The Wolf and the Sorceress

by Brian Pemberton

  ‘This was becoming a fiasco,’ he thought, dusting himself down. He had just regained his breath and his dignity, and was about to cast a spell at the wolf, to finish it once and for all, when he heard Nemeila call to him.

  “I am not finished yet, sorcerer. Your powers are not so invincible after all.” She sent her own spell flying towards him, which in his shock at hearing her voice, he only partially managed to block. Aurek had left himself vulnerable, he had been caught off guard and her conjury had hurt him. He noticed in horror the wolf launching himself at him again, and the eagle struggling on the ground, frantically trying to get back into the air. “He who turns and runs away…” he mumbled to himself, as he decided to flee. He snapped one last lucky spell at Nemeila. This one struck her, her ward failing to contain the force. She collapsed to the ground unmoving. Aurek clicked his fingers merrily, and instantaneously a glossy-winged raven appeared and took to the skies. Amber’s loyal mind was torn between his mistress and his new ally. He settled on Goldie, nudging him tenderly with his snout. The eagle opened his wings gingerly, the feathers at the tip of his right wing had been badly damaged and were still smoking, but with a piercing shriek and an encouraging bark from Amber, at the second try he lifted from the ground. “I will be all right,” Goldie, screeched, “go and protect our mistress.” Once in the air, his wings seemed to gain strength and he beat them furiously to gain the height he needed to track the raven. Having seen the eagle safely over the horizon, Amber bound over to his mistress; the pale glowing aura surrounding her body had all but faded, but she lay silent and still. He placed a concerned paw on her chest and gently raked at her clothing. “A fine time to go fainting,” he muttered under his breath at the lack of response.

  The villagers who had been lashed to the wagons had, during the supernatural fight between the girl and their captor, managed to untie their bonds, and now gathered round their saviour and the wolf. He stood over her body protectively, baring his teeth, “Just try coming closer,” he snarled, as the nervous villagers backed away from the wild animal. Parlan and Tyler pounded down the hillside, slipping and sliding on the loose scree, and forced their way through the crowd of men, women and children. Amber’s throaty growls diminished a little as Tyler approached.

  “It’s all right, old fella. I’m not going to harm her.”

  Amber shuddered at the ‘old fella’, but moved aside. Tyler knelt and cradled her body in his arms, he thanked the gods that she was still alive, but her breathing was so shallow that he felt it could cease at any second. A wagon was cleared and Tyler carefully lifted her almost lifeless body from the damp ground onto the rough wooden boards, before wrapping her still form in a blanket to keep her warm. The people had momentarily forgotten the sorcerer, as they began to free their bound compatriots, but the battle was far from being over. It had left the ground and taken to the air. Carried on warm thermals, Goldie’s only thought was a mission of vengeance. Although his wing had been damaged and the strain of flight pained him, he would not allow the creature that had harmed him and his new mistress to escape. His talons raked at the looping body of the raven below him, but the blue-black bird was quick to dodge away, and Goldie’s talons closed round air. Aurek cursed the eagle, wishing now that he had not been so hasty in his choice of creatures to metamorphose into. He banked to the left, suddenly plummeting in an attempt to shake off his pursuer, and for a moment he was successfully free from torment. Below he spied the crowd gathered round the lifeless body of the girl, and the vicious black eyes of the raven glinted with pleasure. But the joy was short lived; he suddenly felt the eagle’s claws close like a vice round his chosen alter ego’s fragile bones. Aurek felt every precious ounce of breath crushed from his body, as the relentless talons squeezed tighter. Rotating his head, Aurek stabbed at Goldie’s legs with his lethal beak, drawing blood. Goldie relaxed his grip for a split second and the raven fell from his grasp, but the once finely feathered and powerful wings had been weakened. Aurek dropped in helpless flight, aware that to change into a more formidable opponent, he would have to land. As he fell, he spotted a thickly layered canopy of green leaves atop an ancient oak tree that would cushion his fall. The raven crashed into the branches, then plunged onward to fall to the ground with a dull thud. For a moment it lay still to regain its breath, before disappearing in a swirling vortex of black plumage. From out of a cloud of feathers stepped the sorcerer, returned to his human form. A voice screamed a warning that the magician still lived, and Tyler and Parlan spun in shocked disbelief to see the scowling black-blue apparelled figure striding towards them. Out of immediate danger, Nemeila stirred into consciousness, blinking open her eyes to see Tyler’s worried face peering down at her. “Where is Aurek?” she whispered huskily, her voice parched in her throat. “He turned himself into a raven and fled but your eagle gave chase and tried to bring him down. He escaped the eagle’s talons but must have been injured because he couldn’t fly away. He’s back again for his final revenge.” “Help me up,” she said, extending her arm.

