Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf

by A. E. McCullough

  Krom nodded as he saw the logic and strength in his son’s suggestion. However, judging from the dark looks and the grumbling from the rest of his men, the orc chieftain knew that only force of arms would convince his subordinates of the wisdom of Kralm’s plan. Orcs tend to rely on brute force not subtly or strategy. When an orc horde sees its target, they attack en-mass; overwhelming them with sheer numbers and brutality.

  Krom turned back to his men and shouted, “Prepare to charge! They will not get away this time!”

  A cheer erupted from the orc horde as they bunched up and got ready for battle.

  Trying to persuade his father one more time Kralm pleaded, “Sharku, please listen. If we…”

  Whack!

  Kralm went flying backwards from the strike his father gave him. He had seen it coming and had even suspected that it would happen but Kralm knew that to block or dodge it would lead to a more serious beating.

  Krom pointed his clawed hand at his son. “Return to the back with the women and pack animals, you cannot join in today’s battle.” He thrust his spear into his son’s hand. “Take this back to your mother. I will not need it for today’s slaughter.”

  Lowering his head, Kralm nodded and grabbed the offered weapon.

  “Yes Sharku, as you ordered.”

  As their hands touched briefly, Kralm made eye contact with his father one last time and shared a moment of realization. His father didn’t expect to survive the next encounter with the knights and by sending him to the back; he was giving Kralm a chance to escape the horde before their destruction. A nod and a brief smile was their silent good-bye.

  Kralm moved through the line of warriors, ignoring their stares and occasional bumps. Reaching his mother, no words needed to be spoken once she saw that he carried the ancient spear of his father. Nodding, she threw several bags onto the back of a mule and headed south. Noticing that her eyes were full of tears, Kralm looked back just in time to see his father meet the charging knights. Several of the Highlanders had leapt off their horses and shifted into their hybrid form to join the battle hand to hand.

  Then, they entered the forest and Kralm was out of sight of the horde forever.

  Chapter 33

  During a lull in one of the attacks, Hawkeye took a moment to look around.

  The Highlanders had reached the region known as the Daggers with the Dark Alliance armies right on their heels. The Seekers of Luna had acted as rear guard, turning to attack time and time again, only to fade away as the Dark Alliance would counter-attack.

  The Highlanders had rushed up the closest bridge and finally gone to ground at the junction of three bridges. The stone bridges were built in ages past by dwarven master craftsmen to span the gaps between the rock pillars. The armies of the Dark Alliance were forced to attack across the two bridges that lead out of the region which left one bridge at the Highlanders’ back for an escape route to the dwarven kingdom of Darkmoor. None of the bridges had any type of railing to protect the warriors from the deadly fall and twice now, when the Dark Alliance had gained a toe-hold on the landing, Hawkeye saw several of his men sacrifice their lives by hurling themselves at the enemy knocking both parties over the ledge. It was both a moving and a sad thing to watch.

  Odovacar stepped up to his friend’s side. “It will be dawn soon.”

  Hawkeye glanced at the sky. “Yes but Blackfang will attack us at least one more time before then, this pause is just for him to shift more of his troops to come up the other bridge.” He pointed at the opposite bridge. “Reinforce the right flank with those warriors that we have from the bear and boar tribes and make sure they have spears. My guess is Blackfang will try to plow through the line with his trolls.”

  Odovacar cocked his head slightly to one side and asked, “Why do you say that?”

  Hawkeye snickered. “Because it’s what I would do.”

  Odovacar nodded his head to the bridge at their backs. “Can’t we just move back to the dwarven stronghold?”

  “Yes we could,” Hawkeye said, “but Tatianna isn’t safe yet.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can feel it. We need to keep Blackfang and his troops tied up a bit longer.”

  “We can do it,” Odovacar said. “We might not survive for long but we can keep them busy at least through the day.” He shrugged. “By nightfall, there won’t be enough of us left to matter.”

  Hawkeye slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Damn Odovacar, I didn’t realize you were such an optimist.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think we’ll last till Highsun but I like your thinking better.” Hawkeye nodded at the right bridge. “You might want to get your men ready.”

