Ragged Heroes: An Epic Fantasy Collection

by Andy Peloquin

Fenrir jumped to his feet, lunging for the elves with a snarl. The three stepped back, a reflex action none could tame. Fenrir hit the end of the chain and jolted backward with a squeal and a cough as it compressed his windpipe. Disregarding the chain at his neck, he lunged again and again, demonstrating the truth of the wild animal that he was.

  Garamaen turned, chin to chest as he trudged out into the dimming light of late afternoon. They made it thirty paces before Garamaen fell in the snow. When his body refused to stand, Ullr heaved him onto the sled.

  Chapter 5

  A howl shattered the night air. Garamaen bolted upright. Blinding pain sent him back to the floor with a strangled curse. When the moment passed, he gingerly sat up, clutching his stump to his chest. The wound throbbed with his heartbeat and radiated up into his elbow and beyond. His vision swam, and he swallowed down a lump of sour bile.

  “Is he loose?” Éostre demanded. She crouched a few paces away, one hand raised above her head to grip the exposed wood beam that supported the ceiling. With a start, Garamaen realized they were back in his borrowed room in the barbegazi village. He lay near the fire, one of the white goat-wool blankets pooled around his waist and covering his legs.

  He searched his memory. He remembered binding Fenrir in his lair, but the rest was a foggy mess. Thoughts swirled like snowflakes on the gusts of wind outside.

  “Impossible,” Ullr replied. “I tied those knots myself.”

  Garamaen slowly turned his head to look at his friend. Like Éostre, Ullr crouched to avoid hitting his head, but sweat dripped down his face. His hair lay plastered to his head, while a thin undershirt stuck to his skin.

  A second howl sent shivers coursing down Garamaen’s spine. When a third joined in, Garamaen knew.

  “Fenrir’s family has come for me.” The sound barely carried over the crackling of the fire.

  Éostre looked over her shoulder at him. She blew out a relieved breath.

  “Thank the gods you’re awake,” she said.

  Muffled voices shouted outside, pulling her attention back to the door. Garamaen couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear. Panic.

  On instinct, Garamaen shut his eyes to access the Sight. Nothing came. Darkness surrounded him. His heart pounded until he thought it would burst out of his chest. He gasped, eyelids snapping open to bring him back to the physical plane.

  Éostre tried the door latch, jiggling it back and forth a few times. “They bolted it from the outside.”

  “As if a puny bolt could stop us.” Ullr crab-walked forward to Eostre’s side. He grabbed the latch and yanked, trying to force it open. The bolt held.

  Garamaen struggled to focus.

  A crash of splintering wood, followed by a young girl’s scream had Ullr pounding on the door.

  “Give it a good kick, right here,” Éostre placed her hand on the wood below the knob and toward the center. “The grain is weak, it will shatter.”

  With a quick nod, Ullr lay on the ground, his left knee tucked up against the door frame while his right prepared for the kick. He tapped the indicated spot with his foot once, twice, then exploded through the four-inch-thick board. As predicted, the wood didn’t stop him.

  As soon as Ullr cleared out of the way, Éostre reached through the gap to push up the bolt and open the door.

  “Stay here,” she warned Garamaen. “You’re in no condition to fight.”

  She didn’t wait for a response. Garamaen blinked. A dagger appeared in her right hand. The next moment both elves were gone, the door was shut, and Garamaen hadn’t seen a thing.

  The mountain shook. A thundering crack and ominous rumble. Shouts and snarls. The sounds of battle carried through the rock.

  He couldn’t let them fight alone.

  Garamaen crawled forward to the door on three limbs, keeping his stub of an arm pulled tightly to his chest. He kneeled, pushed on the wood with his good hand. Wind blasted through the opening. Garamaen leaned forward into the gale, struggling to hold onto his blanket, flimsy in the face of this mountain storm. Pressing his right foot into the snow, he forced himself upright and stepped out into chaos.

