Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  “Well met twin sons of Circe. I have heard many good things about you.”

  Rjurik stepped up to the stout dwarf and whacked him on the back of his head with his stump. “Hiya Rock.”

  Knutr turned and grinned at his old master. “RJ…it is great to have you home again.”

  Rjurik shook his head. “Don’t be gettin’ too excited, I’m just visiting.”

  The twins noticed the look their friend shot the king but didn’t know its history. Either Knutr didn’t notice or just let it pass without a word.

  “Either way, it is good to see you.”

  The king cleared his throat and moved to a table nearby. He pointed to the chairs. “Come. Sit. This could be a long day.”

  As everyone joined the king, Knutr began his tale. “On the night of the autumn equinox we received an emissary from the Highlanders. It was a request for aid. My king sent his youngest brother Midach Bonecrusher to negotiate a treaty. It seems that the Halls of Haldar have been infested with goblins, gnomes, cyclops and dark elves.”

  Mortharona snickered. “We already know this.”

  Knutr nodded his head. “I have heard. I also heard about your daring escape and your hatred for their leader, Blackfang.”

  At the mention of his name, everyone could see the hatred and anger wash over Mortharona’s face. Khlekluëllin feared he would lose control but Mortharona surprised everyone as he took several deep breaths and forcefully calmed himself. “Please continue.”

  Scratching his beard, Knutr glanced at his king, who just nodded, so he continued. “Well, the Dark Alliance have made their intentions well known. They want the complete destruction of the free Highland Nation and the deaths of its two leaders, Hawkeye and Red Eagle.”

  Rjurik slammed his stump onto the table as a grin spread across his face. “I told ye! I told ye da pup would be hard to kill.”

  Khlekluëllin grinned. “Aye. That you did."

  Mortharona asked, “Not to be rude or callous but outside of wanting to destroy the Dark Alliance myself, what has this to do with us?”

  King Padric interrupted. “We have signed a treaty of mutual aid between the Highland Nation and our kingdom. This spring when the Dark Alliance attacks the Highlanders, we will aid them as our treaty states.”

  Nodding his head, Rjurik waved his stump at those gathered. “I agree. We should aid them. They don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell without our aid. But I agree with Mortharona, what has this to do with the three of us?”

  Knutr continued. “The ancient prophecies have come true. The two leaders of the Highland Nation are also the parents of the unborn child that is destined to be the Chosen One.”

  All gathered weighed the gravity of that last statement. After a brief pause and before any of the three could say anything, Knutr cleared his throat. “There is something else you should know.”

  The stout dwarf locked eyes with Khlekluëllin before continuing. “The expectant mother, known as Red Eagle to the Highland Nation, is your sister.”

  Khlekluëllin shot to his feet. “Are you certain it is Tatianna?!”

  Knutr nodded. “Yes, I not only stood as a witness but was honored to watch Midach walk her down the aisle at her wedding.”

  It was Mortharona’s turn to shout. “Her wedding?! Who did she marry?”

  “Hawkeye the Wolflord, Warlord of the Highland Nation and brother of Blackfang.”

  Mortharona shouted. “Hawkeye is Blackfang’s brother!”

  Khlekluëllin just leaned back slightly as a small grin crept over his face. “Wow…Tatianna married Hawkeye...wow.”

  Mortharona slammed both fists on the table. “I can’t believe it! She married a damned changeling!”

  “Mortharona! Calm Down!”

  King Padric’s voice boomed in the small room. Immediately, the irate elf returned to his seat. In a quieter, gentler tone the king continued. “Not all shifters are like Blackfang. As a matter of fact, I believe Blackfang is the exception to the norm. Every highlander I have dealt with, and there has been many over the years, have all been honorable.”

  Derek Ironhand, who up until now had been quiet, piped in.

  “I agree with my liege. Once many years ago, while traveling with my family, I was attacked by a group of trolls. If it weren’t for the timely arrival of warriors from the Blue Bear pack, I would not be here today.”

