The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  “I fight like a morph. And a very angry one.” Briagh put it simply. It was the truth and the ranger should know that. Just as he should also know that Briagh wasn't finished spilling blood. He still had a technologist to kill and a fellow morph to rescue. And maybe even a mad woman who thought she was a wolf along with her two sons who thought they were dogs. He still wasn't sure of that.

  “That anger feeds you child. But it cannot sustain you.” Father Argen spoke up unexpectedly, clearly having picked up on his thoughts. “And though I know you seek vengeance, it will not return what you have lost. Peace does not come from vengeance. It comes from acceptance.”

  “I do not accept that that miserable creature is out there with one of my fellow morph's in chains! That he has done such terrible things to him. And that he means to kill him in some bizarre experiment.” Briagh would have said something more, but just then he felt something stabbing him from the inside, and when he looked down it was to see another splinter trying to force its way out of his gut.

  He reached for the knife on the table beside him, cut a slice directly over the splinter trying to work its way out of him, then grabbed it with the tweezers and pulled. A few short gasps later, he had pulled out a six-inch length of wooden splinter, covered in blood. Another one. He threw it on the ground with a disgusted grunt, and shifted form quickly to stop the bleeding. Then he shifted back and grabbed his blanket once again.

  “You know, everyone in this tent would love to have the ability to heal like that. You have no idea what a gift you were given.”

  “And would everyone in this tent also want to be hunted down like a wild animal from the day they were born Father? Would they want to have their family slaughtered simply because they had been born a morph? I'd far rather not have been born like this.”

  “That will not happen to you here Master Briagh. You may not continue your former trade as a thief, but you will always be safe among us.” Lord Daelyn had entered the tent.

  “Lord Daelyn.” Briagh immediately stood up and turned around to face him despite the pain, nodding politely. If he was well enough to sit instead of lie in a sick bed he was well enough to be polite. He understood that much about life here. Now.

  “Sit yourself down, Master Briagh. I am well aware that you are injured.” The Lord gestured at him to return to his stool. “And that this town owes you great thanks for your efforts in protecting the people.”

  “Everyone fought Lord Daelyn. I was just one among many.” Which was only the truth. The town would not have survived had it been otherwise. But everyone had picked up a bow and fought. They had won through because of that.

  “Very true. It is always when we stand as one that we are strongest. A lesson we must never forget.”

  “But for now honoured guest.” The Lord turned to Father Argen. “We need to know what else we face. The wildred is frightening enough. And the technologist's bomb throwing weapon too. But now this technologist may actually succeed in his madness and achieve his true form? What is that?”

  Lord Daelyn had obviously spoken to the Princess, Briagh realised. She was the one who had heard that conversation and told the rest of them her strange tale. Currently though she was resting somewhere in town with some broken ribs and a damaged shoulder, leg and back. She would recover soon. Besides, the sick beds were needed for those who were far more badly hurt.

  “No one knows Lord Daelyn.” The Priest tried to shrug, a gesture that did not work well when he was lying in a bed. “But at least we now know who has done this and how. It is only a matter of where he goes next and how we can beat him that should concern us. Before he does whatever it is that he intends doing.”

  “The “where” is a problem too,” Lord Daelyn responded. “That wildred he travels with has done something to the ground. Something that makes each footstep he places appear a thousand steps away in any direction. Every time he takes a step there is no trail for us to follow. Our trackers will not be able to track him. Which leaves our only hope of finding him with you Father, and the research you and your people have done on the journals.”

  “Journals that we now know may well be false. Given to us only to hide his true nature and intentions. Master Barachalla has been nothing if not clever.”

  That much was true Briagh realised having listened to Father Argen's endless lectures about what he'd worked out. The technologist had been leading everyone around by the nose for ten years. First he had blamed a morph for the royal family's demise. Then he had used the wolves as his own private army, and, it seemed, a way of obtaining wealth to finance his research. He had also used them to strike fear into the people of Abysynth, and keep the Court busy dealing with them while he set about his studies. Next he had used the arcanists and the Arcanium to store his most valuable treasure. And the wolf mother to steal it for him when he finally had need of it.

  He had unleashed the wolves on the city not just to sew confusion, but so that they could start biting people, thus creating an even bigger army, ready to do his bidding when he needed them to. An army that was his to call on when it came time to find the princes. That done he had now set off to wherever it was that he would carry out his final experiment. Somewhere that Briagh was sure lay in fae lands. Why else would he need an army? And somewhere along the way he had even enlisted the aid of the wildred. How? Why?

  He of course didn't have an answer. But he suddenly realised he did have a question about something that could be relevant.

  “Lord Daelyn, ever since I have come to this land I have had a dream. A dream of a place I have never been to. There is a dark stone cliff a thousand yards high. And on top of it is a terrace and an outcropping of rock that overlooks the fall. The valley beyond that is filled with trees of darkest green. A perfect forest with no trails. On that outcropping there stands a stone altar. An altar I think to a woman. Maybe Morphia. It is a table large enough for several tall men to sleep on. Meanwhile high above, the sky grows orange and gold and the wind blows without end.”

