Of Wolf And Witch

by S. A. McGarey

  Of Wolf And Witch

  By S. A. McGarey

  Copyright © 2020 by S. A. McGarey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  FIRST EDITION

  Prologue

  Surrounded by impassable mountain ranges on all sides was the land of Rivania. No one in the land had ever been outside the borders, as none could traverse the mountains that encircled the land. Rivania had known peace for nearly a century. In the ninety-seven years since the war between humans and elves, the Rivanian king and his heirs had kept a close watch on everything, making sure no war would rear its ugly head again. Rivania was home to men, dwarves, and elves, and perhaps most notably, monsters.

  Yes, monsters were somewhat common in Rivania, but their commonality didn’t make them well-known. Rather, it was their uniqueness and the fact that some people made a living out of hunting down the troublesome ones for coin. These hunters were among the greatest fighters in the land, and they even formed their own guild. That said, there was one such hunter who rebuked the guild and struck out on his own. His name was Duncan Frey, also called the Grey Wolf.

  Duncan Frey was no ordinary man. He was a skilled fighter, an excellent hunter, and even a capable blacksmith. But among all his talents was something else that set him apart. From a young age, Duncan was afflicted by a curse. More so, it was a curse from the hand of a witch. Rivanian witches had no staves or wands, no cauldrons, or pointy hats. They lived as outcasts in forests throughout the land and hid their true nature from the world. They looked just like anyone else, but their minds were full of arcane, eldritch knowledge. In Duncan’s mind, they were not to be trusted.

  When Duncan was but a boy, his family was torn asunder by a witch. This witch was quite taken with Duncan’s father, who went by the name of Greham. The witch had a plan. She met the husband alone, while he was out in the woods, hunting for food for his family. Greham was taken aback by her beauty, and the witch knew she had ensnared him. The witch kissed Greham and seduced him. They made love deep in the dark forest, and from that moment on, Greham belonged to the witch. He went back home to the wife he now cared nothing for, the witch following a few moments behind. Greham, under the spellbinding control of the witch, slaughtered his wife so that they could be together. Duncan, now motherless, was in greater danger than he knew. Greham was ready for a new life with his witch lover, and Duncan stood in the way of that, as a reminder of the old life he wished to wash away. Greham was all prepared to snuff out the life of his son but was stopped by a hand on his wrist.

  It was the witch. She spoke to Greham and made it clear that there was no need to kill the child. “I’ll take care of him,” she said. “A child such as him has potential. I would not do the disservice of snuffing out his life. Instead, I will make him anew.”

  The witch approached Duncan in the dimly lit house that night and touched him behind the ear, whispering words that were not words. Duncan never did feel the same after that. While he didn’t know it at the time, he would come to learn that the witch had cursed him with a terrible fate.

  A mark appeared where the witch’s fingers had been behind his ear; a mark in the shape of fang marks, as if they had ripped down his flesh. Duncan felt strange. His eyes glazed over and he found that he could see well in the darkness. His eyes grew to be a silver color, and he felt that he could hear and smell slightly more than he had been able to before.

  “There,” said the witch, triumphantly. “I have bonded him with the soul of a beast. No family will want him now. The world will deal with him as it sees fit. He will be forged into something great and terrible, or die in the process.”

  Greham nodded, and the two left Duncan alone in the dark house. Duncan began to cry. He would not cry again for a very long time.

  News of what had happened to Duncan’s mother had spread by morning, and the residents of Frostfall, the most populated city in northern Rivania, all wondered what would become of the boy. Everyone waited in anticipation to see what would happen, but no one stepped forward to offer their help. None except for one man: a lowly blacksmith by the name of John Frey, who resided in the nearby town of Winterport.

  John Frey made a living by selling weapons and armor to residents of Rivania. They weren’t the same quality as Dwarven-made goods, but they served a purpose. John Frey never had a family of his own, but he had often dreamed of having a son to raise. Since the passing of his dear wife years before, John had all but given up hope of a family. He may not have a woman to love, but a son… a son would do just as well. When this tragedy befell young Duncan, John felt a pull at his heartstrings and knew what he must do.

