The journey from Harken took him two days. He had never been to Breetia before because nothing in that frozen landscape had appealed to him. He therefore did not have the slightest idea where the castle of Lord Karnelos was located. He would ask passers-by, or in some villages along the way. Unfortunately, up until then, he had not come across a living soul. There was no sign of habitation anywhere on the horizon. Nothing, only vast white plains with an occasional grove or ice covered rock outcrop.
A forest with snow-covered tree tops then appeared miraculously in front of him. Neran quickened his pace a little and soon disappeared among the tall pines. The forest broke the wind which now only zoomed across and through the tree tops above him. As it did, chunks of snow fell from their branches.
Neran leaned against a cold tree trunk and tried to catch his breath. Since yesterday his mood had dropped below freezing point, which was peculiar for him. He huffed in exasperation and threw his hood back onto his shoulders. He was hungry. He had not eaten all day and night. He had run out of supplies due to his own bad luck. He had been climbing a snow-covered cliff and was walking along a narrow ledge around a small rock when he slipped. His whole bag of food had disappeared deep into the abyss.
He would have to catch something. That was, if anything lived there. Perhaps the damn nymph had been pulling his leg and he was now wandering for nothing! Breetia had frozen over a long time ago and everything and everybody had either died or abandoned the place.
He went deeper into the forest and tried to be as quiet as possible. He sniffed the air for the scent of possible prey. He pulled out a dagger, walked among the trees, the snow gently crunching under his feet, cursing his stomach until it finally shut up. It was difficult to hunt under such conditions.
After a fruitless hour he gave up. The water in his baldric had frozen overnight, so he was also thirsty. He collapsed onto a snow-covered rock and quietly cursed. Initially staring into nothingness, he then noticed a thin shiny ribbon a little way ahead of him. He stood up and frowned. It was a creek hidden under a thick layer of ice.
Neran silently rejoiced. He stamped on the ice and promptly broke it. Water splashed out and the creek purled softly. Neran bent down, scooped some water into his hands and drank. It was incredibly cold. It reminded him of a funny story about Elf Konstipanek of Neiwlur which he had heard from Dwarf Etwik. Konstipanek had been clumsy and cowardly since birth. One Hunting Day, they sent him to hunt a white rabbit to prove himself. Unfortunately, he was overcome by a severe stomach ache. He found a niche behind a jagged stone and being in a hurry did not notice the painted characters that surrounded him. Only after he had relieved himself did he realize where he was - in the Sacred Circle of the Frosty Gods! If he had at least not had diarrhoea ... From that time onwards, it was said that the Gods had cursed him and it was for that reason that he now always suffered from constipation.
Neran had to laugh again about it. He liked jokes about elves because they mocked themselves.
An arrow flew passed his head.
Neran was immediately on his feet.
He was surrounded by a group of fighters. They were elves. He did not have a chance to look around before they had surrounded him in a small tight circle. Their bows were taut, their faces expressionless and fully focused. Neran noticed instantly that they had silver arrows.
They did not look like the elves that Neran knew. He had never met Neiwlur Elves before. They wore no noble robes and were not as graceful as those that he had seen in Ollewan. The Northern Elves were wilder and more violent in nature. These elves wore weird trousers that looked like a second skin. Over them, they wore oddly cut loincloths and long tunics with fringed, shaggy hems. Among the fighters were also three women dressed in a similar way. They did not seem to be cold.
Neran raised his hands in surrender. He was armed with a dagger belted over his thighs and a sword at his waist. However, he had no intention of using them against such odds. The Northern Elves from Neiwlur were known for their ruthlessness and cold-bloodedness. So much silver would send Neran to eternity forever in an instant.
One of the elves stepped out of the ring and approached Neran, remaining about two steps away from him. His bow was still taut and the arrowhead pointed straight at Neran’s heart. He noticed that all of the elves were barefoot and did not sink into the snow. They stood on it like on ice.
"You have entered the territory of the Northern Elves," the elf declared in a cold voice.