  “Does any of that sound at all familiar?” He didn't like asking the question. He didn't even like admitting that he'd been having dreams. It made him sound like a madman. But somehow he knew that the place was important. Wherever it was.

  “You're describing T'illshar Ree. Home of the last great dragon. It is his final resting place.”

  Dragons! Well. why not, Briagh thought. They already had an army of dire wolves and a wildred. Why not have dragons too? And from what he remembered, Morphia had been able to transform herself into all forms when she'd walked the world. Dragons too. So it made a certain sort of sense.

  On the other hand, had dragons ever existed? There were none living. Only giant bones that the technologists and others claimed were theirs. Others though said that they were just the remnants of drakes and that the bones had grown larger over time. They said that the stories were just that – stories. Tales made up, probably based on drakes, that had grown over time to become legends. After all, if the fabled cockatrice of Abylon had actually turned out to be a turkey with talons and a nasty beak, why couldn't a drake become a dragon?

  “And do you know where that is Lord Daelyn?”

  “North. Almost due north several hundred leagues. At the very tip of Wynde Par, where the three lands come together in the three faces of the mountain. Wynde Par, Abylon and the Copperhearth Range of the dwarves. It is the south-east face of T'illshar Ree known only as Idlewen or Death that you describe. The face that is shown to us. Somewhere beyond that altar it is said is the entrance to the dragon's lair. The entire mountain is surrounded by the great forest they call Berla Nor or the Forbidden Forest. It is a place no one may visit safely. But it is a place that lives in legends.”

  “You believe the technologist travels there?”

  “I don't know.” Briagh answered him as honestly as he could. “I believe the place is important in some way – but maybe only to me. And yet if this Forbidden Forest is as difficult to enter or pass through, maybe
an army of dire wolves and a wildred ally would help with that? Also, if the woman who speaks to me in my dreams is truly Morphia, and this globe is as Father Argen says, her kiss given technological form, then there would seem to be a connection.”

  “Or it may just be a dream,” Briagh concluded.

  “Regardless, if you do choose to investigate you should be warned. Far fewer return from the Forbidden Forest than set out for it. And none that return have made it as far as the mountain.” With that Lord Daelyn, ended the conversation, turned and left the tent. No doubt he had many others to speak with and decisions to make.

  “Is it a dream that you intend to follow?” Careyn unexpectedly spoke up, startling Briagh. He hadn't realised she was awake again or that she'd heard what he had said. But he was glad she was awake. The healers said that that was a good thing. The more she was awake and the more healing tea she drank, the better. Which was why he grabbed the cup, helped her to sit up a little more and made her take a few more sips.

  “I don't know.” But that was actually a lie. Deep down inside he did know. He had to follow it. He just didn't know why exactly. Careyn knew it for the falsehood it was.

  “Before you go you will need to rest up. Certainly long enough to fully heal. It will also give you a chance to speak with the sages, who may have some wisdom to share about T'illshar Ree. Because a lot is known of it, even if no one goes there. In particular it is a place that most morphs fear.”

  “Fear?”

  “Speak with Yulsen, keeper of the Repository. He knows the most about T'illshar Ree.

  The Repository. It was one place Briagh hadn't visited in Perna Sil. But then it reminded him a little too much of the Arcanium in Abysynth. It was smaller, being only the Repository for a town, and held no artefacts. They had been taken away to the larger repositories in the cities. But it was still home to thousands of scrolls and tomes of knowledge. The fae believed that all should know of the past. Maybe that was why Father Argen liked this place as much as he did? The fae were opposed to ignorance as were the priests of the Great Sage. They both regarded it as an enemy to be vanquished.

  “Thank you. I will.” He bowed politely to her as he helped her lie back down. “Now you need to rest.” He was especially sure of that when he saw that once more the bandage on her head was turning red. She was not out of the woods yet.

  “As do you. Your form may be strong, but even it has limits. And praise Liasa, your mind is especially soft! The Goddess only knows what sort of trouble you will get yourself in if you do not slow down.” She managed a smile.

  “And yet I was not the one who stood there while a wall fell on her!” Briagh smiled back at her.

  “Huh!” Careyn didn't seem so amused by his jest. And then she demonstrated her displeasure by making Briagh slap his own face.

  “Ow!” He rubbed his face. “You know, one day I am going to put you over my knee like a disobedient child!”

  “And do what exactly? Is this some human fetish? I've heard such strange things about your people.” She laughed cheekily at him.

  “Children!” Father Argen interrupted them. He sounded grumpy. “Could I remind you that this is a tent for those recovering from their injuries! It is not a place for courting. You'll make the people sick all over again!” His words were greeted with a minor titter of amusement from the other patients. And red faces for Briagh and Careyn as they realised they'd gone too far.

