The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  After that there was screaming and blood as three wolves pounced on his arm. Gauntlets and chain could not protect him, and in a matter of seconds they had started chewing on his arm while he was jammed helplessly against the bars, screaming and being pulled in. It wasn't long before they had it and he fell back with only a stump where his elbow had been.

  The battle was over.

  Careyn knew that. Just as she knew she hadn't really won it. They had both lost. It was just that the Prince had lost more – something that was only too clear as she watched the wolves in their cell, tearing at his arm, trying desperately to get at the meat inside the steel. It was a disgusting sight. But soon she knew, she would be one of them, and that was worse.

  Meanwhile, the Prince was crying. Actually, he was sobbing like a child, the pain and the enormity of his loss seeming to have taken him over the edge. So much for all his vaunted courage, she thought! But wasn't that always the way with bullies? They bled and hurt and feared just like everyone else. They simply pretended that they didn't when they believed that they had the greatest strength. And he was the very worst of men. He didn't deserve her sympathy.

  In time Careyn got back on her feet, and thought about killing him. He deserved to die. Actually, he deserved to die a thousand times over. Especially for what he'd tried to do to her and had done to so many other women. Instead, she disarmed the Prince, taking his pistols and remaining dagger from him as was her duty.

  “You filthy trollop! Bitch!” He spat up at her from where he lay on the floor. “You're going to pay for this, you whore!”

  He shouldn't have said that. Not there and then. Not while he was lying helpless on the floor and she had his weapons in her hands. Careyn didn't even think about it as she raised the first pistol, aimed it squarely at his manhood, and squeezed the trigger.

  The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space. It thundered so loudly that it even stopped the wolves howling for a moment. But it sounded wondrous to her. As did the Prince's shocked squeal as his manhood was ripped from his body. She also enjoyed his subsequent screams.

  The screams went on for some time. Eventually though, he grew hoarse, and the sounds reduced to sobbing. Though it was wrong and a failure of her duty, it felt so right to simply enjoy his pain. It felt like justice. And the one thing she knew for certain as she stared at him, was that he was never going to hurt a woman again. Not like that. She stared at him for a long time. Too long to be decent.

  Eventually though she remembered that she had work to do. An attack to report. Careyn walked to the front door and called out to the guards beyond. She had to let them know what had happened. And to make sure that the Prince was taken away so that she never had to see him again.

  After that it was simply a matter of sitting and waiting while the healers tended to her injuries. She also had to admit her lapse of discipline to the Commander when he arrived. Not that she had to worry about being punished when she had only a few days left to her before she fell into a slumber and began the long, slow transformation.

  But when she saw the Commander he didn't seem particularly concerned by her actions. In fact, she was sure she saw the beginnings of a smile curling up the sides of his mouth when he heard.

  When he left though, there was only one thing left to do. To pray to Liasa that Briagh succeeded in his quest. Because he was now her only hope too.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Berla Nor. The Forbidden Forest. After two weeks and a hundred and fifty leagues on the trail, running every day all day as a wolfhound, Briagh found himself somewhat disappointed in what he'd found. It didn't really look that forbidden to him. Actually, it looked just like any other forest. The only clue that he could see that suggested that people didn’t go there lay in the way the road ahead abruptly took a hard left turn half a league before the forest. Clearly there was no road access through the forest. But that wasn't unusual for any forest.

  Still, as he stepped off the end of the trail, he felt a slight ripple of something run through his bloodstream. Fear? Excitement? Anticipation? Or maybe just simple uncertainty. He couldn’t decide what it was. Perhaps it was all of them. From here on he knew, he entered the unknown. It wasn’t something he was comfortable with.

  As a thief he always knew what he was getting into – and how to get out of it. Before robbing any warehouse or mansion he'd always first made sure he knew where the exits were. What alarms or traps had been set. People always imagined that thieves must live exciting lives. That their nerves must always be on the edge. But the truth was that good thieves lived boring lives. The better the thief, the more boring his life. Risks and excitement were for young and stupid purse snatchers with no wits. Similarly, as a morph he was always aware of where danger lay, and he always had a plan to deal with it. Always. There was no uncertainty in his life.

  But this was the exact opposite of that. He had absolutely no idea what lay ahead of him.

  Of course, before he’d left he’d spoken with Master Yulsen about T'illshar Ree, wanting to get some idea of the dangers he faced. What he'd got instead were stories. Wild and fanciful tales that had less credibility than those of the bards. They were so far fetched that they wouldn't even be uttered by muckspouts. And many of the stories contradicted each another. Some said the forest was filled with monsters. Everything from trolls to ogres. Others claimed that it was home to another race of people – one that no one had ever met. Then there were the tales of ghosts. That the forest was in fact home to all manner of the undead. And of course, demons.

