The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  It didn’t take them nearly as long to reach the valley as it did to climb the back side of the hill. Once they reached level ground, the horses we able to pick up the pace and the wagons rolled easily on the level dirt path.

  Dra’kor stared out into the night. The grass was taller now than it had been when he and Men’ak had come to the town. He watched the way the tall dry grass waved in the soft breezes, looking for irregularities. If the wolven came, he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t see them until they were almost on top of them.

  Dra’kor waved his torch. “Keep moving folks. Only a few miles left to go.”

  A scream came from the back of the caravan. Dra’kor’s head shot up and he looked in the direction a frantic lady was pointing. There in the shadows on the far side of the meadow, he saw a pack of wolven running straight for them. They moved quickly and with purpose, their heads just above the grass.

  “Circle the wagons,” Polk shouted, yanking his reins to the left. “Hurry!”

  The others fell in behind, moving their wagons and looking over their shoulders. Their faces showed the fear. Dra’kor could see it written in their eyes.

  “Hurry,” someone shouted.

  “Keep the ring tight,” Polk shouted, waving his hand. “Women and children to the center. Women, keep your children away from the edges and away from the fighting. I don’t want them under my feet when I’m about to be eaten!”

  The seven wagons formed a tight circle about twenty-feet across in the center. The men quickly unhitched the horses and led them into the center. Everyone grabbed their swords and staffs and moved to the center, the women and children at their backs. They faced outward and waved their torches with swords gripped in trembling hands.

  “Don’t forget to lock down the brakes,” Cob screamed.

  Dra’kor scanned the darkness. He counted five of the beasts. “Keep your guard up! They’ll charge us in groups.”

  Polk and Cob worked together, ignoring their past differences. They kept lighting torches and laying them around the wagons, hoping that they would scare the wolves back to the forest.

  “Here they come,” screamed Dra’kor. “Keep your guard up!”

  The wolven charged, and then veered off at the last second, leaving the men screaming, shouting and waving their weapons.

  “Watch out! Watch out!” a short stocky man shouted. He twirled in a circle with wide eyes, waving his sword.

  “Those are the b.b.biggest wolves I ever saw,” Polk stammered, checking his grip on his weapon.

  Cob starred out into the dark. “Those can’t be wolves. I’ve seen wolves back home hunting with my Pa and I’m pretty sure those ain’t no wolves.”

  “Then what the halla do you think they are,” Polk asked, confused.

  “They’re wolven,” Dra’kor pronounced quietly so that only those near him would hear.”

  “What… What the halla are wolven,” Cob asked as he scratched his head. “I never heard of no wolven!”

  Polk echoed, “Me neither.”

  “They’re not from around here,” Dra’kor said convincingly. “I think they come from up north somewhere.”

  “Why are they here?” Polk asked.

  Dra’kor shrugged. “Does it matter? They just are…”

  The wolven didn’t attack as Dra’kor expected. They stopped short and spread out, circling the wagons. They growled and paced back and forth, checking the wagons. That behavior gave him pause. The wolven he knew attacked without care about their own wellbeing. The beasts he knew lusted for blood, plain and simple.

  “What are they waiting for,” one of the men shouted.

  “Just stay focused,” Men’ak growled as he shot a wondering glance at Dra’kor. “They’ll come and we need to be ready. These wolves aren’t easy to kill.”

  Another set of howls came from the dark. They sounded close.

  “There’s more of them bloody…on the way!” Dra’kor cursed.

  Men’ak nudged Dra’kor on his arm. “What are we going to do?”

  Dra’kor chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. “We fight!”

  They could see that a second group had joined the first. They snarled and growled, keeping their heads low and swaying slightly from side-to-side. Dra’kor could see their bloodshot eyes. They paced just out of the light, studying their prey.

  They attacked. The first group of two came rushing in, one leaping up onto the wagon and then over, the other ducking under. Dra’kor threw up his weapon, stepped forward and braced himself for the impact. He aimed his sword up. The beast landed hard and Dra’kor felt his blade slide deep into its belly. Dra’kor rolled to the side, avoiding the snapping jaws and raking claws. Men’ak stepped up and plunged his sword into the beast throat and twisted it until the wolven stopped moving.

