Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  Hal’s voice came floating over their mental link. *By accepting my friendship and my breath, we are now bonded for life. My lightning will never be able to harm you, only heal you. It was you who gave me back my freedom and that is a debt I will never be able to repay. But this I do pledge, you are my friend and I will be there if you ever need me. Just call for me and I’ll hear, no matter where on Terreth I am and with Terra as my witness, I will be there for you.*

  Khlekluëllin watched as Hal turned around gracefully in midair and began to climb into the cold night air. The sight saddened his heart. “Good-bye my friend. Enjoy your freedom, you deserve it. I will miss you.”

  When Hal was almost out of sight, his voice came floating back over their link one last time *Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Things are not always as they seem. Torture and time can change anybody*

  With that he was gone.

  As the smoke cleared Rjurik and Mortharona were hesitant to look at the charred remains of their friend but they looked anyway. They were shocked and surprised to find Khlekluëllin unscathed and unharmed looking into the night air. Of Hal, there was no sign.

  Rjurik walked up to his tall friend and clapped the elf on his back with his good hand, “Where’s da dragon?”

  Still looking into the night air, Khlekluëllin sighed. “Off to enjoy his freedom.”

  With a snort, Mortharona added. “Good riddance. I never trusted him anyway.”

  Khlekluëllin just shot him a deathly glance that spoke volumes. Mortharona knew he had crossed a line with his last remark. Lowering his head, he was about to apologize for his remark when the landing area was filled with a blinding light.

  “FREEZE!” came a commanding voice. “If anybody moves, then all three of you will be dead before the first one hits the ground.”

  Not being able to see anything, the three companions had no choice but to comply with the disembodied voice.

  Rjurik puffed up his chest and took one step forward. “Now listen here. I don’t know who you are but I am Rjurik Silvershield, cousin to the king. These two elves are my friends and the twin sons of Queen Circe of Elfholm.”

  The telltale sound of a firing crossbow and the loud thud of it hitting somewhere nearby echoed in the blinding light.

  “I don’t care who you say you are! I said freeze! If you take another step, the next bolt won’t land between your legs, it will land between your eyes.”

  Rjurik grumbled but stopped moving.

  “Good! Now that I have your attention and your cooperation, lay down on your stomach with your hands behind your heads and your legs crossed. You have five seconds to comply. Four seconds. Three…”

  All three companions knew it was hopeless to resist, so they lay down as directed. Immediately they felt strong hands binding their hands behind their backs and stripping their weapons from their bodies. Bags were placed over their heads, as they were lifted roughly to their feet.

  “Now move.”

  The point of a sharp blade was poked into their backs as they began walking. The sound of the large iron gates closing behind them told the companions that they had entered the Great Halls of Darkmoor, the mighty fortress of the Dwarves.

  Rjurik had returned home. Yet, it was not the homecoming he expected.

  Chapter 24

  The morning after Red Crow’s death was somber, even the weather seemed to mourn for the old chieftain. The sky was gray, promising more snow but none fell that day. Although the wind continued to blow cold, there was an undeniable warmth between the many tribes of the Highlanders. Something had changed in the way they viewed each other. They began acting and thinking as one people, not nine different tribes. Everyone felt closer, drawn together by three undeniably grand events.

  The first was joyous, the coming of the Chosen One, the being of prophecies that foretold the downfall of their greatest enemy. He was also the main character in the ‘Fable of the Chosen,’ a favorite legend told to Highland children at bedtime. It foretold the coming of their people’s greatest warrior, a young brave who was yet to be born but risks all to fulfill his destiny. He challenges gods and demons to right the wrongs done to his people. The ending of the fable changes slightly with each telling. Depending on whatever lesson the speaker was trying to impart to the listeners but every Highland child dreams of being the Chosen One.

  The second was the death of Red Crow. He had been one of their greatest chieftains, a legend in his own time. He had earned the respect and admiration from his friends and enemies alike for his honor and wisdom. Red Crow’s accomplishments as a warrior and hunter were legendary. All would mourn his loss.

