Shepherd's Wolf

by M. Andrew Reid

  “You’d probably rather not.”

  Wisp noted the blank looks on the faces around him. He saw the same look on the faces of kids at school when bullies were closing in; they were cowards, and would do nothing to help. But this was not real life, and Wisp did not need any help.

  They had him backed into a corner - their hands tense on weapons. The man spoke again, “Give us the katana and we won’t tell anyone we saw you.” He began to draw his sword when he saw that Wisp had no intention of backing down.

  Hardball pulled his axe first and lunged forward with a growl. Wisp ducked under a swing and drew the Spark Katana from its scabbard straight into the Brutalli’s exposed side. The sword found a gap in the thick plate mail and slid in easily, arcing electricity and filling the air with ozone and the smell of burnt leather. Wisp raised the katana with a flurry and it flashed to life, creating a small lightning storm. The first man shielded his eyes and parried a blow from Wisp while the second stepped in and took a swing with his own sword. Wisp wriggled out of the way; the blade passed close enough to tear his black shirt.

  Growling, the second Brutalli leapt into the fray with a giant warhammer. He swung it over his head and brought it down with amazing force. Wisp nimbly stepped aside as the hammer buried itself into the floor. The Bandit ran up the hammer’s long handle and jumped off the Brutalli’s shoulders, kicking a man’s face in the process with a sickening crunch.

  Wisp never touched down; he simply vanished.

  Hardball had not yet died; he was lying on the floor, his vision blurry and tinged with red. He could still talk, “Did you guys get him?”

  “Shut up and die already,” the dark haired man replied, holding his broken nose. His hand went to his waist, “Where’s my knife?”

  …

  Several hundred yards away, Wisp sat on a pier in the harbor, his legs dangling. He was examining his haul from the fight: A high quality knife and a bracelet from a woman he passed during his escape. Not great but they would get him a much better place to stay in the area- no point in going to Verdia City now. Ten million dollars. He might not find any clues, but he could probably steal them from whoever did.

  Chapter 5

  A New Friend

  Fallen Angels

  A morning sun broke through scattered clouds. Ben whistled with the birds as he made his way toward the meteorite fields at Fallen Angels. Surrounding trees grew dark and twisted as he neared the fallen stars and the strange temple built underneath them. Ben did not let the foreboding atmosphere get his spirits down. He congratulated himself for finishing the huge order so soon; he had proudly watched as Slip loaded it all into his cart and vanished back to Verdia City.

  Five days were all he needed to complete the project. A normal Verdian blacksmith would have taken several weeks - provided he knew what he was doing. A blacksmith working in the real world would have been hard-pressed to finish in a year.

  The dragon bones had taken a lot of heat to shape. Ben was never able to fully melt them, but he used his best concentrated fire spells to get them workable. He crafted three amazing weapons from the leg bones, as well as a multitude of smaller knives and daggers. Ben constructed the armor from bones, scales, and dragon’s skin- which was very dark but with a slight iridescent hue. Soft to the touch and rubber-like, the skin was nearly impenetrable.

  “I’m glad that Viper guy let me keep the leftovers. I’ll be able to do all sorts of experiments with the dragon metal.”

  Max the faithful donkey did not really care about blacksmithing. He was even edgier than normal; his ears hung low. The donkey walked slowly, and Ben tried to prod him, “Come on, Max. We’re almost there, buddy.”

  Braying fearfully, Max began backpedalling. He tried to turn around in the narrow sunken path, despite Ben crying for him to halt. Max finally stopped, but only after stalling broadside on the trail with the wagon firmly wedged against the steep bank.

  Ben did not know what to do. He hopped down from his cart and tried to roll it away from the bank. When that failed to work, he walked over to Max and untied him from his traces.

  Max froze in place, his eyes locked on something on the bank. Ben slowly looked up, terrified to find himself staring into a set of glassy white eyes and yellow fangs.

