Duncan could hardly believe it. Most people only ever dreamed of owning a Blacksteel weapon. They were notable among the royal witch hunters, and some guild members who hunted creatures, but they were rare all the same. No commoner could ever hope to obtain some, save through the death of one who wielded one. Now Duncan was in possession of one. It was a blade much like Winter’s Edge, but as black as night.
Duncan gave the blade a swing. It was well balanced and weighted just right. He went through the motions of a fight, wielding the new blade with deadly proficiency. “Thank you, Ra’Lach,” Duncan said.
“No need to thank me, Grey Wolf,” Ra’Lach replied. “It is you who deserves my thanks for slaying the beast that stalked our people. A hunter such as you deserves a blade worthy of the hunt.”
Duncan looked upon the sword and smiled.
“All good swords need names, Grey Wolf,” Ra’Lach noted.
Duncan thought for a moment. He must name the blade bestowed upon him. This blade was black as obsidian and had an edge that cut deep. The Blacksteel blade was cool to the touch, almost like ice.
“Black Ice,” Duncan uttered. “That is the blade’s name.”
“Black Ice it is then,” Ra’Lach proclaimed.
Duncan placed Black Ice back into its sheath, He noticed that Ra’Lach had done some craftsmanship work on the sheath as well, etching the silhouette of a wolf into the metal towards the rim. There was an inscription pressed into the dark leather of the sheath. It was written in elvish, but Duncan knew enough to be able to translate it. It read ‘Grey Wolf’.
Duncan was more than pleased with the blade. He strapped the sheathed sword onto his back. His time in Eventide was coming to a close, and he simply needed to pass time until the boat was ready to depart.
“Ever play Griffon’s Gambit?” Duncan asked.
“Any chance I get,” Ra’Lach replied.
They spent most of the evening and into the night. Duncan won most of the rounds, but Ra’Lach was a skilled player as well and managed to win his fair share. In addition to the games, they shared drinks. They drank most of the night. Duncan was less affected by the elven wine because of his wolven curse, but Ra’Lach, who had no such protection, managed to end up more drunk than most patrons of the Drunken Imp back in Frostfall. Ra’Lach passed out after some time, and Duncan sat cross-legged on the ground outside the forge, near the table where they’d played and drank. Anyone who passed by would think he was sleeping, but in reality, he was simply meditating and concentrating on the hunt ahead of him, as the wine buzzed away to nothing inside his brain. He stayed like that until morning.
In the morning, as Ra’Lach awoke with a hangover, Duncan stood to leave. “Thank you again, Ra’Lach. For both the blade and the fun night,” Duncan extended his hand out.
“Put your hand away, Grey Wolf.” Ra’Lach went in for a hug, still a little drunk with wine on his breath.
Duncan rarely accepted hugs, but he would make an exception this time. They said their goodbyes, and Duncan walked back to the docks, proudly wearing his new blade on his back.
Ovren was waiting at the docks when Duncan returned from his night of cards with Ra’Lach. The boat had been repaired, and Ovren was ready to get out of Eventide and away from the God’s Eye. It seems that their brief stay hadn’t done much to warm Ovren’s heart towards the elves. Some people just wouldn’t change.
“Ready to set sail?” Ovren asked, eyeing the clear sky as Duncan approached him.
Duncan grunted. He was ready.
“Should have you to Shorelight by the small hours of the morning, depending on how the winds fare and also barring any more visits from Lockjaws.”
It was dark when they reached Shorelight, Even the moon did not provide the light it usually did. It was dark tonight, the beginning of a new phase. There was light, however, in the form of Shorelight’s beacon. The beacon was a tower positioned on the edge of Shorelight, close to where water meets land. At its peak burned a great fire, which lit the docks enough for incoming boats to dock safely. It is from the beacon that Shorelight gets its name. It was there to guide incoming ships to the docks during the darkest of nights. Tonight, that beacon came in very handy.
Ovren docked the boat and Duncan climbed out. “Are you staying here until I return?”
“Afraid not, Duncan. I’ve had enough adventure for now. I’m heading back to Winterport.”