"Really? I thought I was in Breetia."
"This forest belongs to us," one of the female elves, or elvens, cut in. She was petite and wore a poncho over her shoulders. Her deep blue hair was woven into countless braids all over her head and her white skin almost matched the snowy landscape. All Northern Elves had blue hair and perfect ivory white skin. Neran had heard about it long ago. Legend had it that, in the days when the Golden Unicorn was still alive, their hair used turned golden with the arrival of spring.
"You're a werewolf," the group's leader said.
"How the hell do you know?" Neran wondered.
"You´re a monster from ancient times when creatures from Hell still came out of the shadows. You should have been doomed along with them," the elf said. Neran said nothing. "I can recognise Sons of Hell from a distance. Your eyes, your odour ... the manner in which you observe an area. As if you can hear every sound."
"Really? I´ve never noticed that," Neran replied mockingly."I think I have absolutely nothing to complain about. Superhuman strength, speed, invulnerability, longevity ... Don’t you find it amazing?"
"What are you looking for in our forest?" the elven inquired. It seemed that none of them had any sense of humour.
"I'm looking for Lord Karnelos’ residence. You wouldn´t like to show me the way would you?"
"You're coming with us. Chief Kei-Sai will know what to do with you," the elf decided and lowered his bow. He nodded to the others. Three elves gathered around Neran. They assumed that he would be good and obey, but Neran couldn´t resist.
"And if I won’t go?"
He knew the answer, but needed to be sure. "Then you’ll die," said the elf simply and ordered Neran to be disarmed. They moved forward in unison, the warriors pulling up the rear with taut bows aimed at him. The elven, who had talked with him before, walked beside him, her bow slung across her back.
"Why do you seek the eytéru keiro?" she asked, without looking at him. Neran raised his eyebrows.
"Whom?"
"The Lord of Breetia."
"Actually, I’m not exactly looking for him. I need some help from his wife."
She abruptly turned her head towards him. "You know Lady Liadel?"
"No, but I’ll know her," he smirked.
"What do you want from her?"
"That´s a long story," he sighed. Two elves behind him poked him in the back with arrowheads to get him moving along a little faster. He realized that he was slowing them down because he had to wade through the snow while they trod on it like little birds.
Neran wondered out loud. "What does eytérukeiro mean?"
The elven hesitated, but finally spoke: “That bloody bastard made from cow dung."
Neran's eyes widened and he almost burst into laughter. "Nice."
"No it's not. But it's appropriate."
"What are you going to do with me?"
She was silent for a moment. She looked around the forest with an attentive expression on her gentle face, her braids dangling about her. Finally, she replied: "I don´t know."
Two elves ahead froze. The commander in the front made a strange clicking sound and then walked over to the elven. "The forest is whispering a warning to us." The elven looked around. Everyone had obviously been waiting for some form of attack.
Nothing.
They started off again, slowly, cautiously. Neran looked at the trees. It did not seem to him that they could whisper anything. The elves had strange ideas that he would have to get used to.
"Where are we g
oing?" he asked the elven. "Is it still far away? I hope you have food there. I could eat an ogre." The elven looked at him abruptly and Neran flashed a smile. She frowned. No, they really did not have any sense of humour.
Neran suddenly heard something.
The group stopped and the elven grabbed her bow. ”Eían!” she shouted to the elves at the rear. All were immediately on alert. The approaching noises did not belong here. They were close. Someone was wading through the snow and the forest, trying to be inconspicuous. Hopeless when elven and werewolf ears were on alert.
"An enemy?" Neran asked, but the answer came by itself. The first arrows flew out from the bushes, accompanied by battle cries. Several elves shot back, but most of them fled to the safety of the trees. Neran stuck to the elven´s side and did much the same. Before he knew it, he had been hit by three arrows. Neran looked at them with curiosity.
"They´re not silver," he told the elven. "Give me my weapons so I can help you!"
