Taliesin didn’t need a reminder; she knew of the bloodthirsty god and his two evil wolves. Osprey had often talked about Varguld, the Age of the Wolf, the end of the world, when evil would reign unchecked. She thought of Lykus, the first of the Wolf Clan, and wondered if he’d been Varg’s son, or was it really only legend, and the gods didn’t even exist. Navenna certainly hadn’t protected her, despite her prayers.
“But you...you are a sha’tar,” Wolfgar said. “You can be as powerful as the new gods, if you so choose, and now that you are Wolfen, it is only a matter of time before Varg will come out of his cave at the center of the world to welcome you to our clan.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant. I’d rather not meet him.”
“No?” he said, laughing. “But how could he resist coming from Mt. Helos to meet the one and only living sha’tar? Perhaps he will choose to breed with you; such a child would have godly powers. Can you imagine? You’d be treated like a queen in our clan, and your child might even be given a clan of his own to lead. Now come. You must eat and regain your strength. There is much yet to do before we head east to join Prince Almaric and Master Phelon.”
The mention of Chief Lykus’s son, Phelon, made her wonder if he’d object to such a child being born. If Lykus was a thousand years old and had yet to turn over the leadership of the Wolf Pack to Phelon, then she doubted any rival would be tolerated or even allowed to live. A large paw of a hand closed around her elbow and guided Taliesin through the sleeping wolves to a section of the cavern where a rabbit was roasting on a spit over another fire, previously unnoticed. One end of the spit lay in the dirt, the rabbit was uncooked on that side, while the other part had burned black and crispy. Wolfgar held the raw section of rabbit and removed the carcass from the spit. He motioned for Taliesin to sit. She obeyed, and he unceremoniously dropped the rabbit at her feet. While she picked at the blackened end, he retrieved a flask lying on the ground and brought it to her. The burnt meat stuck in her throat. “Awful,” Taliesin gagged, spitting out the rabbit. “Tastes just awful.” She opened the flask and took a drink. Red, heavy wine, so thick it was almost syrup, poured into her mouth. Wolfgar chuckled as Taliesin kept drinking, the sound more animal than human. His eyes kept turning from gold to green, wolf to human, and the sight greatly disturbed her. Taliesin drained the flask, dropped it to the ground, and grabbed the rabbit again. She sank her teeth into the raw section; it was tender, delicious, and melted in her mouth, and, when she’d eaten it all, she belched.
“The change is already upon you,” Wolfgar said. “It is a pity you lost your silver sword. You must leave it, and the silver you carry, behind, Taliesin. The pain of silver touching your body is worse than the scorching from a fire.” He caressed her face. “And I would spare you that pain. Together, we will find Ringerike and...”
Taliesin thrust his hand aside. “I won’t help you find the sword,” she said, a fierce temper upon her. She still wore her sword belt, and the pouch containing the map and the key was still in her possession. The Wolfmen apparently hadn’t searched her, and they felt confident, now that she was infected, that she’d help them retrieve Ringerike. She’d rather die than help them or Prince Almaric. “I no more want to be a wolf than I want to help your leader gain a throne,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. Waving Wolfgar off, she turned her head and retched. The raw meat she’d hardly chewed came from her roiling guts and splattered onto the ground.
“How do you feel?” Wolfgar said, placing a hand on her arm to steady her.
“Awful.”
Wolfgar knelt beside her and watched her face. “It’s obvious you know little of the legend of our clan, or would you feel honored to have been chosen to join us,” he said. “Varg was a halfling, never able to turn into a wolf or a human; his form was always stuck between the two. Like his father, he mated with a woman, and their son, Caninus, the first Wolfen, was able to turn human or wolf at will. The Wolf Clan did not come to power until led by Lykus, a decedent of Caninus. Once Almaric is crowned king, he has promised to make Lykus a duke and give us lands of our own. You will make this possible, Taliesin, by bringing Ringerike to the true king.”
“Are you sure Almaric can be trusted?” Taliesin said, thinking the captain mad.