Duncan pulled out a pouch of coin and handed it to Ovren. “Thanks for getting me here.”
“You won your free ride, remember?”
“You’ve earned it, Ovren.”
“Thank you, Grey Wolf,” Ovren said. “And now, I take my leave.”
Ovren disembarked and stayed in the local inn that night. Tomorrow he would leave to return to Winterport. For Duncan however, there would be little rest. He immediately left Shorelight behind him, traveling into the open countryside of western Rivania. It would take Duncan until morning to reach the Ebonwood forest, where he hoped to find his quarry.
Chapter 6
The Ebonwood Forest stood grand and tall before Duncan Frey. The trunks of the trees were as black as the night sky and as dark as Duncan’s Blacksteel sword. Legend had it that the forest was once beautiful, but that a magical fire had burned the trees without consuming them. Since the great scorching, the forest was blacker than black. Under cover of night, the darkness of the forest looked impenetrable. Duncan was not swayed though. His silvery eyes shone in the darkness and allowed him to see through the darkness of the trees. To him, only the bark of the trees was black. The darkness between the trees was nothing to him. According to what Duncan’s birth father had told him, the witch he was seeking lived in the Ebonwood Forest. Duncan stepped forward, into the blackness of the woods.
The forest was quiet as if all the creatures within stopped in their tracks to observe Duncan as he walked through the trees. He knew the forest was home to both animals and monsters, but neither one concerned him. Animals would flee if he got too close and if a monster happened upon him, he would slay it. Nothing would stand in his way of finding the witch of the woods. Duncan could almost sense her presence. He would find her and put her to the sword simply because she had cursed him.
As Duncan ventured further, the creatures of the forest acclimated to his presence. Their noises returned, and Duncan heard the chirping of crickets, the sounds of animals moving slowly through the trees, and even the growling of forest-dwelling monsters. Duncan knew what kind of things lived in the dark forests of Rivania, and kept his mind occupied by trying to guess what monsters were nearby the sounds they made. Some sounded like Basilisks, and others sounded like Gryffins and Chimeras. Some even made noises that Duncan couldn’t identify with any accuracy, but he suspected Logroths: sentient trees that lived amongst the regular trees. Strangely, it excited him to know that he didn’t know everything about monsters. There would always be more to learn.
In the hours that followed, Duncan seemed to wander aimlessly around the forest. He hadn’t lost his sense of direction, but he had no clear way to go. He slowed his pace as he heard the sound of beasts that made their home in the wilds of the woods. A hand rose to grab the hilt of Black Ice. Duncan was a good hunter, but he knew the first rule: don’t get cocky. He knew the second he bought into the legends that surrounded him, was the second he would be cut to ribbons by a beast that he could have easily slain. He stopped in his tracks, gripping Black Ice, ready to pull it from the scabbard and drive it into the heart of a creature. A rustling in the leaves that covered the forest floor grew nearer. Whatever was making the noise was unafraid of Duncan’s presence. He silently stepped towards the rustling leaves. He wasn’t about to let a monster catch him off guard and get the advantage. He lunged forward, swinging Black Ice aloft, letting out a war cry as he brandished his weapon.
It was a deer. Not a monster or a beast, but rather a friendly, gentle deer. Duncan stopped in his tracks, still holding Black Ice over his head. The war cry died
in his throat. He slowly replaced Black Ice into its scabbard, and he held out a hand, but it was too late. The deer was running away. The sound of Duncan’s cry had startled it. He was about to go on his way, when he noticed something on the ground, hiding in the leaves. It was a reason the deer had been so close. It was not alone.
The baby deer was small still, and it needed its mother. Duncan doubted it would survive very long on its own. The deer might yet come back for the baby, given the right circumstances. He was careful to not touch the baby deer. Any scent of his that rubbed off on the baby deer would mean that the mother would reject it. Duncan pondered as to why he would waste his time to reunite the baby with its mother. After all, he had a witch to kill. As he thought, he knew why he was compelled to do so. It was because of the care shown to him by John Frey, his adoptive father, that Duncan was doing this. John had taken him in when no one else would. It was only right that he try to help a small child find his family, even if the small child in question was in fact, a deer.
