The Orb of Wrath

by Nic Weissman

Mithir and Erion left before dawn. They were already out of town before the sun started to rise on the horizon. They bought some supplies and decided they would eat breakfast on the way to save time. They had a long journey ahead that day. When they had been riding for an hour, and after dawn, they left the road.

  “Let's stop briefly for breakfast,” Erion proposed.

  “After the rocks, it can be a good place,” Mithir pointed.

  “All right. I'll make the fire,” Erion said.

  “And I'll grab the food: sausage with cornbread,” the magician added.

  After eating, they picked everything up and prepared to resume their journey. It was then when they saw four wolves that had approached silently behind the rocks. The animals had a thin black coat. Their developed tense muscles let them perceive the almost complete absence of fat. The wolves showed their huge, furious, salivating tusks. The herd had probably detected their tracks with their tuned sense of smell. There was no time to lose. They had to react quickly.

  Erion ran to the saddle and grabbed his hand crossbow, which he had always prepared. He loaded it and shot one of the wolves. The arrow flew swiftly toward its goal and wounded one of them in a foreleg. Erion had aimed at its head, but the animal moved to start the race towards them. He was lucky to have reached the target, but the wolf could still be dangerous; at least it would be slower and easier to control.

  The other three beasts took charge against them, while the wounded wolf followed them more slowly. Mithir, who sat on his horse when the wolves appeared, pulled a small bag from his pocket. He took powder and some seeds from it. After making a few quick gestures and babbling murmurs, his hands began to glow with a silvery tone, and a moment later four small orange spheres shot out at high speed. They described strange curved paths, but they all reached their target. Three of them hit the first, the fastest, and shot him dead. The last hit the wolf that followed, wounding him in the side, but not killing it.

  Erion put another arrow in his crossbow, cocking it with a quick and trained gesture. He shot the second wolf. A part of its coat had been burned from the impact of Mithir's magical projectiles, and the animal was roaring angrily when the arrow pierced its skull, next to one of its ears. It dropped dead instantly. And then there were two.

  The third came to them in a flash, with no time for further reaction. It jumped on Erion, trying to dig its fangs into his jugular. Erion slightly moved his head back, as he wrestled with him. The beast was much stronger; he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. Behind, Mithir dismounted and took his wooden quarterstaff. He approached the wolf from behind and, taking advantage of Erion's struggle with it, hit it as hard as he could in its head. The animal did not suffer great damage but remained quite dazed and released its prey. Without a second's hesitation, Erion seized the moment, drew his short sword and struck it with a quick and violent movement at the wolf's neck, which fell dead moments later.

  Erion then felt a sharp pain in his left leg. The last beast, which was also wounded in the leg, had finally reached them and had taken him by surprise. The wolf would not let go of the leg and he could hear how it tore his muscles. He thought he was going to lose consciousness because of the pain. In an effort of self-control, he moved his sword to his left hand, because he could not reach the animal that was behind him with his right hand, and stabbed it in neck, killing it instantly.