“Chief Lykus has promised Almaric to turn him into one of us,” he said, “once he has the throne. What man does not lust for immortality?” He lifted his arms and slowly pivoted. “I was turned two hundred years ago, but look the same as I did on that day near the town of Riordan, when I stumbled upon a black wolf hunting a white stag. One bite was all it took. Phelon, son of Chief Lykus, turned me, and when asked to join his clan, I was happy to do so. I left a wife and three children behind, long since dead, and now you will outlive your own friends and never age. You’ll always look just as you do now.”
“What I am, is cursed!”
Wolfgar was standing so close it was impossible not to smell his strong body odor, the same wet-dog scent shared by every Wolfman in the cave. He took a step from her and flung open his cloak, the transformation already upon him, and hair sprouted over every inch of skin. His legs grew long, and bend oddly at the knees as his torso lengthened, his shoulders hunched over, and claws hung from the ends of his fingers. Terrified and unsure of what he meant to do, she backed against the cave wall as the creature loomed above her. His jaw was open, exposing long rows of fangs. She turned aside and trembled as his head lowered and a rough, long, red tongue slid across her forehead. Her reaction was involuntary; she kicked him between his furry legs, slid under his outstretched arms, and ran toward the exit of the cave.
A cry of rage woke the other Wolfmen, and they pursued as she scrambled over wet rocks and slipped and slid over the escarpment. The roar from the waterfall and the rushing river below drowned out the echoing howls inside the cave. She worked her way to an ancient stairway cut into the rock, and reached the top of the cliff no more than ten feet from the dead Fregian knights and soldiers. Unsure where to go or where to hide, she dove into the midst of the rotting bodies, and held her breath as the Wolfmen scrambled over and around the dead, searching for her among the rocks. The loud howls and snarls sounded further away, but she remained among the bodies, the ripe stench filling her nostrils as maggots wriggling across her face and closed mouth.
“Where is she, Udolf?” Wolfgar’s voice carried to her. He was twenty yards away, yet she clearly heard him. “One bite should have been enough to turn her. Yet, despite having been bitten numerous times, the Raven Mistress remains human. Master Phelon will not be pleased if she’s escaped us yet again—I dare not fail him.”
“Perhaps she doubled back,” the lieutenant said, in a gruff voice. He stood next to the pile of bodies where Taliesin lay, close enough she could see his bare, dirty legs; he’d not yet turned. “The rain washes away her scent, making it difficult to detect her. Yet, I see no foot prints, nor hear the sound of her running.”
She heard Wolfgar sniffing the air. Every muscle stiffened as she prayed to Navenna he’d not notice her, that he’d move on to search for her elsewhere, and she’d be able to escape. A scream caught in her throat as she spotted Wolfgar’s glowing, amber eyes right above her.
“I see you, little raven,” he said, with a snarl.
Hands started removing the bodies. The moment she was spotted, Taliesin scrambled over the bodies, choking on the stench as she felt soft innards squishing beneath her hands and feet. Wolfgar and Udolf, in human form, reached out and tried to grab her. Breathing hard, her heart racing, she scrambled over the pile of corpses. Her fingers curled around a broken spear that lay on the body of a Fregian knight, and she spun and stabbed a dark form behind her. Udolf let out a grunt of pain and toppled to his side, holding the spear that protruded from his stomach. Wolfgar leapt onto the bodies, his hand raised, and a hard blow knocked her off her feet. She tumbled to the ground and screamed as he jumped on her and grabbed at her with clawed hands. She fought and tried to break free.
“You killed my family!” Taliesin shouted. “Your father and your clan ate Osprey and turned the twins into monsters. I’ll never help you! Never!”
Wolfgar’s mouth pressed against her ear. “Yes, you will, or I’ll hunt down your friends and let my men roast them over a fire until they are burned to a crisp. Then we will hunt Sir Roland and Prince Sertorius and eat them while they beg for mercy.”