  Fire burned on every exposed flammable surface. A wolf lunged for a barbegazi warrior, a useless unlit arrow clutched in his hand. His wet gurgling scream was cut off as teeth tore into the crease between neck and shoulder. With a shake of its head, the wolf snapped the warrior’s spine and tossed the body aside, then leaped on the next in line. Arrows prickled the creature’s skin like the spines on a porcupine, but it ignored them all.

  A second wolf slunk around the fire line, watching the warriors and avoiding their weapons. She sniffed, her gray muzzle curling in distaste. Her eyes locked onto Garamaen.

  “You . . . ” she growled. She didn’t bother with more words.

  Three steps. Her powerful hind legs bunched beneath her, and she launched into the air. Mouth stretched wide, she arrowed in on Garamaen. He let her come.

  A battle cry tore from Ullr’s lips. His broad shoulders met the wolf in the air, knocking her to the side. They rolled in the snow, a tangle of limbs and teeth. Blood sprayed.

  Ullr didn’t have his axe.

  Without thought, Garamaen dropped his blanket. He reached for the space where his sword usually hung, with a hand that no longer existed. He cursed.

  A shout from the right. Garamaen spun. Nearly lost his balance.

  A third wolf darted in toward Éostre, targeting his sister’s legs. Eostre’s daggers flashed in the light of the village fires, blocking the attack. The wolf leaped back, then darted in again. Faster.

  Still weak, Éostre faltered. The wolf lunged in knocking the elf to the snow. Slathering fangs snapped in her face.

  Snarls and growls, teeth and claws exposed. Eostre’s head turned to the side, pressing back into the snow as she struggled to keep her face out of range of the wolf at her throat.

  Garamaen’s breathing sped. He couldn’t watch his sister die. Couldn’t be responsible for her death. His own life was forfeit, but hers didn’t need to be.

  He reached out with every sense, pulling tendrils of energy to him from every source available. It was too little, and too much. But the berserker rage was on him. His vision hazed red. His heart pounded. Energy flowed through his body like fire across a dry plain.

  He would pay for his excess.

  With a scream of fury, Garamaen launched himself at the wolf holding his sister down. He lowered his shoulder. Rammed the beast in the side. The she-wolf rolled away in a lightning-fast spin that had her back on her feet in an instant.

  With a snarl, the wolf changed her target. She lunged forward, her claws scraping across Garamaen’s injured arm.

  Searing pain registered in the back of his brain, but he ignored it, intent on his opponent. With a roar, Garamaen lifted the wolf in the air and tossed her to the side.

  “Brother, here!” Éostre tossed him one of her gold-handled daggers. He automatically reached for it with the stump of his right hand. The blade fell to the snow.

  The wolf was on him again, hot breath in his face. Éostre landed a kick in its side, knocking the wolf away.

  Éostre drew yet another blade from behind her back, pressing it into Garamaen’s left hand without looking away from the wolf who paced in front of them. Risking a quick glance behind, Garamaen checked on Ullr. The other elf was still engaged with the elder wolf, but he had found a flaming arrow and was using it like a fencing blade to keep her from closing in.

  “Retreat. Regroup.” Éostre panted.

  “No. This ends now.” Garamaen sprinted forward, burning the last of the energy he’d stolen and giving the wolf no time to react. He punched her in the side of the head. Landed on top of her. Pressing his body down and holding her face to the ground, he stared the she-wolf in the eye. The dagger pressed up into the soft spot beneath the wolf’s jaw, the point angled to achieve maximum damage.

  The wolf whimpered. White showed all the way around her eye. Her pupil dilated.
/>   The elder wolf instantly disengaged from Ullr and bounded toward Garamaen and the younger pack member.

  “Halt!” Garamaen shouted before she came too close. He pressed the knife tighter to the young wolf’s throat, pressing deep enough through the fur to draw a drop of blood.

  “Kill me, and Fenrir will never be free. Kill my friends, and he will die chained and alone, unable to hunt. But if you call off the pack and leave now, never again to hunt the barbegazi or their animals, we will ensure he lives a long and comfortable life.”