  “They attacked the trolls without any request from my kin or me. After the battle, they aided our wounded before moving on. The Highlanders are truly a people of honor.”

  Khlekluëllin said, “What you say must be true. It would be unfair to judge all Highlanders by the actions of one individual, just as it would be unfair to judge all elves or dwarves by the actions of one. In the short time we traveled with Hawkeye, he seemed honorable and I liked him.” Transferring his gaze to his brother, “And if Tatianna married him, it was her choice and our responsibility to support her.”

  Mortharona nodded his head. “True.” Pausing for a moment, he cocked his head to the side as a wicked grin crept over his face. “I wonder if our mother knows yet?”

  Khlekluëllin did a slight double-take at that thought. Padric began laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. Within minutes everyone was laughing with the thought of the proud Queen Circe not knowing of her daughter’s wedding. Once the laughter subsided, Khlekluëllin added. “Well, it won’t be me who tells her.”

  Knutr spoke up again.

  “Hawkeye has won the title of Warlord of the Highland Nation through his skill at arms; but it has been his strength of character that has truly forged the loose packs of Highlanders into one fighting nation.”

  “While we were in Itasca, the Dark Alliance attacked. It was brutal, no subtlety, just an all out frontal assault. It was a credit to Hawkeye’s skill as a commander that the Highlanders weren’t just plowed over. Nearly half the army escaped after inflicting heavy damage on the Dark Alliance.”

  Rjurik pounded his stump on the table. “Then it’s this Chosen One of the prophecy who Bromios wished me to create this blade for?”

  “That’s what I would guess.” The King paused. “There is more.”

  At a signal from his king, Knutr continued but lowered his head. “After the battle Hawkeye escaped into the underground. The king’s brother led us into the Subsolenous searching for him but that region is full of gnomes hunting for him. Midach believes that all the clans have been rallied against the Highlanders. When several of my brothers were too injured to continue the search, we were sent back to warn the king.”

  The King looked around at the ancient crests and weapons that adorned this small room. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

  “Then it’s settled. The Kingdom of Darkmoor declares war against the Dark Alliance.” Turning to Derek Ironhand, the king’s voice took on a grave tone. “Pass the word; we march to war at the first break of snow. Let only the young apprentices in their first decade or those warriors past their three-hundredth winter stay behind.”

  Nodding his head, Derek Ironhand left the room to do his liege’s bidding.

  King Padric and Knutr immediately left the small antechamber to discuss the upcoming war, leaving the three companions alone. Each was absorbed in their own thoughts until Rjurik broke the silence.

  “Come my friends; let me show you some of the wonders of Darkmoor while we still have time. The coming war will find us soon enough.”

  Nodding their heads, the twins followed their dwarven friend into the depths of Darkmoor.

  Chapter 21

  The room was extremely dark and it took Blackfang's eyes several minutes to adjust enough so he could move further in without fear of tripping over something.

  His first impulse was to light a torch but knowing Lalith that would only infuriate her. As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, he could see that Lalith was just where he expected to find her, huddled over an obsidian basin. Approaching slowly, Blackfang peeked over her shoulder and peered in.
The image of Mortharona lying in a bed in a sparsely furnished room filled the surface of the enchanted pool of blood.

  Blackfang’s deep voice broke the silence. “And I thought when he left, that would be the last time I saw him.”

  Reaching out with her left hand, Lalith briefly touched the pool's surface and the image faded away with the ripples. The pool's surface glowed a sickly red bathing the two in eerie reddish light.

  “Nay, we will see more of him in the future. In fact, he will be very instrumental in the downfall of our enemies.”

  Turning to look at her lover she asked, “Any news from the Jotens?”

  Blackfang shook his head. “Nay…but none was expected. The weather is still too dangerous for travel. However, it should break soon at least enough for us to move our army northwest toward Sikya. By all accounts, Hawkeye's army cannot number more than three thousand warriors. At this morning's count we had just over twelve thousand troops below.”

