by Steve McHugh
When his face was finished, thick black fur covered it, only then did the rest of his body follow suit. Pain continued to show in Thomas’ eyes, as his arms and legs grew. Increasing not only length wise, but in terms of mass too. They formed huge muscular monstrosities. Long black talons were at the end of each finger once they'd dislocated and grown.
Grunts and groans of pain stopped, replaced with a low growl as Thomas' midsection changed—the last thing to do so. Ribs popped and healed almost instantly, each accompanied by a small grunt. The collarbone snapping brought a howl of pain and Thomas raked at the ground.
I sat and watched, hand around the hilt of my Jian, as Thomas stood tall for the first time. He was over three heads taller than before, and likely weighed twice as much. An inhuman killing machine, designed to hunt and inflict damage. He looked up at the sky and howled again, showing the razor sharp teeth within his mouth.
He moved toward me, each step tentative and uncertain, testing out his new body. "I wouldn't do that." I tapped the sword next to me.
Thomas stopped and followed my hand with his eyes, growling slightly.
"If you're hungry, I brought you some food." I motioned toward the wild boar.
Thomas dove onto the carcass, claws ripping at the large animal. He tore huge chunks out and fed them into his waiting maw. He sliced open the boar's belly, spilling its insides onto the ground, and pushed his face up inside. The sounds of ripped flesh and snapped bones echoed throughout the clearing.
By the time Thomas finished, the boar was almost picked clean, a few hundred pounds of animal devoured in no time at all. Still covered in blood, he fell asleep soon after. Even though he’d only been a wolf for an hour at most, exhaustion took him.
I waited until his body had transformed back into his human form, a process much less painful, before covering him with some ferns and letting him sleep.
*****
I managed to get a few hours rest before waking up. Thomas slept soundly, still covered in ferns. He needed to change regularly for the coming months, until his body allowed it to happen within a few seconds instead of the dozens it took the first time.
By the time Thomas woke, I'd dragged the boar into the woods for whatever carrion decided it was hungry enough. When finished, I had a wash in the nearby stream. The cold water certainly helped wake me up.
"My body hurts," Thomas said as I entered the clearing again. He staggered to his feet, ferns and leaves clinging to him.
"It will do that when you first change form. There's a stream about a hundred yards that way." I pointed into the woods. "I put some clothes on a tree stump. Go wash the boar off and get dressed. I can't have a naked Englishman covered in gore walking around with me. People might get suspicious."
Thomas nodded and walked briskly into the woods, leaving me alone to eat some bread and fruit.
"Where'd you get the food?" Thomas asked on his return.
"There's a village not too far from here. I stole it from a house down there as everyone was sleeping."
"That's wrong, you shouldn't steal."
"I think they'll get by with the loss of half a dozen apples and some bread."
"And the clothes?"
"Those are stolen too. They seem to fit ok."
Thomas looked down at the peasant outfit I'd found. It was mixture of browns and greys. When dressed, he looked as inconspicuous as I've ever seen a person. He might not have been happy about my thievery, but he'd get over it. Or go naked the next time he ripped his clothes apart mid-change.
"So where are we going?" Thomas asked as we set off.
"There's a larger village about two hours walk away. I'm hoping they'll have a few answers for us."
Thomas returned to the previous day's mute as we started our walk. But as we passed the village whose wares I'd stolen the night before, he piped up. "You mentioned knights. Are they like the Knights of Arthur?"
I stopped walking and turned to face him. "They are the Knights of Arthur. The legend is real. Neither Arthur nor most of the knights are human. And many of them are still involved in Avalon's running and continued wealth. Arthur... He is a separate matter. He's no longer involved in day to day matters."
Thomas' jaw dropped open. He stood silent for a moment as the information sunk in. Greek gods are one thing, but the Arthurian legend was something every Englishman knows. To discover it was real must have been quite a shock. "Why isn't he involved?"
"He got hurt long ago." It was true. Although not the full answer. Arthur was betrayed and seriously injured. Only magic keeps him alive. I turned and started walking as thoughts of Arthur filled my head. Arthur's betrayal had taken many forms over the years, Mordred, Guinevere, Morgan and Lancelot. All more than any one man should suffer. But it had been my betrayal that had led to my King... my friend, fighting for his life.
Chapter 12
The walk took a little longer than I'd anticipated, mostly because Thomas was sore. He grimaced and winced with every other step on the hilly terrain. Normally werewolves rest for a few days after their first change, but Thomas didn't have that luxury.
We walked past several men and women. Some rode on carts or lone horses, but most were on foot. None of them gave Thomas a second glance, but they avoided me. "That Guan Dao is scaring people," Thomas said after the fifth person purposely left me with enough room to swing a horse.
"Oh good, for a moment I thought that my rugged handsomeness was scaring folk off."
Thomas' laughter filled the air and was cut abruptly short when I stopped walking. "What's wrong?"
"Soldiers," I said. The road we were on moved with the land. The sides rose steeply the further it went, leading down to an open field below us. The forest, which had been on either side of us for much of our journey, ended a few hundred yards before the road split in two. One side of the road followed the steep decline to the lower ground, and the second curved sharply, leading toward a small village. A soldier stood guard at the village limits.
