Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  Signaling a runner, Hawkeye barked out an order. “Summon the War Council! Make ready for a hard march at sunset, we rest until then. Pass the word!”

  It was several minutes before those that remained of Hawkeye’s War Council began arriving. He ignored all attempts to get him to discuss any plans as they arrived individually. Instead, he pulled out his pipe and began the ancient ritual. Understanding the importance of the peace pipe ceremony, the council members settled down and found a place to sit and await their turn.

  Sir Richard was the last to arrive since he had been riding out west of the army. Reaching the Highland War Council, the knight expected to see a heated debate that was so common in the lands south of the Wall. Finding the council calmly sitting cross-legged in a circle smoking from a common pipe was the last thing he expected.

  Hawkeye stood up when the knight commander reached them. “Richard! It is good to see you. We have been discussing our options.”

  The knight gestured to the gathering. “If this is a discussion, then my people could learn much from your elders on how to act. Blood has been spilled in the more civilized lands during discussions.”

  Hawkeye grinned at the compliment but pointed at the map and frowned.

  “We have a problem.”

  Taking in the markers of the pursuing armies, Richard could tell that the Highlanders were being herded away from the dwarven kingdom. Seeing two new markers on the maps, one due south and another north-east Richard asked, “We’re now facing four armies? Two wasn’t enough for you?”

  Pointing at the north-eastern marker Hawkeye said, “The Jotens have returned. They are the furthest away but once we join battle with any of the other armies, they will catch up. It is inevitable.”

  “And the southern army?”

  “Hobgoblins,” said Odovacar.

  Turning to face the boar warlord Richard asked, “What are Hobgoblins?”

  “Grey-skinned goblins but larger and more fierce,” stated Odovacar.

  “Ah…I know those creatures; we call them Orcs in the southlands.” Turning back to Hawkeye he said, “So, we are trapped between the proverbial hammer and the anvil?”

  “It seems that way but I have a plan but it will take some faith in all parties involved to work.”

  Richard and Odovacar both said in unison. “I’m listening.”

  Hawkeye grinned at the unplanned show of teamwork and pointed to an area of the map southwest of their position, an ancient glyph which meant danger marked the location.

  “This region is known as the Daggers due to the large pillars of rock that jut up from the ground. It is a dangerous area to cross since the ground is black as night with small dagger-like projections littering the area and pits of smoldering tar. Occasionally, the ground opens up into pits of burning magma. However, the dwarves have built a series of bridges from one pillar to another, bypassing the more deadly areas.”

  Richard said, “And you propose that we race ahead, leading the Dark Alliance to this region.”

  “Yes. If we can’t control when to fight, let us at least control where to fight,” said Hawkeye. “If we can make it to the high ground then we can control how many attack us at one time by using the bridges to funnel them.”

  Richard toyed with his mustache. “Good plan.”

  “But Hawkeye, that area is cursed. I know the stories as well as you do,” said Odovacar.

  “What stories,” asked Richard.

  “Legends state that the giants of old who roamed this region were servants of Terra, the Earthmother. With the coming of the Dark Times, the giants failed to aid their goddess when she called and were cursed by the gods. Their land became barren of life and their bodies turned to stone creating the pillars we know as the Daggers. Are the legends true?” Hawkeye shrugged. “I have no idea. Is the land barren? Yes. Is it cursed? Again, I have no idea but I have traveled through the area several times and lived.”

  Swallowing deeply, Odovacar struggled to overcome his superstitions. “Can we make it to the Daggers before them?”

  “We must. If any one of the chasing armies stalls us long enough for any of the other armies to catch us, then we are dead. Our only hope is to fight on ground that is favorable to us.”

  “Do you really think we can win?”

  “Depends on your definition of winning, if you mean sacrificing ourselves so that the young and the elderly can reach safety? Yes. Our destiny is to destroy or weaken the Dark Alliance enough so that the Chosen One may grow up to gather the Nine. That is our destiny, always remember that.”