  “But without the strength of the Jotens won’t that limit your army?”

  “The Jotens will join us on the battlefield. Their new jarl still has to abide by our treaty. Besides, it is my understanding that the new jarl is the youngest son of Thantos and had been exiled for many years and just recently returned to Jotenhiem.”

  Trying to shift the conversation away from his failure at keeping the cyclops in the fold, Blackfang pointed to the enchanted pool. “Any word how the dwarves are going to help?”

  “Nothing more than their declaration of war which I already told you about; Mortharona has spent the winter with his brother and that dammed dwarf Rjurik. Of course, Khlekluëllin has disappeared several times with the king but Mortharona has not been invited. However, judging from all the activities I would say they are preparing for an all out war. The rest of my spies aren't yet strong enough to use. They still need more time to find suitable hosts.”

  “Are the diggers in position?”

  Lalith nodded. “Yes. I have talked with their leader. He seems to understand what is expected of him. Only time will tell.”

  Blackfang growled. “If he messes this mission up, I’ll skin him alive.”

  “I suspected that would be your response and already informed him.”

  Blackfang paused before he asked the true question which haunted him. “Any…any sign of Hawkeye?”

  Lalith shook her head. “No. Not a single spell that I know or have access to has been able to locate him. I even tried to summon his spirit, just in case he died and we didn’t know it but his soul is either protected or he isn’t dead. I am leaning more to not being dead and somehow hidden from my scrying.”

  “Anasazi?”

  She shrugged. “Possibly but it would take an extremely powerful spell to hide him.”

  Blackfang frowned. “Don’t underestimate my uncle. He is the most skillful shaman in Highlander history.”

  Wanting to change the subject again, he asked. “How long until the snows stop? The troops are restless. Even the bloodiest combats I can devise for the Pit can barely control their thirst for blood.”

  Lalith moved over to one of her crowded shelves and pulled down an old weather-beaten book. Flipping through several pages until she found what she was looking for, she placed the book on the table next to the enchanted pool. Waving her hands over the blood, the reddish glow faded and the night's sky filled the magical surface. Lalith studied the stars for a moment before answering.

  “According to my calculations, the Spring Equinox is ten weeks away. Clotho has said that the Chosen One will be born during that time.”

  “Then we leave for the Sikya in six weeks, with or without the weather. We will crush Hawkeye and destroy the Chosen One before he is ever born.”

  With a nod of farewell, Blackfang stalked out of the room.

  As soon as he left Lalith's chamber, Jinx floated down from the rafters and landed on the side of the pool. Looking up at his mistress he said, “Rather cocky isn't he?”

  “Yes. But he is right, we must make our move soon or we will be too late. Clotho is not forgiving of failure.”

  Turning back to her scrolls, Lalith returned to her studies.

  Chapter 22

  Tatianna had spent the majority of the winter months doing her own magical research.

  She had delved into her magic in hopes of finding some way to help defeat Blackfang and his army. Aquilo had whispered that the answers to her dilemma lay in her magic. At first she didn’t listen but sometimes late at night when the moon was just right, she could hear his voice on the northwind as it blew through the village. He continued to whisper a warning and the true secret of magic, that magic ages the spell weaver.

  Never in all of her studies with the Master Weavers in the great halls of the Academia had she ever heard or read anything similar. Yet, she knew it to be true. The more she used her magic, the more the child grew in her womb. Already, she was nearing full term and it had only been five months since her rape at the Shrine of Luna. A smile that was part pain and pleasure crossed her face as her unborn son lashed out with a kick.

  Hearing her teacher groan in pain, Amani looked up from her studies. “Is everything okay mistress?”

  Leaning back to relieve the tension in her back and hopefully the discomfort in her stomach, Tatianna nodded. “Yes, it’s just my little warrior letting me know that he will be joining us soon.”

