Darkness Falls (Tales of the Wolf)

by A. E. McCullough

  * You aren’t. *

  Halhulingrath’s words were not comforting but they did spur him faster and faster.

  * * * * *

  Gray and Garoth moved quickly across the open plains since it was relatively easy to track the slavers. They had not bothered to try and hide their passage. Apparently, they did not expect anyone to be following them. The former rivals paused once to double-check for signs of their friends and happened looked back at their home. Now, they understood why there were not more villagers joining the chase. Homestead was ablaze.

  The two teenagers just shook their heads and turned back to the task before them, rescuing Annabelle. By this time the actual eclipse had passed and it was a bright crisp spring day which made seeing the slave caravan in the distance that much easier.

  Garoth began to rush forward but Gray held him back and even pulled him down low. He had spied numerous other groups of slaves converging on the waiting caravan. “If we get any closer, the orcs will see us.”

  The blacksmith’s son puffed up his chest. “Bring ’em on. We’ll kill them all.”

  “Not if they outnumber us. We are no good to Annabelle dead. We have to be sly about this.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Gray pointed east toward the river. “We can move along the banks of the Draken until we are closer and spy out their defenses. Then come nightfall, we break them out.”

  “Them? I’m only here for Annabelle.”

  Gray cocked his head to the left and rubbed his chin. “Do you really think she’ll abandon her brother? Not if there is even the slightest chance of freeing him. And if you think otherwise, then you don’t really know her.”

  Garoth nodded reluctantly. The damn half-elf was right and he knew it. That did not mean that he had to like it. “Okay, we’ll follow your plan. Lead on.”

  Gray nodded and they angled their course over to the river and climbed down its banks. The Draken River was the lifeblood of the Southlands. It was fed from numerous mountain streams in the Highlands until it plunged down a huge waterfall. From there, it snaked its way through the plains of the Southlands and emptied into the Crystal Sea. It was not a very fast moving river, at least not in this area, nor was it very deep. Many old-timers claimed that it was navigable with shallow barges all the way to the waterfall but most river traffic stopped in Homestead.

  None of this was important to Gray as he crept through the thick overgrowth of grass and saplings that clogged the majority of the western bank of the river. Even as it slowed their progression forward, he was thankful for its coverage since they saw at least three sentries and two roving patrols as they crept downstream.

  With each sighting, Gray became more and more worried about their plan. Rjurik and Anasazi had been meticulous in his lessons about the other races of Terreth, major and minor. Gray could spout their history and at least five common phrases in their native tongue. In all of his lessons, he’d never heard of such discipline in orcs nor did he expect to see such fine weapons and armor on the grey-skinned beasts. It was puzzling and slightly worrisome but he would not let it deter him from his mission.

  It was nightfall when they were finally close enough to study the slaver camp. They watched as long lines of villagers were led into three crudely built pens. Males in one, females in another and children in the last and furthest from their vantage point. The guards seemed to be a mixture of humans and orcs. Both were well armed and armored. They all looked to be veterans of many battles, hard men who enjoyed killing but still their captives outnumbered them by at least four to one.

  Gray had to wonder why they just did not rise up and overpower the guards. Even as they watched, a young farmer broke away from the slave line and tried to wrestle a sword away from a nearby guard. The twang of three crossbows filled the air and the young farmer dropped dead, skewered by the deadly projectiles. Less than a minute passed when another arrow screamed through the air and transfixed another villager, the one that had been closest to the farmer who had resisted.

  A deep guttural voice echoed in the darkness. “If you run, we will shoot you dead. Then, we will execute the person next to you. This is not negotiable or up for debate. If you wish to live, keep your mouths shut and follow orders.”

  The line of slaves looked at the two dead bodies and back at the speaker.

  “Now move or shall I demonstrate my joy of killing again?”

  The line of slaves rushed forward, eager to get inside the holding pens and Gray had his answer. Fear. They were already slaves to fear. Adding shackles of iron at this point was just a formality.