  But worse than the conflicting tales of what dangers awaited him in the forbidden forest were the few things that the tales all agreed on. And one of those was that every survivor who had escaped its clutches had first gotten lost. When everything had gone wrong and they'd fled, every survivor had agreed that they had had no idea which way was out. They'd simply fled, running away from whatever chased them, with no clue where they were running to. Yet they'd all known exactly where they were up until then. It seemed that when danger had struck, their bearings, trail markings – even the position of the sun – all vanished. Briagh presumed that those who hadn't escaped had probably run the wrong way.

  The other thing that the stories all agreed on was how few ever made it out. Even the most optimistic tellings said that less than one in four would escape. Most claimed it was one in ten. Either way the odds were against him. And that was before he considered the possibility that the technologist and his wildred companion and potentially an army of wolves were in there. He had no evidence that they were. No one that he'd spoken to on his journey here had reported seeing them. But he felt in his bones that they had come here. And logically, where else would they have gone? Barachalla had the princes, the wolf mother, the globe and Endorian. He had everything he needed to complete his madness whatever it was. Except for the attention of the Goddess herself. And up ahead was the one place where he might get that. Her altar.

  Briagh continued his walk towards the distant tree line, wondering if he really knew what he was doing. Had he really been called here? Or were his dreams just that; dreams. And as the forest grew ever closer, he grew more nervous.

  Half way there he stopped, as a new thought on his mind. He was a morph! He should enter the Forbidden Forest as such. Maybe it would help.

  So, having only just retaken his human form half an hour before he once again undressed and packed his clothes away in his pack. That done he swung it back over his shoulders and then shifted form. While it didn't feel any safer, it felt honest. And at least this way he could run faster if he had to. Then Briagh continued on his way, knowing that he was simply doing what he had been called to do. Or hoping that he was.

  Once he reached the tree line Briagh stopped again and shifted back into his human shape. He then stood there for a time, staring. Actually it was in the zone of scrub and bush just in front of the trees. Because it suddenly occurred to him that this was the last point at which he could stop. After this t
here was no return.

  Perhaps he should stop here. Give up and turn around. Go back to safety. That was what he had always done. He always looked for safety. He ran and he hid. Until recently when he had finally started to fight back. To let his anger run wild. But while that had worked out for him, filled him with a little confidence, a little self belief in his abilities, this wasn't like going into battle with a few soldiers or an angry princess. This was like heading into war with a foe he couldn't even see. He had no idea what lay before him. It wasn't smart to do that based solely on a few dreams. It wasn't what a thief did. It wasn't what a morph did.

  He spent a long time standing there, staring at the trees and thinking about it. Was it sane to follow a dream into dangerous territory? Just then he couldn't think of a single reason why he, or anyone else for that matter, would want to go in there. There was no wealth to be stolen. He wasn't running from any danger. If anything he was running to it. And if the Goddess truly resided somewhere in there, or her altar did, he wasn't sure he wanted to have anything to do with her. The most he could hope for was that if the technologist was in there somewhere, he would have Endorian with him, and Briagh might be able to free him. But that was unlikely.

  Still, Endorian was a fellow morph. And he was in this mess in part because Briagh had helped to bring the technologist back to Perna Sil. As such he felt he owed him something. A duty of care perhaps. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe all morphs owed one another a bond of kinship. Maybe all those years ago, if another morph had been there, he or she might have acted to protect his family? Then again, maybe not. Maybe the others were all like him; frightened. Too frightened to act. Maybe they too would have run when things looked tough? And maybe, he thought, that was the lesson they all had to learn. Courage.

  It was too late he knew, for him to save his own family. But maybe he could save another morph and absolve himself of his mistake. Perhaps even start something where all morphs acted to protect one another.

  With that Briagh shifted again – this forest ahead was no place for a dog – and so he walked in as a dappled panther. A beast that he hoped no one would want to face.

  Almost immediately his new found courage deserted him. The instant the light faded as the treetops blocked it. And then things grew worse as he slowly became aware of the howling of wolves in the distance. And he knew then from the feeling of dread in his guts that the technologist had come this way before him. Beaten him into the forest, and he'd brought his army with him.

  But he could face the wolves he told himself. He had faced them previously. He had even beaten them. Besides, in a forest full of trees he could always climb, so surely he had an advantage? Even in a forest as confused as this one.

  And it was a forest unlike any he'd ever seen before. It wasn't just filled with the trees he was used to, but with many others he had never seen before. And they were all mixed up. Cedars and oaks competed with willows and eucalyptus for space. Blackwoods abutted bamboo. And here and there he saw what he thought were cherry trees. But it was hard to be certain when everything was covered in vines. In fact, his surrounds looked something like the jungles he had heard some of the arcanists talking about when they had come back from their travels. The forest also smelled. There was a distinctly ripe odour in the air. It was as if things had started dying. Still, trees were trees and wolves were wolves. He could deal with both.