  Noticing the worried look on her apprentice’s face, Tatianna changed the subject and pointed at one area of the spell Amani was weaving. “That’s not bad but your alpha section needs work. If you tighten up your weave here, the spell will fire much quicker and smoother.”

  Turning her attention back to her spell, Amani moved her fingers to tighten the weave as Tatianna instructed. “More like this?”

  Tatianna moved up behind the fledgling spellweaver and nodded her approval. “That’s it.” Reaching over Amani’s shoulder, she pointed at a group of strands that were still loose. “Now… just tighten this area, add your omega section and the spell will be complete.”

  She watched as Amani carefully followed her directions and wove in the last part of the spell. Tatianna patted the young highlander on the back.

  “Well done. Be proud of yourself young lady. You have just completed your first spell.”

  Leaning away from the fire, Amani studied her handiwork while beaming with pride at the complement from her mistress. Every since she had bolted into Tatianna’s tipi that one night several months before and interrupted the curse Red Eagle was weaving, she had become her apprentice. She spent three hours a day with Tatianna in training; whether it was training in the way of the sword or spell, Amani didn’t care. She was determined to be a great warrior like Red Eagle one day.

  Looking up at her mistress, a puzzled look crossed her face. “But will it work?”

  With a slight giggle, Tatianna shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure but I know how we can find out.” Flashing the young girl a wink she headed outside.

  Amani scrambled to follow. The tipi Tatianna had erected for her magical studies was on the outskirts of the village, just a stone’s throw away from a small shrine to Luna. Tatianna walked without hesitation through the ring of sacred stones. Normally Amani would’ve hesitated long enough to say a short prayer to her goddess but her excitement at the possibility of casting her first spell drove all thoughts of tradition out of her mind.

  Reaching the crest of the small hill, Tatianna stopped and pointed at the open valley that lay beyond. “Here is where you can find out if you have the necessary skills to become a blade-weaver.”

  Amani asked hesitantly, “How…How do I cast it?”

  Rubbing her hand gently over her swollen belly, Tatianna felt the slightest movement of her unborn son. Drawing her attention back to her pupil, she answered. “It all depends on the spell. A simple cantrip would be easy, just point your finger, draw on the weave and speak the words as I have taught you.” She could see that Amani was absorbing the lesson, so
she continued. “The more complex the spell, the more concentration and preparation required. Not every spell is useful in combat. Only spells that are quick to cast are used during combat. Spells that are more complex are used before or after combat.”

  She pointed at her young pupil. “The one you have woven today is useful in battle. Those of the elven blood would call it Chieron’s Comets and would boast of its origins. Going into great lengths to let you know that it is a unique spell that only those of true elven heritage can cast.” Tatianna snorted. “That’s hogwash! Nearly every mage I have ever met has a spell similar in effect. As a matter of fact, most mages simply refer to the spell as a magic missile.”

  Amani nodded her head and took in all that her mistress had said but she still didn’t know how to cast her spell and her puzzled look told Tatianna that. With a giggle and a shrug of her shoulder, Tatianna continued. “I’m sorry about that. I always hated when my mentor drifted off the subject although I must have learned more than I thought with his rambling.”

  She pointed at a small boulder a hundred feet or so down the valley. “First draw your sword, point your spell hand at that boulder and let your mind shift slightly into the magesight as I have taught you. In your mind’s eye, you should see your spell.”

  With a nod of her head Amani signaled that she had completed what her mistress had instructed.

  “Good, now mentally grab hold of the spell and speak the last phrase of the spell.”

  Sweat beaded across Amani’s furrowed brow as she concentrated on the words of the elusive spell. Amani felt as if she was trying to grab hold of a whirlwind but slowly the words became readable. Speaking softly, Amani released the energy of the spell and nearly fainted as two golden red balls of fire the size of apples flew from her hand. A split second later they slammed into the side of the boulder with two loud thuds. Feeling weak, Amani sank to her knees and stared at her handiwork. Even from this distance Amani could see the burn marks that now marred the side of the boulder.