Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  He was taking great pleasure in that. Of course he would have been happier killing them, but he couldn’t quite forget the anger of the glowing people. Still, he was happy to take down a priest or two wherever he could, and he hoped that they were learning fear. He also hoped he was defending his people with every strike.

  Naturally they had no thought that it was a wildling hunting them. They thought it was a dusky elf. After all they had been in the region until only a month or so ago, the battle bow was their weapon of choice and he'd learned to fletch his arrows as they did. It was a ruse that Andar the Brave had used a thousand years before, and he figured if it had worked for him well enough that his battles had become a book of epic verse on his shelf, he could use it too.

  And the Dicans were learning what it felt like to be hunted and that was a good thing. Even if it meant that it was a good thirty soldiers and three priests in armour that thundered through the forest toward his home that morning. They were taking no chances.

  Naturally when Dorn heard them he hurried for his rooftop, and was safely on top of it by the time he saw the first of the soldiers break through the trees and gallop the last fifty paces or so to the gate. There were a lot of soldiers. Far more than he could face in battle. But he knew they weren't there for him. They didn't know he lived there. They didn't know that anyone lived there. The reason they'd come was because the Dicans had two enemies. Wildlings and those of other faiths. And they knew there was an ancient shrine to Xeria in the courtyard. A shrine that they intended to destroy. It was a trip he'd expected them to make sooner or later. They'd been riding throughout the region destroying other shrines for weeks after all.

  And knowing that sooner or later they'd come he'd readied a trap for them. Something that would hopefully convince them that they wanted no part of this place. Not the fort, not Little Rock and not even the wastes.

  Naturally he couldn't attack them. Not here. Not in these numbers. Even if he could have fought them off he could never allow them to make the connection between him and the ancient fort. And if some escaped or others came to see bodies riddled with arrows they would know. So this would not be a place where the dusky elf struck. This would be something far more cunning and far more terrible. It would be a place where the Dicans truly learned fear. Maybe even enough fear to decide they didn't want to stay here.

  The plan itself wasn't his. Like all his knowledge of strategy, it was stolen from some of the tomes of epic verse he had in his little collection. But he doubted the authors would mind if he borrowed their strategy from centuries before. And it was such an apt strategy for this particular enemy. For the Dicans. Dorn smiled a little when he thought of what was going to happen. Even when he watched the nearest soldiers dismount and start forcing the gate aside.

  Then he watched as they entered the courtyard on foot, hunting out any danger that might be present. Naturally they didn't enter the fort. They couldn't since they hadn't brought ladders with them. But they were very careful to check the entire courtyard thoroughly, hunting desperately for any sign of a dusky elf. It was a good twenty minutes before the priests were finally willing to step inside the ancient structure, and even then to Dorn's mind they looked nervous as they checked the battlements and the fort windows for any sign of an elf with a battle bow.

  They had taken to heart the lesson about fear. He liked that. Soon they would learn terror.

  They were nervous for another reason too. At least he hoped they were. He was sure the locals had told them the stories about the ancient fort. The people who'd gone missing without a trace when they'd visited. The terrible beasts that were rumoured to call it home, eating anyone foolish enough to come too close. And soldiers were always superstitious. It was the nature of their work. They saw threats around every corner and those they could see they could deal with. But what scared them were those threats they didn't see and couldn't protect themselves from. That fear was going to become his weapon.

  The priests of course would laugh at such a thing. They could deal with the darkness of the night. They feared the things they could actually see, like elves with battle bows. But surely he thought, in the very deepest recesses of their souls even they doubted? That doubt would become his most devastating weapon.

  Of course he had to wait for the time to arrive. The wait seemed far too long to him. But there was a ritual to go through. The priests were always concerned with their rituals. Even when they were really only going to cleanse the area with their one true weapon, fire. It began with the prayers of course. The Dicans praying to their foul god for protection and strength as they sought to remove the presence of the ancient goddess from the land. And as they did it the soldiers were busy piling up kindling around the shrine, never realising that that was exactly what he was waiting for. The priests didn't realise it either as they continued their prayers.

  Twenty long minutes later they were ready. The shrine was completely surrounded with kindling, and the priests looked determined. It was time for the soldiers to set the wooden altar and the offerings table alight and burn them to ash. Then, once that was done they would smash the huge statue of Xeria apart with hammers. And then when there was nothing left of the shrine they would say their poxy prayers and leave.

  But not this time Dorn vowed to himself. This time things would go badly for them. So badly that they would run from this land as they had never run before. They would soil themselves in their fear, and hopefully they would spread that fear to others.

  The priests gave the nod and immediately one of the soldiers threw his burning torch into the pile. It caught fire of course, but not as they'd expected.

