Shepherd's Wolf

by M. Andrew Reid

  Before them was a furnace - a lumpy dome with a big hole in the front. Made of fire-scorched clay, it was covered in gigantic claw marks. Atop the furnace was a pile of animal skins, stones, and large downy feathers. Inside the furnace, coals were glowing dimly, on the verge of darkening forever.

  Haymaker stepped closer, “This is a dragon’s nest? It looks like a giant pizza oven. A poorly made one.”

  “Seeing as it was built by an enormous flying lizard, I would say it was a pretty good job,” Bishop replied.

  “Ok, good point. So where’s the eggs?”

  “There may only be one. When I was in school they didn’t have courses in dragon nestology, so I’m not sure.”

  “I’m pretty sure that nestology isn’t a word,” Haymaker said, bending down to peer into the nest. He craned his neck, “but you’re right, there’s just one. It’s as big as a watermelon.”

  Bishop knelt down to get a better angle. Inside sat a single leathery egg, nestled in the glowing coals. Scattered around the egg was an array of animal carcasses and charred fruit. When the egg hatched, the baby would have a good selection of smoked meat and fruit to munch on.

  Haymaker stood up and stretched, “It looks like the egg needs heat. If we take it out of here it could die. It may have already died since the mother hasn’t been here for a couple weeks.”

  “The coals are still warm.” Bishop pointed into the nest, “With all this food around, I’d bet it’s normal for the mother to leave for long periods. The oven is designed to keep the egg hot while she is away. She may have left permanently, which would explain why she attacked Viper. If she had no nest to worry about, she would take more risks.”

  “Impressive reasoning. Especially for a man of your years.”

  Bishop let it slide, “All right Mister Fireproof Hands, pull the egg out and let’s have a look for a second.”

  Haymaker reached into the oven and tugged the heavy egg out of the narrow opening. Sparks and red hot coals spilled to the cave floor, and Haymaker gently set the steaming egg down.

  “It’s heavy. About forty pounds.”

  “A big baby,” Bishop put his hand near the egg. “Wow it’s hot. I doubt the egg cooled enough to hurt its develop… Did you see that?”

  “See what?” Haymaker knelt down beside Bishop.

  “It moved.”

  “It looks pretty still to me.”

  The egg quivered; the two men looked at each other.

  Bishop grabbed his staff and got to his feet, “Grab it. We need to get it back to the Haven quickly.” He reached into his robe for his Character Manager.

  “Sure thing.” Haymaker lifted the egg and held it away from his body, “We’re going to be mommies!”

  …

  The egg sat on a table in Bishop’s cabin. Several Haven members gathered close, watching intently. Anxious silence hovered in the air.

  Haymaker rested his head on his arms, staring at the leathery egg with a bored expression on his face, “I have to go to bed soon - work in the morning.” He looked up at Bishop, “Can I just...”

  “For the last time no!” Bishop snapped. “We’re not going to break it open. It’s an egg, not a piggy bank. Am I the only one here with patience? I’m so old I could drop dead at any time and I’m the only one who wants to wait.”

  A man who was a zookeeper in the real world spoke up, “It should be any minute.” He received several strange looks, “I mean the egg should hatch any minute. Not that Bishop would die.”

  No sooner were the words out of the man’s mouth than the egg began to shake and jump. Scrabbling and clawing could be heard from inside. A bulge appeared on one side of the egg, and another. With a pop, a tiny silvery claw poked through the shell, followed by a second. The claws pulled apart slowly, opening a small hole in the egg. A tiny snout suddenly poked through, sniffling and puffing with exertion. Forcefully, the snout pressed forward, and the eggshell tore like canvas.

  The baby dragon pulled its entire head through the opening and wriggled its body out through the growing hole. Covered in soft pearl-colored scales, the baby dragon was dazzling even in the relatively dim room. Squeaking with effort, it pushed the egg apart and flopped onto the table. The dragon opened its big, iridescent eyes and let out a shrill squawk.