  “I will take the boy,” John Frey proclaimed. And so it came to pass that Duncan went to live with John in the town of Winterport, near Frostfall, to be raised by him, and would even take his last name. John knew the boy was different, although some might use the word ‘cursed’. John didn’t care though. Duncan was his son now, and curse or no curse, he would care for him. He brought him up, training him in the art of smithing, just as his father had trained him. Duncan enjoyed his new home, even without a mother. John was enough.

  Duncan grew, and as a young man entering adulthood, he found what many find at that age: love. Her name was Asha, and she was beautiful like moonlight, radiant as the stars, and loved Duncan despite his curse. Duncan had decided that Asha was the one and that he would wed her. Using all that his father had taught him, he forged a ring for his beloved, meant to be her wedding ring. Asha would never get the chance to wear it.

  On the day before the evening that Duncan had planned to give Asha the ring, while he was visiting her in Frostfall, he sensed something. He could hear it coming, even smell it coming. It was a Sanguine: a vile, blood-sucking creature with pale skin, a long, angular face, and a thirst that could only be sated by the blood of the innocent. Duncan didn’t know where it was, only that it was in the vicinity. His wolven senses gifted to him by his curse told him that much. Frostfall was in danger, and Duncan had to stop it. He grabbed one of the many swords he had forged with his father and ran out to find the creature. It would look human enough but with eyes the color of blood, and fangs sharp enough to rip into the soft flesh of anyone who might cross its path. Frostfall would be like a feast, but worse yet, the Sanguine could turn anyone bitten into one of his own. Duncan knew he had to stop it before one Sanguine turned into many.

  He tried his best to follow the scent, but it was muddled. He may have been bonded with the spirit of a wolf, but he didn’t have the advantage of the full senses of the wolf. He would simply need to do his best. Eventually, he caught onto something and followed it to Frostfall’s most popular tavern, the Drunken Imp. When Duncan arrived there was no one there. The place was empty, or so it seemed. He could hear the moaning of a female within the rickety old building. The moans sounded familiar to him… all too familiar.

  Duncan ran to the source of the noise to find the Sanguine with his mouth at the neck of Asha, Duncan’s beloved. He screamed and lunged at the Sanguine, who pushed Asha into the corner. She fell, unconscious. Duncan took the pendant around his neck into his hand. It was a gift from Asha, to ward off beasts and the like. “Begone, Sanguine. Flee or die,” Duncan threatened.

  “It is too late, both for her and for you,” The Sanguine flew at Duncan.

  Duncan was too quick. He trained extensively during his free time and knew how to wield a sword. He knew how to kill. And the Sanguine never got close enough to sink his fangs into Duncan’s flesh. The Sanguine’s head rolled across the floor, and the body sunk to the floor with a thud. Duncan rushed to Asha, in an attempt
to wake her up, but when her eyes opened, they were as red as freshly spilled blood.

  “No,” Duncan said under his breath. “No, no, no.”

  Asha spoke in a voice that was no longer her own soft tone. “Join me, Duncan. We can be together,” she spoke in an eerie, almost seductive voice.

  Duncan wanted to believe her but knew that life as a Sanguine meant a life of feasting on blood and running from those who might hunt you. He did not wish to be a vile creature like that and was heartbroken that Asha had become such a beast. The only thing that broke his heart more was when he plunged his blade into her heart.

  Asha gasped sharply, and the air left her lungs for the last time. Duncan held her body and cried for the first time since his childhood.

