Nomadin

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  Thessien raised his sword but the sight before him stayed his hand. The wierwulf began to shimmer. A low moan escaped his lips. Moans turned to throaty growls as coarse, grey fur swarmed his body. His hands and feet sprang claws like stiletto knives. Thessien stepped back in surprise.

  The newly formed wolf rose, its head still human. "Have you ever watched wolves feast on their prey?" Its jaw snapped forward to form a snout and it smiled a mouthful of fangs. "We devour them alive."

  Thessien braced for attack, but before the wolf could spring, a large, flaming bough from the tree's upper reaches came crashing down between them. Fiery thorns sprayed in every direction, hissing and popping between the trees. Thessien dove for cover. The shape-changer was not so lucky. The poison of the many barbs worked quickly.

  The Eastlander rolled to his feet, a sharp pain in his side. He scanned the clearing, searching for Ilien, and saw the boy bounding toward him, a brutish wierwulf close on his heels. Thessien sprang forward, rolled between them and slew the beast where he stood. In moments he and Ilien were astride their horses, tearing into the forest at a wild gallop.

  Chapter VI

  The Bark and the Bite

  Ilien squeezed the reins like he was strangling snakes as his horse raced through the shrouded forest. His pencil in his back pocket stabbed him mercilessly with every stride. He had lost Thessien in their flight from the glade, but he wasn't alone. The wolves flew after him like grey ghosts in the night.

  A grunting figure surged forth from the shadows, closing the gap between them. Ilien's horse lunged forward, desperate to escape, and the night jumped around him, a tilting landscape of darkness and phantoms. Ilien speared a hand into his saddlebag, hunting for something heavy. He plucked out a spare horseshoe. Casting a fleeting glance over his shoulder he let it fly. He heard a startled cry and the shadow fell back, vanishing into the blur of receding trees.

  The silent pursuit continued through the pitch of the night. Though he could see no gleaming eyes in the blackness behind him, or hear any sign of their chase, Ilien knew for certain he was only a hair's breadth from gleaming teeth eager to snatch away his life. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as they raced through the deadly maze of nearly invisible trees, dodging by inches thick trunks and heavy branches that at any moment might end his headlong charge. He spurred his terrified mount on even faster. The weary horse stumbled on, nearly spent, its strides growing shorter, its breath ragged. Sensing weakness, the shadow re-emerged, streaking forward with renewed fury. There was no time for another horseshoe. Ilien closed his eyes, waiting to be torn from his saddle in a flurry of slashing claws and snapping jaws.

  "Ilien! It's me!" Thessien's shout rose above the drum of beating hoofs. His fleeting form was a vague shadow in the rushing darkness. "Stop! They're gone! We're safe!"

  A branch slapped Ilien across the face and he cried out in alarm. The ghost of a limb sailed over his head. He hauled on the reins but his horse ran crazed, heedless of the rider on its back. It crashed through a thicket of laurels, maddened with fear, nearly ripping Ilien from his saddle. Ilien fought the panicked animal to a stop and it stood quivering beneath him, eyes wide, branches clinging to its mane. He quickly scanned the trees for signs of wolves. Thessien's black steed snorted and Ilien looked back at Thessien. The soldier sat bent in his saddle, clutching his side, his face a mask of pain.

  Ilien felt a wave of cold dread wash over him. "Are you alright?"

  "I don't think so." Thessien lifted his heavy cloak. His chain mail shimmered in the darkness, revealing a small rent in the linked vest. He plucked something from the gap and held it before Ilien.

  Ilien squinted at it in the darkness. "What is it?"

  "Poison," the soldier spat, casting the thorn to the ground.

  Ilien jumped as if pricked, and he looked back toward the distant Illwood glade. The sky above the trees flickered orange. A cascade of glowing sparks rose in the night like a crown of fireflies. The Illwood was dying, and so was Thessien. Ilien shuddered, fear choking his words away.

  The yap of a wolf broke the silence.

  "Follow me," Thessien commanded. He spurred the big black forward.

  They rode in silence, looking over their shoulders and urging their mounts on as fast as they dared. Every clop of hoof on stone or branch rattled their nerves like a rap on the door in the dead of night. We're here! We're here! But the shadows never altered. The night rushed by unbroken. Soon a pale light filtered down through the thick cloak of pine needles above, the trees taking shape in the gloom. The forest remained quiet and they slackened their pace.