  “A prisoner? Choose death.” Her language was stilted and hesitant, though the words were strong. She didn’t have Fenrir’s capacity for speech.

  “Then he shall die.”

  The wolf’s tawny eye studied Garamaen’s face. “How trust? Oathbreaker.”

  Garamaen’s stomach clenched. The blood drained from his face. “Fenrir took my hand. I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

  The wolf grinned. “Dead walk.”

  Garamaen’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  The wolf chuffed. “Will soon.”

  Garamaen shook his head at the cryptic remark, but let it lie. There was no need to argue. Not anymore. He pressed on.

  “You must choose. Fenrir and this young one’s life in exchange for the pack’s departure? Or Fenrir’s death for the pleasure of terrorizing the barbegazi?”

  The youngster whimpered as the elder wolf paced back and forth, her head lowered between bony shoulders. Her tongue flicked out with a slathering curl.

  “We leave. We take care of Fenrir.”

  “So long as you never again visit the barbegazi or elven settlements, Fenrir will be well cared for. You may come and go from his cavern as you please.”

  “Permission not needed. Oathbreaker help not needed. You go, never come back or we kill you.”

  “Accepted,” Garamaen replied. It was what he wanted anyway. He wouldn’t burden this realm or its inhabitants with his care.

  “Now.” The wolf met Garamaen’s unwavering gaze in challenge.

  Garamaen hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Ullr and Éostre here to clean up this mess alone, but how much help could he be? His Sight was gone from this point forward. His hand was gone. He couldn’t help rebuild, he could only burn and destroy.

  A low, quiet growl reverberated from the wolf’s chest. With a resigned breath, Garamaen sat back on his heels, releasing the young wolf. He extended the knife to Éostre, handle first.

  “I will go with you,” Éostre offered as she sheathed the blade in the holster behind her back.

  “No.” Garamaen shook his head. His decision had been made before this quest ever began. “You must stay and help the barbegazi rebuild from this. They will need your skills to replace what has been lost to fire.”

  “Then I will take you home,” Ullr said.

  Garamaen took a deep breath, the last of his energy draining away. His chin dropped, his heart as heavy as his limbs. “You cannot come with me.”

  “Someone must.”

  “I am not going home.”

  Éostre gasped. “You are needed.”

  “Where will you go?” Ullr demanded.

  “The portals are open, many unexplored. I will find my way.”

  A snarl interrupted the argument.

  “It is time,” Garamaen said.

  “At least tell us where you will go.”

  Garamaen looked away, gesturing for the wolf to precede him. “Take me to the portal.” Clutching his cloak around tired shoulders, he trudged through the snow to the portal and a future unknown.

  The End

  * * *

  Continue the Early Adventures of Lord Garamaen in Shaman,

  Available FREE at

  www.meganhaskell.com

  About the Author

  Legend has it I was born with a book in my hands. Thirty-ish years later, I'm a stay-at-home-mom who prefers a good story over doing the dishes. Only now, I'm building my own fantasy worlds! I am the award-winning author of The Sanyare Chronicles, a fast-paced dark fantasy adventure set in the nine faerie realms. I am also the Program Director of O.C. Writers, A Network of Published and Aspiring Authors, located in Orange County, CA.

  Read More from Megan Haskell

  www.meganhaskell.com

  The Wolf’s Law

  Jonathan Yanez

  Chapter 1

  The warrior heard the cry of the child as he crested the last hill. The smell of blood was on the wind, the sounds of conflict having just died moments before.

  Caderyn Moore soon saw with his eyes what his other senses told him had been there all along. A battle had taken place on the dirt road connecting the cities of Azra and New Hope. A bloody conflict claiming the lives of all but two involved.

  Dead bodies littered the ground all the way to where a young man sat propped up against a rock. He held gently in his arms something no larger than the size of a loaf of bread. Despite the blood pouring from the man’s right side, he clutched the swaddled bundle to his chest as if it were life itself.

  One group of warriors involved in the fight had been traveling in secret. Long brown robes with deep hoods had covered them from head to toe while they journeyed. The other force that now littered the ground had been a band of well-prepared mercenaries clearly ready for a fight.

