The Wolves Of War

by Greg Curtis

  And then there was Briagh, bound to the cliff wall by a blanket of thick vines. Heavy ones that obviously didn't yield to either his claws and teeth or his strength. But then he was so thickly wrapped up in them that it was hard to make out even his form. Abel could see he was still straining against his bonds. He was shifting form too. Unfortunately none of it was helping.

  Soon the others joined him at the lip, one by one their heads popping up over the edge of the terrace and he wasn't alone. Neither in seeing what he was, nor in being frightened he assumed. Even the Princess was subdued. And she was never that. But she like the rest of them had heard the battle. Heard the explosions and seen the flashes of light. And they had all known then that not only were the technologist and the wildred ahead of them, they had come prepared for an attack. And the truth was that it wasn't an attack by the morph that they'd been waiting for. They probably hadn't even known that Briagh existed. The pair were actually waiting for Master Zo’or and Father Argen to attack. To try and stop them.

  Barachalla and Callum had been prepared for everything else. Something that Abel was sure of when he saw the steamer sitting on the terrace. Save that it wasn't a steamer. Not a normal one. It had three wheels, all of them narrow and thin with a great many spokes. It was also towing several long narrow trailers in which he presumed the prisoners had been kept. The machine answered the question of how the group had managed to keep ahead of them, bearing in mind that a number of them were old or infirm.

  All along they'd assumed that the pair had had a steam wagon. Something that would have kept them easily ahead of them all the way through the realm. But something as big as a steam wagon was simply too large to take off the trails and into the forest. What he was looking at wasn't that. It was a thin, narrow steamer with several wagons on articulations behind the steam engine. This thing was narrow enough to have squeezed between the trees with ease and would have snaked its way around the most torturous of bends. It wasn't much wider than a man after all. It explained how an ancient technologist and a crippled wildred with their prisoners could maintain their lead over them all the way through the Forbidden Forest and even up a mountain path.

  The wolves had of course helped them too he assumed. They had encountered no sign of them as they'd travelled. Heard not even the occasional howl in the distance. But there was a reason for that. Their job had been to clear the way for the technologist. Whatever obstacles they faced – monsters, ghosts or anything else – the wolves would face for them, and even though it might kill them, in their deaths they would protect the technologist. So he had brought an army with him, and used every last member of it to get here. But it had been exactly what he needed to get through safely.

  Maybe that was why the sky was on fire? The Goddess was angered by how well Barachalla had prepared. By how easily the two of them had passed through the defences of her most sacred place.

  When the battle had been waged above their heads nearly an hour before they had finally had confirmation that Barachalla and Callum were on the mountain. Who else would Briagh be battling? And it was a relief in some ways to know that they had come to the right place, even if it was obvious that their enemies were as deadly as ever. But seeing their enemies in front of them Abel discovered that that relief had gone. Now there was only fear.

  “So what now?” Princess Elan was the one to ask the question that was on all their minds. She was bold that way. She already had her longbow in her hand.

  “Guile, illusion and subtlety. We've already seen how easily speed, a surprise attack and strength can be overcome.” Mater Zo'or nodded at the cliff face at the rear of the terrace and Briagh who they could all see bound to it by a blanket of vines. He was struggling against them, but clearly he could do nothing.

  The thing that surprised Abel though, was that he was still obviously alive. Thus far Barachalla had shown little regard for people's lives. And Callum despite what Master Zo'or wanted to hear, had been deadly too. So why let the morph live? Did they know of the morph after all? Did they have a plan for him? Or were Master Zo'or's words getting through to his former student? Had they made him rethink his actions? Abel really wanted to believe that. But he had heard Callum speak. Heard the anger in his voice. And somehow he doubted that the man had any mercy in his heart for anyone. He was simply too angry. Or was that too desperate?

  “We have to free Briagh,” Father Argen said.

  “Yes we'll free him. We'll free them all.” The Princess sounded disinterested. “After we kill Barachalla. Once he's gone, everything becomes easy.”

  “No. We free Briagh first. He is our strongest fighter. We will need him to distract and confuse those two. Keep them off balance while we attack.”

  The Princess bristled visibly in front of them, obviously angered by the way the Father simply named Briagh as the strongest fighter. No doubt she felt she'd been slighted in some way. And yet she had no reason to feel that way. Briagh was a morph and a powerful one. He had bested her twice, and from what he'd been told, bested many others as well.

  “I can do that.” Abel surprised himself by volunteering, but he knew he could do it. In fact, it was probably the task he was best suited to. He was a light bringer. Bending light was his gift and it didn't require a particularly complex illusion. But more importantly, of the two of them who had magic, he was the one Callum didn't know. Callum would be sensitive to his former master's magic. He would feel it instantly. Not his. Besides, he was sick of carrying packs.

  “You – ?” The Princess immediately rounded on him.