  “Good luck Wolflord. May Luna’s grace smile on you.”

  Hawkeye answered back with the ritual response. “And onto you.”

  Odovacar shifted into his hybrid boar form and began bellowing orders. Hawkeye watched as his friend readied the defense of the other bridge but seeing the warriors of the Dark Alliance begin their advance on his own position, Hawkeye moved to the center of his men and shifted into his own hybrid wolf form.

  “Here they come! Get ready!”

  * * * * *

  Nilrem moved to the cave opening and looked down the slope. Even in the dark, the two large shapes of the shadow scorpions could be seen. He glanced up at the two villagers who had volunteered for the suicide mission.

  “Here they come. Get ready.”

  The idea was simple.

  Have someone hide on the cliff face above the cave opening. When the scorpions enter the cave, jump onto its back with a torch in one hand and a jug of moonshine in the other and boom. Actually Broun had come up with the idea and had argued that he should be the one to implement it but the Highlanders would have nothing of it. Two elderly highlanders had volunteered for the mission. Running Elk and Talking Bird were both former warriors of fierce reputation but time was an enemy they could not conquer and this gamble seemed like a chance to die like the warriors of their youth.

  Nilrem notched an arrow to his great horn bow and stuck the end in the nearby fire. The moonshine soaked rag wrapped around its head flared to life as the fire consumed the alcohol. Never a true marksman like Hawkeye, every highlander learns to use the bow if they don’t want to go hungry. Drawing back on the string, the bow creaked in protest for a split second before Nilrem released the fiery missile. His arrow didn’t strike dead center but did hit the lead scorpion a few inches behind its eyes. The great beast roared in anger and bolted up the slope toward the cave. Nilrem fired off his remaining arrows knowing that none would really injure the beast; he just wanted it to be too angry to pause at the cave opening. As soon as his last arrow flew, Nilrem moved back inside the opening to join the small group of defenders.

  Broun slapped him on the thigh. “Well, we’ve stuck our hands in the hornets’ nest now.”

  “We all have to die somewhere,” said Nilrem as he threw down his bow and pulled out his trusty old battle axe. Calling on Luna’s gift, he shifted into his were-bear form and waited.

  “True,” Broun said, “but personally I would rather die of old age in my bed.”

  Whatever response the large barbarian would’ve said was lost as the screams of the villagers filled the cave. The lead scorpion was at the entrance.

  Seeing his chance, Running Elk leapt from the ledge. Broun could never remember which exploded into flames first, the back of the scorpion or Running Elk. One thing for certain, he would never forget Running Elk’s death chant. Maybe it affected him more because it had been his idea but what began as a yell of defiance ended as a scream of death.

  When the scorpion reared up in pain, the Highlanders struck. Attacking with spears and torches they struck the underside of the great beast. Nilrem put every bit of his considerable strength and weight into his first attack. Striking at the junction of the scorpion’s head and torso, he was rewarded with a flood of black blood as the beast split in t
wo. Jumping back, the Highlanders cheered as they watched the great beast flop around in its death throes.

  Nilrem glanced up as the second scorpion paused in the cave entrance. A howl of pain followed the lightning fast strike of the huge scorpion and Talking Bird came into view impaled on its deadly tail. The cheers of the villagers quickly turned to howls of fear as the two injured parts of the first scorpion reformed into two smaller scorpions. Each was the size of a horse and moved quickly to attack the trapped highlanders. Instinctively stepping back, the highlanders found themselves trapped in the cave with nowhere to retreat and divided. Broun and Anasazi were with the largest group of villagers while Nilrem found himself as Tatianna’s sole protector.

  Nilrem said to no one in particular. “This is not good.”

  * * * * *

  Khlekluëllin and Mortharona paused at the base of the ridge to study the broken body of a highlander. It was obvious that he had fallen off the cliff but the twins recognized the burn marks on his chest as a sign of magic.