  “What do you need from my knights?” asked Richard. “I know you didn’t call me here just for moral support.”

  Hawkeye turned to his friend. “I hate to ask this of you but only your knights can reach the hobgoblins in time to turn them aside. They cannot reach the entrance to the Daggers before us.”

  Richard shook his head. “I fear we cannot turn aside those orcs. I am down to eight knights which can ride into battle. I have the horses but not the manpower.”

  Hawkeye gestured to the members of his War Council. “All here but Odovacar will ride with you. They are not armored like your men but all have experience on horseback and will follow your commands to the death.”

  Sir Richard studied the gathered highlanders. They were grim faced but eager to do their part. He had seen the Highlanders in battle. With their shapeshifting ability, they were a formidable foe especially in close quarter combat. He hated to admit it but one battle crazed Highlander in their hybrid form was more deadly than three or four of his knights.

  He nodded. “Then… let’s saddle up and ride.”

  * * * * *

  It was sundown when the twins exited the mountain fortress that was the Kingdom of Darkmoor. Hoping to avoid an immediate confrontation with the armies of the Dark Alliance, King Padric had led the small company of dwarves to a secluded exit many miles north of the kingdom’s main entrance.

  Stepping out of the darkness of the tunnels, Khlekluëllin stopped in midstride as the cold evening breeze touched the exposed skin of his face and whispered, “Thank Aurora, I can see the sky once again.”

  Rjurik thumped him on the thigh. “Now, don’t you be talking bad about me homeland.”

  Khlekluëllin said, “Nothing against your homeland master dwarf but I missed the wind in my hair and the rustling of leaves overhead. We elves are creatures of the woodlands not the mountains.”

  Rjurik nodded at his friend’s description. “That be true. I will always be at home deep under the mountains but I have learned to admire the rugged beauty of this region.”

  Khlekluëllin nodded his understanding as his twin moved up alongside. Mortharona took in a deep breath and smiled. “Damn, that smells good.”

  Taking another deep breath, the smile fled from his face as he furrowed his brow. Rjurik was about to say something when Mortharona held up a clenched fist, the universal sign to ‘hold fast’. By now the rest of the dwarven company had grown aware of the situation with the twins and had silently readied their weapons.

  Khlekluëllin had joined his brother in ‘sniffing the air’ when King Padric approached and asked quietly, “What’s going on cousin?”

  Rjurik shrugged. “I have no idea but something is amiss.”

  “Magic,” said Khlekluëllin simply.

  “Dark magic,” Mortharona added.

  Rjurik hefted his axe and looked around suspiciously. “Where?”

  Both twins pointed northward. Mortharona said, “Not far, just over that ridge”

  Everyone looked to the north just as a shrill scream reached them only to be cut off sharply.

  King Padric said, “We are late to battle, let’s go.”

  Without question or hesitation, the two hundred dwarves stormed down the mountainside and headed off in search of the battle. The twins looked at each other for a moment, before Khlekluëllin shrugged and hurried off to catch his stout companions. Mortharona just shook his head and followed
behind.

  * * * * *

  Tatianna huddled in the darkness of the cave with the rest of the women and children. They had taken refuge in this cave when the shadow scorpions had caught up to the fleeing highlanders. The warriors tasked with protecting the villagers, aided by Anasazi’s magic had made a heroic stand while the non-combatants fled higher up the mountain slope. Finding this cave had felt like a godsend at the time, out of the cold wind and a strong place to defend. But now, with the screams of the dying echoing off its walls while the women and children waited for the inevitable, it seemed more like a tomb.

  Matanza placed a calm hand on Tatianna’s swollen belly. “It is nearly time. Your son will come soon whether you are ready or not.”

  As another contraction wracked her body, Tatianna forced herself to breathe but spoke through clenched teeth. “Can…you…deliver…him?”

  Matanza shrugged. “I have delivered foals before but our anatomy is slightly different.”