  In the years that followed, Duncan became a slayer of beasts and monsters. He took payment for ridding the land of foul creatures, and he did his job well. No one else knew it, but Duncan didn’t do it for the money. He did it so that no one else would end up like his beloved Asha. He stopped visiting Frostfall and secluded himself in John’s house in the nearby town of Winterport, which sat on the edge of the great Rivanian sea. People in Winterport talk in hushed tones about the man called the Grey Wolf who lives in the dilapidated building. He never bothered with upkeep on the house. He simply lived there between going on monster hunts, occasionally working the forge that belonged to John Frey. Duncan, still hunting monsters and living alone, slowly became something of a living legend in Rivania.

  He longed to hunt the witch that cursed him and set his life down this path, for he often wondered what life might be like had it never happened. Little did Duncan know, he would soon get his chance for vengeance.

  Chapter 1

  Duncan hit the ground, his head throbbing. Before him stood a creature made entirely of jagged rock and hewn stone. It lumbered around slowly, leaving asymmetrical and oddly shaped footprints in the soft ground. The sockets that served as its eyes glowed a pale yellow. The golem was held together and brought to life by magic, but the golem’s creator was nowhere to be found. While Duncan would have preferred to find the creator and end him along with his creation, just destroying the golem would serve just as well. He would need to destroy the head to keep the rocky creature from reforming. This rock golem knew how to pack a punch. Still, Duncan had Malleus, his trusty hammer, and one of his many weapons, which had been coated in the blood of monsters from some of his various hunts. Duncan rose into a fighting stance, wielding Malleus with both hands. The great hammer shone in the sunlight, and Duncan began to run at the golem, screaming out with fury as he swung the hammer. Malleus made contact with the golem’s arm, shattering it into little more than gravel. The golem cried out in pain and continued his outrage. Duncan knew he needed to end this quickly. The golem was destroying crops and at this rate, the farmer who hired him might lose it all, including the hefty price he would pay for Duncan’s services.

  Swinging the hammer upwards from behind him, Duncan struck a decisive blow against the golem, cracking its head from bottom to top. The golem held its head with its remaining hand, and Duncan took the opportunity to end the fight for good. With all his might, he swung Malleus at the chest of the great rock creature, and when the hammer’s head made contact, the golem exploded in a shower of pebbles. All that remained of the golem was a great pile of stone, lifeless as any other rock pile.

  Duncan put Malleus back into the clasp on his back and walked across the field to the house of the farmer who put out the contract on the golem.

  “Took care of your golem problem,” Duncan said in his gruff voice.

  “R…Really?” The farmer replied, still anxious to come outside and look for himself.

  “Yep. Good as gone. Nothing but a lifeless rock pile now.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” The farmer was elated.

  “You can actually… With the coin you promised,” Duncan replied tactlessly.

  “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t dream of going back on my word,” The farmer assured him.

  The farmer dropped a small bag into Duncan’s hand. It was filled with coin and jingled as such. Duncan stowed away the pouch, not bothering to count it.

  “Thank you, again!” The farmer said.

  “Happy to help,” said Duncan as he walked away.

  It was a little bit of a walk back to Frostfall, where Duncan picked up most of his jobs, but Duncan didn’t mind. He never wanted to spend his money on a horse, and he liked walking in the cold of the Rivanian north. When he got back home, he would count out his coin from the golem hunt, use some of it to have a Frostfall Ale or two, and then try to scope out another contract at the tavern. Duncan didn’t spend his money on much except smithing materials, and drinks at the tavern in Winterport. He made all of his own weapons and armor, including Malleus and the light armor he wore now. He was likely the wealthiest man in Winterport, but would never admit to it nor count out all of his coin to prove it.

  Duncan could see his breath as he walked, and the crisp cool air felt like pure frost flowing down into his lungs. His dark hair flowed in the wind, and the metal from his light chainmail and shoulder plates clanked slightly as he walked. He moved a little slower due to the armor plating in the tips of his boots, but he didn’t mind. Duncan liked the cold weather. It was why he lived in Winterport. The Rivanian sea air mixed with the cold atmosphere of the north put a chill in Duncan’s bones that he honestly didn’t know how to live without. When he felt that chill combined with the heat of his forge at home, he felt alive.