  Haymaker broke the stunned silence, “That is the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”

  The dragon’s smooth snout was broken by horny ridges above the eyes, and a row of small bumps down the center that would one day become spines. It held itself up on long spindly front arms covered in a membrane that would form the main wings. Behind the forearms, another tiny pair of wings hung limp. Splotchy patches of white down covered the dragon’s body, which ended in a stumpy tail. Its eyes fixed squarely on Bishop.

  “What next, mom?” Haymaker quipped. “Are you going to nurse or use formula?”

  Bishop reached out to pet the dragon’s scaly head, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  “Umm, let me look.” Haymaker pulled out his Character Manager and searched for dragons. He tapped the screen several times until he found the notes of an early Verdian adventurer, “…the dragon’s sex is easily determined in an adult. Males are generally of lighter build and brightly colored, and considerably more numerous than females. There are exceptions to this, but it is a good rule of thumb if you cannot get close enough for a physical examination, at which point the gender should be clear. Young dragons are another matter, and their gender can be hard to ascertain.”

  Bishop rolled the dragon on its back; it was too exhausted at this point to resist, “I don’t see anything. Anyone have a guess?”

  Haymaker read again, “…however, as you can see in the picture below, if you witness the birth of a dragon the gender will be instantly apparent. Shortly after birth, male dragons will sport a fully…” Haymaker abruptly stopped reading, “Yeah, I’m gonna say it’s a girl.”

  “Are you sure?” Bishop asked.

  Haymaker nodded emphatically, “I’m very sure. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I suddenly feel the need to buy a Porsche.”

  Bishop smiled down at the baby dragon, which was now sound asleep, “Welcome to the world Christine.”

  Chapter 9

  A Thousand Words

  The Shepherd’s Cottage

  “So you’re a blacksmith?” Laura sipped on some bluegrass tea. She had spent most of her time in Ben’s house after her camera was stolen. That was over a day ago, and she had not gotten a reply to her request for a replacement.

  Laura glanced around the simple cottage, and her eyes rested on the small bed in the corner. She knew that many people took the game very seriously; having a bed did not seem completely unusual. Besides, a player’s character would “sleep” when they logged off, so they needed somewhere to go.

  “Yep. It’s fun.” Ben was doodling a picture of a sword on his kitchen table.

  “I think I’ve heard of the Shepherd before. Are you famous here or something?”

  Ben looked up, “Famous? I don’t know. Slip says people like my stuff. I don’t really like being around people.”

  “Then why did you help me?”

  “Because you were sad and you needed help. You have to help people who need help.”

  “Not everyone feels that way,” Laura took another sip of her tea. “Do you know much about the animals around here?”

  “Oh sure. There‘s a big nest of...”

  A wolf’s cry pierced the air. Gabe, who had been curled up outside the door, began growling. Laura and Ben rushed out of Ben’s cabin, searching anxiously for the source of the commotion. Gabe was whining and pawing at the ground nervously.

  “Does he do this a lot?” Laura asked.

  “Never. What’s wrong, Gabe?” Ben approached the wolf.

  Gabe suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Ben by the back of his soot-stained shirt. The wolf lightly tossed Ben onto his back. The boy landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  “He wan
ts you to go somewhere,” Laura said.

  “You want to come?” Ben sat up and grabbed on to Gabe’s fur. He dug in his heels.

  “No thanks. I’m going to study the fauna.”

  “Ok, don’t go too far, though. There are some scary things close by.” Ben hunched over, “I’m ready Gabe.”

  The wolf blasted off - a white whisper. A faint gust of wind tugged at Laura’s hair, and the wolf was gone. Laura went back inside, grabbed her journal, and tramped off into the woods. She would do what she came to do, camera or not.

  The Valor Estate

  Victor exhaled as he pulled himself up, “…twenty-four. Picture 7B.”

  The computer parroted back the command. Picture 7B.