  Suddenly the horses perked up. They jogged their way forward unbidden, weaving eagerly through the trees. Then Ilien heard it too, the faint babble of water from farther ahead. A small stream tumbled over a thin line of rocks, and on seeing it, Ilien jumped from his horse and scrambled to the mossy bank, plunging his face into the ice-cold water as his mount gulped its fill beside him in long, rasping gasps. After a long moment, Ilien looked up to see Thessien still slumped in his saddle.

  The Eastlander fixed him with a grim smile. "I'm dying."

  Ilien stood up, blinking water from his eyes. The trees seemed to take a step toward him.

  "What do we do?" he asked.

  "You'll ride north," Thessien replied, his voice tight with pain.

  "But you said—"

  "I said I'm dying, not dead!" Thessien's horse tossed its head, its nostrils flaring and blowing out steam at Ilien. "Until then you'll do as I say! Now mount up."

  Ilien leaped forward and grabbed the horse's reins, his eyes wide with worry. "There has to be something we can do. This poison, there must be a cure."

  Thessien rested his head against the neck of his steed. "The cure won't help now, and one of us has to reach Evernden to tell of Gallund's death." He looked at Ilien, eyes bleary, and slowly climbed down from his horse. "I pray you don't need this." He handed Ilien his bow, then leaned against a tree. "Ride due north. Evernden's not far. Now go."

  Ilien felt a wave of heat flash across his face. "I won't."

  The soldier shook his head weakly. "Then you're a fool."

  "I'm not going without you."

  Thessien slumped to the ground.

  Ilien rushed to his side and grabbed him by his collar. "Thessien!" he shouted, shaking him. "Thessien! Wake up!" When he got no answer, he changed tactics. "The cure! Tell me the cure! I can't make it to Evernden without you. Do you hear me? I'll die out here! Your mission will fail!"

  Thessien stirred. An eye fluttered open. "Foolish boy."

  Ilien winced, then slapped Thessien hard across the face. "Tell me!"

  Thessien smiled, but his eyes remained closed. "Foolish boy. The bark. The bark of the tree. But it's too late. It will do you no good." The soldier's breath grew shallow, and he said no more.

  Ilien jumped up and leaped astride Thessien's horse. The big black reared high. Without hesitation it bolted in the direction of the Illwood tree.

  The air grew thick with smoke, burning Ilien's eyes and blurring his vision. He rode on undeterred, yet as he did something tugged at the back of his mind. He was overlooking something—something important. It was true that he hadn't noticed bark on the tree earlier, and he surely didn't know what to do with the bark once he found it, but there was something else. He couldn't place it. Gallund's wand, tucked safely beneath his belt, gave him a measure of courage but didn't dull his underlying feelings of dread. He began wishing he'd been a better student—a Healing spell would have come in handy—but despite having a magical pencil there was just too much to remember, too many adverbial phrases, past participles, pronouns, adjectives, gerunds—

  He shot out of his saddle and hauled back on the reins. Thessien's horse plowed to a stop amid a cascade of flying dirt and leaves. He had reached the Illwood glade, and before him stood the largest wolf he'd ever seen. It swayed on stiff legs, hair raised along its spine.

  Ilien sat paralyzed—then blinked. It w
asn't a wolf at all. It was a dog. A monstrous dog, the kind Farmer Parson kept to fend off the foxes, but bigger—much bigger. Nearly the size of a pony! He'd never seen anything like it. It, too, looked relieved and took a hesitant step forward.

  The wolves sprang from behind the trees and coursed down upon the unsuspecting dog. The dog reared high, meeting the sudden onslaught with a flurry of flailing claws and snapping jaws, but the pack drove forward, forcing the dog back, trying to knock it off its feet as their hooked fangs slashed at its sides from every direction. The dog fought back, battering the wolves with its massive paws, mauling any who came too close, but there were just too many. The dog was tiring. The wolves swarmed over it with renewed vigor and it fell beneath the frenzied pack.

  A shrill cry pierced the air and a wolf hopped straight into the air and fell to the ground dead, an arrow stuck through its neck. A second wolf died before the others knew what was happening. Fifty feet away, Ilien put another arrow to his bow string.