  The third seemed unavoidable, the coming war with the Dark Alliance. This one event, if no other, seemed to draw the nine tribes closer together. It was as if now, after the death of Red Crow and the appointment of Hawkeye as the Warlord of the Highland Nation, they actually realized for the first time the full extent of the coming war with the Dark Alliance.

  This war meant the death of the Highland Nations, not just the death of individual warriors or their loved ones but the death of their way of life.

  Death was just one of the facts of life they had learned to accept as part of life in the Highlands, for death was a constant companion in this harsh land but this was something different. This was the death of their people, their actual way of life.

  They began viewing themselves as a part of the greater whole. They weren’t just small packs, loosely associated with the larger tribes. At first, many of the smaller packs had thought the war would not come until the spring thaw, that when it came they could lose themselves in the uncharted forests of the Highlands. Once there, they would be forgotten by the coming darkness and ignored like ants on a log. Some truly thought they would somehow be spared from the war but now things were different. Now they saw themselves as one people, the mighty Highland Nation. They were unified as one tribe under one leader and they had one purpose the return of their goddess. And the mother of the child of prophecy, the one foretold that would be instrumental in the downfall of their enemy had been delivered into their mists. Once again, all of Terreth would see them stand as one people in defense of their goddess.

  Hawkeye was extremely busy the two days following Red Crow’s death reorganizing the nine tribes into one effective army. Hawkeye didn’t know the full extent and size of their enemy but he did remember the images given to him by the goddesses Aurora, Hecate and Luna. He knew the price of failure and he could feel the burden bestowed on him by the goddesses and it weighed heavily on his mind.

  Hawkeye also realized the true extent of his title. Just because his title as Warlord of the Highland Nation gave him complete authority over all Highlanders, he still had to earn the respect of all of the warriors. Highlanders are, on the whole, a very proud race and they would resent him just ordering them to do this and that. Hawkeye didn’t want slaves or peons, warriors who only fought because he ordered them too. No, he wanted warriors who would do whatever it took to win. If it meant fighting five to one odds or greater to win, they would do it. If it meant abandoning their homeland in order to survive, they would do it.

  In order to accomplish that, Hawkeye created his War Council which consisted of the members of the Great Council and every warrior who had ever gained the title of Warlord in any tribe or pack. This brought his War Council up to about fifty warriors and chieftains. Anasazi was the only shaman who attended and he said very little, being there more for moral support for his nephew than to help make the tough decisions.

  The hardest thing confronting Hawkeye and his War Council was the problem of reorganizing the nine tribes and numerous packs into one army. It was not going to be easy. Every warlord had his own idea as how to proceed. As Hawkeye vaguely listened to one of the older chieftains rant and rave about some small point that only he knew his mind began to wander. Glancing around at the warriors gathered, Hawkeye wondered how he could gain their respect, trust and admiration in the next month. Hawk
eye became aware that the older chieftain had stopped talking and was waiting for a reply from him.

  Not having the faintest idea what the older chieftain was talking about, Hawkeye shook his head. “That doesn’t concern us right now.”

  The older chieftain began to protest. “But Warlord, if we are to. . .”

  “I said that is not our major concern right now! Our only concern is survival!” Seeing he had everybody’s attention, he continued. “Blackfang and his Dark Alliance will attack us during the Yuletide Festival and that is less than a month away. We must be ready.”

  A young warlord spoke up, judging from his furs he was from the Lynx Tribes. “How do you know that they will attack then?”

  There were numerous murmurs of agreement.

  “Because, that is what I would do in his place.”

  Again the gathered warriors murmured, this time with disapproval.

  “Let me explain, first Blackfang knows all our customs, correct?”

  The gathering nodded.

  “And normally, there is a great celebration during the Yuletide. It is one of the few days that the Highland Nation, as a whole, does nothing. No hunting, no work, nothing but celebrate, correct?”

  Again, those gathered nodded and grunted their agreement.