He laid out some food from a pouch on his hip. He used it to munch on during the long journey but decided he could spare some for the deer. He spread it close to the baby and made a small trail leading out into the woods in the direction that the mother deer had run off. Then he took a seat on the hard ground of the forest a safe distance away, and he waited.
Hours passed, and Duncan heard a familiar rustling. He had his eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of the forest, but this particular sound made his eyes shoot open. He looked on to see the mother deer return, following the trail of food he’d left out for her. She would find the baby and they would be united again. Duncan smiled. It was a small thing he had done. He could have just as easily not done anything, but this gave him a nice feeling inside. Perhaps, he began to think, he was more than a simple monster slayer for hire.
It shot out of the trees like an arrow piercing the wind. The forest was fairly dense, but even so, some creatures that lived beneath the trees had wings and flew in the gaps between the blackened bark. It was small but very quick. It grabbed the mother deer in its claws and flew up, straight up, out of the woods. The sound could only have been one thing. It was unmistakably a Gryffin. Its fiery orange feathers were unmistakable even in the darkness of the woods. It was a young one as far as he could tell, but even a not yet fully grown Gryffin could be a problem.
Duncan could not see the Gryffin flying above the trees, but he did see the deer plummet to the ground and become little more than a hunk of meat covered in a red paste of blood. Just like that, the deer was gone. Gryffins had a talent for killing things. Many times, for a quick, easy kill, they grab their target and drop them from a great height. Then they feast on the body before the crows get to it. The Gryffin crashed through the forest ceiling and thundered down to the ground in front of Duncan. He gripped his blade, removing it from the scabbard and pointed it at the beast.
He could tell it was sniffing around. It picked up something in the air. It had picked up the scent of the baby deer and began to walk towards it. Duncan noticed what was happening and rushed towards the Gryffin, but he was a second too late. The Gryffin lowered its beak and crunched the baby deer between its jaws, ending its life. Duncan drove the blade into the Gryffin’s body as it chewed through the gamey meat of the baby deer. It shrieked in pain and turned on Duncan, whirling about and snapping at him with its sharp beak. The blade was still embedded in the Gryffin’s body, but Duncan knew just how to get it back. His hand formed a fist, and he slammed it into the side of the beak, channeling all the strength he could muster, both human and wolf. The Gryffin reeled, giving Duncan a chance to grab the blade and remove it. It was slick with the blood of the Gryffin, and the black blade was now a very dark red.
Without taking a second to think, he hefted the sword above his head and brought it down on the Gryffin’s wing. The wing bone cracked under the weight of the blade before being completely severed by its edge. The Gryffin was now flightless, but this made the creature desperate. Now it would fight even more fiercely to survive. Duncan needed to end the fight quickly and get back to his mission.
The Gryffin charged at Duncan, but the Grey Wolf was quick. He ducked under the snapping beak of the beast and drove his blade into the neck of the creature. It tried to cry out in pain, but the blade prevented any discernable noise from escaping. Everything instead came out garbled, as if the creature was choking on its own blood. Coincidentally, it was.
Then it was time for the kill. Duncan withdrew the blade, and as the neck of the Gryffin hemorrhaged blood, he swung Black Ice with all his might, severing the head from the body, bringing down the Gryffin in a rain of blood and gore. It was done then. He’d slain a Gryffin and managed to waste time reuniting a deer family only to have the deer family killed and eaten by said Gryffin. Duncan walked away, thoroughly annoyed, and yet satisfied by the workout the fight had given him.
Duncan wandered the forest for hours. Soon, he happened upon a small clearing. In the clearing was a shelter. The shelter had a roof and walls but could hardly even be called a shack. It was built by someone who was decidedly not a craftsman. There was a campfire nearby. It was burned out but had been recently used. It was still warm and embers glowed deep within the ashes. Duncan decided to check the shelter for signs of anyone nearby who might be using it.