“Zarnoc will stop you! He is a powerful wizard and can turn you into worms!”
“I fear no wizard,” Wolfgar said. He pinned her arms to the ground as rain pelted his back. He leaned over her, blocking the raindrops from hitting her face. Large, dark forms crept around them and moved closer. The snarls and growls died out. “There is no escape, Taliesin. You will return to the cave and show me on the map where we can find Ringerike. As soon as the rain lets up, we will go to the Cave of the Snake God and retrieve the sword; then you will come with us to meet Prince Almaric.”
Taliesin was dragged into the cave and thrown to the ground, close to a fire. The Wolfmen entered the cave, and, wrapped in cloaks, watched as Udolf took her by the arms and held her still. Wolfgar knelt, slid his hands along her back and across her breasts, unfastened her belt, and took her pouch. Udolf released her with a snarl and gave her a hard slap to the side of her head, before moving to the opposite side of the fire. He threw wood onto the fire and sparked it to life, while outside the rain slowed to a drizzle.
Wolfgar sat beside Taliesin and handed her the pouch. Feeling like she had no choice, she opened the pouch, removed the Deceiver’s Map, and willed it to turn into a board. The map opened on her lap and showed their position in the cave, showed the ravine, and then revealed the dukedom of Thule where Prince Almaric was encamped with a massive army.
“What do you see?” Wolfgar asked. He sat cross-legged beside her and peered at the map. “I see nothing, but I am not a warlord or wizard. What does the map show you?”
“Prince Almaric and his army,” she said.
“Try again,” he insisted. “Tell the map to show you the cave.”
Taliesin spread her hand across the map. Colors swirled about, formed landscapes and bodies of water, revealed her location to be not more than one hundred feet from where she’d been taken captive, and showed the route to the Cave of the Snake God. As she stared at the map, the interior of the cave appeared as it had before, and outlined the temple built within. Steps led to a large chamber with a statue of a six-headed snake that stood over forty feet tall; in one of its jaws was Ringerike. “The cave isn’t far from here,” she said. “The sword is in a chamber at the back of the cave.” She also saw a number of clearly-marked traps and flags warning of the chambers to avoid; that information she withheld. “The door to the cave is sealed by a rock slide. It will take all of your men to clear away the stones, but we still need a key to get inside.”
“You have this key?” Wolfgar said. “What else is in your pouch?” He grabbed it from her and dumped the contents onto the ground. A gold medallion, a necklace of blue beads with a broken clasp, a small knife, several jade stones she’d collected on the way, a comb, a leather string, twelve gold coins, and a large sapphire were all examined by the captain. He held the medallion and his finger glided over the image of a snake. “This is the key, isn’t it? Don’t lie to me, or I may decide to cut off a finger or two. They will regrow, but it will be painful. I will do far worse if you think you can outwit me, Raven Mistress. Far worse.”
“Yes, it’s the key,” Taliesin said. “But you shouldn’t touch it. It’s magical and could hurt you.” He instantly dropped the medallion. She placed everything, except the map, into the pouch. “I think I see something else of importance.” She slid her finger across the map and thought of her friends. They were camped a mile from the ravine. She thought of Sertorius and saw a tiny Maldavian flag with a caravan, headed west to Dunatar Castle, on the eastern coastline. But the person she really wanted to find was Roland. Her heart leapt in her chest as a tiny white stag and a gold eagle appeared, headed toward the ravine; Roland and Xander were no more than ten miles to the east.
“What else do you see?” Wolfgar demanded.
“It’s a very strange map. It shows me many things.” Her mouth felt dry. Taliesin licked her lips and looked for a flask of water or wine. Wolfgar sensed what she wanted and turned toward Udolf, who fetched a flask and brought it to her. “Thanks,” she said, taking off the cap and grimacing as she swallowed the thick, syrupy wine. It tasted horrible, but quenched her thirst. “We’ll need ropes to descend into the ravine and to reach the top of the statue. Do you have ropes?”
