citadel is strong as ever. But to be in the company of a dark paladin…you must expect some of his shadow to fall upon you. Stay safe, Jerico. I hope to see you on my return.”

  Jerico watched him go as Darius’s speech grew louder and filled with fire. He listened for a little while, then went back to the field. More than anything, he wanted the monotony so he might think over what he’d heard, as well as calm the turmoil growing in his breast. It was only an hour later that he realized he’d not once mentioned the wolf-men that had attacked their village.

  5

  Leaving tower Bronze, Daniel felt an immense sense of relief. Their boat drifted along the center of the river, slow and deep enough they could relax and let the Gihon carry them. Daniel sat in the back, dipping his fingertips in the cold water to keep awake. Not that he needed the help. An argument with someone as stubborn as Sir Lars was easily enough to get him worked up and ready to hit something.

  “Unsupplied as I am, you want me to patrol twenty miles south to help protect some…simpletons stupid enough to go into the Wedge?” Lars had asked. He was shorter than Daniel, but still outweighed him by plenty. They’d bickered in his study, him wearing a family breastplate that enhanced his rotund physique.

  “At least those simpletons aren’t afraid of what they face,” Daniel had shot back. Lars had flustered red, and he’d tugged at his long blond mustache while trying to find words to say. During many battles with bandits in the south, as well as the initial skirmishes with the elves, Lars had earned a reputation as a cautious leader. To those with enough alcohol to loosen their tongues, he was a coward, and that cowardice had eventually landed him his position in tower Bronze.

  “Sir Godley might be a sour, quiet sod,” said one of his men as they drifted along, “but I’d take him any day over that fat weasel Lars.”

  There were twenty of them, and they all shared a chuckle. The jest was in good nature, but Daniel knew he couldn’t let the man get away without reprimand.

  “If you’ve got the energy to waggle your tongue, you can grab some oars and do a bit of rowing, Jon,” he said. “I’d hate you to end up as fat as Sir Lars.”

  More laughs, but they got the point. Jon took to rowing, knowing he’d have to be a fool to try and escape the rather lax punishment. The oars dipped in and out of the water, the sound rhythmic, relaxing. Trees lined either side of them, growing tall with their roots crawling down into the river. Worn stone surrounded both sides, soft rock and dirt half the height of a man. The sun set, the moon rose, but so flat was the river they continued along, two men at the front using poles and lanterns to make sure they had no surprises.

  “How far?” asked Jon, a man who had refused to give his last name upon enlistment. Daniel figured him a former bandit or thief, but whatever the crime, he was willing to let it be forgotten so long as he served faithfully, which he did.

  “You mean until we’re there, or until you stop rowing?” Daniel asked.

  “Either’s good.”

  “We should be arriving soon. Keep your eyes peeled for a wooden dock. They should have one, from what I gathered before we left. They rely on a lot of supplies coming up and down the river, given how they’re in the middle of nowhere. And put your oars down, Jon.”

  The man did, and he stretched his back while letting out a pleased grunt.

  “Getting shallow,” said one of the men with the poles up front. “Might consider pulling off lest we hit so
mething.”

  “Rather sleep with a roof over my head,” Daniel said. “Keep your eyes open and your lanterns west. And hand me one of them, will you?”

  Several others joined the search, their shifting rocking the boat enough that Daniel lost the grip of his lantern. It fell to his left, hit the boat, and then rolled off the side. His fingers seemed an inch away the whole while it fell to the water.

  “Shit,” he muttered, peering off the side. As his eyes lifted, he saw a yellow pair meet his own, then vanish.

  “Gregory,” he called out, keeping his voice calm.

  “Yes, sir?” asked Gregory. He was a young man, but he was strong, and more importantly, had a keen mind. Both Daniel and Robert had wondered how Marcus had erred in letting such a man end up at their towers.

  “Look east,” he said. “Keep it quiet, and don’t make it obvious.”

  “What am I looking for?” asked Gregory. He put his hands on his back and acted as if he were stretching. The boat continued drifting, many of the men still shining lanterns and searching for the dock, or at the least, distant signs of the village.

  “If they’re there, you’ll know.”