  A wide screen on the wall flashed an image of the Verdian landscape. Victor performed pull-ups in front of the giant screen, aided by a healthy dose of experimental performance-enhancing drugs. An ugly scar - faded with time but still quite visible - streaked across his right shoulder, twisting grotesquely whenever he pulled himself up.

  He was in the library, a large room filled with four generation’s worth of books and records. The screen hung near a wide marble desk strewn with books and newspapers. Victor had dragged the set of pull-up bars from a gym on the same floor. Pictures scanned across the screen - images captured with his brand new stolen camera.

  “Discard. Give me Picture 8B.” Victor continued doing pull-ups.

  Discarding, Picture 7B. Picture 8B.

  The image was a close-up of Venom munching on some grass. A rare smile crept across Victor’s face, “Save it. Picture 9B.”

  A knock at the door startled him. Victor’s servant and butler, George, opened it slightly and poked his tired face inside.

  “Mister Victor, Mr. Downs is here. Shall I let him in?”

  Victor dropped down, “I guess. What does he want?”

  George wore a withered smile, “I believe you know sir.”

  “Let him in.”

  Patrick Downs, a man nearly as old as George, stepped through the doorway several minutes later. He straightened his tie, “Hello, Victor.”

  “Hello.” Victor sat behind the desk, leaning back in an old leather office chair.

  Downs glanced at the pull-up bars and the scuff marks scrawled on the floor, leading out the door and down the hall. He cleared his throat, “You were missed at the board meeting this morning.”

  “Was I?”

  “Victor,” Downs sighed, “do you understand what is about to happen to you if you do not take some responsibility? You are going to lose everything. You are going to lose something that your father worked very hard to create.”

  “My father is dead,” Victor stated with a calm voice. His eyes were not calm.

  “Yes he is.” Downs’ old face drew tight with anger. “This fact I am well aware of. No one can ignore the wake that such a great man leaves behind him. Vincent Valor was a hero. He donated billions to research that saved countless lives. He gave away billions more in his own company’s medicine, nearly pulling the company under, because he believed in helping people. He was my friend, and he entrusted me with the care of his company should anything happen to him. I was to hold the reins until one of his children was old enough to take them from me. He believed so much in his family; he saw such great potential in you. But now, I am faced with a difficult decision. The board moved to vote today...”

  “On what?” Victor leaned forward, his green eyes cold.

  “On whether or not Victor Valor will become the next president of Valor Pharmaceuticals.”

  Victor stood and pounded the table, “They can’t do that!”

  “They most surely can, Victor. The world used to look up to this company, and to your family. It was often said that the name “Valor” was no coincidence. Now, when they look at you - all that is left of the Valor name - they see nothing but insanity, drugs, violence…”

  “You have no idea who I am...” Victor trembled with anger.

  “But I do have an idea who your father was. And you have become something that is nothing like him,” tears welled up in Downs’s eyes, his voice cracking with conviction. “I knew who your brother was, and you are nothing...”

  Victor vaulted over the table in a flash, clearing the large room in one feral lunge. He grabbed Downs and slammed him against a bookcase, knocking several old books to the floor in a cloud of dust.

  “If you ever preach to me about my brother again I will slit your throat,” Victor forced the words out through gritted teeth.

  Downs held his breath; a sharp letter opener pressed against his neck.

  Victor glared through eyes that were crying with rage, “You will leave this house now.” He relaxed his grip and backed away, chest heaving.

  Downs shook his head in disappointment, “This is not that game you play, Victor. This is life, and you are letting it slip through your fingers. And with it, all that is left of your family will be gone. How can I encourage the board to vote in your favor? How can I let my old friend down by allowing you to destroy his work?”

  “There will be no vote. The company is mine. When I turn twenty-one the first thing I will do is remove you and everything you stand for from my company. MY company!”

  The door closed softly as Downs left in sadness. Victor returned to the screen on the wall. It displayed a green forest in the distance - one of the random landscapes that Victor had taken while testing his new stolen camera.