  Khlekluëllin glanced up the cliff. “It was a long fall, more than enough to kill him.”

  Mortharona voiced the unspoken question. “So why the magic missiles?”

  “Highlanders don’t use magic,” added Rjurik. “At least not the type of magic you are discussing. Theirs is more along the lines of nature in action.”

  “So these would not have been made by a highlander?” asked King Padric.

  Khlekluëllin shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt it. This looks more like something my sister would cast but…”

  “But what?” asked Midach.

  “This wasn’t powerful enough,” stated Mortharona.

  Midach pointed up the cliff. “But it knocked the poor soul over the cliff edge and you are saying that isn’t powerful?”

  Khlekluëllin shook his head. “Not that it wasn’t powerful magic, it was. But if Tatianna had cast this same spell, he would’ve been struck with more than three missiles and launched much further from the edge. She is quite a strong spell weaver.”

  Rjurik asked, “Was this the magic you sensed?”

  Both twins shook their heads but it was Khlekluëllin who answered. “No. It was dark magic. Much darker than anything Tatianna would be able to cast.”

  A scream echoed in the ravine and the small company of dwarves looked up in time to see a flare of fire illuminating the night sky not far above them.

  Khlekluëllin pointed. “That’s where we will find the dark magic.”

  Padric turned to his men and shouted, “Double time! Or we will be too late!”

  The dwarves took off at rapid pace followed immediately by Khlekluëllin. Mortharona hesitated long enough to pocket a silver ring from the highlander’s body before jogging to catch up.

  Chapter 34

  The Joten army arrived on the eastern ridge above the Dark Alliance camp just before dawn.

  Halting their march, Grunk moved slightly forward to gaze down on his enemy. He could tell that the barbarians were trapped on the bridges that spanned the lava pits of the region. The Jarl nodded his admiration to the barbarian leader for picking the location of the battle as he unconsciously counted the troops of the Dark Alliance and compared them to the barbarians. The barbarians were outnumbered six or seven to one, yet by forcing Blackfang to fight across the bridges the Dark Alliance couldn’t bring their superior numbers to bear, at least not at one time. They would be able to wear down the barbarians eventually but it was going to cost them dearly.

  Grunk heard someone approach him from behind but didn’t turn around. Lifting off his helmet, the young Jarl looked at his father’s oldest advisor and asked, “What troubles you Geiryon?”

  The older warrior didn’t immediately answer as he studied the valley below. “I have seen this view every morning for my entire life. I thought it would bother me more when the day came.” Turning his attention to his jarl, “But it doesn’t my liege, it’s rather liberating.”

  “Today is your day?” asked Grunk.

  Geiryon nodded before gesturing back at the waiting troops. “Yes and at last count almost three-quarters of the men know that this is their day also.”

  Jotens had once been the proud servants of Gaul but in ages past, a greedy Jarl was seduced by the Arachne to serve them. He had asked for the gift of prophecy for him and his people in payment; which the wicked Arachne greedily granted. However, no gift comes without a price.

  The Jotens, at that time, had two eyes like every other race on Terreth but had to give up one of their eyes to the spider-gods in payment. In a dark ritual, the pact was made and the proud Jotens became the Cyclops. When the Arachne were finally overthrown, Gaul could not undo their magic nor did he try. Instead, he used magic of his own and twisted the spider-gods’ gift of prophecy and limited it to one event, the day of their own death. Every Joten is haunted daily with that vision.

  Grunk studied the valley and searched his memory for his vision. He shook his head. “I am sorry my friend but it is not my day.”

  Geiryon smiled. “Don’t worry about it my Jarl; I am not saddened by it. I am relieved. I know that tonight I dine with Gaul and between then and now are lots of enemies to kill. For when I make my passage over the dark river, many souls will join me on the trip.”

  Grunk slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “Then let’s not keep the ferryman waiting. The sun in rising at our backs and the smell of death is in the air.”

  Placing his helmet back on, Grunk hefted his shield and raised his spear. With his red horsetail plume blowing slightly in the early morning breeze he shouted, “Jotens! Who are you?!”