  What they didn't know was that Dorn had laid down trails of lamp oil and saltpetre soaked wax coated rags from the shrine leading to the walls. And that the walls were covered in it. Barely had the torch touched the kindling than rivers of fire and leaping sparks ran from it as fast as a man could sprint, to form a wall of fire that completely surrounded them.

  The soldiers immediately panicked. Men shouted like children having a nightmare and tried desperately to stamp out the fires nearest them, realising that they were trapped, and frightened that they were going to burn to death. The priests screamed loudest of all and demanded that the soldiers put the fires out. But the fires wouldn't go out. Not when the flames were leaping six and eight feet into the air. Instead some of the men caught fire themselves and began desperately trying to stamp the fire out on their burning legs as they'd managed to get oil on them. It was like a scene from the underworld as the men shouted and screamed in fear and pain. Even the horses outside the gate whinnied in fear as the men tending to them shouted to those inside, wondering what was happening.

  But that was only the beginning of his trap.

  Unknown to them he'd laid down trails of white wrath all around the statue of Xeria. He had gathered all of the little round mushrooms he could find over the previous days. The powder from the mushrooms was often used as a torturer's aid in interrogations. One sip of an extract of them and a man would be screaming in terror and suffering waking nightmares for hours and even days. A taste and they would die screaming. It was a potent poison. But what few realised was that the spores they released into the air were even more potent. And as the flames came close to the little round puffballs they warmed and swelled. And then one by one they released their powder into the air.

  The effect was shocking, the weapon more devastating than he had imagined possible. The screaming grew worse and worse and the men started running blindly in all directions. They ran into each other and fell down. They ran into trees and didn't even seem to understand that they'd hit something. Some ran straight through the flames, the terror of whatever they were seeing far more frightening than the thought of burning. Some drew their swords and began fighting off the monsters in their minds. Often they injured their comrades in the battle. Others threw their weapons to the ground and fell down begging for mercy from their terrors. Even the priests were not immune, and
he watched them run around screaming, just as helpless as the soldiers. Their faith was gone and he knew it wouldn't be coming back in a hurry.

  Smoke was filling the courtyard to add to their confusion. Thick black smoke that was making the men cough and choke even as it robbed them of their sight. And he knew it was time to put the final part of his plan into effect.

  Quietly, though there was no point in being quiet when the men below were screaming madly and wouldn't have heard anything, he made his way down through the fort to the very centre of the middle staircase. It was there that he knew his voice would be carried the furthest, and that it would echo the most, robbing those below of any sense of where the sound was coming from.

  On the way down he breathed in a little of the smoke himself, and the dust affected him somewhat. Not as it did the soldiers – he was a shifter after all and very little could poison him – but it was still disturbing. To get rid of the effects he shifted forms a couple of times, and each time felt the clarity return to his thoughts. Unfortunately for the soldiers they couldn't do the same.

  Then once he was in position he began roaring. At first it was just an angry growl here and there, a couple of snarls and some hissing as well. It was surprising just how many noises the throat of a big cat could make. But then when he thought he'd manage to attract the men's terrified attention he changed into panther form and let out a full throated growl. The sound that only a truly angry panther could make. And of course the sound was carried around the fort's hallways and chambers and echoed around through the rooms until it finally burst free from the windows of the rooms, making it sound as if there weren't one beast inside, but many.

  He kept roaring, letting the sound be carried to the terrified soldiers.

  Was it working? He didn't truly know. A man screaming in terror because he feared the monsters in his mind sounded much the same as a man screaming in terror because he heard an actual monster. But what he did know was that the horses outside the fort had heard the sound and panicked. He could hear their hooves beating the ground as they ran and knew that they'd stampeded in their panic. It was what horses did. And if they heard it and knew fear the gods alone knew what it must be for those in the courtyard with their minds already clouded by the white wrath.

  In time he risked taking a look to see what effect his roar had had, and he padded quietly through the fort until he found a window to look out of. When he did he found himself more than pleased.

  The men had run. A dozen or more were already through the gate and running for their lives in all directions, terror completely ruling them. The rest – including the priests – were up against the far wall desperately trying to find their way through the ruined gate. But in their terror they were making things harder for themselves, actually pushing the gate shut as they tried to open it and trapping themselves.

  They were still blinded by the smoke and between that and the terrified panic of their waking nightmares, they were having difficulty thinking. The only thing they knew was that they wanted to get away from this place. They wanted it so badly that they would do anything they could to find their freedom. So they were fighting with one another to get through the gate. Some were trying to push it over. Others were climbing over the tops of their fallen companions. Some were even attacking the wall with their bare hands, trying to force their way through several feet of stone.

  Many of them were wounded – burnt and bleeding – and a couple of them were on fire. Quite a few were naked for some reason. But they didn't seem to care about that. They didn't care about anything except getting away.