  Victor had intended to discard the picture, but he noticed something. He stepped closer to the screen and put his finger on a white blob at the forest’s edge. He spread his index finger and thumb. The image zoomed in on the blob.

  Victor grinned. The company and Mr. Downs were forgotten. He forgot about missing his chance to steal a dragon’s egg. He had found something more interesting.

  Chapter 10

  The Wolf Rider

  Morter’s Point

  “Hold!” Morter shouted to the NPC guards forming a spear wall in front of his tiny outpost.

  Morter’s Point was a small town at a crossroads that connected several farms in the region. The path that cut through the center of town was a direct road to Bluegrass and the coast. Morter’s Point perched atop a grassy hill that poked out of the surrounding forest. A few small farms littered the hill’s base, mostly growing food for the townspeople.

  Only NPCs lived at Morter’s Point; there was nothing stopping players from settling in, but nothing attracting them either. NPC towns were the only places in Verdia where children could be found. NPCs could “marry” each other, but because of Dalton’s insistence that the game avoid the legal and public relations baggage attached to sexuality, the reproductive process was a mysterious one.

  Morter and the other townsmen were defending their homes against bandits affiliated with the Conquerors. Two hundred raiders had gathered outside the town and were preparing an assault. A small group of twenty spearmen stood little chance against the well- armed bandits. Their only advantage was that they were on high ground, which offered little comfort against the current odds.

  Women and children had barricaded themselves in the town hall, hoping that Omni would send some aid their way before the village burned. Nervous faces exchanged glances; the children played games on the floor as if nothing was wrong.

  Surly bandits marched up the hill in a gaggle of clanging swords and spears. They were a ragtag bunch of players of all races looking to score some quick experience and loot. Attacking peaceful villages was much more convenient than trekking into the hellish wilderness to kill monsters or raiding stronger “evil” NPC cities. As they neared the small line of spearmen, they shouted and jeered at the defenders.

  “Hold, men!” Morter yelled again. He lowered his spear and the other villagers followed suit. “Help will arrive, I know it! Stand your ground!”

  The NPCs shook with fear. They knew they were about to be wiped out and their families with them. They bravely held their ground as the marauders c
harged up the hill.

  A piercing howl shook the air. With a savage snarl, an enormous white saberwolf burst out of the forest - a small boy hanging on its back for dear life. The wolf bounded across the grassy field between the forest and the raiders in a manner of seconds - a white blur under a blue sky.

  The raiders had little time to react before the wolf plowed into the mob. Bodies scattered like leaves as the wolf tore a path through the group of marauders. Milky white fangs sank into anything that came within range. He raked, bit, and clawed his way through the ranks of raiders. In a matter of seconds, the wolf emerged unscathed, facing the astonished spearmen. A river of broken bodies divided the gang of marauders into two equally terrified groups.

  Morter stepped forward, “Who are you?”

  …

  “I’m Ben,” Ben panted. He did not know where he was or what was going on, “This is my wolf, Gabe.”

  “I am Morter, the leader of this outpost. Thank you for your help. Your wolf is amazing. I have never seen a thing like that before.”

  Gabe growled and turned to face the marauders. He pawed at the ground anxiously. One attacker cried, “Run away!” and the group fled down the hill.

  “After them!” Morter raised his spear and took off down the hill. His men shouted and rushed forward. Gabe sprinted ahead and howled with glee.

  The bandits did not make it halfway down the hill before Gabe and the spearmen caught them. A massacre ensued. Gabe tore through flesh, bone, and armor with ease. Triumphant spearmen rounded up any stragglers; nothing escaped.

  When things were safe, the women and children emerged from the town hall. Morter and his men gathered around Ben and Gabe. Morter reached up and shook Ben’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Morter beamed. “You saved our town.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” Ben replied. He considered how to explain that he had very little control over the current situation, and that Gabe was calling the shots.