“We have backpacks we wear when in wolf form,” Wolfgar said. “There is enough rope at our disposal. What about the Eagle legionnaires? Do you see them?”
She nodded and lied. “Twenty miles to the east. The desert has flooded and they must cross a river to reach us. It will take them a day, maybe more, to do so.”
Wolfgar growled. “Very well,” he said. “But you had better be telling the truth.” He reached out and placed his large hand on her thigh as she folded the map and stuffed it into the pouch. He allowed her to fasten the belt around her waist. “It will be dawn soon, and the rain is letting up. Udolf, see if the river in the ravine has abated. As soon as it’s dry enough, get the ropes so we can rappel down the canyon wall.”
The lieutenant went to the entrance and looked out. The Wolfmen went to the far side of the cave and retrieved their backpacks, which were fastened onto a harness designed to fit the body of a large wolf. Ropes and small bags of food were taken out of the packs, and the men sat and ate, talking in soft whispers. One brought Wolfgar his cloak, and he put it around his shoulders. He wasn’t cold, none of them were, but at least he had the decency to cover his hairy genitals and block his musky odor. He lay beside the fire, rested his head on his arm, and closed his eyes.
Taliesin was tempted to ask him why she hadn’t changed yet; what was keeping her from turning Wolfen. Perhaps it was her magic. Her senses had sharpened; she could see every hair on Wolfgar’s chest and the rippling of his skin when the breeze blew across his body, and she could smell the meatiness of his breath. She could see everything in the cave and was even able to discern quartz and lines of gold running through the wall. Her nose picked up the odor of decaying flesh, but this information she also withheld, not wanting to tell the captain anything more than he needed to know.
With a predator’s yawn, Wolfgar shifted his position, tossed a side of his robe out, and motioned her to lie beside him. “I suggest you stay close to me,” he said, without opening his eyes. “If you need to relieve yourself, wake me, and I will take you out. Udolf’s injury has healed, but you should not do anything to give him reason to hurt you.”
Taliesin lay beside the captain, aware of the heat radiating from his body; the Wolfmen seemed to be hot-blooded. She pressed against him, miserable in her wet clothes, but was not willing to remove them so they could dry. He snuggled behind her, spooning, and she caught a whiff of his primal body odor. She allowed herself to shut her eyes and, wishing it were Roland she was lying next to, soon fell asleep.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Once it was daylight, the Wolf Pack began removing the boulders and other rocks that blocked the entrance to the Cave of the Snake God. The monstrous creatures, transformed into the juxtaposition between man and wolf, proved incredibly strong and, stranger yet, able to communicate. Their rugged voices echoed through the ravine, though many growled and snapped at one another as the day grew hotter. Wolfgar, the only Wolfen in human form, and dressed in armor, ordered the largest stones used to build a dam on either side of the entrance, so if it rained again, the floodwaters would be kept from flowing into the temple. The rock wall grew larger and higher. His lieutenant, Udolf, flanked him, a massive gray beast on hind legs that barked every order given by Wolfgar in a voice twice as loud and threatening.
Within the hour, an entryway with six giant p
illars, cracked and chipped but still standing, was revealed, and Wolfgar shouted for Taliesin to join him at the entrance. A large door was engraved with images of giant snakes and Lorian priests of the Snake Cult standing and kneeling; some being devoured and some mating with the snakes in a profane, twisted ritual. She sensed a strange, pulsating evil in the air; dark magic protected the door. She removed the medallion from the leather pouch, searched for a lock, and after a few moments, found a circular indentation on the right side of the door. The medallion fit snugly and, seen only by her, the enchantments on the door shimmered as the door opened inwards with a groan.
“Keep close to me, Taliesin,” Wolfgar said. “Get the map and warn of us any traps. I smell death inside this cave; we must be careful.”
Taliesin took the medallion out of the door and followed the men inside. She placed the key inside her pouch, removed the Deceiver’s Map, opened it wide, and found the blueprints of the temple. A brightly-glowing path led all the way to Ringerike.
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