Night of Wolves p-1

by David Dalglish

  “The people of Durham need to prepare.”

  “Then you wake at dawn and tell them,” Darius had said as he set aside his armor and slipped into bed. “Meanwhile, the sky’s still dark and my head feels like two wolf-men are fighting inside. Good night.”

  His head felt little better come waking, but at least it had lost some of its knife edge of pain. His legs ached from the many miles they’d walked, and his back was sore for doing it all while wearing his armor. He stayed in the sole upper room of Durham’s inn, and he came down to have breakfast with the lady of the place, a widow named Dolores.

  “Bread and honey as always?” he asked her, trying for levity.

  “You’ll make do with porridge,” she said, not a smile on her wrinkled face. “The whole town’s talking, and it’s got me scared. I can’t leave everything behind, Darius. Even riding in a cart will make my old bones groan, and what hope could I have to earn a living elsewhere?”

  “I hear a beautiful woman such as yourself earn quite a lot in the back alleys of Mordeina.”

  She slapped his head with a rag, and he grinned at her. Seemed like Jerico had already met with Jeremy, and he felt relieved. Let him deal with that enormous hassle. He began eating his meal.

  “Oh, dear me, slipped my mind,” Dolores said a few minutes later. “A man came to speak with you, but I told him you’d been out at night helping us and you don’t take kindly to waking up early. He said he was one of you, at least in a way. A priest, he said. I offered him a room, but he said he wouldn’t be staying long.”

  “A priest?” Darius asked. “Where is he now?”

  “Said for you to meet him at the square. He seemed in quite a hurry.”

  “Thank you, Dolores. I’d best be going then.”

  He hurried back up the stairs, trying to make sense of things. Sometime in the next few months he knew a paladin of Karak was supposed to check in on his progress, but a priest? Had he just happened to pass by Durham? Or were they to change his assignment? Priests were considered superior to paladins in Karak’s hierarchy, and if the priest gave him an order, he would have no choice but to obey. Still, his arrival was certainly fortuitous in other ways. Perhaps he might help with the wolf-men, or know of a better plan than simply tucking their tails between their legs and running.

  Once he was dressed in his armor, his sword sheathed on his back, he came down.

  “Did he say a name?” he asked Dolores before stepping outside.

  “I reckon he did,” said the woman. She tapped her teeth with a fingernail. “Slipped my mind, though. Seemed polite enough, though I wouldn’t wish him around long. Got a queer air about him. Cold, too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Darius pushed open the door and hurried his way to the square. Jerico found him first. A mob of seven or eight surrounded him, and he pushed his way toward the dark paladin.

  “Enjoy your nap?” Jerico asked.

  “Tremendously,” Darius said, forcing a grin. “Enjoy your talk with Jeremy?”

  “He saw reason, thank Ashhur. The whole town will be heading south. We’re fifteen miles from Wetholm, and I doubt the little village can manage to feed even a third of us, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll just have to make do.”

  “Sure thing,” Darius said, his eyes looking past him. Jerico evidently noticed, and he frowned.

  “Something the matter?” he asked.

  “No. Yes. Just a friend.”

  Jerico glanced behind, and a bit of his cheer vanished.

  “He’s been here all morning. I’ve stayed away out of respect. Any help the priests and paladins of Karak can offer would be appreciated.”

  The group returned, asking Jerico questions and requesting aid.

  “Will you be helping everyone prepare?” Darius asked before he turned away.

  “We leave after midday. Not much time, so we’ll be stretched thin. Help who you can, and I’ll do the same.”

  “As you say.” Darius pushed past him, toward the lone tree growing near the square. Leaning against it, being given a wide berth by the rest of the town, was a man in the black robes of a priest. His head was shaved, and a multitude of pendants made of silver and iron hung from his neck. He stood straight, his thin shoulders pulled back. His blue eyes lacked any amusement as Darius came before him and kneeled.

  “Welcome to Durham, brother,” he said, his head low. “I hope your travels have been safe.”

