Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  Tatianna’s face turned red with anger. “No! Hawkeye is the bravest most courageous man I’ve ever known. If he has doubts and despair before battle, that should only be natural considering the great odds we are facing. Besides, what man of honor would be pleased with sending his friends out to die?”

  Minos and the other gods were slightly shocked at her tone but they could feel the truth in her words. Nodding his horned head at the pool in the center of the room, Minos moved to its side and gently touched the water.

  Tatianna followed and gazed into the pool as the image of her beloved took shape. It was obvious from the bandage on his shoulder that he had been wounded but he seemed to be resting somewhere safe since he wasn’t wearing his customary headdress. A gnome moved into view. He walked very stiffly and as if he was still in great pain.

  Minos continued. “I understand chosen of Aurora but we have to be sure; too much is at stake for Hawkeye or anyone to let despair overwhelm them. We cannot foresee if Hawkeye will survive the journey back to Sikya, there are just too many variables. However, we do know that if he does the next encounter with Blackfang will occur in the spring. Even then, we cannot foresee its conclusion.”

  Tatianna looked up and shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting to.”

  Looking up at his brothers and sisters, Minos moved into foreign territory. It had been decided earlier that he was to be the one to talk to her because of his position as the god of war but now he felt he was moving into Aurora’s territory, the realm of love and that was definitely unfamiliar territory for the fierce warrior. However this duty had been placed on him and since he was also the god of honor, he plowed on.

  “Hawkeye is a man of principles and honor. No one is questioning that but his true strength lies in two places, his beliefs and you. If you take away either, he will fall. And if he falls, so does Terreth.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Simple. Believe in him. Support him. Bolster his faith in us and in you. If he doesn’t have your support and trust, he will fail.”

  Tatianna shook her head. “I don’t understand. I love Hawkeye. He knows that.”

  Minos looked up at his brothers, the look on his face was unmistakable; he was a god of action not words. The father of the dwarves stepped in. His voice wasn’t as deep as Minos but Bromios had a much heavier accent.

  “It’s like dis lass, when me children take a mate, its fer life. When one dies, da other gives away all deir belongings and does one of two things; leaves da dwarven realm forever wandering the breadth of Terreth or sails out to sea never to return. In effect, dat dwarf dies. Fer one cannot live without da other.”

  Looking back and forth between Minos and Bromios, Tatianna shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”

  Bromios rubbed his beard. “We ‘ave seen into Hawkeye’s soul and he is like a dwarf. He cannot or will not live without you. You ‘ave become his life. If you fail to believe in him, he will fall. And if he falls, then Terreth is doomed.”

  “I understand,” Tatianna nodded. “You want me to support my husband and help him defeat Blackfang.”

  Looking at his brother, Bromios nodded. “Aye lass. That’s da plan.”

  Stepping back, Tatianna stared at the gods.

  “I have something to say and I’m only going to say it once, so listen closely! I love Kamots Hawkeye with all my heart and soul, not because of this war but in spite of it. He has won my heart through his kindness, gentleness and courage. He has never failed me and I don’t ever believe he will! Therefore he will never fail you. That is something you can count on!”

  Minos glanced at his brothers. Each nodded their heads before turning back to Tatianna. “It is settled. You will continue to support him and…”

  Still upset, Tatianna interrupted the god of war. “Excuse me but I’m not finished. I am appalled that you called me here for this. If you are so concerned about Hawkeye not failing, then why don’t you give him more support?”

  Irritated at being interrupted, Minos’ voice boomed throughout the Temple. “What do you mean mortal!?”

  Undaunted, Tatianna stood her ground. “Simple. You want us to succeed? Fine! Figure out a way to give us more help. We are fighting an army that outnumbers us ten to one. Plus, according to you, they have the help of a god.”

  Cheiron shouted. “Not a god! Clotho is no god! She is nothing but a demon with aspirations of godhood!”