  Ben heard a snarl at his back and wheeled around. Saberwolves were now above him on either side. Ten of them - ten more than Ben could fight off. As a group, they took a step forward. Ben trembled, and the wolves pounced.

  Something knocked Ben to the ground. Max brayed in pain and fear as the wolves tore into him. Ben could feel claws and teeth tearing at his leather blacksmith’s jerkin.

  Players in Verdia experienced no real pain; the Pulsar headset sent an unpleasant feeling, somewhat similar to pain but harmless, when a character was being injured. Ben had never felt real pain, so this was terrifying. He screamed for help as the wolf tore through his jerkin. Claws and teeth burned like fire on his back.

  An ear-splitting howl filled the air, and the snarls and growls around Ben suddenly grew more ferocious. Ben covered his face and curled up into a ball.

  Growls became yelps and squeals of pain. One by one, the snarling voices dropped off, leaving a single whimpering cry. It ended with a sickening crunch.

  Footsteps.

  Ben felt hot breath on his exposed back, and something warm and wet began sliding up his back and the nape of his neck. He mustered up the courage to turn around and gasped in fright.

  The saberwolf grunted and took a step back. The wolf was enormous - a little bigger than a horse. Unlike the twisted and dark bodies lying around it, this wolf had beautiful white fur and bright blue eyes. Its fangs were over a foot long, glistening like pearls. A bushy white tail wagged slightly.

  “You aren’t going to eat me?” Ben slowly sat up. The wolf cocked its head to one side. Ben looked over to the body of his donkey. “Max!” He ran over to the poor creature and stroked its muzzle. He choked back tears, “You were a good donkey, Max.”

  Ben gasped when the wolf stepped up beside him and let out a low whine.

  The boy turned and looked into the wolf’s sky-blue eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve heard that you go to a nice place when you die. I looked it up online. It’s called heaven. Maybe Max is there now.”

  Bloody bits of wolf and tatters of dark fur littered the ground. Ben doubted that they were in the same place as Max. He got to his feet and faced the giant wolf, “My name is Ben. I’m a blacksmith.”

  The wolf stared back.

  “So where did you come from? You’re a saberwolf, just a really big one. All the other animals around here are really mean and scary. Why are you different? Why did you save me?”

  The wolf took a step forward and licked Ben’s face.

  “Stop!” Ben laughed. “Do you have a name? I bet you don’t. Are you a boy wolf or a girl wolf?” After a quick anatomy check, Ben thought for a second. “I’ll call you Gabe. That’s a good wolf name: Gabe the big white wolf, defender of blacksmiths.”

  Ben turned back toward his cart. He had to get home somehow, but he could not just leave Max. He walked over to his cart and called to the wolf, “Gabe, if you pull the cart home, I’ll give you some hurnt steaks. Sound good?”

  The wolf gently picked up the donkey in his massive jaws. He dragged the poor animal to the back of the cart and tenderly lifted him inside. Then, the wolf stood in front of the cart, and waited for Ben to attach the traces.

  Ben patted the wolf’s head, “Thanks Gabe, you’re a good friend.”

  The Haven

  “Our friend is at it again.” Haymaker passed a sight glass to Bishop. Both protectors of the Haven were on top of the walls, watching as a force of some three hundred soldiers marched toward their gate.

  The old mage snorted, “He’s got quite a few minions this time, and they have big shields.”

  “They’re called pavices. They can stop our arrows, but we should be able to burn them.”

  “This guy won’t give
up. What is this, his third attempt in a week?” Bishop growled.

  “Yeah, I finally realized who this is. It’s Viper.”

  “Really? That armor must be new; I thought he wore black.” Bishop grimaced, “He killed Kogan, didn’t he?”

  “He betrayed him,” Haymaker spat.

  “What does the most powerful player in Verdia want with a bunch of scientists and herbalists?”

  “For the record, Kogan would demolish him in a fair fight,” Haymaker said defensively.

