by Joe Jackson
“I heard you the first time, and again I assure you, you are mistaken,” the man said. He, too, was human, rather nondescript – especially under low-light vision – but clearly dressed like a noble. “I suggest you find someone else to bother, else I will call the guard and have you thrown in the stocks.”
“If you were going to do that, you already would have,” the raven-haired woman spat back. “I’m not asking you for anything, I’m just curious.”
The man stopped and turned to face her. “The guard is already after you; do you want me to summon them?”
Corbanis had heard enough. He jumped off the roof and glided down beside the two, startling them both. The woman reached for a weapon, which hardly surprised him, but there was a flash in the eyes of the man. Corbanis was pretty sure he recognized it, but he turned toward the woman and pulled the shield off his back. “I’ll handle this, m’lord; get to safety,” the demonhunter said.
The woman looked as though ready to fight, but when faced with Corbanis’ imposing, six-foot-eight frame, she quickly turned on her heel and fled. It was a simple matter for Corbanis to keep pace with her, even in his heavy armor, and that prompted the result he wanted. Though he was amazed to witness it, he kept pace as the woman shifted into a hybrid human-lupine form while on the run. She left her clothes behind without thought, and Corbanis soon found himself losing ground, as the beast went down on all fours and began running at considerable speed. Thinking fast, he cut down a side street to try to corner her at a bend in the road.
The black beast skidded to a stop in front of him as he emerged from the side street, and she swiped at him with a clawed hand. She didn’t seem to be trying to hurt him, just knock him off balance, which she succeeded in. She then ran to the nearest house and began to claw her way up its side toward the roof. Even traveling vertically, she was quite swift, and Corbanis was only able to shorten the distance between them by taking wing. He landed on the roof just a few paces behind her, and darted after her as she sped away again.
They already had a considerable audience on the ground, and the demonhunter cursed silently. He wanted to take her into custody, but he didn’t want to turn her over to the local authorities – at least, not right away. He could use his authority as a high-ranking demonhunter to hold her in custody himself for a time, but eventually, he’d have to either kill her or turn her over to the city watch. As she once again started to put distance between them, even leaping from roof to roof, Corbanis quickly realized he had to catch her first before he worried about who was going to hold her.
Corbanis leaped to the next roof, using his wings to give him some extra distance, but he cursed aloud and fell to the ground as something snapped powerfully on his lower leg. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw it was a bear trap, and it had crumpled the plate armor on his lower leg. Thankfully, it didn’t penetrate or break the bone, but it definitely cost him time, at the very least. He looked up and saw the werewolf was coming back, and he wondered what it was thinking. On a hunch, he started acting more injured than he was.
The werewolf approached cautiously. Once he felt it was close enough, Corbanis sat up and forced open the jaws of the trap as quickly as possible. He got to his feet, and though the pinched armor was uncomfortable, it wasn’t a complete detriment to walking. The werewolf was clearly surprised at his sudden rise, and Corbanis whipped his shield around and smashed her in the side of the head. The beast shook off the blow and turned a snarl on him, but it let out a yelp when his fist connected with the end of its snout. He slammed the edge of his shield into her temple, and sent her to the ground in a heap.
Corbanis glanced over the edge of the roof, where there was a crowd gathered, waiting to see what was happening. The watch hadn’t gathered in force yet, which was fortunate, so the demonhunter turned back to his quarry to find she’d shifted back to her human form. He took off his cloak and covered her nakedness, and with her wrapped in the garment, he glided down off the opposite side of the roof from the crowd. He tried to nonchalantly make his way back to the inn, and was able to avoid any patrols.
The innkeeper didn’t look pleased to see him holding an unconscious, naked woman wrapped in a cloak, but the man made no move to bar Corbanis from going to his room. The demonhunter got Sharyn laid out on his bed, and despite how it may have appeared to a casual observer, he peeled away his cloak to look more closely at her naked form. The scar that ran from her left shoulder across to her right hip was one of the strangest things he’d ever seen, and he tried to gently roll her onto her side so he could see if it was mirrored on her back. She started to stir when he lifted her up, but he was able to confirm his suspicions before letting her back down.