  Tatianna made a mental note of their enemy’s true name. She knew that in the ancient tongue Clotho translated to ‘Spinner’ but that really didn’t tell her much. She bowed her head slightly and apologized. “I’m sorry. Maybe god wasn’t the right word. I meant a creature with godlike abilities.”

  Aurora stepped in and placed a gentle hand on Cheiron’s arm.

  “Be at peace my brother, she did not mean anything malicious by her remark but she does have a point. We do need to try and help the mortals more.”

  She turned her attention back to Tatianna. “Be at peace daughter. Remember what you have learned today and with the spring thaw before your next confrontation with the Dark Alliance, we will send you whatever aid we can.”

  Aurora waved one hand and Tatianna felt herself flying backwards toward her mortal shell but the words of her goddess followed her.

  “Remember, you carry the hopes and dreams of Terreth on your shoulders and in your belly. Do not fail us or Terreth.”

  Then, her world went black.

  Chapter 11

  Time passes slowly when you’re underground, especially for an elf that was used to the sun and stars overhead. Khlekluëllin couldn’t tell if it had been two weeks or two months since the dwarves had imprisoned them. Thinking back, he knew that winter was lying heavy on the ground when they entered the dwarven kingdom. And, if his best guess of two months were correct, than spring couldn’t be that far off. He had been certain that Rjurik would speak with the king on their behalf and in doing so, they would be granted an audience. But, now after so long of a time of silence, his resolution was beginning to falter.

  They hadn’t seen or heard from Rjurik since their capture. Had something gone wrong? Had Rjurik forsaken them? Had Rjurik’s wounds been worse than he feared? Had the old dwarf died?

  Shaking his head to clear it of such thoughts, he heard his brother groan. Casting a quick glance his brother’s way, he shook his head in disbelief. Mortharona was still asleep.

  “He’s not asleep; he’s passed out again from too much ale.”

  He watched his brother roll back over in his bunk. When they had first been imprisoned, Mortharona had fallen into a wild rage, lashing out at anything in sight, the walls, the bunks, and the guards, even himself. His rage had only subsided when he began drinking the stout ale provided to them by their captors. Unfortunately, Mortharona had never stopped drinking, except when he passed out or ran out of ale. That had only happened once and for only a couple of hours.

  A day or so ago, Khlekluëllin had tried to stop his brother from drinking by pouring out the keg of ale. Mortharona had reacted so violently, that Khlekluëllin thought he was going to attack him. Of course, in his brother’s drunken state, he wouldn’t have been much of a threat but it was the principle of the matter. In all of their one hundred and twenty-two years, they had never gotten in a fight with each other. Sure, they had disagreed and even argued but it had never come to blows. And Khlekluëllin wanted to keep it that way. He had no urge to find out which of them was the better fighter, especially over something as stupid as a keg of ale. So Khlekluëllin had sat quietly as the dwarves brought more ale and Mortharona had started drinking again.

  Watching his brother for a moment, Khlekluëllin shook his head and wondered, not for the last time, what had happened to him during his torture sessions in the Fortress of the Black Falls?

  Khlekluëllin stretched lazily. Feeling the bones pop in the small of his back, he stood up. Shaking his head at the tale-tell signs his body was se
nding him, he glanced at the ceiling. Although they were several hundreds of feet below ground, Khlekluëllin could imagine the sun coming up above the Darkmoor Mountains; its glorious sunbeams washing down on the snow covered field. A slight smile played across his face at that thought.

  Khlekluëllin slapped his hands together. “That’s what I need, a good workout. All this sitting around is making me feel like a halfling innkeeper, fat and lazy.”

  Stripping down to his loincloth, he moved to the center of their cell. Looking around, he nodded his head. “It’ll do. It’s not really the optimal room but it’ll do.” Shrugging his shoulders, “It’ll have to. I don’t guess the dwarves will let me out just for a workout.”