  “Nothing in this world is safe,” said the priest. He glanced at Jerico, and his frown deepened. “Least of all here. I come with great tidings, though I wish my heart would not be so troubled when I tell you. Do you remember me, Darius? I was there when you were first assigned along the river.”

  Darius remembered, two years prior at the gates of the Stronghold. He’d completed the Trials, and having come of age, they gave him his first assignment: to travel along the northern stretches of the Gihon, preaching to the many villages that had gone years without hearing Karak’s word. The ceremony had been solemn, and his heart swelled with pride. Two priests had attended, invited to the special event. One had remained quiet, but the other…his eyes had the same icy blue, and his words still stung.

  You are young, full of faith, and yet in you I sense a chaos rumbling. Mind your heart, your thoughts, and your ideas. Among the simple folk you belong, for I fear your reaction should you face a true challenge of Ashhur.

  “Yes,” he said. “I remember you now, though I was never given your name.”

  “I am Pheus, and it seems I was correct. How long has the paladin of the false god preached in your village, Darius?”

  Darius felt his face flush.

  “Perhaps a year, at most.”

  “You have not driven him out? You have not rallied the villagers against him? Worse, I see you speaking with him. Have you reached some agreement with this paladin, some sort of truce? I do not understand it.”

  Even worse, thought Darius.

  He couldn’t dare tell Pheus, not facing his cold glare. With his arms crossed, the priest lifted his chin and turned as if the very sight of Jerico angered him. Darius tried to think of an excuse, but he knew none, and he stared at the ground in shame.

  “I thought so,” said Pheus. He sighed, and his anger retreated into sadness. “I pity you, Darius. You have great potential, though more than ever I fear you will waste it. But perhaps I see only the weakness I fear; it is a curse my colleagues have often berated me for. This is a joyous occasion, and I come spreading the word to all the faithful.”

  “And what is that?” Darius asked, glad to have the conversation changed.

  “The Citadel has fallen. The paladins of Ashhur are scattered, homeless, with many casting aside their faith. Our time of victory has come. The Stronghold has declared war upon the survivors, every last one.”

  Darius’s jaw dropped. He thought of Jerico’s attempt to leave the day before, and suddenly he understood.

  “How?” he asked, still struggling to believe it.

  “The Voice of the Lion led the assault, and through his disciple Xelrak, brought the building crashing to the ground. I have been traveling north to inform all I can of our new orders. Ashhur’s paladins are weak now, helpless. We must descend upon them before they regroup.”

  “Wait…you want to kill Jerico?”

  “Kill him? No. We want him executed for his blasphemy and service to the false god. Do you not understand? After all these years, we have a chance for complete victory.” He pointed toward Jerico, and it seemed as if his eyes sparkled. “For all I know, he is the very last. Let us take him now, before he realizes the danger he is in.”

  “No,” Darius said, stepping away. “Do you not see the chaos about us? Wolf-men gather in great numbers beyond the Gihon, and any day they will swim across. They’ll slaughter every one of these villagers. Jerico stands at my side. For now, if any of us are to live, we need him.”

  Pheus leaned back against the tree. For a long minute he did not speak, o
nly stare, as if gazing into the depths of Darius’s soul. Whatever he saw there, he certainly did not like.

  “This is your failure,” Pheus said at last. “And it is yours to correct. This…Jerico…will die by your hand. That is an order, and you will obey, paladin.”

  He left the tree and wrapped an arm around Darius’s shoulder. “I must continue my travels. By the time I return, I expect the matter handled. If it is not, the Stronghold will hear of your failure. I assure you, they will be far less understanding than I.”

  “Will you not stay and help us?”

  “This village is your responsibility, not mine. These men are of the earth, and there will always be a thousand others like them. Our war with Ashhur has waged for hundreds of years. Do you think I would risk losing that over a handful of farmers? What you do, do quickly, Darius. I have spoken. Obey your god.”

  Pheus left along the northern road, not a single man or woman saying a word in greeting as he passed by. Darius watched him go, and he stared long after he was gone.

  “You all right?” Jerico asked him, having returned to the square after doing who knew what to help another family.