  Even as he watched a couple more managed to make their way through the half open gate and then ran screaming into the forest. One of them was a priest, though he'd thrown his robes aside for some reason and all he was wearing was a cloth and a black leather breast plate. He was bleeding too, though why Dorn couldn't tell. It might not even have been his blood. Many of the soldiers were bleeding, and he guessed that most of them had been struck and stabbed by their comrades in arms.

  None of them were dead. That surprised him a little. Given all the violence of their frightened stampede, and it was a stampede every bit as much as that which the horses had done, he would have expected some of them to be killed. Some bodies lying on the ground. But even so he knew as he watched a few more manage to escape through the gate as they eventually worked out how to pull it open, that many of them would still die. The powder was still in their minds, controlling their thoughts, and it would be for at least a day. A day of unrelenting fear. And while it was there they would run. Many of them straight into the mouths of predators.

  Some would run deeper into the forests and get lost. They might well freeze to death overnight or even run off cliffs. Some would run into the wolves that called the forest home or some of the other more dangerous creatures, and they would be unable to defend themselves. A few might die of their burns and other injuries when they couldn't get them tended to. And of those that did eventually make their way back to the town, there would be tales told. They would tell them.

  Even the two soldiers who had been left outside the fort to tend to the horses looked terrified and they had not been trapped by the fire or exposed to the powder. All they knew was that there had been a fire inside the walls of the courtyard, a beast roaring and that their comrades were screaming. And as several more men ran past them screaming in terror he could see the fear in the two soldiers’ eyes. They would not be able to stop the others in their blind rush. They might even run themselves.

  The one thing he was sure of though, was that they would not enter the fort themselves. No one would. Not for a long time to come. And it wasn't just because of the flames that were still burning inside the high stone walls. It was because they too were frightened.

  Once more it would be claimed that the terrible monsters of the ancient fort had struck and killed. The locals would accept that. It would just be another story to add to the endless legends about the fort. Another reason for people to stay away. And they would tell tales of the priests who had completely failed to protect them. The Dicans who had come to destroy an ancient shrine and then been sent running in terror just like the rest of them. That would harm the foul church perhaps even more than the dozen or so priests who had already been returned to them with dusky elf arrows in them.

  This he decided as he watched a few more of them slip away, had been a good day. A day good enough that even having large sections of his courtyard set on fire, the offering table burnt and the shrine itself blackened was not enough to take away from his satisfaction.

  Happy, Dorn roared his pleasure for all to hear. But of course the frightened soldiers below had no understanding that it was anything other than a monster baying for their blood. They couldn't tell the difference between one roar and another.

  But Dorn didn't care. It was enough that they were frightened. That hopefully they would flee this land in terror. And that others of his people hiding out in these lands would be safe from them.

  He roared some more. Let them know fear. Let them know the same terror they had inflicted upon others all these years.

  Let them suffer.

  Chapter Eighteen.

  Most of the soldiers left Little Rock four days after the attack on his home, something for which Dorn – and he suspected the rest of the town – was very grateful.

  But he couldn't let them just abandon Little Rock to return to their better held positions in the rest of the wastes. There they would simply carry on inflicting pain and suffering on others. Other wildlings like him. And eventually they would come back. He could not let them come back. He would not let them come back.

  Something within him had changed after the battle for his home. Maybe it was that he'd learned a lesson of courage. Maybe it was just that he'd let loose a lifetime of anger. Maybe it was just that he knew he could fight and win. All he knew was that he had to fight. He had to make them suffer in turn for the suffering they had caused him and h
is family. To so many others. And in the white wrath he knew he had found a weapon that he could use. A weapon like no other. So he'd harvested more of the mushrooms and then when they'd set off, he'd followed them. At a safe distance of course and in his panther form.

  He'd decided that the time had come to use stealth. So he'd given up walking as a man for the journey, left behind his clothes and simply tied his bow, quiver and a bag of white wrath to his back. It was the easiest way, and because he'd used a stretchy woven linen the straps adjusted with him as he shifted, saving him the trouble of having to keep donning and doffing his longbow. It was quicker. Then, as the soldiers rode down the trail south he followed them through the forest, always a couple of hundred yards back from them and well hidden. Though the horses and dogs sometimes caught his scent and snorted and barked nervously, none of the soldiers ever spotted him.

  Dorn tailed the fifty men for a good two days as they travelled south east, and listened to their conversations as they sat round their fires at night. Conversations that inevitably came back to the dusky elves that seemed to be hunting them down as well as whatever had happened at the ruined fort. These men were nervous and their fear was almost the only thing on their minds.

  They still didn't know what had happened at his fort. That was what made it truly frightening for them. All they did know was that only a dozen men had returned, all of them wounded, and they had all spoken about monsters and ancient gods tearing into them. And, what pleased him more, they spoke about the priests running in terror just like everyone else.