  Duncan was almost to the tavern when he picked up a scent. It was a scent he hadn’t smelled in years. It was so long since he’d last smelled it that he only knew that it was familiar, but he had no earthly idea what it was. He picked up the pace, following what his wolf senses had picked up. It brought him right back to where he had been headed anyways: the tavern in Frostfall, called the Drunken Imp.

  Duncan’s senses were not strong enough to sniff out the source of the stench in the tavern. In fact, the only reason Duncan was able to follow the scent to the Drunken Imp was that the source must have traveled that same path, with virtually no one else. It must have been recent too. Duncan’s sense of smell was good but not as good as a full-blown wolf. He only had part of the spirit of one, just enough to make him different from everyone else. It was just enough to make him bestial. Enough to make him neither man nor beast. It made him alone.

  The Drunken Imp was the most popular tavern in Frostfall. It was a hive of lowlifes, but Duncan didn’t care. The rustic wood of the building and the roaring fire in the fire pit that stood in the middle of the tavern made him feel right at home. It was a small building, only one full floor with stairs leading to a balcony. Despite the small size compared to other taverns, the Drunken Imp got more business than any tavern in Frostfall. People loved it just the way it was, and the tavern master saw no reason to change that.

  Duncan sat at the bar, and reaching into the bag of coin, he pulled out two coins adorned with the Rivanian King’s profile, laying them on the counter with a slight clink. “I’ll take a Frostfall Ale.”

  Frostfall ales were Duncan’s favorite. He always said that it tasted like winter itself pouring down your throat. It was a popular drink, especially in hot areas like southern Rivania. The drink made the brewers of Frostfall especially rich, thanks to the Elven slaves that magically enhanced the Frostfall Ale with a cold temperature that would never cease. Duncan wasn’t fond of the idea of Elven slavery, but he also particularly enjoyed Frostfall Ale, so he just decided that the injustice of Elven slaves wasn’t quite in his job description. After all, not everyone kept slaves; only those who particularly disliked the Elves and wanted to use their magic for personal gain. Duncan decided that he fought monsters, not injustices, and left it at that.

  The bartender brought him a Frostfall Ale, and he began to drink. The frost on the bottle misted as the air around it tried to warm the bottle to no avail. Duncan looked around, watching for anythin
g strange that might lead him to the source of the smell he’d picked up on the way here. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he decided to sit and drink for a while until something, or someone might present themselves. Duncan watched as the people in the tavern got drunker and drunker. He listened to the bard sing his songs. Duncan always liked bards, even though he knew one day he might end up in one of their songs, which he was admittedly less fond of. Duncan didn’t need recognition for his deeds. He simply needed peace… peace, and revenge. Coin didn’t hurt either.

  After about an hour or so, when many of the patrons of the Drunken Imp had left, either on their own, with friends, or in one case, with one of the barmaids, Duncan was one of the only people still drinking. He couldn’t get drunk like normal people. It was part of the curse. The wolf spirit didn’t allow him to get drunk no matter how much he consumed. As a result, he could drink just about any man under the table.

  Off in the corner sat a man in a cloak, his face covered by the hood of the garment. Duncan could feel the eyes of the man resting on him, and he inhaled. He could smell it again. Ever so slightly, the scent came back to him, and it emanated from the corner where the mysterious man sat. Duncan chugged what remained of his fourth Frostfall Ale of the night and stood, walking over to the corner where the man sat.

  Duncan sat across from the man. “You’ve been staring at me… can I help you with something?” He asked the cloaked man.

  “I believe you can… If you are indeed the man I think you are.”

  “And who do you believe I am?”

  “Duncan Frey, the Grey Wolf.”

  “Aye,” said Duncan. “That’s me. Who are you exactly?”

  The man clicked his tongue. “I thought you might recognize the scent of your own father,” He lowered his hood, revealing the man Duncan despised most in the world. Greham, his birth father.