  Darius looked at the man, tired, proud, his red hair soaked with sweat and covered with dirt. He tried to see him as an enemy, a blasphemer of a false god. Instead, he saw Jerico. I fear your reaction should you face a true challenge of Ashhur, Pheus had said two years ago, and it seemed prophetic. Was Jerico such a challenge? Had he prepared for physical strength, skill in combat, and left his heart unprepared for the lies, the facades, the tempting half-truths of Ashhur? How could he follow Karak, yet claim a paladin of Ashhur as his friend?

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “If you say. The Douglas family needs help fixing their wagon for the journey. Can you help them out?”

  Darius nodded, still feeling as if he walked in a troubled dream.

  “Jerico,” he said, stopping the other paladin from leaving. “I…forgive me. The Citadel. Have you heard?”

  Jerico’s face paled, he swallowed, but he nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” Darius said, unsure if it were truth or lie.

  “Go help Jim and his wagon. And Darius…thank you.”

  A cruel, chaotic world, thought Darius. What greater proof could he need?

  “J acob Wheatley bent over beside the wheelbarrow in his garden, swearing at each passing moment. He yanked and tore at the zucchini and winter squash. The tiny hairs on their sides poked his hands, and several cuts bled along his thumbs and palm. Under the best circumstances he wasn’t a patient man, and today he had even less time to be careful. The wolf-men were coming, and the whole town was turning yellow and running.

  “Can’t believe Jeremy’s such a bloody coward,” he muttered. “Would probably tuck his dick between his legs and run from a fucking rabbit if it bared its teeth.”

  “They ain’t no rabbits,” said Perry, son of his neighbor, Jim Douglas. Jacob usually paid the boy a few coppers to help with his harvest, along with a bottle of shine his father knew nothing about. The two had already filled one wheelbarrow, dumped it back at his house, and come back for a second load.

  “Shit, I know that, son. I was there with everyone else when we stepped into the wedge. We were in their land, at night, and we still gave as good as we got. Thank the gods those paladins were there, though. I mean, you should have seen what Gary looked like before the redheaded one could heal…hey, you listening?”

  Perry stood straight, a yellow squash still in his hand. His eyes scanned the distance with an intensity that riled up the snakes in Jacob’s stomach.

  “I said you listening?” he asked, louder.

  “I saw something. There. I’m sure of it.”

  “What could you be seeing?” Jacob asked, looking. He saw the edge of his garden, then the long stretch of hills, followed by the slender forest. “There ain’t nothing out there.”

  “I was sure, ” Perry insisted.

  “And I was sure Tessie would marry me if I bought her a ring. Sometimes we’re so sure of something we don’t realize how stupid we are. At least that tease ended up with Noel. Don’t tell your pap, but I hear his dick’s the size of a…”

  “There!”

  Jacob stood a second time, and he followed Perry’s outstretched arm. This time he did see a vague shape, but only for a few heartbeats before it sank back into the grass.

  “What the fuck was that?” asked Jacob.

  “Dog maybe? Looked gray…”

  “Dog?” Jacob felt his blood chill. “How big a dog, you think?”

  Perry realized what he thought, and he paled.

  “It’s daylight,” he said, as if that should mean anything.

  Jacob glanced behind him. In the far distance was his house, and several hundred yards beyond, the Douglas home. He could make out vague shapes in front of their porch, no doubt Jim trying to fix that damn wagon of his. He’d made excuses all summer, and now he was learning a hard lesson about putting off until tomorrow what you should have done two weeks ago.

  “It’s a long run,” Jacob said, his voice low. “But we might have to do it anyway. You still watching?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jacob knelt and pulled a few more squashes, struggling to not look alert.

  “You just act like you’re catching your breath. Wait for it to move again. Don’t stare at it, you idiot. Look away. Use the corner of your eye, as if you’re trying to peep down a girl’s blouse without her knowin’ it.”

  Perry’s neck went red, but he nodded and tried to obey. Jacob counted the seconds, wishing the damn thing, whatever it was, would hurry up and make its move.

  “It crawled again,” Perry said suddenly. “Shit, it’s big.”

  “It stopped?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then run like the wind, boy.”