  Gray nodded at his companion and they slipped past more guards and moved further downstream. Using the cover of darkness, he hoped to be able to venture out from the banks of the river and steal his way up to the pen of the captured children. From that point forward, his plan fell apart.

  How would he locate Annabelle in a pen full of kids without alerting the guards? Once he did find her, how would he get her and Abban out?

  Even as he was debating the situation, he spied three unshaven men in filthy black leather armor slip away from his target enclosure with two captives in tow.

  * * * * *

  Kariah did not need ask why the grubby mercenaries were taking her and Annabelle into the darkness and away from the rest of the camp. She had recognized the lust in their eyes. They wanted her body and they were not opposed to using violence to get it. She silently prayed to the gods that her rape was all that they wanted but she feared for Annabelle that was not going to be enough.

  When they reached the banks of the river, the leader of the trio pointed at the dark haired teenager but looked Kariah right in the eyes. “Listen here my lovely; this is going to happen one way or the other. Make it go easy, and both you and Raven-hair will live to see the sunrise. Make it go hard…and my buddy here will convince you otherwise. I think he’ll start by cutting out her tongue.”

  To prove his point, the mercenary that was holding Annabelle pulled out his blade and placed it on her throat.

  Kariah forced herself to remain calm and shrugged off the third warrior’s grubby hands. “I will not resist as long as you promise not to hurt her or me.”

  The leader stepped forward. “I can’t promise not to hurt you. There is a bit of pain involved in what I am about to do to you.”

  He offered her a malicious grin as he placed the tip of his knife in the folds of her cleavage and jerked quickly downward with the razor sharp blade. The entire front of her blouse was ripped down the middle and her breasts were exposed for all to see.

  The dirty mercenary behind her slapped his hand over her mouth as Kariah stifled a scream. She saw that Annabelle was struggling against her own captor and he too had a hand over her mouth. When she felt the cold steel of his knife touching the flesh of her stomach, she knew what was coming next and steeled herself as he cut off her skirt also. He could have asked or commanded her to take off her clothes but that would not have excited him as much. This was not about sex as much as it was about totally dominating her, physically and mentally. If she had any hope at surviving this, she would have to be completely compliant and pray that the gods wished for her to live. Even as he threw her on the ground and began raping her, she heard the harsh laughter of his partners.

  * * * * *

  Annabelle was frozen in both shock and horror.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that slavers would raid Homestead. But they had and now here she was. Imagine her shock, when Kariah had stepped up and protected as many of the Inn’s strays as she could find, including herself. She and the older den mother had never been fond of each other. Annabelle did not even know why. Not that it mattered at this very moment. But to hear Kariah bargain for her safety and submit to these leeches was beyond anything she could believe. She had willingly let the leader rape her, all in an effort to save her.

  The leader had just finished with Kariah and left her lying in a lump on the wet grass, moa
ning in pain. Not that it mattered to them. The second mercenary had already dropped his pants and rolled the limp form of Kariah onto her stomach and began to take her from behind.

  It was bad enough that this was happening but the third mercenary was insistent in making her watch. Every time she turned her head away, her captor would force her to look back.

  She could smell onions on his breath when he leaned down and spoke into her left ear.

  “Does this excite you girl? It does me. I bet you’re a tight one. I’d love to make you bleed.” Then his left hand slid up under her shirt and grabbed her tit.

  This was not the gentle caress she had enjoyed by Gray a few hours earlier but a hard pinch that brought tears to her eyes. She braced herself for what was coming next. Every girl in Terreth grew up knowing the realities and possibilities of rape. By no means was it commonplace but it was not completely uncommon either. Annabelle had hoped and prayed that this would never happen to her but she knew right then and there, it was about to happen and no one was going to stop it.

  A loud shout broke the night air that was somewhere between a yell and a feral growl.

  * * * * *

  Gray and Garoth had to sneak past three sets of sentries, two that were orcs and seemed to be hyper-alert, to get downstream enough to find where the mercenaries had taken the girls. They arrived just in time to see the second warrior begin his rape on Kariah.

