“Impressive magic, friend,” Duncan said.
Duncan had always had respect for elvish magic. It was in their blood. It was also usually helpful. It wasn’t like witch magic, which was learned, not given. It was, in Duncan’s eyes, profane and worth destroying. Duncan was thankful for the elves’ magic, as it had saved his armor from being scorched.
“Sorry about the mess,” Duncan apologized. “There was a Dreamweaver, and…”
“Do not worry, Grey Wolf,” the innkeeper cut him off. “People have been speaking of the Dreamweaver for some time, claiming they have seen it wandering the building, but we were unsure how to get rid of it other than by burning up a room. It seems you have done us a service,” The innkeeper handed Duncan a small bag of coin.
“I… Thank you,” Duncan said, taking the bag.
He crossed the room, which smelled of smoke and flame and burned wood. He picked up his armor pieces and put them on, armoring himself for the hunt. He took a small flask located with his belongings and attached it to his hip. Alcohol. He never knew when he might need an accelerant, or maybe a drink. It was swill, but it would do for either purpose. The moon was out, which meant that the Wendigo likely was too. He placed Winter’s Edge in its sheath and strapped it onto his back. Then he left the inn and walked through the town of Eventide, towards the eastern gate, and out into the wilderness of the God’s Eye.
Chapter 5
It was somewhat warm out that night, and Duncan thought of home, in Winterport. He thought of the frost on the ground, the snow at night, and most of all, the Frostfall Ale from the nearby city of its namesake. He couldn’t wait to get back home and have another, and maybe another after that. He then put these thoughts out of his mind. It was time to go on the hunt. His wolven side felt alive on nights like this, where the night sky was clear and the full moon lit up the world with its radiant moonglow. The hunger of the Wendigo would surely bring him out tonight. He could feel it because the wolf was hungry too. Duncan had a way of knowing when a beast was hungry. He could always feel it in his wolven spirit. Tonight, the Grey Wolf would hunt, and kill.
The cave that the small elf child had spoken of was not far by Duncan’s reckoning. He knew that children didn’t stray far from the city. Even most adults didn’t. That’s why everything outside of Eventide on the God’s Eye was practically wilderness. Duncan sharpened his focus and searched for a scent that was unfamiliar to him. Surely this Wendigo would have a scent of death around it. Plus, Duncan doubted very seriously that a creature like that bathed. The scent always gave his quarry away, and this would be no different.
Duncan jogged across the landscape, searching for the cave and following the small scent he picked up. It was not long before he found what he was looking for. The scent of death was strong nearby. Upon closer examination, he found a pile of bones. They were picked clean of meat and all the marrow of the bones had been sucked out. This was surely the work of the cursed beast. Duncan was getting close. He unsheathed Winter’s Edge and opened his ears to listen.
First, he heard nothing. The night was quiet, and not even crickets chirped. Duncan’s hearing was stronger than a normal man’s though. With his wolf-like hearing, he heard something that no man would have heard on his own. He heard the growling and howling of something nearby; something he suspected to be his hunt. He growled with excitement at the prospect of the fight ahead of him. He was spoiling for a good fight.
Not long after, Duncan found the cave. More bones like the ones he had found earlier graced its entrance, but these bones were smaller. They were undoubtedly that of a child. “Poor soul,” Duncan knelt beside the bone pile, making a mental note to do something about the bones after he finished with the Wendigo. Duncan stood and walked into the cave, Winter’s Edge held in his hand. The weight of the sword felt good in his grip, and soon it would cleave through the beast that called this cave home.
Duncan’s silver eyes almost glowed in the darkness of the cave. He could see clearly though. Darkness did not impede his wolf eyes. He walked like a man who could see everything because he could in fact see everything. Bones littered the ground of the cave, all in the same states as the others he had found. There were so many, but impossible to know how many bodies they had once made up, as they were all disconnected from each other, no longer complete skeletons, but just piles of random bones. Duncan had a plan for the bones, but first, he would need to take care of the monster. The Wendigo needed to be stopped. With the elves confined to the city, it might yet starve, but that could take time. Duncan would end the creature’s life here, take care of the bones, get Ovren’s boat repaired, and then be on his way to the Ebonwood Forest. Such was the life of a hunter: one monster after another, forming a string of endless hunts.