  Jacob stood, grabbed the handles of his wheelbarrow, and ran. Perry had the shorter legs, but he was a wiry boy and unencumbered. Gradually he pulled ahead. Jacob felt the wheelbarrow jostle in his hands. His vegetables would be bruised beyond recognition, but by the gods he wasn’t leaving them behind. It was a matter of pride. He glanced back once, hoping to be revealed an idiot, to see nothing behind him but his empty garden.

  A gray wolf-man loped after them, its back bent, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, turning back around. “Run, goddamn it, Perry, run! ”

  But the boy was getting tired, his short legs working double-time to keep pace, and they were only halfway down the path toward his home. For a moment he considered tossing Perry into the wheelbarrow, but he knew that’d only get them both killed. No time…no time! He slowed, then stopped completely.

  “Jacob?” Perry asked, whirling about. His eyes widened, and Jacob knew he saw their pursuer.

  “You not hear me? I said run, you twat, now run!”

  Perry obeyed. Swallowing his fear, Jacob turned to face the wolf-man. It was closing the distance between them with horrifying speed. Giddy laughter bubbled up from his belly, and he couldn’t hold it in. Here he was, facing off against one of the most terrifying creatures of all Dezrel, and his only weapon was a wheelbarrow. He was fucked. Totally, completely fucked.

  The wolf-man seemed to share the sentiment, for it howled with joy just before leaping at him. Jacob dropped to his knees, ramming his arms against the wheelbarrow’s handles. It pivoted into the air on the back braces. In mid-jump, the wolf couldn’t change its angle in time. It rammed its chest against the front, which crumpled inward with a metallic groan. Its momentum killed, it fell back onto its hind legs, the wheelbarrow tipping over onto its side. Jacob dove for it, curling his legs to his chest as he lay atop a pile of vegetables.

  Snarling, the wolf-man yanked the remnants of his wheelbarrow off him, removing whatever defense he had. Still laughing, Jacob swung the biggest squash he could find. It smacked against the wolf-man’s nose. Blood sprayed across him, and he wondered what had made the cru
nching noise, the thing’s nose or the shattered squash in his hand. As the wolf staggered back, swinging its head back and forth in a daze, Jacob took to his feet and ran. He knew it would only be a few extra seconds, but he had to try. In the brief moment, he realized he couldn’t see Perry, and he figured that enough of a victory. The boy would survive, at least longer than Jacob was going to. If the entire pack had come early, then they were all destined for a stay in a cramped belly.

  When the wolf-man hit him, it felt like a sledgehammer had slammed his back. He flew through the air, his arms and legs waving wildly. The ground rushed toward him, and it seemed like his legs couldn’t find purchase to keep running. He braced his fall best he could, then rolled along the rough ground. As rocks tore into his skin, he screamed. It felt like his back was on fire. When he came to a stop, the wolf-man towered over him, blood trickling down its nose and onto its yellow teeth.

  “I’ll eat you slowly,” it said, its hot breath washing over him. “I’ll eat you alive.”

  “Shut up and do it,” Jacob said. The world seemed to swirl before him, and he felt like the patch of ground he lay upon was unstable. Light-headed, he watched with strange disinterest as the wolf-men brought its gaping maw to his chest and bit. Warm blood spilled to his abdomen, and he heard someone screaming. It was him, he realized. That was embarrassing. He’d always thought himself tougher than that.

  The wolf-man pinned his arms, because evidently he’d been struggling. It grinned at him, its whole mouth dripping red. It swallowed something. A piece of his flesh. A soft growl came from its throat, and it sounded hungry. Claws dug into his wrists. More screaming.

  And then he realized he must have begun hallucinating, for the wolf-man’s head suddenly vanished, replaced by a stump that spurted blood into his eyes. He cried out and shut them, hating the sting. The pressure on his wrists vanished. People were talking, he realized, and he made an effort to listen.

  “…too badly, Jacob. Sorry I don’t have time to stitch your chest. You’ll have to make do with a tight cloth.”

  “No bother,” Jacob said, the dreamlike feel growing. “Is it still going to eat me?”