  Tyler carefully supported her to her feet, where she stood swaying unsteadily.

  “You’re in no fit state to take him on again,” said Tyler firmly, “Parlan and I will end this.”

  “No, it’s hopeless. He’ll kill you before you even unsheathe your sword. I am the only one who stands any chance of stopping him.”

  Nemeila shoved past the men and woman stampeding towards her, scattering out of the sorcerer’s purposeful path. As Aurek hurled a scintillating javelin of energy towards her, the look on his face was of pure murderous evil. She brought up her hands, palms out, and released a shaft of coruscating light. Aurek’s charm struck Nemeila’s counter spell, lighting the clearing up like an illumination from the nether world. She extended both arms rigidly, feathering her fingers lightly in the air, until an emerald glow emanated from her palms, cupping her outstretched fingers she began to mould the enchantment she had created. As Aurek prepared a defensive spell, she despatched the pulsating globes of fire with as great a force as she could muster towards her aggressor. A moment of complete silence followed, when it seemed as though she must have failed. Then as she was preparing a ward for his counter attack, Aurek let out a scream that rent the air, startling the roosting birds in the nearby trees into terrified flight. His violently trembling body began to smoulder and tiny flickers of green flame played hide and seek against his smoking body armour. His hair began to singe and steam issued from his nose, mouth and eyeballs. His blackening crisping fingers clutched at his raw face, as whimpers of rage and pain escaped his charred lips. Aurek realised too late the strength she possessed, now when it was too late. The hungry dancing flames consumed Aurek’s body as he sank to the ground, until finally nothing remained but a pile of ash and a smell of roast flesh on the air.

  Out of the stunned silence, a sudden roaring, cheering crescendo filled the air. Aurek was dead, this time there could be no mistake, but as the body was devoured by fire, a black leather pouch had fallen free of the armour due to his wildly flapping arms, as Aurek had stamped about trying to extinguish the flames. Released by the sorcerer’s death from the spell that had imprisoned it, the guardian of the pouch resumed its true shape. Hidden from sight in the shadow cast by the giant oaks, it stood and watched, pulsating with venomous life, seeing nothing but food before it. As silent as a snake zigzagging through sand, it started trekking towards the nearest wagon full of people. As black as the surrounding umbra, it remained unnoticed until it was almost upon the people crowding round Nemeila. A sudden scream made everyone jump; Bekka shrieked even louder as the onlookers scattered in terror, yanking Tyler’s arm to drag him away from the danger. His first sight of the freakishly gigantic monster advancing towards him virtually stopped his heart. He and Bekka grabbed Nemeila to pull her to safety, as the creature’s stilt-like legs gained on them. Parlan drew his sword, at the same time doubtful that he could get close enough to the massive spider to cause much damage. Parlan’s men sprang
into life and loosed volley after volley of arrows, but the spider hardly noticed the tiny pinpricks as the arrows found their mark on its thick leathery skin. Its huge drooling mandibles sliced together like sharpened scythes, as it anticipated the juicy meals scurrying around like ants. Nemeila examined the creature Parlan and his men were trying to fend off. It was vast beyond belief and lightning fast as it dodged and evaded Parlan’s men. Nemeila knew it to be a product of sorcery and that no weapons wielded by a human would destroy it.

  “Give me your sword, Tyler,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

  “No,” he shook his head in determination, “Parlan will take care of this; you have done quite enough for one day.”

  “You don’t understand,” her exasperation at his lack of comprehension was clear, “this is no natural creature. Now, give me your sword.”