  Garoth had started to charge straight forward but Gray had restrained him. There was no way that both of them could close the distance to the girls without drawing the attention of the warriors. That was until they witnessed the pain on Annabelle’s face as her captor began his own rape. Then, nothing this side of death would restrain the two rivals from rushing to her rescue.

  Gray leapt forward with inhuman speed and ferocity. His war cry was more of a growl than a yell. Yet even in his fury, he was thinking tactically. The one raping Kariah was going to be the first to die. Garoth was to take out the leader and they would team up to kill the bastard holding Annabelle. At least that was the plan.

  As they closed the distance, Kariah seized her opportunity, rolled quickly to her left, and lashed out with a wicked elbow strike. Since the rapist had been looking at the charging pair, her attack was enough to knock him off her but not enough to stun him. The rapist grabbed his knife and shoved it deep into her stomach. Kariah screamed once as pain rolled through her body. When the rapist’s fist connected with her jaw, thankfully the cool comfort of the darkness overtook her as she fell unconscious.

  Gray reacted out of feral instincts and leapt the twenty or so feet between them. The rapist still had his pants down around his ankles that prevented him from dodging and since he had been more concerned about killing Kariah, neither of his hands were in a position to block or defend himself. Gray landed on the chest of the rapist and lashed out with his father’s warclub. The ironwood weapon crushed the rapist’s jaw and a mixture of blood and teeth went flying. Even though he fell limp to the ground, Gray smashed him a few more times with the warclub, just for good measure. Satisfied that he was not going to get up, Gray looked up and regarded the two remaining enemies with a cold stare.

  * * * * *

  The moment Kariah screamed, Cord the mercenary leader who had come up with the idea of raping the two women knew they were in trouble. Not from the two kids that had jumped out at them but from the crazy half-orc who ran this entire slavery operation. His only hope of surviving was to dispatch these two kids and escape into the darkness before the half-orc and his beasts arrived to investigate the scream.

  As the huge maul wielded by the charging boy missed him by inches, Cord forced his attention back to the matter at hand. The boy quickly regained his balance and control over the massive weapon. It was evident that he was all about strength and power in his attacks, no subtly or skill. His second attack was a simple horizontal swing that any warrior worth his own salt would be able to block. However, the boy did show some promise. Maybe if he captured both of these two upstarts, Cord could use them as leverage for his life.

  Stepping inside the wild swing, Cord blocked the two-handed hammer on the shaft with his bronze bracer. Seeing the look on boy’s face was priceless. It was pure shock. Lashing out with the pommel of his sword, he scored a wicked blow to the boy’s temple and watched as the lights went out in his eyes.

  Turning to find the second attacker, Cord paused. The second kid was lean as a wolf and was squatting on the limp form of Hannes. Judging from the blood, he would not be getting up anytime soon. When the wolf-boy looked up at him, Cord felt a slight ripple of fear run down his back. The boy’s face was covered with the splattered blood of his friend and his steel-grey eyes showed hatred and death. Before Cord could say anything, the dammed wolf-boy growled and charged at him.

  * * * * *

  Gray had turned just in time to see the mercenary leader take out Garoth. He glanced once at Annabelle and wanted to take out her captor but he knew that he could not leave an enemy standing behind him. He cursed himself for leaving his sword behind in the Inn, buried in some hapless goblin’s gut. He instinctively realized that he did not have the time to pull out his bow since it was unstrung, which left only one option. Attack.

  Gray subconsciously prayed for more speed. Unknown to him, the Spirits of the Wild heard him. Since it was not an official prayer or request, they could not grant him one of their forms but the Puma Spirit did impart to him some of her agility. Gray dodged under the mercenary’s first attack and lashed out with his own strike, which the mercenary blocked with his off-hand dagger. The next minute was filled with a flurry of strikes, blocks, parries and thrusts. The mercenary was highly skilled but Gray was motivated and had the blessings of the Puma Spirit behind him, even if he did not know it.