  Polk was on the ground wrestling with the beast that had knocked him to the ground from behind. His brow was knit and his eyes were wide as he strained to avoid the canine teeth that were trying to find purchase on his arm. He plunged his hunting knife deep into the chest multiple times, but the beast just wouldn’t die. He changed his strategy and plunged the knife into the beast’s eye.

  Cob saw the battle and ran over with his pickaxe and swung it as hard as he could, bringing the adz side down on the beast’s back just behind the neck with a deafening crack. The wolven howled and spastically twitched, rolling to its side to die. Polk rolled out from under the creature and swallowed hard as he got a better look at the abomination.

  By the time Dra’kor had regained his feet, two of their group were down with wounds and four wolven were dead at their feet. The stocky man was sitting with his back against one of the wagon wheels with a puddle of blood next to his shredded leg. And Polk’s arm was bleeding badly. He ripped his sleeve from his shirt and wrapped it tightly across the gash, using his teeth to help tie it off—he felt queasy and knew he needed to stem the flow of blood.

  Dra’kor shouted, “We need room to fight. Drag the dead beasts between the wheels of the wagons. It will keep the ones outside the circle from being able to get under.”

  Two men nodded and grabbed one of the dead wolven by the legs and after swinging it back and forth, tossed it up against the wagon, where it wedged tightly. They grabbed the next and did the same.

  Dra’kor was busy shouting orders as a wolven came flying over the wagon and landed on his back, forcing him to the ground. Men’ak screamed and ran forward with his blade, swinging wildly trying to keep the beast off his friend.

  “There are too many of them,” he screamed.

  Once of the wolven broke free from the pack and grabbed a little girl by her dress and was trying to drag her under one of the wagons. She screamed at the top of her lungs as she held on for dear life to a wagon wheel with one arm and a handmade ragdoll in the other. An old woman was already screaming and poking at the beast with a broom to no affect.

  Cob jumped over the pile of wolven in the way and lunged at the beast with his sword. He grabbed the girl by her arm and beat the wolven with his blade. The rage filled creature finally howled in defeat, letting go of the girl. It snapped its jaws shut and disappeared into the dark.

  The little wide-eyed- girl ran back to her sobbing mother and Cob turned his attention to the next creature sitting atop a wagon, waiting to pounce.

  Dra’kor grabbed a wagon and tried to gain his feet, but was buffeted by another of the beasts and was sent sprawling face first into the dirt. He rolled to his side and saw that everyone in their group was fighting a beast. They were outnumbered and were losing the battle. He grimaced and held out his hand, pointing at the beast that was snapping at Men’ak’s legs. He chanted and concentrated—feeling the threads of magic knit together, becoming more.

  Men’ak swung his sword at the beast just as flames belched out of the beast’s mouth and it blew apart, scattering gore in every direction. His face went white and he turned to see Dra’kor chanting with outstretched hands. Dra’kor’s hand glowed softly and a rune that
Men’ak didn’t recognize glowed orange in his palm.

  Dra’kor didn’t pause; he immediately turned and cast a second spell at the beast that Cob was fighting. It too, exploded in a flash of flame and smoke. Cob’s jaw dropped open and he stopped dead still, throwing himself flat against a wagon. He waved his sword, fully expecting that he would be next.

  Dra’kor rolled to his side and cast another spell at the two beasts that Polk was frantically waving his swords at. Flames leapt from his hands and the beasts were engulfed.

  The nauseating smell of burnt hair and flesh filled the air.

  Ned Barker, a farmer from the lowlands plunged his pike deep into the eye of the last beast and turned to see what the commotion was all about.

  Dra’kor was enraged. He jumped up on the nearest wagon and began throwing spells at every beast he could see. The darkness was broken with bright flashes of flame as his spells found their targets.

  The remaining beast turned and headed into the forest. Then, there was silence.