  In one loud voice, the gathered cyclopean army answered. “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!”

  Slowly they began their march down to the camp of the Dark Alliance and their destiny.

  * * * * *

  Lalith sat cross-legged in her tent, staring into the heart of a fire which burned brightly in a brass brazier. Standing in the shadows of the tent, mere steps away from his mistress, was the blademaster who watched as Blackfang paced back and forth impatiently. The barbarian warlord tried his best to ignore her bodyguard but every time he hazarded a look at the dark elf, emerald eyes were studying him. Blackfang found it unnerving.

  Taking a deep breath, Lalith finally came out of her trance and spoke quietly. “Water.”

  Blackfang rushed to get her a drink but couldn’t hold back his questions. “Is it done? Is the Chosen One dead?”

  Taking a drink, she shook her head. “Not yet. Surprisingly, the barbarians were able to destroy one of my creatures but the other two have the villagers trapped in a cave. Tatianna is among them.”

  “And my uncle?”

  “He is there,” she said with a nod. “It was mostly his magic which destroyed my first creature. He is a more powerful magic user than I realized. He and some halfling are guarding one group of villagers while a huge werebear with an axe guards the second group.”

  Blackfang grinned. “Nilrem Bluebear; he and Odovacar must’ve switched roles.”

  “He must be a great warrior. He struck one of my pets so hard it split in two. Had I not been watching, it would’ve died. However, I was able to use my magic to reform it into two smaller scorpions; not as tough but just as deadly.”

  Standing, Lalith nearly collapsed as her legs gave out. Only Darnac’s lightning fast reflexes allowed him to catch her before she fell.

  “I am a bit weaker than I imagined,” she said waving a hand of dismissal at her bodyguard. Turning back to her lover, “I commanded my pets to ignore the warriors and go after the women and children first. Eventually, one will kill Tatianna before all three are destroyed. I am sure of it.”

  Blackfang nodded. “Then all we have to worry about is Hawkeye.”

  Lalith nodded her head toward the bridges. “You haven’t been able to break through yet?”

  “I told you not to underestimate my brethren. We have to fight our whole life just to survive and when cornered, we are deadly.
” Gesturing to the gnomes, goblins and trolls nearby. “These warriors,” Blackfang spit out the word, “are nothing compared to a Highlander.”

  Turning to look at his lover, he glimpsed the odd look on the blademaster’s face and quickly added, “Present company excepted, of course.”

  With a slight grin Darnac said, “Of course.”

  That’s when they heard the cries of ‘Doom! Doom! Doom!’

  Everyone, including those involved in the attack on the barbarians, looked east and paused in whatever they were doing to watch the arrival of the Joten army. Gone was the ragged mob of one-eyed brutes that had marched north. Here was a well-disciplined army marching in unison; divided into two identical units with huge bronze shields glittering in the morning sun. Every warrior wore an identical helmet except one; the commander had a red ponytail plume that bobbed in time with their march. Their bronze tipped spears gleamed with a reddish hue.

  Blackfang whistled softly. “Now that is a pretty sight.”

  Lalith asked, “I wonder if they can fight just as beautifully?”

  “I’m sure we will find out soon enough.” Blackfang set both hands on his hips. “Now my army is complete. Well, I’m missing my hobgoblins but they were to be used as fodder anyway, so no great loss.”

  Darnac asked, “A moment ago you were berating the quality of your army, now you are praising them. Which is it?”

  Blackfang looked over his shoulder at the Blademaster. “Nothing has changed. I cannot control the quality of my warriors so I will control the quantity of them. If I have enough warriors, they will roll over any resistance like a wave.” He pointed at the outnumbered barbarians on the bridge. “Even my brother can’t stand up against this onslaught for long.”

  Snapping his fingers, Blackfang turned back to his lover. “Which reminds me, Lalith I believe it is time to spring our trap.”

  The wicked grin that spread across the dark elf sorceress’ face was chilling, even to Darnac. She closed her eyes for a second and mumbled a few words.