A growl echoed in the cave. Duncan was close to the monster now. It was likely that the Wendigo also sensed him. Monsters very rarely allowed anyone to get the jump on them. That’s why most hunters focused more on fighting and less on stealth. It’s the same reason most monster hunters, who were part of a guild down in Rivan, fought with blades, not bows. They knew there was no point in sneaking up on them and trying to fight at a distance when they could easily come up and kill you. Bows were only effective against things that flew, or when you had a great multitude of archers all attacking at once. Hunters preferred swords, axes, hammers, and anything else designed to kill up close. Duncan’s sword would suffice for this battle.
In an open area of the cave, Duncan’s silver eyes spied the creature among a mass pile of bones. This was the lair of the Wendigo. Duncan saw the centuries-old creature, degenerated from what it once was. Where it had once been an elf, it now looked to be a full monster. The only thing vaguely elven about the beast was the ears, which still retained a point to them. The creature had grown hair over most of its body, and the skin was a dark crimson as if it had been dyed by the blood of its victims. It stood with a hunch, and its arms were somewhat muscled. It bore claws at the end of its fingertips that looked like they could pierce armor with ease. The face was most monstrous of all. Sharp fangs littered its mouth, and the shape of the face was wrinkled and scrunched up, the mouth permanently opened halfway because of the fangs inside its mouth.
The Wendigo had indeed sensed the Grey Wolf. He turned, to see Duncan, sword drawn, standing ready to slay the monster. The guttural growl coming from the monster’s throat became a roar as the Wendigo stomped towards Duncan. He wasted no time getting to the fight. He rolled to the side and slashed his sword as the Wendigo passed him. He had scored a minor hit, scarring the Wendigo on the side of the torso. It wasn’t a killing blow by any means, but every little hit would add up. Blood flowed from the cut, but this only seemed to anger the beast even more. Duncan knew just how to follow this up.
He smiled monstrously and growled before running right at the creature. He aimed to sever an arm, but Winter’s Edge was caught in the creature's massive, rending claws. It became a contest of strength, but even Duncan’s great wolf strength could not compete with the centuries-old Wendigo of hunter legend. His sword was forced back, but he used the momentum to his advantage, spinning and kicking the Wendigo square in the chest with his armored boot. The blow sent him back a bit, but the Wendigo was otherwise unfazed. Duncan realized that the creature was stronger than he realized. He needed to end this fight soon.
Still standing in place from where he kicked the beast, Duncan brandished Winter’s Edge and swung as the Wendigo closed the distance. It was a good strike, removing the Wendigo’s left hand. It hit the ground of the cave with a wet splat of blood. Duncan held the sword at his waist, the blade clanking against the floor and echoing off the walls of the cave. He smiled a grim smile at having de-handed the creature. He was winning. He simply needed to finish the beast now.
Duncan took up the sword in both hands, blade pointed at the Wendigo’s heart. He charged forward, looking to drive the blade deep into the beating heart of the abomination. The sword would not find its target, however
. Duncan was stopped in his tracks when the Wendigo gripped the charging sword with his remaining hand. He turned the blade away, and with his immense strength and rending claws, he snapped the blade forged by Duncan in two. The two pieces clanged loudly as they hit the rocky ground, leaving only a small cut on the palm of the Wendigo, and Duncan no closer to finishing the fight.
Duncan thought quickly. His only option was to take up the remains of Winter’s Edge and fight. He did just that. When the Wendigo charged, he would roll, making small cuts all over the beasts’ body. This fight had gone south. Duncan’s weapon was all but useless, and he needed to finish the fight before his stamina gave out. Despite his superhuman abilities, Duncan was merely a man.
Then Duncan had an idea. The beast had once also been a man, and despite the changes to the body, the anatomy was basically the same. Instead of trying to tire out the beast and make him lose blood, Duncan realized he should go straight for the throat. A deathly growl escaped his throat, and Duncan began to give in to the wolf spirit entombed within him.