  “And, it is usually the only break in the weather until spring that is large enough to move an army of his size north. Plus, he would have the Moirae Lights to help his attacks during the night would he not?”

  Again, they all agreed.

  “So, if I was in his position and I wanted to destroy my enemies before spring then I would attack during the Yuletide.”

  The young Lynx warlord spoke up again. “But that is in direct offense of Luna’s wishes. No, Highlander would do that. The Yuletide is one of our most sacred festivals.”

  Shaking his head, Hawkeye stood up and slowly walked around the lodge. “First, Blackfang no longer cares about or follows Luna. He proved this when he attacked and raped Red Eagle at her Shrine. Second, he now follows our true enemy, one of the Arachne and Clotho has ordered the death of Red Eagle and her unborn son.”

  By the nodding of their heads, he knew he was winning them over to his plan. After a brief pause, he added. “Besides does anyone want to take the chance that I’m wrong?”

  The gathering went silent. Hawkeye looked each member of the War Council right in the eyes. In his eyes, they could see his determination and resolution on this point.

  After a few minutes, he continued. “Here’s my plan, before the end of the week, all women and children are to be evacuated to Sikya with one third of our warriors. Once they arrive, they are to fortify the village as much as possible and send word to the Kingdom of Darkmoor that we need their help.”

  Suddenly, a young warlord of the Puma tribe jumped up and blurted out. “We don’t need help from those smelly dwarves! We are the mighty Highland Nation! Nothing can stand before us!”

  No one even saw Hawkeye’s hand move, so fast was his draw and throw. The only thing the gathering saw was Hawkeye’s ornate tomahawk flying through the air. With a resound thud, it embedded itself in a pole about two inches from the young warlord’s head. Before the startled gathering could move, Hawkeye had crossed the lodge in one fluid motion and placed his knife at the throat of the disrespectful warlord and growled.

  The young warlord relaxed his grip on his own tomahawk and went completely limp.

  “First, never interrupt your elders. It is very disrespectful. Secondly, those dwarves are our allies. And if we are to survive the coming war, we need all the help we can get. Third,” he punctuated this point by digging his blade in just a little. A small spot of blood formed on the tip of Hawkeye’s blade. “I am the Warlord of the Highland Nation, not you! If you don’t like what I’m doing, that’s too bad! You have three choices; follow my orders, leave and become an outcast, or challenge me.”

  Releasing the young warlord roughly, he pulled his tomahawk from the lodge pole. “If I were you, I’d choose the first or second. You wouldn’t live to regret the third choice.”

  Turning his back on the young warlord, Hawkeye addressed the rest of the War Council, his tone was slightly menacing. “Does anyone else have a problem with my leadership? If you do, then speak up now! I don’t have time for this petty bickering! The more we fight amongst ourselves, the better chance we have of dying.”

  Walking back to his seat in front of the fire, Hawkeye could feel the eyes of all gathered watching his every move. Sitting down crossed legged, Hawkeye laid his two weapons on the dirt in front of him.

  Taking several deep breaths, he spoke calmly. “I need your help. I cannot save the Highland Nation by myself. You that are gathered here,” gesturing with his hands, “have earned a place of honor among your respected tribes and packs. I ask now for your help in saving those same tribes and packs.”

  Pausing for a minute, he looked each member in the eyes for a brief second or two.

  “I want your input, your opinions, your concerns and your worries. But never forget one thing; I am the Warlord, not you or the person next to you. The Great Council bestowed me with that title and our goddess Luna entrusted me with the safety of the Chosen One.”

  Looking around, he saw a difference in their eyes. It was subtle but it was there. If he had to put a name on it, he would call it respect. It seems that the way he handled the first challenge to his authority went a long way.

  He thought, ‘Good, now maybe they’ll work together.’

  Hawkeye stood. “Since I am only one man, I need help. All of you gathered here are to be members of my War Council but I need a second in command, a Warchief, someone who will speak in my stead if I am unavailable. I appoint Odovacar as my Warchief.” There was a slight murmur from the gathering. His voice took on a hard edge once again. “Does anyone have any problems with this?”