"Do you speak French?" I asked.
Thomas shook his head. "Only a few words."
"Then as of right now, you're a mute. You just nod and keep your eyes on the ground. If this all turns to shit, and let's be honest the chances are high, you don't get involved."
Thomas opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "You're not ready to fight. You'll have to change once a night for the next few weeks, or even months, before the pain from changing goes away. Until then you're in no condition to fight unless you have to. And right now, you don't have to."
Thomas didn't argue and we made our way toward the village. Despite the many people we'd passed on our journey, this close to our destination there was no one else on the road.
The soldier spotted us, and ran closer "Keep your hands in your pockets," I whispered before the soldier reached us. "Your lost fingers will give you away."
"Who are you?" the soldier asked once in ear shot. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"I’m just a traveller, on my way to the silk road," I said in French.
"What's with the weapons?"
"There are many unsavoury types on the road, and it is a long journey. Being prepared is common sense."
The soldier nodded an understanding before glaring at Thomas. "Who is he?"
"He is my servant. And a mute."
"Lucky you," the soldier said with a laugh. "Although he doesn't look French."
"He's Prussian, and an awful servant in truth. But I can't very well carry everything myself. And he makes for a second target when bandits appear."
The soldier regarded Thomas for a moment longer. "You can't stay here," he said eventually.
"I've no desire to stay. A drink and some hot food before we move on would be nice."
"There's an inn just down this road. They should give you something to eat, but we've taken all the rooms." He glanced at the Guan Dao again. "Don't start trouble or I'll cut your balls off."
"No trouble," I said and raised my
hands, palms out, to show I meant no harm. "Why are there soldiers in the area? Is trouble expected?"
The soldier laughed again. It was low and menacing. I didn't like the man one bit. "We're here to protect the villages from... undesirables."
"I heard that Soissons was attacked. Do you think those responsible could be coming here?"
Laughter rang out again. "We're already here, you idiot. We attacked the city. It was full of English bastards and those who supported them. They all deserved what they got. Cut off a few English archers' fingers too." He laughed again.
Thomas bristled behind me and for a second I thought that he was going to lunge at the man, but he kept his temper in check. I looked past the French soldier and saw none of his brothers close by. "So you know where the girl is? Is she in the inn?"
The soldier's face changed from smiles and laughter to concern in an instant. He reached for his sword, but I plunged a dagger up into this throat, turning it slightly and removing it.
His tunic, once white and blue, rapidly turned crimson. I pushed him backwards. He lost his footing and fell down the hill next to us. Once at the bottom he was out of sight from anyone in the village. The curved road made sure of that.
"We could have gotten answers from him," Thomas said.
"The girl's in the village. Probably in the inn itself, which, as it happens, is our next destination." I wiped the dagger on my trousers—they already had enough stains that one more would make very little difference.
The start of the village was only a few hundred yards away. The inhabitants peered out of their homes, watching as we made our way toward the inn. They all vanished when three soldiers walked up to us.
"Who are you?" the largest of them asked. A poleaxe and dagger hung from his belt. He scratched his raggedy beard. Possibly mites.
"A traveller," I repeated from earlier. "We spoke to one of your friends out on the road."
The three men exchanged a glance. One of them, a man with a pox-marked face and a scar that ran from ear to nose, walked away and looked up the road.
"I don't see him," he said on his return.
The large man took a step toward me. We were in the middle of the village, a large open space with houses circling us. Violence here would rapidly escalate to involve innocent people. "He walked into the woods," I told them. "Said he needed to piss."
The large man chuckled and looked at Pox-face. "He's been on the ale all day. He'll be back soon enough." Then he turned his attention to me. "Are you walking through?"
I understood the threat. Get out of the village, now. But I’d never responded well to bullies. "My servant and I just want a drink to sate our thirst. Then we'll be on our way."
The larger man nodded, but Pox-face and the third companion, a thin weasel-like man with a vicious looking curved dagger in his belt, didn't look so convinced and once I was a few steps away all three walked off in the direction of their dead friend.
"This is going to shit pretty fast," Thomas whispered when we reached the inn's front door.
"We'd better hurry up then, hadn't we?"
The wooden door felt rough under my hand. It rubbed against the floor as I pushed it open and stepped inside, Thomas close behind me. Three pairs of soldier's eyes turned toward us from a table of the corner in the small dark room. A man and woman stood behind a counter next to what was probably the kitchen, their arms laden with bowls of what appeared to be stew of some type. They glanced our way and immediately looked elsewhere, not wanting to get involved.
"Who's in charge here?" I asked.
One of the three men stood. The meagre light in the room bounced off his bald head. "I am."
He wore an expensive ring on his index finger and the sword hanging from his belt looked worth more than all of his companions' weapons combined. He wasn't lying. I nodded and shot a blast of air at the two other men, flipping them out of their chairs and slamming them violently against the far wall. From the cracks that sounded, I doubted either man was getting up again anytime soon. If ever.