  “There has to be another way,” Tyler tried again, as Nemeila enclosed the hilt of the sword within her fist.

  “There is no other way,” she said, more gently this time, “the spider was created by magic, and only magic can defeat it.”

  She darted over to join Parlan and his men, who were being pushed back as the spider crept onward. While its attention was on Parlan, she positioned herself to cut across its path with her blade. She swept the sword from left to right, severing one of its eight legs, which fell like a bristling twitching sapling to the ground. The spider whipped round, its stump oozing stinking purple blood, its mandibles clacked open and shut menacingly, and its two poisonous green bulging eyes glowed in angry malevolence against the puny being who had managed to hurt it. Nemeila called upon her amulet and the response was immediate. Knowing that she only had moments to prepare, she began to weave a charm she could use. Grasping the sword firmly in both hands, the power created by her amulet rippled down the weapon, trailing a gleaming halo in its wake the whole length of the blade. As the spider lowered its rear, ready to launch itself at her, Nemeila leant back and threw the sword like a dagger. The glowing barb pierced the spider’s thorax, just below its head. In a gush of the same purple filth, it reared up on its hind legs, its forelegs thrashing and raking at the hilt of the sword. But its attempts to remove the weapon were futile, it crashed to the ground and in its death throes, Nemeila saw contentment replace rage and pain on the creature’s hideous visage. A stomach-churning stench wafted across the clearing, nauseating and choking all who breathed it in. Finally, all that remained was a black resinous puddle on the ground, which Nemeila reverentially covered with earth.

  Tyler took her into his arms, folding their comforting warmth round her shivering frame, unsure whether the cause was the chill in the morning air or delayed shock from her ordeal with the spider.

  “You were amazing,” he breathed into her soft hair, “if I ever fall in love, it will be with you.”

  Nemeila smiled against his hard-muscled shoulder, but before she could respond, Amber bounced up to her, seeking attention for once. Goldie circled above, his cacophonous screeching letting her know he was still in the vicinity. Bekka shyly sidled up to Nemeila and hugged her and tried to surreptitiously dry the tears leaking from her eyes, as she didn’t want her new friends to think she was a cry-baby.

  “I thought you were going to die,” she whispered.

  “Oh don’t you worry, it will take a lot more than some meddlesome old magician to kill me,” Nemeila said, ruffling the girl’s soft curls.

  “Will you take me with you?” pleaded Bekka. “As you know, I have nowhere else to go since the villagers cast me out.”

  “I will find you a good place to live,” promised Nemeila, “somewhere you will be safe, wanted and loved.”

  As they strolled hand in hand towards the wagons, all the villagers stretched out their hands to touch Nemeila when she passed, as though she were a holy relic in their midst, all praising and heaping tearful blessings on their saviour. A tiny girl wobbled out from the crowd as Amber passed, and she trailed her fingers down his side. She gazed up at her mother and lisped, “Nice doggy.”

  In some other lifetime, before he had been charged with Nemeila’s safety, his reaction might have been different, but in the here and now, Amber chose to wallow in the little girl’s words, and tracked a long tickling slurp up the child’s arm.

  All that now remained was to gather the straggling villagers together and head back towards the castle. Parlan had carefully loaded the wounded into wagons, with the tired and hungry, but the cheerful, able-bodied people were happily ambling along beside them. He knew it would be an arduous journey, but Parlan was content to be amongst his people and extraordinarily proud of his friends who had helped save their lives. At night, when he called a halt, the people gathered in family groups and with their friends sang ballads and rousing drinking songs round the campfires, the atmosphere was one of joy and relief. Songs were made up on the spur of the moment, Nemeila’s name recognisable amongst the lyrics, choruses detailing the story of the young sorceress who had risked her life to rid the land of the sorcerer’s evil influence.