  Gregory swore. His hand ran through his brown hair, and then it fell to his side, where his sword should have been. It was not. All their gear was stowed in three chests placed equidistant from each other along the center of the boat.

  “Eyes watching us,” Gregory said.

  “How many?”

  Daniel leaned his chin in his hand and stared east as if he were bored. Yellow eyes peered at them, and they had a hungry look that sent shivers up his spine.

  “At least six pairs. Maybe more. They’re wolves, aren’t they?”

  One of the men near them heard and glanced back, worry crossing his face.

  “Wolves, sir?” he asked.

  “Shut your mouth, right now,” said Daniel. “That’s an order.”

  The man nodded and obeyed.

  “What do we do?” asked Gregory, lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

  “If there’s that many, they aren’t here to watch. Can’t armor ourselves, otherwise every man tossed overboard drowns.”

  “I say pass swords around, low and out of sight. And we need to do it fast. I see the eyes no more.”

  “Have they left?” Daniel asked.

  “No,” said Gregory, kneeling beside the closest chest and removing the latch. “They went into the water.”

  “Pull back your lanterns,” Daniel ordered his men, and they did so. Gregory started sending swords down the boat, arming the east side first. “Take what we’re giving you, and don’t act up about it. We got eyes watching us, and Ashhur knows how intelligent they are, and how much they can understand. Jon, Letts, you keep watching for a dock, any dock. Everyone else, scan the river.”

  Daniel drew his own sword and laid it across his lap, comforted by its weight. If the wolf-men assaulted their boat, there were advantages for either side. The wolves would have surprise, and they’d close the distance without fear of arrows or defensive formations. They’d be slowed by the water, though, and vulnerable trying to climb into the boats. Assuming they tried to climb them, anyway. They were strong, and if they were many, they might be able to overturn their vessel. If that happened, they soldiers would be easy prey.

  “Wait for a signal,” Gregory said, a sword at his side and a torch in his hand. “A wolf pack won’t attack until they get a signal.”

  The night had gone unnaturally silent. Even the men of the boat were quiet, no longer joking, calling out what they thought might be a deer, stone, or dock. No, they were watching, waiting, cold steel in their hands. Fighting wolf-men without armor, they faced a horrible challenge. Those claws could shred their skin like cloth. Those teeth could rip their limbs from their bodies. Daniel had fought wolf-men plenty in his years guarding the Wedge, but never like this, never ambushed helpless upon the water. And why were they there? The implications were just as frightening as their current situation. To have so many near the Gihon, watching, patrolling even…

  From the far bank came the howl, and with that, the water on either side of their boat erupted with claws and teeth. The wolf-men lashed out at them, clawing at the wooden sides and hoisting their bodies upward. With their dark fur wet and matted, they were blacker than the night, just flashes of yellow eyes and eager claws.

  Daniel saw two paddling at the rear of the boat, and he lunged with his sword at the first. It lashed up at him, but its paw went wide. His blade slashed its arm, and it yipped in pain, its swimming no longer enough to keep pace. Daniel grinned at the thought of its blood pouring into the river. The second grabbed hold of the rudder, its claws easily sinking in. When Daniel tried to stab it, its teeth snapped back, and startled, he nearly lost his sword.

  To his right, a wolf-man lunged high enough to grab the side and pulled itself up. Gregory struck it with his lantern, the light blinding it. His sword pierced its chest, and kicking it off, it fell atop another wolf-man trying to climb in.

  “The lantern!” Daniel cried. Gregory tossed it to him. Swearing, Daniel caught it near the bottom, where the heat was greatest. Gritting his teeth to ignore the burning of his hand, he shone its light into the eyes of the wolf-man climbing the back. It snarled, its eyes shut, and then he flung the lantern. The metal struck it in the face, the liquid and fire spilling across its snout. Down it went into the water.

  Whirling, Daniel took in the battle before him. The boat rocked unsteadily beneath his feet, both sides buffeted by the many bodies either climbing aboard or falling away. He couldn’t count the wolf-men, they were both too many and too hidden. His men were dying. Blood soaked the floor of the boat, mixing with puddles of water. They fought bravely, though, and he felt his heart swell with pride. So far none had panicked, and they stabbed and bled in the darkness like true warriors.