Duncan’s incisors began to resemble a wolf’s fangs. The wolf was showing himself. While Duncan could not transform completely into a werewolf, he had certain traits of the wolf that could show themselves. The eyes always did, but he only allowed the fangs when he needed them, or when he lost control. This was the former. He threw down the shattered remains of Winter’s Edge and roared with rage. He ran at the Wendigo, fangs bared, and jumped onto the deformity.
It was simple to Duncan. If he went for the neck, he may just win this fight. It was a vital flow of blood. At the very least, he could knock out the Wendigo and then behead it with the remnants of his sword. He bit down with sharpened fangs into the Wendigo’s neck. It tried to throw him off but Duncan held on and persisted, continuing to drive his fangs into the vital vein in the Wendigo’s neck. The Wendigo clawed at Duncan’s back, but the chainmail proved to be enough protection. Duncan had pierced the vein, and blood flowed out in a steady stream. He detached himself from the Wendigo’s neck and watched as events unfolded.
The Wendigo held its hand to where Duncan had sunk his fangs into his neck. Blood continued to spurt out, and the Wendigo could not stop it. Duncan capitalized on the opportunity set before him, and, taking up what was left of Winter’s Edge, he sliced from one side of the Wendigo’s neck to the other, severing the creature’s head.
He breathed heavily, wiping the blood from his mouth and spitting out what had gotten into his mouth. “Wendigo blood,” Duncan said, nearly choking on it. “Foul concoction.”
He stuck the hilt and what was left of the blade back into his sheath and collected the Wendigo’s head. He would present it as proof to Fa’Tiel upon his return to the Eventide docks. He sat the head outside the entrance to the cave, and then went back inside. He had bones to collect.
Over the course of the next hour, he had collected all the bones he could find inside the cave and added them to a pile of bones located outside the cave. He then found a nearby tree and gathered some wood from it. He would use the wood to start a fire and use the fire to burn the bones. He had seen enough vengeful spirits to know that when someone died badly, they might come back if you didn’t burn the bones. This place was rife with people who died badly. Best to burn all the bones to keep the people of Eventide safe.
Duncan was glad he brought the flask with him. He unclasped it from his hip and took a sip. “Swill,” he said, nearly spitting it back out. But swill was still good for burning. He took the time to make a fire with the wood from the tree, then, he placed the bones, one by one, into the flame. The burn was slow, but the alcohol would help that. He took the flask and dumped its contents onto the open flame. It burst up into a roaring fire, and that fire began to consume the bones.
“May these spirits be laid to rest,” Duncan said solemnly. “Let them walk this plane no more.”
Duncan stayed until the bones had burned to ash and the fire had died out. It was nearing morning. The sun was rising to where it could be seen from the God’s Eye, while western Rivania had seen the sun this day for a few hours, and the east would not see it for a few more. It was time to go back. He left the site of the fire, carrying the head of the slain Wendigo at his side.
The people of Eventide stayed well away from Duncan as he strode through the gates and back into town. It wasn’t necessarily him that they avoided, but rather the severed head he carried. He made no proclamations about slaying the monster of the God’s Eye. He would leave that for people better suited for speaking to crowds and taking credit for things. He made his way to Fa’Tiel’s dwelling in the heart of Eventide. It was magnificent in the way that most elven buildings are, but was modest compared to what it could have been. The most extravagant things about the building were the marble interior floors and the stained glass window above the door that depicted a scene of man and elf side by side, living in harmony. The guards at the entry to his manor stopped him.
“State your business with Lord Fa’Tiel,” said one of the guards, armed with a slightly curved blade.
Duncan held up the head of the Wendigo. “I have a gift for him.”
“Is this some morbid joke?” asked the other guard at the entrance.
Duncan smiled slightly. “Wish it were. It would be funnier. This is the head of the beast that’s been stalking your people in the wilderness. I’ve brought it as proof that the creature lies dead by my hand.”
The guards looked at one another and motioned him in simultaneously.
Duncan had stepped into the foyer of the manor when he heard a voice.