  Sheila sat at the top of the tower by herself, staring out across the fields, waiting for either Dra’kor or Men’ak to break into the field. She saw lights in the distance and then large flashes. The sound of battle echoed in the air, causing her to stretch to her toes. Then, almost as quick as it started, it stopped and the night air was silent.

  “See anything?” Toulereau called up.

  “Twas bright flashes and the sound of battle, but all is silent again.”

  “Well, ring the bell if you see anything!”

  Sheila nodded and waved her understanding.

  Ned stared, his face ashen and his hands shaking. He had his pike gripped tightly in white knuckled hands, “What did you just do, mister?”

  Polk and Cob also took up their arms and turned to face the man who had just killed a slew of the beasts.

  The women were huddled in the middle of the group, their arms extended over their children, shielding them from this man who wielded a power they didn’t understand. The children cried and moaned, clutching tightly to aprons and dresses.

  “What are you,” Polk growled, waving his sword menacingly.

  Men’ak stepped between Polk and Dra’kor. “You best drop your weapon. He means you no harm.”

  Cob stuttered, “I.I.I saw flames from your hands. What the halla kind of man does that?”

  Dra’kor pushed Men’ak out of the way and stood proudly. “A man who is a wizard.”

  “Bah! Wizards don’t exist. They’re just stories told by bards to entertain the young-uns,” Polk grumbled. “You’re a demon!”

  Ned’s face filled with recognition. “No, my Pa said he seen a wizard once. A long time ago. He said there used to be lots of them, but they was killed in them wars.”

  “Your Pa was right,” Dra’kor said. “There were many more of us a long time ago. Now there are just a few.”

  “What are you about?” Cob asked, half lowering his weapon. Hell, it twern’t of any use against a wizard anyways! he thought to himself.

  Dra’kor smiled weakly. “Same as you, I’m trying to survive. These beasts, they aren’t supposed to be around here. Things are happening in the realms that I can’t explain. I was sent to help.”

  “Help how?” Cob asked.

  “I don’t really know yet. We don’t have a lot of experience in the world, we mostly keep to ourselves. We certainly didn’t expect this when we arrived.”

  Polk narrowed his brow. “Arrived from where, you talk funny and don’t seem to be from around here?”

  “From the Keep,” Dra’kor explained. “The Keep is…high in the mountains.”

  Ned nodded, “Which King sent you? Toulereau? Killoroy?”

  “Wizards don’t answer to the Kings,” Dra’kor said, shaking his head side-to-side. “But we fight with Toulereau.”

  “You won’t hurt us?” a woman asked.

  Dra’kor looked out across the many faces. “No, not as long as you do us no harm.”

  Cob tilted his head to one side. “You said us…there’s more of you?”

  Dra’kor paused. “… just Men’ak and me. As long as you leave us be, we’ll have no issues.”

  Men’ak turned a little pale. He had no idea that Dra’kor had learned how to cast battle spells. He, however, held no such magic and cold barely keep himself alive.

  “Both of you are wizards?” the same woman asked, looking the two men over.

  “We are. Now, let’s get the wagons settled and get to Three Rivers. The beasts are gone for now, but I don’t know how long it will be before they return. There will be plenty of time for questions later.”

  Men’ak whispered in Dra’kor’s ear. “Since when did you learn battle spells?”

  “I’ve been practicing the spell with Sheila,” he whispered. “It’s the only spell I know. I wasn’t even sure I could cast it strong enough to do any damage.”

  Men’ak gave Dra’kor a shove. “Well, next time give me a little warning.”

  The rest of the trip back to Three Rivers was uneventful. They rode in silence, trying to digest what they had witnessed. They heard wolves howl in the distance, but none came close. Dra’kor realized that he had never set any wards and cursed himself for being careless. They could have all ended up dead.

  The guard on the high tower spotted the group at the same time Sheila did and sent word out. She rang the bell. Soon, there were torches lit and men ready to help people get situated standing at the gates.

  As soon as they made it through the gates, there was a flurry of activity. Women rushed in to help the newcomers with their kids. And men shook hands and showed the drivers where the wagons should be parked. In a matter of minutes, Men’ak and Dra’kor were sanding by themselves in the center of the street. Cedric stood and shook the hand of every man who rode through.

