17.
DUSKFALL BRIDGE
The distance to Aledran was only two day’s run for a wolf. Blackpaws knew it well as he had done it on many occasions. Aledran Mountain sat in a Vale, a day’s journey through an enormous valley through the Scarbia Mountains. This valley is called the Great Rift, and it split the Scarbia mountain range from the moorlands to the unknown deserts beyond where it is rumoured that only the dune folk dwelled in a place called the Exiled Lands. Eight hours into the Journey and well after the sun had set; Blackpaws came to the boundary between his kingdom and the provincial lands belonging to the Duskfall wolf pack, ruled by his father in law, Prince Lothian. The border is marked where the northern end of the steppes meets the mighty Glistening River. Here was one of the few river crossings that were guarded and controlled by the Duskfall wolves.
It had been a while since Blackpaws had word from Duskfall, which was not uncommon as they usually only communicated when something was required to be said. The night was getting on, and for once, the sky was reasonably clear with little cloud. A few scattered stars were visible, and the moon was yet to rise. Blackpaws met Jericho and Regus on the edge of a thick mat of brush. Both scouts had ranged out wide and had not detected anything concerning. Here the open steppes gave way to scattered pockets of woodland with the open moors coming in a short distance away to the west. From the edge of the brush where they stood, it was a short distance across a small open grass plain to the edge of the Glistening River and the rock formation that served as a land bridge. In the distance, Blackpaws could make out the sheen of water as it snaked its way west into the moors.
‘What is it, son?’ Blackpaws hissed quietly between his teeth as Jericho and Regus had not yet stepped out onto the grassy plain. They both stood alert staring into the darkness towards the rock bridge with their ears facing forward and their tails straight behind them. ‘Something’s not right,’ replied Regus in a whisper. Jericho shook his mane and let out a low growl, ‘I smell goblins.’ Blackpaws let out a small howl, which was customary to announce one’s presence to the two Duskfall sentries usually guarding the bridge. Nothing heard back, Blackpaws became alarmed. A sudden scuffle sound was heard on the stones near the bridge. It was not the sound usually made by the feet of wolves. Jericho growled loudly and suddenly leapt forward. ‘No’ cried Blackpaws, ‘Danger!’ It was too late Jericho had bounded forward and closed the gap between their cover in the brush to the river in a matter of seconds. Blackpaws and Regus quickly followed, the grass crunching softly under their quick feet.
Half a dozen black silhouettes could be seen on the rock bridge moving about frantically. Some night birds rose into the air to hover high over the River. As he neared, Blackpaws caught the strong scent of goblin odour, and the sound of fighting came to his ears. He snarled and pushed harder, in time to see two goblin reavers brandishing clubs and aiming at Jericho’s head. Jericho had knocked the third goblin to the ground. This red goblin had a heavily tattooed face, which depicted him as being a warrior of some significance and was desperately trying to gouge at Jericho’s eyes as the young wolf finished him off. Regus and Blackpaws tackled the other two goblins moving in on Jericho. Blackpaws grabbed his goblin hard on his upper leg and threw him sideways into the river. This goblin hit the water with a loud splash followed by a gurgling cry as he was carried swiftly away by the current. Regus had been struck savagely in the ribs by another goblin who was swinging his club around for a second strike towards Regus’s head as he dodged sideways. Jericho leapt up and landed on this goblin, taking him to the ground. The goblin’s club falling from his hand clattered along the bridge before falling over the side and into the river with a splash. The three wolves panting looked around and saw that there were no more goblins on this side of the bridge. Blackpaws looked down upon a discarded goblin shield and saw the Slugheart crest. ‘What are they doing so far away from their lands and trespassing in ours?’ He wondered.