  Broun moved up along side of them. “Whatever you are planning Manny, it will have to wait. There is a very large bear heading up the hill to us.”

  Mantanza shook his head. “That is my point. She cannot wait, the baby is coming.”

  Some of the frightened villagers screamed as a huge shadow which seemed to fill the whole opening paused at the cave entrance. Calling upon Luna’s blessing, Nilrem shifted back into his human form and stepped inside. His deep baritone voice filled the cave.

  “I have good news and bad news.” Pausing slightly, the bear warlord moved alongside Tatianna. “We have been able to destroy one of the creatures.”

  The cheers of the villagers filled the cave.

  Signaling for silence, Nilrem continued. “It cost us nearly one-hundred warriors and every shaman except Anasazi. The remaining two creatures are heading this way and only his magic is holding them off for the moment.”

  The villagers’ cheers turned to wails at this revelation.

  Nilrem leaned down and whispered to Tatianna. “I was instructed to get you to safety no matter the cost.”

  Mantaza folded up his forelegs and knelt down. Looking up at the hulking warlord he said, “She isn’t going anywhere. This baby is about to be born, one way or the other. If we try to move her, we risk losing one or both of them.”

  “Fire!” Tatianna spit out the word as another contraction wracked her body. “Fire and magic! The only two things that can harm a shadow creature.”

  Without waiting for more, Broun moved to center of the cave and yelled, “Listen all of you! We need to make a fire and make it now! Anything you have that is flammable put it here! Now!”

  Putting actions to his words, Broun began dumping out his pouches. Hearing the tone of command in the halfling’s words many of the villagers began adding to the pile.

  “Then we make our stand here,” Nilrem said. “Once the fire is going, everyone grab a torch.”

  Between contractions, Tatianna grabbed her sword and handed the scabbard to Nilrem. “Use this, the blade is enchanted.”

  Nilrem shook his head. “No thanks lady but I have no skill in the use of a sword.”

  Amani stepped up and grabbed the scabbard. “I do mistress. I will defend you to my last breath.”

  Nilrem nodded at the commitment in the young highlander’s voice. “Amani, I am sorry about your father but if we live through this, I would be proud to call you daughter.”

  Beaming at the compliment, Amani pulled forth the magical blade and took a defensive stance between her teacher and the cave opening. Moving alongside her, Nilrem added to no one in particular “What I need is an axe.”

  “Axe?” Amani cocked her head slightly. “Axe, why does that ring a bell?”

  Tatianna screamed as her world exploded into pain as the first true contraction of labor overwhelmed her. Gone was the cave, gone was the cold and damp of the Highlands. Tatianna’s entire world disappeared into the joy and pain of childbirth. Only the soothing words of Mantaza reached through the haze as he gently reminded her to breathe, push or rest.

  Anasazi stumbled into the cave. His furs were scorched and his face blackened. “We only have moments before they reach us.”

  Falling to his knees, Amani rushed out to catch him as the shaman mumbled, “I’m spent. I haven’t used this much magic in a millennia.”

  Amani gave the old shaman a sideway glance at his exaggeration but helped him to Tatianna’s side. Anasazi took in her condition with one glance and said, “It is time, the Chosen One is coming. We must protect this child with our last breath if need be.”

  The sound of the two shadow creatures approaching echoed in the cavern.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Anasazi faced the door and said once again. “It’s time.”

  Chapter 32

  Sir Richard looked down at the waiting orc horde and said, “It’s time.”

  Chewda finished tying off a bandage on his left thigh before replying. “We have done all that the Wolflord or the gods could ask of us.”

  “So true but it galls me to know I will die at the hands of an orc.”

  Sir Richard glanced at the remainder of his men. They had started this mission with eighteen horses ridden by eight knights and ten highlanders. They had lost eight men and nine horses during the night but they had been able to divert the orcish horde many miles east of the Daggers.

  He added, “We will not survive another charge.”