  Finally, after many days of bone-wearying travel, the spires of the castle came into view on the horizon; many of the villagers had departed along the way, drifting back to their own hamlets as the wagon train entered their neighbourhood. Goldie’s strident cry echoed through the skies as he looped and swirled low over the wagon transporting Nemeila, casting a huge fluctuating shadow over the people who shuffled alongside it. He landed gracefully despite his size on the tailboard, and chattered a greeting to the girl who had become part of his life. She extended a hand and trickled her fingers over his silky plumage and his beak yawned and clamped round her arm. She could feel the assertive strength in his bite, aware that he had the ability to tear her flesh from her bones, but this was no more than a gentle caress, to say goodbye. He released her unmarked arm, and with a raucous cry of farewell, soared skyward, circled once in a salute to this brave human, before vanishing amongst the hazy swollen clouds. When the first of the wagons trundled noisily over the drawbridge, it seemed that the whole Royal household was there to welcome their king safely home. Parlan acknowledged their fealty with a short address to the crowd, although his words were lost amongst the rising tide of cheers and whistles; he finally acceded defeat with a warm smile, waved to his subjects and stumbled inside the castle. He felt as though he could sleep for a week, and the fifty unshaven, bleary-eyed men who had answered his call to arms looked on the verge of collapse too. The following morning, when he had slept like the dead for fourteen hours, he rose, breakfasted like a starving man, and then made his way to the courtyard. All the wagons had been emptied, and most of the valuables looted by Aurek’s men had been restored to their rightful place. The gold had been stacked back in the vaults deep under the castle, and he raided his treasury to ensure that the men who had fought nobly at his side were well paid for their loyalty. The healer had cared for the wounded and although there were many bandaged heads, arms in slings and splinted legs, they all looked cheerful. Nemeila had slept in her old room, where she rediscovered her casket of gold exactly as she had left it, hidden under a soft woollen blanket in a clothes chest. Amber had mooched along at her side throughout the day, and was enormously gratified to know that despite being called a ‘nice doggy’, most people were afraid of him, and shifted nervously and hastily out of his way as he padded past.

  The legend of Nemeila and her wolf had spread like wildfire throughout the castle, and as she strolled in the sunshine in the courtyard with Amber at her side, the people longed to approach her and touch her hand, but kept a respectful distance at the sight of her protective predator. She did not want them to be afraid to speak to her, so she wrestled Amber into a playful game on the ground, showing them how harmless he was in her presence, so that at least they dared to creep forward to gather round her. Bekka darted up, grinning so hugely her face was almost split in two. “The king has offered me the position of chambermaid to the Royal apartments,” she blurted out, bubbling with pride and
excitement, “here in the castle. Would you mind if I stayed?” Nemeila cuddled the girl to her side. “Of course not, silly. The king is a good man; I know you will be well treated and happy here.” “I’m happy already,” she said. “If you and Tyler hadn’t rescued me, I would still be little better than a slave, tired, hungry and taking beatings. I know it’s not the same as living with my own parents, but it’s the very next best thing. Everyone, especially Cook is being kind and nice to me. I don’t know how to thank you enough.” She hugged Nemeila warmly, trying to show her appreciation that no words could convey. “The king is hosting a banquet tonight,” smiled Nemeila, “to honour the brave men who fought at his side. Tyler and I have been invited to sit amongst the gentry. Would you like to join us; after all, your part in my confrontation with Aurek was no small thing?” Bekka’s eyes sparkled with anticipation. “But I have no decent clothes to wear,” she considered as the sparkle died. “It would have been nice though, I have never eaten in such fine company before.”

  Nemeila looked at the crestfallen child, realising that she was only a couple of summers younger than herself, and her mind skipped back to when she was that age. At home in the woods of Ikasar, there hadn’t been a need for fine clothing, even her Sunday best was a drab brown woollen garment, and no chance at all of ever being invited to the sovereign’s palace, but here her life was different, Parlan had become a friend. “If you want to go, I will speak with the king. I am sure he can have words with the Royal Seamstress and appropriate attire made for you.” “Oh thank you so much,” whispered Bekka, petting the frowning wolf. “I expect you can go too, can’t he?” she enquired. “I wish I had a pet like you.” “Of course, he’s going to the banquet and if I know him, he’ll be scoffing the best cuts of meat under the table before the rest of us get a look-in.” Nemeila gently toed Amber’s bottom. “But he’s not a pet, sweetheart. He walks by my side because that’s where he chooses to be, not because I have tamed him. When he is ready to leave me, he has another life leading his pack, who is waiting for his return even now.”