On the far bank and standing on the edge of the rock bridge, several goblins rallied around a goblin mage. The mage's voice drifted across the bridge. ‘What! Some still live?’ He cried. His dirty bald red head and face were covered in white hieroglyphs. The mage drew an enchanted dagger from under his mantle. The mage muttered quietly and began to draw patterns with the blade into the night air. The white glyphs that covered his head appeared to glow dimly in the dark. ‘We must destroy him quickly before it’s too late!’ Barked Blackpaws. Without a pause to see if the young scouts were following, he raced across the stone bridge, closing the gap towards the four goblins. Two of the goblins stood ready with clubs in hand between the mage and the wolves. One goblin had turned and ran off the other end of the bridge and towards a nearby tree line. Without the hounds or witches’ by their side, the goblins were not renowned for their bravery. The mage continued drawing patterns, and now the black air seemed to hold the trace in the form of a faint green line that got brighter. Bits of the mage's body became hazy as he began to fade from sight. The mage’s muttering turned into a loud, frantic chant as the white scarred glyphs on his red cheeks were pulsing and mimicking the air patterns. Blackpaws leapt at the nearest goblin reaver, while Jericho and Regus tackled the other goblin whose body then fell off the bridge to disappear into the dark water below.
Regus was moaning slightly, the encounter with the previous goblin had cost him a broken rib. The three wolves stood side by side as they looked upon the goblin mage in front of them. Jericho and Regus were unsure what to do next as they had encountered goblins before when on patrols, but never a mage. They could sense an unnatural aura of the magic around this goblin, which they could not focus on for some reason. Blackpaws knew better however and leapt forward towards the mage. It was too late. The previous fight had bought the mage the required time he needed to complete his escape enchantment. He blew into an ornate horn held around his neck on a black chain. A deep tone emitted that seemed to reverberate through the ground. The mage laughed and in a white flash accompanied by a loud lightning sounding crack, disappeared utterly leaving behind a tiny wisp of red smoke. Blackpaws leapt to where the mage had stood, and into thin air. The mage Grell had gone, with just a fading chuckle to be heard echoing from all directions. The black night around them became suddenly silent. A frog croaked loudly below them somewhere where the rocks met running water. Gradually a low hum was heard in the distance. The hum came from everywhere, but nowhere. It eventually increased in volume, causing the three wolves to look around in dread.
The river’s fast-flowing water slowed down and stopped. A great whirlpool erupted in the river below near where they stood upon the end of the bridge. ‘Off the bridge now!’ yelled Blackpaws as the three wolves made a quick dash to the near bank. Jericho looked down at the water as he ran, trying to push a wounded and slowing Regus along in front of him. The whirlpool expanded to about six feet across to reveal a yawning black hole. As they left the bank, they turned at the sound of a loud wail and hiss. Black smoke spewed out of the hole as a creature flew slowly out of the plume of smoke upon giant leathery wings. It was heavily scared and resembled an alligator of sorts, covered in large thick armoured scales. A thick, squat head sat atop a long muscular body. Two broken horns adorned its head, as it looked about with fierce wide squinting eyes. To be able to fly, it appeared to defy all logic and natural laws of gravity. It opened its mouth and showed rows upon rows of jagged yellow teeth. The creature as if sensing the wolves turned its body slowly around to face them with a great effort of flapping wings. It let out a scream that frightened the wolves almost as much as seeing it. It flew awkwardly over the water towards the river bank where the wolves stood horrified.
‘A Rust-Serpent.’ whispered Blackpaws in disbelief. ‘Only the goblins and witches have the power to summon such a creature from the depths of the Dread-Realm. They are a favourite pet to the Daemons. I had faced these serpents before at the battle of Trunarth, and they are particularly hard to slay. They are a most formidable foe, designed f
or war. ‘How did you defeat them?’ Asked Jericho in a frightened whisper. ‘That part I don’t remember,’ replied his father. ‘But I do recall they can be defeated easily enough if you are familiar with the adequate skills, something only the elves possess. ‘The Rust-Serpent was roughly the size of several ponies. Four heavily muscled legs hung down with enormous claws protruding at the end of a three-toed foot. One front foot dragged along, breaking the surface of the water as if it didn’t have a care in the world. Its long tail pointed out straight behind it and sporting three sharp spikes at the tip. The leathery wings flapping and curling carried the creature closer to the bank until it was only moments away. ‘We can try and outrun it,’ said Jericho in despair. However, as he and Blackpaws looked upon the weakening Regus, they both knew he would not make it. They could have possibly escaped at the cost of Regus’s life, but that was not their way.