  Instantly three wolves broke from the pack, bounding in wild leaps toward this new prey. The lead wolf never leapt twice. It fell in a tumbling heap. Ilien stuck his next arrow to the string blindingly fast, faster than he could imagine as fear drove muscles that had done that single act a thousand times before.

  Twang! The arrow flew. Another wolf dropped.

  The last was nearly on him. He reached for an arrow but his fingers fumbled with the shaft and it fell from his grasp. He thrust his bow out before him and braced for the attack.

  But it came too soon. He was knocked aside before the wolf could reach him and he struck the ground hard, his battered lungs gasping for air. His vision grew dark as a frightening din of clacking teeth and maddening snarls whirled around him. Blind and nearly unconscious, he curled into a ball, his mind frozen and numb with fear.

  The battle ended with a final, piercing yelp and Ilien gazed up blearily. The hulking form of the dog stood over him, a lifeless wolf hanging in its jaws.

  The dog dropped the body to the ground and fixed Ilien with a baleful stare. Cornrows of fur bristled along its back as it stalked forward, baring blood-stained fangs.

  Ilien scrambled backward, his relief turning to worry. "Nice doggy. Sit boy."

  To his surprise, it did.

  Its enormous back end plunked to the ground, a thick tail squirming beneath it. A bright pink tongue lolled out and it began to pant. A paw the size of a hoof rose into the air. Ilien reached out with a trembling hand to shake it.

  "Good boy," he said, lowering the thick front leg to the ground. He sat dumbfounded for a moment. "The bark!" He scrambled to his feet.

  Grey bodies littered the deserted glade, twisted and broken remnants of the dog's battle with the wolves. Smoke billowed from the smoldering stump of the Illwood, snaking its way between the carcasses. Ilien turned and searched the ground, moving closer to the charred tree. All that remained of the Illwood now was soot and smoke. There was no bark to be found.

  A dog's low growl stopped Ilien in his tracks. He scanned the forest for signs of danger. Clouds of smoke drifted between the trees, but there was no sign of wolves. He heard another growl, more urgent, and looked back at the dog. It held a branch in its mouth, a branch sheathed tip to tip in smooth, brown bark. It padded over and dropped it at Ilien's feet.

  "Well I'll be. You're smarter than you look."

  The dog sat quietly in front of him, but its dark eyes narrowed beneath its shaggy brows.

  Ilien turned the branch over with his boot. Three large thorns crowned one end, but the rest of it looked smooth enough. He picked it up and held it out like a sword. With Illwood sword in hand he ran back to Thessien's horse, mounted up, and fled back into the forest, the giant dog following on his heels.

  It wasn't long before Ilien arrived at the very spot he'd left Thessien. He reined in the soldier's big black steed and looked around in dismay.

  Thessien was gone.

  Ilien jumped from the saddle and ran through the trees. "Thessien!" he called. Was he in the wrong spot? He could see his own previous tracks, and the impression left in the soft earth where Thessien had collapsed.

  "Thessien!" he cried again. But then he noticed other impressions too—two sets of hoof prints leading away into the forest. Someone had taken the Eastlander, and Ilien's horse. But who?

  The giant dog snuffled the ground where Thessien had lain. Ilien watched as the dog circled through the trees, sweeping the forest floor with its nose. It stopped to look at him, then trotted off into the woods along the trail of hoof prints. The dog had Thessien's scent! Ilien climbed back on the soldier's black horse and followed the tracking dog into the woods.

  They traveled for miles, the enormous dog with its nose in the wind, Ilien riding behind, clutching the Illwood sword and hoping beyond hope they would find the Eastlander. Whoever they trailed rode hard—they should have overtaken them by now. Occasionally the dog stopped to search a small clearing or patch of brambles, but little else broke their pursuit. They tracked the fleeing rider for hours, never stopping for rest. Dusk approached and Ilien began to lose hope of finding Thessien alive. A numbing sense of panic began to well up inside him.

  Then without warning, the dog stopped stiff-legged before him, nose testing the air, hair rippling along its back. Ilien pulled Thessien's horse to a halt. The forest was quiet, too quiet. Even the crows had ceased their usual bickering. Then he saw it, a flash of grey between the trees. A twig snapped behind him and he turned in his saddle. Like curls of smoke the wolves emerged from the pines.