  “Beat them back!” he cried, joining Gregory’s side. The two slashed at another wolf trying to grab the side, slicing off three claws before it slipped away. With a scream, one of his men went tumbling off the boat, his weak thrust missing, his arm grabbed and pulled. Where he fell became a dark thrashing of water, and then they saw no more. Two more men died, a wolf-man making it into the boat and slashing wildly before soldiers dove upon it, accepting its claws to pierce their blades through its heart. The screams of their pain echoed across the river.

  The boat suddenly lurched eastward, accompanied by a deep thunk. Again came a lurch.

  “They’re guiding us to the Wedge!” someone shouted.

  “The poles!” Daniel roared. “Grab the poles!”

  They had four poles to push and guide the boat. The first two they plunged into the water snapped as wolf-men grabbed hold of them and bit with their strong teeth.

  “Stab the water!” Gregory cried, rushing to the east side and thrusting downward, where several wolf-men had gathered, no longer trying to climb and instead swimming with their heads low and their bodies pushing.

  “We hit ground we’re dead,” Daniel said, grabbing another of the poles. “Now push like your life depends on it!”

  The wood groaned in his hand, he heard the yelps of the wolf-men at their side, but at last the pressure relaxed. Once more the boat angled not to the Wedge but instead the opposite side.

  “I want off this damn river!” Jon shouted.

  “Amen!” cried Daniel.

  The last of the wolf-men along the eastern side fell back, the last two poles touching bottom and pushing. Several others grabbed oars, and they rowed toward safety. There was no dock, no landing. They rammed their boat along the rocky shore and then rushed onto dry land with shaky legs.

  Exhausted and shivering, Daniel looked out to the river. He saw pairs of eyes watching him from the far side, but not many. It seemed no others gave chase.

  “They coming after?” asked Jon.

  “Don’t look like it,” said Daniel. “But we have a long night to go. Get our gear, all of you. Let’s put som
e armor on. If they decide they want to fight, by god, we’ll give them one.”

  While they unloaded the chests, he took count of their losses. Of their original twenty, only eleven remained, counting himself. Nine men, dead or lost along the river. He did his best not to think of it, instead issuing orders and gathering up those who were left.

  “How will we find Durham?” asked Gregory, sliding up beside him.

  “We’ll follow the river south,” he said. “Worst comes to worse, and we passed Durham during that mess, we’ll eventually reach tower Gold.”

  “We don’t have much food.”

  Daniel nodded toward a pair of bows his men were unloading from one of their chests.

  “We’re in the wild now,” he said. “We’ll hunt if we must.”

  “While we ourselves are hunted?”

  He looked east, those yellow eyes still watching.

  “Then we’ll see who is the better hunter,” Daniel said.

  I t was all a dream. Jerico knew it was a dream, knew with a certainty that frightened him, for normally that understanding would spur him awake. Instead, the vision continued, with a power and clarity that deepened his fright.

  Before him loomed the Citadel, the great tower of Ashhur. Behind it were its docks, and they burned. At its gates he saw a hundred of his brethren. They cried out the name of their god, and their swords shone with the light of their faith. Fighting them were legions of undead. They reached beyond the limits of his vision, for he felt like a raven flying over the battlefield. The undead fell by the scores, but still they came. Jerico’s heart soared at his brethren’s skill. They would win. Despite the numbers, they would overcome the dead, for they were strong in faith and full of song.

  The ground shook, a lion let loose a great roar, and then the Citadel fell.

  It crumbled into pieces, its lower foundations breaking at the sides. As it fell, the top half tilted to the right, the heavy dark stone slamming into the ground and tearing free huge chunks of earth. The sound was deafening. Even in his dream he felt his ears ache, and the shockwave of its fall thudded into his chest. The army of paladins below felt it all the more keenly. The light of their weapons, once bright and unshakeable, dwindled. The undead let out a cry, and they charged anew. This time they did not fall so quickly. This time, the paladins did not sing out songs to their god. One by one they fell, until the undead crushed them beneath their feet. Jerico cried out in despair, but he could do nothing, only watch.