  “All I need is a sharp knife.” And to prove it Abel started reshaping the image of the ground in front of the cliff, raising it a few inches at a time when the technologist and the wildred weren't looking. It wasn't long before the ground level at the wall where Briagh was bound, was a foot and half higher than it had been, and given the size and uneven nature of the rocky terrace, he knew the others would not notice. Especially given the light from the sky was violent orange, making everything difficult to see.

  “That was good work Abel.” Master Zo'or patted him on the shoulder while Father Argen wordlessly handed him a knife.

  “I can crawl behind the illusion and start cutting away at Briagh's bonds.” That was his plan at least. And it should work. More than that, it should be safe. He wasn't going to be attacking the pair. The Princess, Master Zo'or and Briagh would be the ones in danger. Maybe the Father too.

  “And I can distract them.” Father Argen spoke up. “I can speak to them about the crimes they are committing and perhaps persuade them to a path of reason. And if not, Princess you have your arrow and Master Zo'or you have your magic. It will be up to you.”

  One arrow. That was what it came down to Abel thought. The princess had a single arrow, its tip coated with witch bane, which should render Callum helpless. It was so little, but it was all that they'd been able to get before they left. Fenton bloom was extremely rare in Wynde Par and the tiny amount of dust left in the bottom of a jar had been all they could find before they'd left. But she was a good shot, and if the wildred had no warning, there was a chance. Callum was the dangerous one. Master Zo'or could easily handle Master Barachalla. His magic was faster and more versatile than the old man's weapons. But he openly admitted that his magic had been more badly damaged by his change than Callum's. He might not be able to match his former student.

  Still, they had a plan, and it was time for him to play his part. With a nod to the others and the knife clutched firmly between his teeth, Abel crawled off the top of the path to the terrace and then along it, protected only by the illusion of stone all around him.

  It should work, he told himself. It was a convincing illusion, and far more solid than all the other walls he'd created before to protect himself from the barbarian Prince's soldiers. There was no way that mortal eyes could pierce it. And in this place where everything was illusion anyway, what was one more? Yet his heart still beat too quickly in his chest as he crawled along, and sw
eat beaded on his skin.

  To add to his problems, it was a long way to crawl on your elbows and knees to reach Briagh. Forty yards at least, and all while trying to remain completely silent. And with every second that passed he expected to hear either the technologist or the wildred cry out that they'd seen him. After that he would either hear the explosion of Barachalla's bomb shooting gun, or the blast of a magical fire ball. If that happened he doubted he would ever hear anything ever again after.

  Eventually he made it to Briagh, just as his arms were giving out from the effort of all but dragging himself across the cold stone terrace and then he had to rest for a few seconds. Then he rolled on his side, his back to the two enemies, and started work on the vines. Unfortunately, when the blade of his knife touched the nearest vine he discovered the next problem. The vines were made of some sort of living boiled leather. They moved when he started cutting, preventing his knife from making a solid cut, and they resisted the sharpened steel blade. Whatever they were made of, it was tough. Like no vine he had ever seen. And the worst of it was that Briagh was so covered in them, it would take hours to free him.

  He only had a few minutes at most.

  The Princess was not known for her patience. Not when it came to matters of killing. In any case the technologist would soon finish his preparations with the globe. Desperately he grabbed one of the vines in his left hand, squeezed it with all the strength he had so that it couldn't squirm away, and sawed away frantically, determined to cut through it.

  It was then that the next surprise caught him, when the knife finally cut deep enough to release some sap. But the sap was silver! What sort of vines were incredibly tough, moved around freely of their own accord, and had silver sap? He had no answer for that. None that was, save to cut harder. Abel continued sawing into the strange flesh, forcing the knife as deeply into it as he could.

  When he was about half way through the first vine, the rest of the vines started writhing. Not just the one he was busy sawing in two, but all of them, and he realised the horrible truth. These weren't vines at all! They were all part of some larger creature. Something that was borne out a moment later as he felt one of them lash out, grab his ankle, and start pulling him away from where he was cutting.

  “Dung!” Abel cursed as he tried to fight the vine's grip. But even though it was his bad leg that was trapped so he could resist it with his good one, he couldn't free himself. It was simply too strong. And even while he struggled he heard the unexpected sound of Father Argen greeting the pair of madmen. He must have decided that Abel couldn't achieve his task and had decided to simply go to the next stage of the plan without him.

  By the gods that was humiliating! All he'd had to do was cut a few vines, and he couldn't even do that! There were simply no words to describe how greatly Abel hated himself then. It was such a vital task and he had failed. But there was nothing he could do about it except to stay down on the ground hidden behind his illusion, and keep trying to free himself. Trying to unwrap the cursed thing from his ankle.

  As he worked he could hear Father Argen speaking with the madmen. He couldn't make out what was being said because the wind had picked up. But he could tell that things weren't going well. Voices were raised. Sometimes there was shouting. By all three of them. At some point the princes started barking and howling, adding to the confusion.