  No one spoke up but all gathered nodded their agreement.

  “Odovacar, please come forward.”

  The young Warlord of the Boar tribe did as he was bid. Reaching down, Hawkeye picked up his knife with his left hand. Odovacar also drew his knife with his left hand. Glancing at Anasazi, Hawkeye could see the slight smile on his uncle’s face. The ancient shaman stood and approached the two warriors.

  Turning back to Odovacar, Hawkeye fixed the younger Warlord in a steely gaze. With a slight nod, Hawkeye and Odovacar slit their right wrists at the same time. Following the ancient ritual, they clasped their right forearms together, while Hawkeye spoke loudly.

  “Odovacar, Warlord of the Boar Tribe, I pronounce you to be my second in command and bestow you with the title of Warchief of the Highland Nation. Let no one doubt your position or ability.”

  Odovacar lowered his head slightly. “I do not believe I am worthy of this position but I am honored by your faith in me and I will do my best to live up to the position.”

  “That’s all we can ask of anyone and ourselves.”

  As Anasazi stepped up, Odovacar knelt down on one knee. Placing one hand on Odovacar’s forehead, the old shaman began to chant. Reaching into a large satchel that hung on his belt, he pulled out a headband with three red eagle feathers with blackened tips. Placing the headband on Odovacar’s forehead, Anasazi asked. “Do you, Odovacar of the Boar Tribe, swear loyalty to Luna and in turn to her appointed Warlord?”

  “I do.”

  “Then, by the powers granted to me by Luna the Moon Goddess, I bless your appointment as Warchief of the Highland Nation.”

  The gathered warriors and chieftain cheered. Some cried out like an owl, or roared like a puma, or howled like a wolf, it didn’t matter, everyone cheered in joy at the appointment. Hawkeye let them celebrate for a few minutes before placing his fingers in his mouth and let loose a loud whistle. The gathering slowly fell silent.

  “I know we are happy with Odovacar’s appointment but I do have two other appointments I would like to make. Would Nilrem and Chewda step forward?”

  The two Warlord
s moved through the gathering to stand before Hawkeye, Odovacar and Anasazi. The five of them must have made a funny picture; the towering Nilrem, the diminutive Chewda, the scarred Odovacar, the ancient Anasazi and the proud Hawkeye. Glancing at the two Warlords, Hawkeye and Odovacar drew their knives. Nilrem and Chewda did the same. The four of them slit their right wrists and clasped them together, until all four of them had shared blood with each other.

  “Nilrem, Warlord of the Bear Tribe and Chewda, Warlord of the Wolverine Tribe, I pronounce you both as my third in command and bestow you with the titles of Battlelords of the Highland Nation. Let no one doubt your position or abilities.”

  They both recited the ancient ritual words together. “I don’t believe I am worthy of this position but I am honored by your faith in me and I will do my best to live up to the position.”

  Hawkeye completed the ritual. “That’s all we can ask of anyone and ourselves.”

  Anasazi stepped up and the two Warlords dropped to one knee. Placing one hand on each head, the old shaman began to chant. At the end of the chant, he reached back into his satchel. Pulling out two headbands, each with two red eagle feathers with blackened tips, he placed them one at a time on their foreheads, first Nilrem then Chewda.

  “Do you, Nilrem the Warlord of the Bear Tribe and Chewda the Warlord of the Wolverine Tribe, swear loyalty to Luna and in turn to her appointed Warlord?”

  “I do,” they replied in unison.

  “Then by the powers granted to me by Luna the Moon Goddess, I bless your appointment as Battlelords of the Highland Nation.”

  The gathering went crazy, again!

  Hawkeye didn’t even try to calm them down this time. He let them whoop and holler. He even felt his spirits lift slightly at the smiles on everyone’s faces. Placing his fingers in his mouth, he was about to whistle again when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found his uncle shaking his head.