  Closing his eyes, Khlekluëllin began to take slow, deep breaths. Moving his arms up and down slowly, keeping them in rhythm with his breathing. After several minutes, he opened his eyes. Gone was the happy-go-lucky elf that takes everything life throws in stride, never worrying or hurrying. In its place stood the warrior that was known throughout the Elfholm as Khlekluëllin the Avenger, the Ice Blue Doom.

  Stepping out into a deep sitting stance, which was twice as wide as his shoulders, he began his workout with a series of punches, blocks and strikes. Each series of techniques started out slowly and precisely but as his body began to warm-up, he began to move them faster and faster until they were a blaze of speed and fluidity. Soon, it was hard to tell where one technique ended and the next began, as they blended into a deadly rhythm. The whole time Khlekluëllin never moved out of his low sitting stance or faltered in his deep breathing. After several minutes of hand techniques, Khlekluëllin shifted into a fighting stance and began a series of kicks. Alternating between kicks to the front and kicks to the side, they started out low and slow; although with each kick they progressively got higher and faster. After several minutes, when his body was covered with sweat, Khlekluëllin dropped to the floor to do several repetitions of sit-ups and push-ups.

  The three Dwarven guards who were assigned to watch over the brothers heard Khlekluëllin’s workout and moved into the outer chamber to investigate. They didn’t know what this strange elf was doing but they were amazed anyway.

  Khlekluëllin was so focused on his workout that he didn’t even realize the guards were there. Standing, he took several deep breaths and moved to the center of the room. Taking his best guess at which direction was east, he lowered his eyes and bowed slowly. Raising his head, he began to move about the cell in a lethal dance. Alternating between kicks, blocks and strikes, the techniques blended together, each one leading into the next. A block would lead to a strike, which led to a kick, which led to a flurry of punches which in turn led to a series of kicks. And on and on it went. Khlekluëllin never stopped or paused for more than a split second. And as the deadly dance increased in length, the techniques became more spectacular. There were a series of spin kicks, followed by a blazing set of hand combinations. Then, Khlekluëllin the Avenger dropped to the ground as if someone had tripped him but that didn’t stop or even slow him down. He threw several hand and leg techniques while he was on the ground, then rolled toward the cell door. Stopping just in front of the door, he rocked back, threw both feet high into the air, which in turn catapulted him into a standing position. Landing lightly on his feet, he executed a back flip and several more hand combinations. Dripping with sweat Khlekluëllin ended the deadly dance with a beautiful jump spinning kick, in which he turned a full circle in the air, while throwing a kick that almost touched the ten foot ceiling.

  The three guards were mesmerized. They had never seen anything like this before.

  Following his last move, Khlekluëllin landed gracefully in a fighting stance in the center of the room, which was almost the exact spot in which he started from. Holding his last position for what seemed to be an eternity when compared to the rest of the form, but in reality was only several seconds, Khlekluëllin’s chest heaved with the exertion of his workout. Standing straight, he once again bowed to the east before sitting down to stretch.

  The guards were dumbfound and just stared at the strange elf for several minutes until Khlekluëllin noticed them for the first time. Flashing them a warm smile, he nodded a greeting. The two dwarves who were veterans returned the nod and moved back to their posts. The third and the youngest by a hundred or so winters moved closer to the cell. Judging from his short beard Khlekluëllin guessed this dwarf to be in his early fifties, which for a race that has a normal life span of three to five hundred years, would make him a young adult.

  The young dwarf cleared his throat. “Pardon the intrusion Master Elf but what was that?”

  Khlekluëllin paused in his stretching. “That my young friend was the Kata of the Air Dragon. It is a ritual exercise practiced by my Order.”

  Judging from the look on the dwarf’s face and the shaking of his head, Khlekluëllin could tell he didn’t understand. Raising his left arm, he displayed his tattoo of the blue serpentine dragon and katana. It seemed to radiate a shimmering blue light.