Blackpaws and Jericho stood in front of Regus, with their legs spread and growling loudly. The Rust-Serpent did not care about the ferocity of the wolves. Where it came from it had faced more significant rivals than wolves. It landed awkwardly on the bank and folded its wings along its scaly back. Where it appeared clumsy and slow in the air, it made up for when its four legs touched the ground. Its grin grew more extensive as it saw the wolves as easy prey. The Rust-Serpent would return to its realm, but only after it had its fill. The mage’s enchantment had awoken it and opened the doorway. Now it was hungry. Regus was on his feet but dizzy with the pain in his ribs.
The dark did nothing to help conceal the wolves from the creature as it had night vision as good as the wolves. ‘Spread out’ Barked Blackpaws. The Rust-Serpent sprinted towards the wolves on its stumpy legs. It slowed and then stopped a short distance away looking at the three wolves in turn, undecided on which one to attack first. The Rust-Serpent was used to chasing fleeing prey, not having it standing still like this. As if sensing Regus was the weakest of the three, the creature let out a frightening high-pitched scream and jumped in a great bound towards Regus. Blackpaws and Jericho anticipating this movement, leapt in from opposite sides to land together on the serpent’s ridged back. Its short legs gave way for a second under the sudden weight as it twisted its head around on a long thick neck to snap at Blackpaws. Blackpaws sunk his teeth into the serpents’ back. As strong as the jaw of a wolf is, his teeth could not penetrate the armoured scales. Blackpaws did little other than to annoy it. The Rust-Serpent snapped at Blackpaw’s back legs, just grazing them with its teeth and numbing one leg from the blow. Blackpaws howled in pain.
Jericho had somehow got tangled between the creature’s scaly back ridge and a folded leathery wing. What did hurt the serpent was Jericho savagely tearing a great piece of its leathery wing away. However, it did nothing to slow the creature down. It suddenly shifted its attention to Jericho, allowing Blackpaws to slide off its back and limp away quickly on three legs. Blackpaws turned and defiantly faced the creature on unsteady legs. The sense of shock and pain dimmed his eyes, and he staggered sideways falling over onto his side, unconscious. Jericho thinking his father was dead howled loudly and tore at the serpents’ other wing, also tearing it badly. The creature much angered at not having such easy prey, after all, snapped behind from side to side trying to grab and dislodge Jericho. Its long-spiked tail suddenly snapped forward, aimed at the wolf on its back. Jericho saw it coming and leapt free to land clear to one side. The creature turned quickly one way then the other looking for Jericho.
Jericho barked loud insults at the serpent to attract its attention. Regus, with little energy, was trying to push an unconscious Blackpaws out of the way. Jericho tried his best to draw the creature after him and away from his father and Regus. The serpent screamed in anger at this upstart wolf and charged forward. Jericho leapt clear once more as the beast turned to charge again. Jericho had succeeded to draw the serpent’s full attention, but he also felt himself tiring and becoming weary. The serpent, however, did not seem to be tiring at all. Jericho managed to dodge several more charges and then knew that one of the next ones would undoubtedly be his last. The serpent then stood frozen with only its tail waving about angrily as it stared past Jericho into the darkness beyond. Its attention was curiously shifted from the young wolf to something else. Jericho risking a turn glanced behind him and saw a deep glowing red-light hovering in the air. Jericho’s immediate thoughts were that some other new devilry had materialized and would soon be upon him. However, he soon saw that the source of this light was a gem set in a silver pendant attached to a silver chain around the throat of a handsome She elf. The gem glowed brighter as the elf strode confidently closer dressed in the simple brown garb of the female elf. The elf had both arms outstretched with hands reaching towards the serpent. The Rust-Serpent had its eyes opened wide and locked on the glowing gem, the beast appeared to be in some frozen trance, unable to look away.