  Then everything fell apart. The first he knew of it was when he heard the technologist yell something and then the sound of lightning crashing down somewhere. Abel turned away from his task of cutting the vines to see the Father flying backwards through the air, before he smashed into the cliff just above him.

  After that it was war. There was lightning and fire, more explosions and at one point the sun itself seemed to kiss the terrace, leaving Abel completely blind. But apparently, it didn't effect everyone the same way as the battle continued on unabated. In fact, if anything it grew worse. He could hear screaming and smell burning. There was the acrid taste of smoke in his mouth, and tears streamed down from his sightless eyes.

  At some point the Princess lost her battle. He knew that because he heard her scream as she too was sent crashing into the cliff face not far from him. It was a very hard thump, and when it was over he heard her gasping for breath. It sounded bad. But she was alive at least. Dead people didn't gasp.

  That left only Master Zo'or to hold the ground against the two of them, and he was nowhere near full strength and badly conflicted because he did not want to harm Callum. Still, Abel thought he could help him a little. He was pleased too that he could just make out what was happening as a touch of his sight was returning. Enough for him to make out the wildred and the technologist even if he couldn't work out which one was which.

  Immediately he had a target he stole the light from Barachalla’s eyes. It was a simple spell, all that he really knew, but effective. No one could fight well when they were blind. And when he heard Barachalla scream he knew a moment of satisfaction. Then he sent a thin blast of the hottest light he could manage straight at the technologist's head.

  It was a killer blow. He'd learned to start fires and burn holes in trees with that pencil thin ray of light. Yet somehow it missed. He even saw it miss, the brilliant white hot ray making it almost all the way to Barachalla's head before abruptly bending straight upwards. It was as though it had hit some sort of shield – or a mirror maybe. He didn't understand it. The man had no magic and therefore no magical defence.

  Then he saw the blurry figure point some sort of gun at him and he forgot to care. Instead he just crawled away as fast and as far as he could with his leg still held in the vine's embrace, and prayed.

  It wasn't the bomb gun at least. If it had been he would have been dead. But it was still shockingly dangerous as the weapon fired a round of musket balls at him. Six in quick succession. How could a gun do that? Rifles and pistols fired one ball at a time and then had to be reloaded. Besides he should now be blind. Still, the how didn't seem to matter, when one of those lead balls bounced off the cliff and into his bad leg.

  Abel cried out in shock at the pain, and then hit back with the ray again. It was the only weapon he had. But this time he aimed it at the technologist's weapon. Even if the man had some sort of magical shield, he figured, the weapon didn't. And when the weapon exploded in his hands causing Barachalla to cry out as his hand burnt, Abel knew he'd guessed right.

  But then from out of nowhere a troll picked him up and threw him into the cliff. Where had it come from? It hadn’t been there a second ago Regardless, it was suddenly his turn to gasp for breath and pray that nothing was too badly broken as the vines wrapped him up in their merciless embrace. But he was sure something was broken judging from the pain in his back when he tried to breathe.

  After that only Master Zo'or was free, and he looked to be in bad shape. Normally he was weak. There was a reason he had needed someone to help him with his pack. Now he was almost completely doubled over. Meanwhile Barachalla was throwing lightning bolt after lightning bolt with that bracelet of his, and Callum had conjured up some sort of yellow smoke that was robbing the Master of his breath even as he tried to protect himself from the lightning and a pair of trolls. Master Zo’or couldn't hold out for long.

  Soon the inevitable happened and Abel watched as Master Zo'or collapsed the rest of the way to the ground, only to lie there, trying to suck in enough air to keep going while trying to hold his magical defences. But they weren't holding all that well and as Abel watched he could see him flinching each time Barachalla's lightning struck. Some of it was getting through. Worse, he knew, the technologist wasn't going to stop.

  “Stop it! Stop! You're killing him!” Abel screamed it out as loudly as he could, but the pain in his lungs limited how much air he could force out at once. What was meant to be a shout sounded more like a hoarse cry. Still, he kept trying and Callum finally seemed to hear him.

  “The new student.” Callum identified him.

  What little Abel could se
e of Callum’s face showed little, if any, emotion. In fact, he seemed more dead inside than anything else.

  “Save him!” Abel tried again. “By all the gods save him!”

  “He tried to kill me.” Callum seemed unaffected by his argument.

  “He tried to save you. Everything he's done has been to protect you. To keep you from making a terrible mistake. Another one.” Abel ran out of air and had to gasp for breath for a bit, panting almost like a dog.

  “Master Zo'or didn't come to kill you. He came to stop you. Why do you think he's so weak? He can't strike a deadly blow against you. He was fighting with one hand tied behind his back.” He started gasping again, so much of the little air he had in his lungs gone.