The soldier in charge had little time to react before a bolt of fire struck him in the chest, lighting his tunic. He dropped to the ground, beating his chest as I walked over to him and kicked him onto his back. I planted my foot firmly on his sternum.
"The fire," he cried.
I clicked the fingers on one hand and the fire vanished. "Better? Good. Where's the girl?"
"I will not..."
"Yes, you will," I told him pointedly. "You will tell me, or die."
"Then I shall die." He spat at me and retained a smug look on his face. I clicked my fingers again and set his right arm on fire.
The screams started immediately, and continued until I removed the fire once the smell of burning linen and flesh filled the air. I waited for the whimpering to die down. "Feel like answering now?"
He nodded furiously and moaned as the skin on his forearm blistered. "Up… upstairs, third… door."
"Thank you," I said punched him in the face, snapping his head aside.
"Do you two have a cellar?" I asked the man who appeared to be the owner of the inn.
"Yes, sir."
"Take your family there, do it now."
He nodded once and vanished into a back room.
"You're not killing him?" Thomas asked. He'd removed the soldier's sword and pressed the tip against his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.
"We might need him. But if you want to, be my guest."
Thomas looked down at the man with fire in his eyes. He was still angry about what had happened to him and his friends, but he was not a murderer. Thomas sheathed the blade and hung the sword from his waist.
"Good choice," I told him as I started up the stairs.
"Would you have done it?" he asked once we reached the landing. "If our roles were reversed?"
We walked down to the third door. Runes, similar to those I found back in Soissons, were carved into the wood.
"Yes," I said and opened the door.
A girl sat on a small bed. Her long, light-brown hair cascaded over a deep blue dress. "I knew you'd come," she said without looking at me.
I entered. "Glad I could help."
The room was large and had probably served as the owner's main bedroom. Several bottles of what I assumed were perfume sat on top of a chest of drawers. Lace lined dresses in various shades of greens and blues hung over the back of a cushioned chair. A full length mirror, the edges lined with gold leaf, sat in one corner of the room, reflecting the back of the girl who sat regally posed on the bed's mattress. The contents of the room cost more than anything an innkeeper's wife could afford.
The girl turned to look at me for the first time, and I noticed she was leaning more towards woman than girl. Probably seventeen years old, although her eyes said she had lived more than most her age.
"Are you the girl from Soissons?" I asked.
She nodded once and turned her gaze to Thomas. "Thank you for coming, Thomas."
For a second I thought he was going to sprint out of the room. "How...?"
"I'm psychic." She said it in the same way a person might say they were English. It wasn't what she could do, it was what she was.
I remembered what the werewolf in Soissons had told me about the girl from the cage. "Ivy?"
She nodded again. "They're scared of me. Scared that I'll see their deaths."
"Can you?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes."
Her utter calm in the face of what she said was unnerving. I checked the room for runes that might cause problems with her leaving and found nothing suspicious. "We need to leave."
"I can't," she said calmly. "They won't let me."
I was about to ask who, when Thomas said, "I think we have a problem." He stared out the window, which looked down on the village square.
I joined him just as a howl cut through the air. Several werewolves stood motionless in the square, all looking up at the window. Another howl filled the air. This one filled with r
age. It was a lot of effort for one psychic. "Who are you?" I asked Ivy.
"My grandmother was Cassandra of Troy, daughter of Priam, and the spoil of war for Agamemnon, King of Mycenae."
Goddamn it. "Now we have two problems," I said.
Chapter 13
London, England. Now.
My first thought upon waking was that heaven looked surprisingly like my hotel room. Or maybe it was hell. It was hard to differentiate. The loud buzzing of a mobile phone, as it vibrated against the wooden table it sat on, was definitely from hell.
My body hurt, and my mouth was dry. I reached over and picked up the small black phone. The second thought of the day ruptured in my mind. It wasn't my mobile. It was probably never good to wake up after being shot and find someone else's phone is ringing next to you. At least that's what I'd gleaned from my limited experience.
The number on the screen was withheld. I pressed the little button shaped like a green phone to answer the call. "Yes," I said tentatively, still feeling woozy.
"You have ten minutes to get up and out of that room." It was at that moment that I realised the person on the phone was female and that I was wearing only my shorts. "Some very bad people are about to burst through the door."
That woke me up. I sat bolt upright, and immediately wished I hadn't. "What's wrong with me?" I said, holding my head.
"You were tranquilised about six hours ago. It was enough to put out a rhino for a day. You're probably feeling a little sluggish."
Jenny had shot me. "Where's Jenny?" I noticed the almost growl in my voice.
"She's not here," the woman on the end of the phone said firmly. "You now have seven and a half minutes. I'd get dressed."
"Not until you tell me what's going on. I'm not in the habit of trusting mysterious female voices over the phone."
"Look, I'm sorry about the dart. But my lord wants you taken in so he can pull your brain apart. I can't allow that to happen. Our orders were to drug you and leave you in your hotel room. He wanted to wait until he'd sorted everything out at Mars Warfare before dragging you away. There was a murder there last night. And rules have to be followed, even if he was behind it. But Jenny gave you less tranquiliser than she was meant to. You're waking up five or six hours early. "