  “Help … help us,” the man holding the baby implored. His voice sounded so much younger than Caderyn would have guessed. He couldn’t have been far out of his teens.

  The sound of a tiny baby’s whimper followed.

  “I don’t think so. What happened here?” Caderyn’s dark brown eyes maneuvered over the battle scene. By the way the bodies had fallen and the tracks in the dirt ground, he could make an educated guess. Still, he wanted to hear it from the stranger’s mouth. “Who are you?”

  “We—” The man coughed and spit blood to the side, careful to not let a single drop touch the baby in his arms. “We’re Nephilim, entrusted with taking the child to New Hope. We were set upon by our enemies. I don’t know how they knew we would be here. We were supposed to be a small, secretive band.”

  “Looks like someone sold you out.” Caderyn counted the dead bodies. There were five hooded figures dead on the ground, with more than three times that of the mercenaries dressed in black and steel armor. “It seems you made a good accounting for yourself. You should be congratulated. And by Nephilim, I assume you mean angel.”

  “No … no the Nephilim are only servants to the angels. We’re human just like you, only granted with special abilities given to us by the ang—” Another vicious coughing fit silenced whatever the man was going to say next.

  “I am nothing like you, human, Nephilim, or whatever it is you want to be called.” Caderyn maneuvered through the aftermath of the fight, looking for anything valuable on the dead. “I heard your battle from far off. I also picked up the sounds of a group traveling toward us from the east. You’re going to have more company soon.”

  “Please … please, my name is Andrew. You must take this child to New Hope. She is more important than you can imagine. She will bring about a change in this land. Others will meet you there. Two days from now at an inn called the Four Territories. I—”

  “You keep on talking like I said I was going to help you,” Caderyn said, leaning down to search one of the dead mercenary bodies on the ground. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with the next group of travelers coming over the hill. They should arrive in three, two…”

  “Hey, look what we’ve got over here!” the harsh voice drifted on the wind.

  Caderyn continued to search the mercenary bodies for valuables.

  Andrew gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stand, still holding the child in his large arms.

  Three filthy-looking travelers and one who looked like she had just taken a bath entered the area a moment later. The largest one, a brute with a shaved head and rotten teeth, spoke again. “Well, looks like we got here not a moment too so
on. I was just saying to myself, ‘Self, something is going to happen today to make it a great day,’ and look, here it is! Nothing but a pile of bodies to go through and take what we will.”

  “For the future and all that is holy, will you please help me?” Andrew’s voice was faint, but there was still strength in his words as he implored the new group of strangers. “This child is meant to do great things, and if you take her to New Hope, you will be rewarded extravagantly.”

  While the two men spoke, Caderyn got a better look at the four travelers. Besides the brute who seemed to be the leader, there were three others. One was a thin man with shifty eyes and a snake-like tongue that kept shooting in and out of his mouth. Another was a heavy-set, bare-chested man who stared daggers at Caderyn. He was taller than Caderyn’s own six-foot frame by a few inches.

  The last was a woman with long brown hair who seemed more interested in the midday sun than any of the events going on around her.

  “Susan, what’s the word extraveggantilly mean?” The leader looked over to the woman.

  “It means excessive, Joshua,” Susan said, rolling her eyes.

  “What?” Joshua tore his gaze from Andrew and Caderyn. “What does that mean?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Susan threw her hands up in frustration. “Of course you’re not. How did I fall in with you lot? It means extreme, elaborate, a lot.”

  “Oh, a lot. That’s all you had to say.” Joshua turned back to Andrew with a shrug of his wide shoulders. “Sorry, but we’re wanted in New Hope and half of the other cities in the Outland. We’ll just take everything you’ve got now. Children go for an extrivgantly amount at the slave pens.”

  Joshua looked over at Susan with a twitch of his brow at his use of the word.

  “You’re an idiot.” Susan crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t deal in kids.”

  “You won’t have to deal in anything,” the beast of the man beside Joshua huffed. “You’re only with us for a short time.”