“Ah, Grey Wolf,” It was Fa’Tiel, dressed in the splendor of elven tailors. His cloak was a resplendent azure. “How goes the hunt?” He said, exiting his solar.
Duncan held up the head. “I told you,” he said, “As good as dead.”
“Splendid, Duncan, Splendid!” Fa’Tiel was exuberantly happy about this news.
“And the repairs to the ship?” Duncan questioned.
“They’ll be finished by morning,” Fa’Tiel replied. “That will give you some time to look around and take some leisure time, should you desire it.”
Duncan thought for a moment. His sword was gone and he would need a new weapon to hunt the witch. “Know any good smiths? I need a new blade. Damned monster snapped mine in two,” Duncan showed him the remnants of Winter’s Edge.
“I know just the elf for the job,” he said, smiling. “Go to the market and find the blacksmith there. His name is Ra’Lach. He’s the best smith here in Eventide. I would claim he is the best among all elvenkind, but I know we have brothers out there, enslaved, who might just outpace him, given the opportunity.”
“Thanks for the information,” Duncan spoke, turning to leave.
“No. Thank you, Grey Wolf. Your services here will not be forgotten.”
Duncan laughed inwardly at that. People always forgot his services after the fact. Just because he hunted the things that no sane man would ever attempt to fight didn’t make him loved by people. He was still inhuman. He was bestial, and something about that made him disliked by most. They could sense it. They could smell it on him. Fa’Tiel and the elves may appreciate what he had done this day, but it wouldn’t last. It could very well be that the next time he set foot on the God’s Eye, he would do so as an adversary. Duncan never knew, and maybe that was the true purpose of the curse set upon him.
Duncan did as he had been instructed and went to the market of Eventide. Elves were all around, selling beautiful jewelry and magical items, not unlike Duncan’s pendant. Amongst all the shops and traders there was a smithy. The blacksmith there looked serene in his craft. He paid no mind to his hands, scarred by fire. Ra’Lach was happy to be crafting fine weapons and armor for his kinsmen.
“Ra’Lach,” Duncan said, clearing his throat.
“I am he,” he replied. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Duncan Frey. Fa’Tiel sent me.”
“Yes. Fa’Tiel’s emissary arrived just a
few moments ago. He said I should expect you.”
Duncan showed him what had become of his sword. “I need a new blade. This one’s finished. I’d make it myself but I’m a long way from my forge.”
“Yes, Fa’Tiel’s messenger mentioned you were in need of a blade. Luckily, I happen to have something special in mind. He sent word of what you have done for the people of Eventide. You have my distinct gratitude. As such, I will make you a weapon worthy of your trade.”
“That is gracious. Thank you, Ra’Lach.”
“Come back tonight, I will have your blade finished by then.”
Duncan turned to leave. “Thank you, again.”
Duncan waited away the day at the docks, watching the shipbuilders rebuild Ovren’s boat. Morning became noon became dusk, and Duncan decided it was time to go and retrieve his blade from Ra’Lach. Fa’Tiel had spoken highly of him and his work. It was time to see for himself just how good Ra’Lach was.
When Duncan had arrived at Ra’Lach’s workshop, he found the elven smith waiting there for him, holding a sheathed blade.
“Grey Wolf,” He spoke.
“Ra’Lach,” Duncan replied.
“I have your blade, as requested.”
Duncan took the sheathed sword from Ra’Lach and brought it out of the sheath. He laid his eyes on the blade and saw that it was not forged of iron or steel, but something far more valuable.
“Is this… Blacksteel?”
“It is,” Ra’Lach confirmed.
Blacksteel was a rare substance in Rivania. Found only in the depths of dwarven mines and used in smithing powerful, unique weapons, it was found to be highly resistant to magic as well as more durable than normal steel. The elves of Eventide obtain some Blacksteel from the dwarves of Hammerforge in exchange for elvish medicines which were brewed on the God’s Eye. This kept the dwarves healthy and kept the elves smithing new items for customers to buy. The exchange was even enough that neither side did much complaining. Ra’Lach had used the Blacksteel from the last shipment to forge this blade for Duncan.
Of Wolf And Witch Page 4