Out of the shadows cast by the glow of this red gem emerged a huge muntjac with enormous multi-tiered antlers that emitted a light blue glow. He strode proudly next to the elf. As big as the muntjac was, he still seemed dwarfed by the elf, bathed in power radiating from the gem. The serpent seemingly locked to the spot where it stood, opened its mouth but no sound came out. The muntjac was a similar size to the serpent and walked steadily forward, seemingly unafraid. The serpent sensed the muntjac and made feebly snapping attempts in the air. Jericho backed away, looking first at the elf, the muntjac and then the Rust-Serpent. The muntjac towering several feet above the serpent rose up high on his two back legs. He snorted loudly as his antlers now shone a brighter blue-green hue which seemed to come from numerous embossed veins visible in its antlers. He tilted his head over the serpent to suddenly drive his antlers down sharply into the head of the serpent. This forced the Rust-Serpent’s head hard into the ground with a loud snap raising a small cloud of dust. The serpent’s eyes rolled up into its head, and it let out a quick croak and died.
High above, the watching nightbirds let out a series of high-pitched angry screeches and immediately proceeded to fly towards the west. The elf glanced towards the night sky and shouted a word alien to Jericho. A jagged blue burst resembling a thin lightning flash erupted from the elf’s gem with a deafening crack. It travelled a great angled distance up towards the dark sky to strike a fleeing nightbird. The bird tumbled towards the earth, now a lifeless black smoking lump. The remaining nightbird screeched in fright and darted left and right to disappear over the moors. Jericho staggered towards his father and Regus. His father was still unconscious with Regus crouched next to him and in pain. Jericho turned and saw the elf standing behind him. The muntjac now strolled up with his head bowed respectfully to stand next to the elf. Jericho then caught a glimpse of a small red fox peering at him from behind the muntjac. The elf smiled kindly and said in a soft voice, ‘Do not be concerned, young prince.’
18.
LIEUTENANT CROVAR
Lieutenant Crovar was a favourite among the common hounds. He was the Warlord’s champion and had accompanied Shum on many raids and hunts throughout Trunarth and into the northern moors. He towered over many of the other hounds, had long thick grey and white hair and pale haunting eyes. He was a descendant from a precise strain of the hound’s ancient bloodlines, the House of the ‘Wolfhound.’ It was one of the smallest of houses among the Wildpack with brawlers of fighting age only numbering in the hundreds. The breed house was believed to have been created by witches ‘during the Chaos Millennium. It was rumoured that Crovar’s ancestors had been bred specifically for tracking and hunting the witches’ enemies and in particular the wolves. Crovar shook his great thick coat, throwing drops of water in a wide arc around him. Although the sky was dark grey, only light misty rain was falling. He should have felt honoured at being chosen to perform this task of importance, nonetheless, he felt the opposite. Like all hounds, he feared the witches. Yet, he also hated them, knowing that the once-proud hounds were now just mere servants and playthings to do the witches’ bidding.
Here on the edge of the open moorlands, he looked to the south and in the distance could see the thick tall green reeds, marking the expanse of the North Marsh. He could see and hear distant flocks of white marsh birds squawking noisily and flapping about in great numbers throughout the marsh. He recalled stories of the mighty battle that took place here ten years ago, where his father and most of his uncles died fighting the elfish and swine clans. He had only been a whelp then, kept back in the Wildpack camps with the females and other young while all the able-bodied hounds were sent to fight. Crovar’s own house was nearly wiped out when the filthy wolves also attacked from their stronghold in the Scarbia Ranges. He had heard the stories of great victories as the Wildpack had initially driven the elf and swine out of the northern moors. Then the turn to lousy fortune when the elves used their magic abilities assisting the Wildpack to be pushed on two fronts back into Trunarth at the cost of many lives. The survivors still talk to this day of the treachery committed by the witches and goblins when they failed to help the Wildpack in the hours before their defeat.
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