"We can’t trust you," she refused and nocked an arrow. She stepped out of her hiding place, aimed and released the bowstring. The arrow found its target and a man behind the bushes fell to the ground. Several of them hid behind trees as did the elves. They were humans who wore simple, almost plain armour. In contrast to elves, they made a horrible noise and were as clumsy as elephants, but they knew how to shoot.
"You have my word that I won’t betray you!" Neran shouted. "Their weapons won’t hurt me. If I wanted I could turn into a monster right now and kill all of you, one by one."
The elven gave him a startled look. He was right, nobody had the time to guard him. He had free hands.
"I won’t do it," he said, looking straight into her eyes. They were large and dark like two pieces of coal.
Two elves shouted from nearby, falling into the snow, staining it red with their blood. On the other side, some people had died, but they kept coming on, thick and strong. They had the situation under control and were far superior. They must have searched the forest with only one goal in mind, to kill as many elves as possible.
The elven hesitated, finally sighed and threw Neran a sword. It was as light as a feather, in a wooden scabbard, wrapped in green leaves.
"Someone else is carrying your weapons," she said and shot again. "Maybe he's already dead. If we survive, you can find them and go free."
Neran drew the sword. "What about your commander?"
The elven looked at him. "I’m the chief's daughter. I’m the commander of our group. Herlon pretends to be the commander to protect me. My name is Élia.”
Neran was surprised for a moment. The chief's daughter ... He was lucky. "I’m Neran. Obviously, these humans want to kill you."
"Most of us who survive will be taken to the castle as slaves."
"I see." Neran took his sword and ran out from behind the tree. He heard screams and saw bodies fall, littering the ground. Arrows flew past his head. Two humans spotted him and shot. He evaded one arrow, but the second one hit him in the stomach. It hurt, or rather stung, nothing more. More arrows followed, piercing his arm, back, and stomach. This time it hurt like hell.
Anger rose up in him.
He increased his pace, moving like the wind, dashing past the soldiers like a blur. No one could have caught a glimpse of him. The only thing that gave him away were the flurries of snow that were whisked up by his movement. He moved swiftly through the group of human warriors. One by one, he cut their throats with the slim elven sword. It was quick and the smell of blood, so much blood, permeated the air. He did not stop to think about it. The blood was a problem and he realised it as soon as he shed it.
Ten men had fallen. The remainder paused to take in their positions and to establish where the deadly, invisible enemy was. The elves were also left confused, until Élia ordered them to continue the attack. They took advantage of the confusion and fear of the humans and showered them with arrows yet again.
Neran finally stopped. He stared at the blood dripping from his sword. The sudden thirst he felt in his throat was almost unbearable. He had to taste it, he simply did. He put the sword to his lips and...
An arrow penetrated his shoulder, followed by another between his shoulder blades. He howled in pain and turned quickly. A human with a bow stood behind him. Neran, possessed by sheer ferocity, bared his animal fangs and growled. The man visibly paled and dropped the bow from his trembling hands. Neran dashed towards him and attacked him viciously. Once pinned down, Neran bit into the man´s shoulder and tore off a piece of flesh, his white collar bone left protruding from his body. The man screamed in shear pain. Neran felt the taste of the raw meat and blood on his tongue and knew he could not resist. He had to take another bite.
Somebody yelled from behind him. Neran noticed some movement, turned around in a flash, released his victim, and caught the blade, which was to supposed to gash his back, in the palm of his hand. Its owner stared at him in disbelief. Neran growled, his mouth, fangs, chin, and neck were stained with his comrade´s blood.
"Hey!" Someone called out. Neran knew that he was being addressed. He swivelled his head, without letting go of the soldier's sword. A man in armour with a cloak over his shoulders tied together with a golden clasp, stood nearby. It was testimony to his status. He had to be the group's commander, perhaps even a general. He held Élia in front of him and was pressing a dagger to her throat.
Neran breathed deeply, trying to squeeze the animal ferocity out of his mind. It was so easy to give in to instincts and follow only the desire to kill. He must begin to practice self-control again.