  Immediately he realised that he knew he had to confirm that it was true. Now, while he was still close to the exit. While he could still run for safety if he had to.

  Briagh roared, announcing his presence to the entire forest, and to the wolves. It was time to tell them he was here. And that he hadn't come as a thief, sneaking in. He had come as a warrior. It was madness. He didn't know why he did it. But by the time his senses had returned to him it was too late to worry about it. The wolves were howling. They were coming for him. So he shrugged off his pack quickly and waited for them.

  The first were on him in seconds. They had come running for him with all the speed they had. Their mouths were open, spittle flew from their teeth and the light of savagery could be seen in their eyes. Briagh met them in kind, roaring with all the strength he had. And then he leapt.

  He was fast and powerful. Too fast and too powerful for the wolves. The first never even saw him as he leapt over its head. But it felt him when he landed on its back and dug his claws in deep. It howled in pain and desperately tried to twist around and bite him in mid run. But that just left it off balance and falling. That was all Briagh needed as he jumped off its back, struck it again and sent it flying into a nearby tree.

  The second wolf was a little more cautious, but not cautious enough and Briagh quickly tore a huge gouge out of its side before sending it too flying. Individually, he realised, wolves weren't that dangerous. Not to him. Not even dire wolves. But of course their strength was that they never hunted as individuals. They were a pack.

  A trio of wolves attacked even as he was celebrating, and this time he took some claws as he dealt them some nasty wounds. Scratches mostly, but enough to remind him that for all his power he was no god. Still, another three wolves were gone by the time he stopped roaring. That made five of them that he had managed to injure or kill. Automatically Briagh looked around to check that the wolves weren’t going to get up again.

  But he couldn’t see them!

  Where were they? Briagh felt a sudden chill enter his bones. He'd struck them some grievous blows and he knew they would be hurting. Some of them would be crippled. In that state could they really have just run off? Yet as he turned and hunted them he could see no sign of them. That worried him.

  Suddenly Briagh heard a yelp and that troubled him even more – mostly because it came from above. Since when could wolves climb?!

  Briagh leapt away from the nearest tree with all his strength and spun, heart pounding furiously in his chest as he feared the impact of a dire wolf landing on him. But it didn't happen. And when he looked up he realised why. The wolves hadn't suddenly learnt to climb. The trees had learned how to grab them!

  Even as he watched he saw another huge dire wolf being hauled up into the canopy by tendrils hanging down from the trees, and he knew he'd badly underestimated the danger here. He wasn't in a forest at all. At least not in a forest filled with normal trees. These trees weren't pines and redwoods, oaks and cedars as he'd thought. They were some sort of monsters. Killer trees that hauled their victims up into their maws to eat them. The wolves were actually the least dangerous thing he had to fear!

  The forest wasn't filled with monsters as the stories had said. The monsters were themselves the forest!

  It was time to leave. Briagh came to the decision the instant he realised how dangerous the forest really was. Immediately he started hunting for his back pack. But it too had gone and he figured that like the wolves, it too was now somewhere up in the forest canopy being eaten. He'd lost his supplies!

  But he had a bigger problem to deal with. He couldn't see the way out! He'd only come perhaps a hundred paces into the forest. He should be able to see the empty fields beyond it through the trees. And yet he couldn't. No matter how many times he spun around, he couldn't see a single patch of grass. All he could see were trees. Carnivorous trees that all had vines hanging down from them.

  He'd walked into a trap! Even knowing it was a trap he'd fallen into it!

  Briagh cursed himself then. Silently. He cursed again even as he quickly shifted form to the wolfhound and back to his panther form to clear up his injuries. In one unbelievably reckless move he'd lost all his supplies and got himself completely lost in a forest that wanted to eat him. How could he do something so stupid?!

  But as he noticed a couple of the hanging vines starting to tremble, he realised it was a waste of time to stand there beating himself up about it. He had to get away from here. Fast. If he didn’t he too would end up joining the wolves and his pack in the tree tops. As dinner!

  Briagh crept silently
away from the trembling vines, knowing that while he wanted to run it would only get him noticed. It was time to once more become a cat burglar. To pad along the ground silently and unnoticed, and pray that at some point he finally found the edge of the forest and safety. It was time once more for the thief to rule. According to the maps and directions he'd been given he had fifty leagues to cross to get to the mountain, and he could not do that by acting rashly.

  But the worst of it as he suddenly realised, was that he had no idea which way to head. It seemed he had fallen into the same trap every other person who had come here had. He had gotten lost; he didn’t even know where the edge of the forest lay. How many others had simply run out of food and strength and given up somewhere inside this giant trap he wondered? And how many of them were now part of that rotten smell that assailed his lungs?

  And how could he stop that happening to him?