  “What now?” Men’ak asked.

  Dra’kor saw Toulereau coming down the street. He did not look happy.

  He stopped just shy of the men, his face filled with rage. “I hear that the cat is out of the bag… You have some explaining to do.”

  Dra’kor nodded. “I didn’t have much choice. It was either use my gift, or let them all die—us included.”

  “Then it is what it is,” he said, trying to calm down. “I expect things will be a bit tense around here for a while. Word of this gets out…”

  “I know,” Dra’kor mumbled under his breath. “The Zola’far…”

  “Zola’far will be the least of your worries!” Toulereau sternly said.

  Hagra and Sheila came running down the street. Sheila gave Dra’kor a warm embrace, just before Hagra slapped him upside his head.

  “That was a wool-headed thing ye did. Using magic in front of all those folks…what were ye thinking?” she said, exasperated. “You might as well have told them yer a god!”

  “I suppose I could have let that pack of nine or so wolven just chew us up…” Dra’kor gruffly said, rubbing his head. “I’m glad you’re safe too.”

  Hagra grunted and made ready to smack him again, but Sheila grabbed her hand. She gave her daughter a vile look.

  “Well, just don’t be expecting folks to be treating ye like they did before,” she answered back, throwing her nose in the air. “Now that yer a wizard, they ain’t gonna be wanting anything to do with ye!”

  Sheila pulled him to the side, “The spell we worked on worked?”

  Dra’kor nodded. “It saved our lives.”

  Sheila squeezed his hand and grinned. “I guess you’ll need to learn a lot more now.”

  “Seems so. They’ll have expectations.”

  “Let them.”

  “I have to get me a wand. They always expect us to have wands.”

  Sheila snorted, knowing the truth of the matter.

  They turned toward town and walked down the middle of the busy street. Dra’kor spotted Brag and waved. Brag ignored him and turned into the tavern.

  “I guess that settles that…” Dra’kor bitterly said.
/>
  “What did you expect?” Hagra grumbled. “They thought they knew ye. Now they find out yer a mage. How do you expect them to feel. Ye been lying to them since ye got here.”

  “As have you,” he fired back quickly.

  Hagra hocked up a big ball of phlegm and spit it to the ground. She shook a finger in his face. “I’m not giving myself away. And you better hold yer tongue!”

  “Things will get better,” Sheila said. “Give them time to come around.”

  Hagra snorted.

  “Mother!”

  “I guess we should go have supper and turn in,” Dra’kor said. “It’s been a long day. Will I see you tomorrow?”

  Sheila nodded. Hagra grabbed her by the arm and yanked her around. Dra’kor watched as she waddled off toward her cottage, grumbling and swearing all the way.

  “Let’s go eat,” Dra’kor uttered.

  Men’ak nodded. “I’m starved. Hagra’s mad! The people of the town are pissed. I guess all is right in the world!”

  “You think?”

  Men’ak nodded, causing Dra’kor to roll his eyes.

  The two turned and headed toward the inn. D’Arron was standing in the doorway. She turned a cold shoulder and let them pass.

  “I suppose you two will be wanting supper…” she said, in a mousy voice.

  Dra’kor and Men’ak both nodded. “Please!”

  “It will be a while…” she quietly whispered, before she turned and left the room.

  Men’ak sat down in the chair next to the fireplace. “It is going to be rough for a couple days.”

  Dra’kor nodded and took up residence in the chair next to Men’ak. He stared into the fire for a long time before he said another word.

  “I didn’t think we would be ostracized.”

  “Me neither,” Men’ak groaned. “Ja’tar is going to be furious.”

  Dra’kor grinned, “He sure will.”

  “You going to tell him?”

  Dra’kor shook his head. “I’m sure he has more important things to concern himself with than this.”

  “I suppose so…”

  D’Arron entered the room and set full plates of stew and a loaf of bread down on the table. She left without a word and quickly returned with a pitcher of mead.