He looked around. Most of the elves were dead. Corpses were scattered everywhere and the white snow had turned into a pool of bloody red slush.Neran had killed many of the soldiers, but more of them had survived than the elves. Including Élia, there were only five of them left, and of the soldiers at least ten.
"Surrender and I will spare this little cutie and the rest of the funny ears," the man said while holding Élia.
"Don’t listen to him and run!" the elven shouted. The soldier brutally slapped her face and she fell to her knees.He picked her up and put his dagger to her throat again.
"Now what?" he harassed Neran, his men surrounding the remaining elves. Neran thought. He was still holding the tip of the sword of one of the soldiers who did not dare to move. He could listen to Élia and simply run away. After all, what did he care about the elves and their dispute with the Breetians? He knew he couldn´t do it. He needed to get to the castle.
He let go of his opponent's sword. The man backed away, stumbled, and almost fell on his bottom. He dropped his weapon and ran to his comrades, unsure of whether there was safety in numbers. Neran looked at the palm of his hand. The sword had cut into it, but after a few moments there was no sign of the wound. Neran threw down the elven sword. The men stared at him as if he was a spectre. Five arrows were sticking out of his body, yet he was still alive and didn´t really seem to be hurt.
Now it came to the worst part, he thought bitterly. He grabbed the arrow in his stomach, gritted his teeth, and pulled. The pain momentarily paralyzed him. Pulling an arrow out of the body was no fun. The others in his shoulder and arm were far easier to cope with.
He came towards the enemy and felt his wounds heal. He stood in front of the commander. Two men at his side cowered and stepped back. One pointed their finger at Neran and shouted:
"He's a demon!"
"He’s no demon, you fool,” the commander retorted. He looked at Neran from head to toe with his sly eyes. "A monster from the beginning of time, huh? He's a werewolf."
The soldiers looked at each other with wide open eyes. The commander pointed to the dead elves. "Take their bows and arrows. They are made of silver."
"So what?" one of the men asked perplexed. The commander stabbed him with a vicious gaze.
"Only silver can kill a werewolf!"
The soldier hushed up and ran to collect the arrows.
Élia looked at Neran with her calm eyes. She
had a bruise on the left cheek. The elves seemed very composed and unafraid of death. This trait was common to those from Neiwlur and Ollewan. Some had lived in this world for over one thousand years, but they never died of old age. Who knew how old Élia was? After such a long time maybe you looked forward to death. Maybe in another one hundred years, Neran would look forward to it too.
The commander looked him in the eyes and grinned. He had pale porcelain skin accentuated by his short dark hair, and several scars on his bearded face. He was far from handsome, but his body was well-built.
"My name is Urvan," he told Neran. "I am a captain in the Lord’s army, and you, werewolf, are coming with us."
Oh, just a captain, Neran thought spitefully. "I'll kill you," he told him instead. Urvan’s smile froze.
"I don’t think so," he said, and grinned again. His men brought him a few silver arrows, some stained with blood. "Don’t give them to me, aim them at him! If he so much as blinks, blow his damn head away! Is that clear?"
The soldiers hastily nodded and nocked the arrows to their bows. Neran was surrounded again. Urvan grabbed Élia by the arm and turned her towards the rest of the elves, among them the one posing as the commander.
"Who is your commander?" he shouted at them. Neran frowned. Elf Herlon slipped away from the soldier who was holding him, and stepped forward.
"It’s me," he said proudly. Neran watched as Élia swallowed nervously.
"Well then," Urvan rubbed his chin. "Stick his sword into the ground over there, impale his head on it, and leave the body next to it."
"No!" Élia shouted and tried to free herself from him, but Urvan pointed the tip of his dagger to her neck. A trickle of blood ran down her skin.
"Shut up, you elven bitch," he whispered hoarsely. "Or your cute little head will keep him company."
"He's not the commander, I am!" she cried.
"Be quiet, ïkara,” Herlon snapped back calmly. "I’ll accept my fate. I am proud to die for you."
Son of hell: Blood of wolves Page 10