  * * * * *

  Cord had never fought someone with such dexterity. The wolf-boy’s attacks were inhumanly swift. Only the skills he had gained over long years of war kept him alive, so far.

  Knowing his window of opportunity was closing fast, Cord knew he had to do something desperate. He timed his head butt at about the same time he blocked the deadly warclub. The wolf-boy had not been expecting something so raw and Cord was rewarded with his opponent falling backwards and his warclub flying off into the darkness.

  * * * * *

  Gray felt his nose shatter and the flash of pain that accompanied it. He also knew two things, he had lost his father’s warclub and he was falling. Tucking his head to his chin, Gray went with the fall and smoothly rolled out of it. Landing in a crouch, Gray did not even bother to open his eyes. He trusted his instincts and threw his knife.

  He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times to clear his vision. His opponent was on his knees looking down at the knife that was protruding from his belly. The look on his face was a mixture of pain and bewilderment.

  Gray did not give him another thought and turned his attention to the last mercenary. His eyes were wide with fear and he was glancing around but he did still have his knife to Annabelle’s throat.

  One part of Gray’s mind registered the fact that there was a lot of sounds coming from the camp. However, at this very moment that was not his concern, the bastard holding a blade to his love’s throat was. Gray pulled free his last weapon, his tomahawk, and took a slow step forward.

  “Let her go and you can live.”

  The captor’s eyes were wide. “Back off or I will cut her. I swear I will!”

  Gray stopped moving forward and made eye contact with Annabelle. He could tell that she was trying her best to remain calm and control her fear. Her face was wet with tears and a fresh bruise covered her left cheek.

  “Gray…” she started to say before the bastard tightened his grip and raked the blade over her throat.

  “Quiet bitch. If he attacks, you die. I know it and he knows it.”

  Annabelle subtly gestured with her right arm showing that she intended to copy Kariah’s move with the elbow.

  G
raytael swallowed hard and tried to shake his head but she was already moving. Knowing he had one chance, he hurled his tomahawk with all his might even as he yelled, “No!”

  The next few seconds would be seared into Gray’s mind for all his days.

  Annabelle lashed out at her captor with a powerful back elbow to his gut. Unfortunately, she did not take into consideration the body mechanics of someone that is right handed holding a knife to your throat. As her strike made the mercenary flinch, so did it pull his right arm back and across her own throat. The razor sharp knife easily parted the skin and artery hidden underneath.

  Gray’s tomahawk was perfectly thrown and buried itself in the forehead of the mercenary but by that time the damage was done. He rushed to Annabelle’s side as she fell limp on the grass. Blood covered her whole body and she was already growing pale. He slapped his hand over the wound but knew it was too late.

  When she spoke, he voice was barely a whisper. “Gray…gra…”

  She reached up with her left hand to Gray’s neck and tried to pull him close.

  “I’m here my love, I’m here.”

  Leaning down, Gray kissed her one last time as he felt the life leave her body.

  He had failed. Annabelle was dead.

  Unknown to him, his medicine bag was still clutched in Annabelle’s lifeless hands. Gray was completely numb and just sat there holding the lifeless form of his first love as numerous orcs stepped out of the darkness. He did not even resist as they grabbed him up and roughly bound his hands behind him. Nor did he resist as they led him away.

  Why did it matter? He had failed.

  Chapter 12

  As the sun crept over the horizon, it lit the sky a fiery red. Which somehow seemed fitting since the entire Southland was aflame. Rjurik knew it was an exaggeration but at this very moment, that was what it felt like.

  He looked around at the small band of survivors he and Anasazi had been able to gather. There were not many and only six of them had any combat experience. Matanza and Broun had been the first two to join up with them. They had come up from the southern fields and joined in the defense of the town. Then, there was Gaspar the blacksmith, father to Garoth. Even though he was not one of Rjurik’s favorite people, he did swing a mean hammer and had held his own during the attack. That meant a lot to the old dwarf.