  A player would find it difficult to enter a bar or shop without hearing an argument over who would win a fight between Kogan and Viper. A special forum at Verdia Central was dedicated to the discussion; Dalton’s support staff grew tired of arguments constantly erupting in the middle of unrelated conversations, so they created a specific forum for opinions related to “The Fight.” Debate could become quite heated; much blood had been spilt in the name of the chosen hypothetical winner.

  Haymaker responded to Bishop’s question, “Maybe it has nothing to do with you. Maybe he’s bored. All I know is that he’s starting to piss me off.”

  Bishop chuckled, “I would probably word it differently, but I feel the same way.”

  Haymaker raised a fist to the handful of defenders atop the walls. The defense force consisted of twenty-five players - none of them fighters - and several NPC bodyguards. As a rule, player-owned NPCs would not attack other players unless their master was in danger. In a situation such as this, they were prepared to fight to their death; it was their purpose.

  Haymaker looked them over and shouted, “We have about three minutes before they pass the first marker. It looks like they think they can force their way up to the wall by blocking our arrows with their shields. We’re going to hit them with a few normal arrows at first - let them get close. Then, we’ll give them some fire!” The collection of scientists and herbalists atop the wall nodded nervously. Haymaker turned back to Bishop, “We just have to wait now. If we get the chance, do you want to go after this joker?

  “If he is a Level Thirty-One as you say, we might have problems. But, I’ll stand by you if you want to try.”

  “Thanks. We need to scare him off for good if we want any peace,” Haymaker turned his gaze back out to the approaching army. “If he thinks he could lose his shiny armor and reputation, he might think twice before coming back. He needs to be afraid of us.”

  “Maybe you should try singing to him.”

  “That’s hurtful. I have a lovely voice.”

  …

  Viper rode in front of his hired cannon-fodder. His new armor reflected the sun’s rays in an iridescent explosion. A light breeze ruffled the bright white feathers atop his helmet. Raked back on either side, these feathers jutted from the helm like bright wings and shimmered in the sun.

  Short, stiff feathers also adorned his forearms. Green eyes peered burned beneath the helmet, a curved masterpiece styled after ancient Greek designs. An open face, with only a noseguard protruding down for protection, allowed for maximum visibility.

  Viper’s black horse, Venom, was also beautifully armored. Her braided mane glittered with feathers and dragon scales woven within its dark strands. Two silvery dragon teeth erupted from her plated muzzle, transforming her into a demon unicorn. A pair of curved wings - almost as tall as Viper - sprouted from the back of the saddle. These wings were made of very large dragon feathers; their iridescent tips rendered them almost impossible to look at in the bright sun.

  Viper turned to the soldiers following him, “Some of you fought with me earlier when we tried to take this place. For those of you who haven’t, they have some sort of automatic crossbows up on the walls. That’s why you’re carrying pavices. Your job is to advance slowly and steadily no matter what they throw at you. When we win, you can keep whatever you find in the Haven, and after one day, I will give you the lands within the valley.”

  “Why do we have to wait a day? Is there a clue in there for the contest?” A voice rose from the crowd.

  “You have to wait because I said so. And no, there isn’t a clue for the contest. I have better things to do than waste my time looking for stupid clues.”

  “Yeah, like screwing around in the middle of nowhere attacking hippies,” an Agilus mumbled to his buddy. He vaporized in a flash of light.

  Viper sheathed his spear into a slot on his saddle; the broad blade hissed with steam. A long thin wing bone formed the spear shaft, curving gently. Its blade, wide and dark, drank in the surrounding sunlight. The Shepherd had given this spear the ability to manipulate light, and had named it Focus.

  “Anyone else have something to say? If I felt like screwing around I could kill you all right now without moving my horse one step. This is the best work a bunch of Level Eights and Nines can hope to get, so no complaining.”

  Grateful soldiers nodded quietly. Those closest to the recently deceased quickly sifted through his armor, searching for anything of value.

  Silently, the sparkling rider on the sparkling horse moved forward, followed by his troops. He carried two weapons other than his spear - wicked looking hand axes with oily black blades. They were Flame and Frost, each endowed with abilities appropriate for their name. His three weapons - and the armor - were probably the most valuable items in Verdia.