  Chewda handed his remaining arrows to a nearby highland warrior who was still on horseback. Turning back to the knight-commander he said, “Who or what kills us isn’t important; how we die is.” Gesturing at the surrounding men, everyone bore wounds; some near fatal, only their courage and their will held them in the saddle. “The gods know that few fought against many. That is what’s important.”

  Sir Richard leaned down and held out his hand to the highland warlord. “It has been an honor to fight alongside you and your men.”

  Returning the warrior’s handshake, Chewda responded. “The honor has been ours.”

  Sir Richard drew his sword and pointed it downhill. “Let’s ride!”

  Chewda shifted to his wolverine form and matched pace as all nine horses began a slow canter as they embarked on their final charge against the waiting orcs.

  * * * * *

  “Kralm!”

  The young half-orc flinched at the sound of his father’s voice. Quickly thinking back through the past day and half for anything he had done that would’ve displeased his father. Kralm snickered; his very existence displeased his father. He considered hiding but knew the others would rat him out and that would only make his father angrier.

  Keeping his head high, Kralm moved through the warriors toward his father. Occasionally one of the warriors would ‘bump’ into him; this had been commonplace since his birth. According to his mother it was an orcish custom designed to weed out the weakest; only the strong survive the hazing of youth in the Horde. Of course, typically the bumping and scrapes ceased when the young orc enters their tenth summer. Since Kralm was only a half-orc the hazing had continued. Whenever Kralm would fight back, his father would punish him for being a bully. If he didn’t fight back, he knew the hazing would continue. It was a quandary he wrestled with daily.

  When Kralm reached his father, he halted several feet away. Lifting his chin high, Kralm exposed his throat to the hulking brute and said, “You called Sharku?”

  Krom Elfbane looked down at his pitiful son. He was skinny and pale compared to the rest of the orc children; yet he had taken more hazing than any without complaint and the few times Kralm had lashed out, he had hurt the other children. Krom took note of the use of the orcish title Sharku, which meant honored father, and his son’s subservient position. The act of raising his chin and exposing his jugular to a superior was commonplace in the Horde.

  Stifling a grin Krom said, “Took you long enough.”

  Lowering his chin Kralm replied, “I was near the back of the lines helping with the wounded
as you ordered.”

  Krom nodded and pointed up the hill at the small band of horsemen. “After chasing them for the last three days, we have them cornered.”

  Kralm met his father’s gaze. “For the last time Sharku, we have not been chasing them; they have been leading us.”

  Krom had mixed emotions concerning his son’s statement. For the first time Kralm was standing his ground and speaking his mind; of course, he was doing it in front of subordinates which upset him. Instead of striking him down, the hulking orc leader asked, “What makes you say that?”

  “There were never enough of them to destroy us, yet time and again they attacked and at no time during the last three days have they even tried to fight us. They just strike and ride off, always to the east. If we did not give chase, they would strike us again and again until we did attack. I would guess that they had been ordered to divert us from the Daggers.”

  Krom scratched his chin with a clawed hand as he mulled over what his son said; it made a crazy sort of sense. Krom looked at his second-in-command and asked, “What do you think?”

  “The half-breed is nuts. We are strong!” Ezzio said while thumping himself in the chest. “They are weak! They attack us, we beat them back and they flee. What more is there to know?”

  Krom nodded. “Spoken like a true orc warrior.”

  Looking back at his son, Krom noticed that he still stood defiantly even though the gathered warriors had turned more hostile toward him. The orc leader decided to give his son a chance to save face with his next question. “Kralm what would you suggest at this point?”

  Kralm swallowed hard, fully aware of the deadly situation he had placed himself in by speaking out but answered his father smoothly.

  “Destroy them; quickly and utterly. Place some of the smaller warriors in the center line and the larger on the ends; when they charge have the middle move back, drawing them in while the ends wrap around them to cut off any retreat. We know that they have shifters with them, so we need to swarm and overwhelm them quickly. Once destroyed, we should make all haste back to the Daggers.”