  “Sorry Father.” Briagh didn't bother trying to deny the charge the priest had brought against him and Careyn. Partly because he knew his denials would only make things worse, and partly because there was truth in the charge. “I will go and seek out Master Yulsen.” He was well enough to leave the tent he figured and staying there would only lead to more embarrassment.

  “And see to it that you seek out some clothes as well child! This repeated obsession of yours with undressing in public is becoming embarrassing!”

  “Yes Father.” Briagh responded tiredly. Then he stood up and wrapped the blanket around him a little more tightly as he prepared to leave and find some clothes.

  “Uh uh. Haven't you forgotten something?” Careyn smiled up at him from her cot.

  “Ah?”

  “This.” She tapped her cheek with a finger. “It is only appropriate for courting couples.”

  “Oh!” Briagh was surprised, but also unexpectedly happy. More than happy enough to kneel down and kiss her cheek as she demanded.

  “That's better.” Careyn almost purred at him, pleased with herself.

  She shouldn't have done that. Because the instant he realised she was manipulating him again it set Briagh's blood rushing again. It deserved only one possible response. Which was why he took her chin in his hand, made her face him and kissed her properly.

  Careyn objected naturally, doing her best to look indignant. So he kissed her again, noticing in doing so that she wasn't exactly resisting. And she tasted very sweet.

  “No, that's better!” Briagh corrected her. And it was his turn to purr. Until he abruptly slapped himself in the face without warning.

  “Cheeky!” But her eyes were dancing happily as she told him off.

  “And don't you forget it!” He told her gruffly. She had a right to be warned about what she was getting into he figured.

  Then he got up again, wrapped the blanket around him more tightly and headed out. He felt good for once – even if he kept getting pinched as he tried to walk proudly out of the tent.

  Chapter Forty

  Elan cursed as she lifted the saddle on to the horse's back. It hurt. She'd been doing a lot of cursing lately. But then everything hurt. Even though her injuries were apparently not serious, they were a serious inconvenience. And she was particularly unhappy about her face. She'd never considered herself a particularly shallow woman, overly concerned with her appearance. But when half her face was black and blue she wasn't impressed by it.

  What was it about this land and her face? First Briagh had given her two black eyes and a swollen nose. And then Barachalla had smashed one side of her face into a wall. It was a curse!

  But she could still see through one blood red eye, and breathe through her swollen nose and so she supposed she should be grateful for small mercies. But the hip and leg hurt abominably. Her shoulder hurt more and she didn't know how long it would be before she could swing a blade freely or pull back a bow string. Several days if not another week at least. Unfortunately, she didn't have several days. Briagh, curse him, would be out of range of the witch compass by then. He was damnably fast on four legs. If she was to follow him, she had to set off today. Otherwise she would never be able to track him and Barachalla would escape her. That could not happen.

  “Going somewhere Princess?”

  A woman's voice startled her.

  Elan turned to see her least favourite gaoler standing there. Careyn the annoying. Her power was formidable. She possessed a gift she had never heard of, and it was one that could not be fought. Not by any magic she knew of. Not with any weapon she possessed. More than that though – it hurt! When Careyn forced her body to move in certain ways it was as though her muscles were being forced by little imps with red hot tongs. And she wasn't shy about using her gift when it came to doing her duty.

  She sighed. “You know I am. What of it?” And why, Elan wondered, did the guard even care? They weren't friends. If she died on the trip Careyn wouldn't shed a tear for her. In fact, Elan suspected that most of the guards and rangers would be the same. Though they had always been polite, not a one of them had ever shown a trace of concern for her.

  Besides, at the moment they had too much else on their minds to even spare her a thought. Four days after the attack the changes in the villagers who had been bitten were beginning to show. One by one they were lapsing into a sleep from which they could not be woken, and their bodies were starting to undergo the changes. At the same time, all the animals in the village were fleeing, desperately trying to get away from them. It seemed that they
had an answer to some of the questions that the rangers had brought back from Oster. The missing animals had likely either broken free and run or else been released by their owners as one of the final acts of mercy they could manage before the disease took complete hold of them. Now, as the slowly transforming villagers lapsed into the realm of sleep, the gaol and the rest of the stockade were being prepared to hold them.

  One by one the sleeping villagers were being secured in the cells by the guards, as quickly as each repaired cell could be finished, and the rangers were scouring the town looking for more sleeping soon to be wolves. When the villagers finally did awaken as wolves and dire wolves, they would be secure. She wasn't sure she agreed with the plan. After all, there was no certainty that the villagers would ever return to their rightful forms. And there were so many of them! It wasn't just Perna Sill that was affected. There had been attacks up and down the Ellys Gorge and dozens of towns and villages now had the same problem. The gods alone knew what it must be like in Abylon if the wolves were in Wynde Par.