  Venom was special as well. She was not as big or strong as the massive chargers that most riders preferred, but she was fast. Venom was one of the few Arabians in Verdia. She could run for an eternity without tiring. The horse was technically stolen, but Viper did not concern himself with moral issues.

  His current adversaries, however, did. Despite being mostly peaceful, they intended to defend their Verdian homes, which represented countless hours of attention, with everything they had. Arrows flew when Viper’s horse was roughly two hundred yards from the large gate. Viper did not slow, but held his spear up. The blade pulsed with light. Air around the spear buckled and rippled, and arrows parted around Viper like a stream flowing around a rock.

  Viper’s soldiers did not have such abilities, and had to rely on their shields. Nervous men crowded behind each pavice. Two-foot long bolts from the autobows fell like drops of rain; whizzing through the air and burying themselves into ground, flesh, and bone. The pavices were barely sufficient to stop the arrows.

  …

  Haymaker signaled to Bishop, who stood between the two forward autobows. Gunners continued turning their cranks as Bishop raised his arms. He pointed at the autobows and snapped his fingers as each arrow began its flight, setting it alight. Other mages stationed on the walls performed similar actions, and soon there were five streams of orange death pouring at the attackers. Haymaker grinned in satisfaction.

  The hurnt-hide shields burned slowly, pouring out black soot. Men faltered, choking in the thick smoke. Some backed away from the streams of flaming bolts.

  Viper growled, and pulled his spear from its slot. He reared his horse and charged forward; Venom snorted and her hooves thundered over the grass. Viper raised Focus above his head as if he were going to throw. Pulses of light flashed out of the dark blade.

  All five gunners turned their aim to the charging horse. Viper veered away, the hail of arrows missing him and Venom by inches. The gunners tried to keep up, but their hefty autobows turned too slowly as Viper ran parallel to the walls. Arrows fizzled into the ground several feet behind Viper. A few found their mark, but plinked off the iridescent armor without leaving a scratch.

  “Let him be!” Haymaker snarled at the gunners. “You’re letting them get closer!”

  Making use of the distraction, the attacking force had advanced another fifty yards. They were now within a stone’s throw of the walls. A trail of armor and weapons lay behind them - memorials to those who had fallen to arrow and flame - but most fighters were still on their feet.

  Haymaker grabbed a four-foot section of log from a basket set into the wall and lifted it above his head with a grunt. “Bishop!”

  The old mage
pointed at Haymaker and snapped his finger, setting the log ablaze. Haymaker roared and hurled the log with tremendous force. It tumbled through the air and struck the ground, bouncing once in a fountain of soil before plowing into the front rank of attackers - shattering shields and bones.

  “Yeah!” Bishop shouted. “Imagine what you could do if you were full-sized Brutalli!”

  “Shut up, old man. Hit me again!” Haymaker had another log above his head.

  Bishop chuckled. Without missing a beat, he ignited Haymaker’s log and returned to setting arrows aflame.

  Now, the attackers were very near the wall. Confusion set in among them as to what they were going to do when they got to the gate. They had no ladders or any other way of climbing on top of the wall. Haymaker hurled a final log and swiveled around. Something was not right. He looked for Viper.

  Viper had dropped back. He was watching the battle intently from a distance, his horse quietly munching on grass. Haymaker was very nervous now. Something’s going on. He carefully scanned the cliff faces on either side of the wall. They’re clear. He searched the crowd of attacking soldiers for some sort of explosive charge to break the wall. Nothing. The attackers had no mages that were capable of breaching the wall with a spell. Haymaker could not see anything that would enable the attackers to get through. Maybe Viper isn’t too bright.

  A flurry of movement in the corner of his eye made Haymaker freeze. He turned his gaze to the far right, where the cliff face joined with the wall. Something was wrong with the shadows in that area, they were moving strangely…

  “Agilus on the wall!” Haymaker roared.