  But they didn't attack. They watched from a distance, their lips pulled back in mocking smiles. As quickly as they appeared, they billowed back into the forest and were gone.

  Ilien studied the trees in front of him. He had to keep going. Thessien's life depended on it.

  "I wouldn't if I were you," came a deep voice behind him. Ilien spun around. There was no one there. He turned in circles. He looked at the dog.

  "Don't be a fool," it said.

  Ilien's mouth dropped open and he nearly fell from his saddle. Even Thessien's horse stepped back in surprise—it too had never heard a dog make human noises before.

  The dog looked up at the sky and shook its head. "I was hoping this one had more sense."

  Ilien sat blinking in his saddle.

  "Make haste of your wits, boy!" The dog's sharp command startled Ilien and he sat bolt upright in his saddle. "What do you think will happen if you ride your beast of burden down that hill?"

  Thessien's horse danced a mad step.

  Ilien looked around in the gloom. A wolf drifted into view, eyes glowing like sparks in a plume of grey smoke. A moment later it faded back into the forest.

  "Forget about riding on," the dog advised, its voice a commanding growl. "Collect as much wood as you can. It's our only hope. A fire might keep them at bay."

  "You can talk!" Ilien cried, finally. "But how is that possible?"

  "You need wood, not answers. Now move!" The dog stepped forward, its great barrel-chest thrust out in anger, the fur there rippling with muscles.

  Ilien retreated before it. "But Thessien—"

  The dog's lips curled back, revealing razor sharp teeth. "You do as I say! If you don't you will never find your friend, nor will he ever find you unless he looks in the bellies of a hundred wolves. Now gather wood and be quick about it! I'll guard you."

  Ilien tried to think. He knew the dog was right. Knew the dog was right? It was a dog! A giant dog with very sharp teeth, he reminded himself. He climbed down off Thessien's horse and hunted the ground for wood, watching the dog out of the corner of his eye. Soon he had an armful.

  "Pile it there—in that clear spot," the dog barked, running back and forth between the trees.

  Ilien stacked all the branches and logs he could find in the center of the clearing. It was hard work, made even harder by the fear that drove him, and soon he was sweating and panting with the effort. He kept his mind fixed on the task before him as f
allen wood became harder to find, but often he saw grey movement from the corner of his eye and the giant dog would rush to meet the intruder, only to turn back when the wolf darted back into the trees. After scouring the forest floor as far out as he dared, Ilien stopped and stood gasping. The pile of wood was taller than him.

  Thessien's black steed suddenly screamed, hooves flailing the air, the heavy scent of the wolves finally driving it mad. Ilien thought of unbridling it—freeing the big black of encumbrances in case of trouble, but the giant dog shouted out, "More wood! Follow me!" and Ilien was resigned to leave the horse to fend for itself. He had no doubt that it could.

  "Move!" commanded the dog with a snap of its jaws.

  Ilien grabbed the Illwood sword where he'd left it, propped against a tree. He eyed the three sharp thorns on its end. It would make a deadly weapon in a pinch. He shuddered at the thought, then ran down the hill after the dog.

  They went only as far as they needed to fill Ilien's arms heaping with wood, then returned up the hill. The dog led the way, and thankfully so. Night had fallen quickly. But when they reached the woodpile, Ilien gasped and stumbled forward, dropping his armful of wood.

  "No!"

  The pile was gone, carried away by a myriad of jaws. So, too, was Thessien's steed.

  The dog let out a low growl, and Ilien spun around. They stood surrounded by a jury of shining yellow eyes, peering at them from between the trees. The dog lifted its head to the deepening dusk and its long howl shuddered the forest. The wolves stood unfazed, their grins only widening.

  Ilien suddenly remembered Gallund's wand and the spell he had used on the wierwulvs. He reached to his side, his fingers fumbling at his belt. The wand was gone. His heart dropped and tears sprang to his eyes as he looked around in panic, holding the Illwood sword before him, turning in helpless circles. He wished he hadn't crept down the stairs that night not so long ago. If he hadn't been caught spying he might still be home, curled safely in his bed. If it wasn't for that pesky little light—