The shelter was small, big enough for a single person. It was enough to keep out the rain but would likely not keep out monsters unless they were warded away by the use of magic; something a witch would undoubtedly do. There were a few belongings inside. Empty vials and flasks, some with residue still on the inside. It looked as though they were used for potions. It wasn’t outright witchcraft, but witches were known for their natural remedies. Duncan thought that this was likely the witch’s dwelling, but needed more proof to correctly say so.
Tucked away neatly beside the small nest that served as a bed, Duncan found a book. It was no ordinary book, but rather a book of magic. Duncan flipped through it. It had lessons and spells for healing and hurting. It taught elemental spells and control spells, and even the foul art of blood magic, in which the life force of others is used to power the spell. This did not look to be a published work, but rather hand-scrawled notes compiled by a single person, encompassing all they knew and had learned. It even had blank pages, undoubtedly to be filled with the things that they would come to learn one day. Some things were beyond Duncan’s understanding or even his wildest dreams. He suspected that the person using this book had made their own spells. They had crafted magic, and that meant that Duncan had to be correct. This was the dwelling of a witch. It was likely the witch he was hunting for. Even if it wasn’t, Duncan wouldn’t complain about putting down another witch that happened across his path. To him, they were all the same: worthy of death and not much more.
Duncan was so absorbed by his discovery that he was too late to notice the sound outside the dwelling. He hadn’t been focusing on his senses. It was almost as if he had heard it, but it had not registered in his mind that he had actually heard it. There was no question that he heard it now. Unfortunately, it was too late for that. He heard movement outside the small shack, followed by a strange chant. He felt drowsy and knew that it must be magic at work. His pendant would serve him well here, but even it had limits. Duncan thought that it must be a sleep spell bearing down on him, but the pendant was warding off the majority of it, resulting in mere drowsiness. He rushed out of the shelter, looking to find the culprit. There, in the clearing, draped in a gown the color of midnight, was the woman Duncan was looking for.
“Foul witch!” Duncan spat, rubbing his eye. The drowsiness was subsiding as her focus turned to the conversation at hand and away from her spellcasting.
Before him stood a woman with eyes the color of ice and hair as black as a raven’s. Her skin was on the pale side, and the look on her face was one of confusion, yet she remained steadfast and defensive.
“Who are you?” The witch asked. She seemed str
ong, much stronger, and more confident than most witches or most women, for that matter.
“Don’t pretend you don’t recognize me,” Duncan said, drawing his sword. “I may have been a child when I was cursed, but your kind never age and never forget. I know it was you that cursed me all those years ago.”
“I have never cursed anyone,” She said in return. “My magic is harmless.”
“You just tried to knock me out with your magic.”
“Mostly harmless,” she corrected herself. “It’s not like I was trying to kill you.”
“Then what were you trying to do?” Duncan pointed Black Ice at the witch.
“I simply wished to talk,” The witch confessed. “I thought it might be easier if you were unable to wield your weapon, so I planned to put you into a deep sleep, bind you, and then have a little chat about why you are here in the Ebonwood Forest, rummaging through my home.”
“It’s simple,” Duncan said. “I’m here to kill you.” He entered a fighting stance, gripping Black Ice with both hands.
“For what reason?” The lady of the woods asked, confused.
“Weren’t you listening? You cursed me when I was a child, and now I am here to pay you back for it,” Duncan rushed forward to attack the woman. She put her hand up and summoned a magic blast. Duncan’s pendant repelled most of the blast, but the force of it all pushed him back. He brandished Black Ice and spoke. “Your magic is no match for me!”
“You may have been cursed, but not by me,” She said, standing her ground.
Duncan showed the mark behind his ear, the one in the shape of wolf fangs. “You don’t remember this?”
The woman took a step back. “I have never marked anyone, for I know what that mark means and I would never do such a thing to anyone without a very good reason. You are bonded with the spirit of the wolf. You are part man, and part beast, but never fully either one. It is a fate I would not have wished on many, including you, whom I hardly know.”
Of Wolf And Witch Page 5