  “You see, I am a Bladeweaver in the Order of the Dragon and although our primary weapons are our blades and spells, we are also trained in unarmed combat. One of the ways we practice those techniques is called a kata or form. It is a series of movements using strikes, kicks and blocks to form a mock battle. It is a way of making the techniques become second nature and how we can practice by ourselves without hurting anyone.”

  Khlekluëllin could tell he had the young guard’s full attention. Since this was the first time any of the guards had spoken to either of the brothers, he planned to make it last. His attention was snapped back to reality as the dwarven guard asked a question. Not really hearing it, Khlekluëllin shook his head. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “Does that kicking and punching stuff really work?”

  “It sure does.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his sleeping brother. “Mortharona and I had plenty of practice while we were prisoners in the Fortress of the Black Falls.”

  His eyes widening, the young dwarf’s voice took on a tone of awe. “You’ve been to Halls of Haldar?”

  “I’ve never heard them referred to as such but yes. We were prisoners there along with Rjurik Silvershield.”

  “Rjurik Silvershield! You were one of his traveling companions?”

  “Yes, I see you know him.”

  The young dwarf shook his head. “Nay, I cannot say I know him. I know of him though. He is the king’s cousin and considered by all to be a living legend.” He glanced around conspiratorially. “It is said that he once stood alone against fifty cyclops and came out victorious.”

  Khlekluëllin was about to ask another question when ten dwarves in the finest chainmail armor he had ever seen came around the corner. The young dwarf took two steps back and snapped to attention. Reaching down, Khlekluëllin quickly pulled on his clothes.

  The largest of the finely dressed dwarves, looked directly at him. “Khlekluëllin Amarth, Bladeweaver of Aurora, would you please come with us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “King Padric Grimaxe requests your presence.”

  Khlekluëllin pointed at his brother. “We are in no condition to meet the king.”

  The dwarven messenger shook his head. “Your presence has been requested, not your brother’s.”

  Frowning slightly, he pointed at his clothes. “Still, I’m not in any condition to see the king.”

  “I agree; which is why you will be given the chance to clean up before your audience. Now, please follow me.”

  Although his tone and manners were polite and friendly, Khlekluëllin could feel the undercurrents of dislike and distrust in his voice.

  Even though the dwarf asked, he knew it was not a request. He was going with them willingly or unwillingly.

  Falling in behind the messenger, they headed out of the cell area he knew so well. This time the dwarves didn’t blindfold him and he was able to glance back at his brother one last time before they roun
ded the corner. Several dwarves were removing the last keg of ale and replacing it with a keg of water and a wash pan. It seems that Mortharona’s drinking binge had just ended. Smiling at that thought, Khlekluëllin decided that today was going to be a good day. He was on his way to meet the King, he had just finished a great workout, Mortharona wasn’t going to have a choice about sobering up and he wasn’t going to be there when his brother woke up with a hangover.

  Khlekluëllin nodded his head. ‘Yes, today was going to be a good day.’

  Chapter 12

  “Finally!”

  Jinx stretched lazily. Unfolding his leathery wings, he floated down from his perch above the doorway. Landing on the slippery stones of the scrying pool, he dipped his tail into the pool of blood. Pulling it out, he used his long forked tongue to clean it. Unhurried, he glanced at the image of the elven twins that filled the pool. Khlekluëllin was just leaving the dwarven cell and the unconscious Mortharona was lying on the bed next to an overturned keg of dwarven ale.

  Jinx looked up at his mistress and sarcasm filled his raspy voice when he asked, “Okay, so your favorite elf is unconscious from drinking again, so what?”

  Turning to look at her familiar, she frowned at her familiar’s ignorance to details. “Yes, he is drunk again but what else can you tell from the image?”

  Lifting his left eyebrow, Jinx studied the image of the dwarven cell once again. To him it looked the same as it had for the last few months, simple, functional and dark; just the way one would think a dwarven cell would be. Looking back at his mistress, he was about to state that nothing had changed except that his brother wasn’t anywhere around. Then it hit him that’s what was different.