Sharyn’s eyes fluttered open and she put a hand to her temple. “What the hell…,” she started, but then her eyes fixed on Corbanis. “Oh, you idiot….”
“Idiot?” Corbanis echoed. “Which of us was running around in a hybrid form, scaring all of the townspeople?”
The woman started to rise, but Corbanis put his hand to her shoulder and shoved her right back down. Sharyn tried to brush his hand aside and said, “Listen, you don’t understand, I’m–”
“I know exactly what you are,” the demonhunter interrupted. “I’ve dealt with your kind a few times before. What I want to know is if you’re working with the demon that killed the Earl of Marsdale.”
“What?” Sharyn barked. She swiped Corbanis’ hand away and rose to a sitting position, completely ignoring her own nakedness. “You idiot, I’m working with the Silver Blades to try to track down that demon and kill it!”
“Then why are you still here, when they’ve moved on?”
Sharyn got up from the bed and paced to the armoire in the far corner of the room. She found a robe within and draped it about herself, and Corbanis picked up his cloak while she was up and about. “I caught the scent of another of my kind when we stopped in the city,” she said quietly. “I was trying to get in contact with him to see if he might help us, or at least know more about what’s going on. But, as you probably saw when you attacked me, he’s not exactly very friendly or cooperative.”
Corbanis snorted. “Attacked you? I was trying to arrest you to keep you from harassing a noble or scaring the townspeople.”
“That’s no ordinary noble,” Sharyn explained. “He’s one of us.”
“Have you seen his hybrid form?” Corbanis asked. “I’m looking for one of your kind with a dark brown coat who goes by the name of Feral.”
Sharyn tilted her head and fixed him with an impatient gaze. “Feral? That’s not exactly a very thoughtful nickname, even among our kind. Why are you looking for him?”
“Because when my wife and I hunted down a Tilcimer – the type of demon we think is behind these current attacks – there was a werewolf working with it, named Feral,” he said, and sighed. “To think I had two werewolves in front of me, and grabbed the wrong one….”
“Well, if he calls himself Feral, he hasn’t said as much to me,” Sharyn said. “He won’t even admit he’s one of my kind, even when I told him my sense of smell doesn’t lie. From what I understand, his barony is a small, interior one, just upriver, and he only comes into the city from time to time. We’re not the kind of people that can just live in the city and pretend we’re not what we are, though, so if he’s here and it’s not to terrorize or protect the city, he must be up to something.”
“Indeed. If you are truly working with my children, then I’d like–”
“Your children?” Sharyn interrupted. “You mean the Tesconis siblings…those are your kids?”
“Aye,” the demonhunter said. “And if you’ve been working with them, then I would assume that means I can trust you. So here is what I propose: since the others have all headed north toward Ballycastle, you and I will see if we can figure out what this werewolf baron is up to. I suspect your having confronted him will force him to return home until he feels you’ve left the area. So you and I will follow him to h
is home and confront him there, where he doesn’t have the local constabulary to hide behind. If it turns out he’s just some random werewolf and not a problem, we can leave him alone. But if he turns out to be this Feral I’ve been looking for, then you’re going to help me kill him.”
“Then what?”
“Then we join with my children and their friends, and kill the demon behind all of this as well,” Corbanis said.
Sharyn considered him for a minute. “All right, but I’ll need to go get my things from my own inn. Can you trust me to do that?”
“I suppose I’ll have to, since accompanying you will raise too much suspicion and too many questions. Just don’t draw any more attention to yourself, and don’t change forms again until we’re safely out of the city.”
Corbanis waited patiently in the commons, enjoying a late drink and snack while Sharyn went to collect her things. The innkeeper still said nothing about their “relationship,” and when Sharyn returned to the inn wearing her leather gear with the greatsword across her back, he disappeared into the kitchen. Sharyn approached and took a long sip from Corbanis’ tankard without bothering to ask permission, and then she nodded up the stairs. The demonhunter shook his head in amusement, finished his drink, and followed her.
They shared Corbanis’ room for the night, and he slept on the floor. They left before dawn the next morning, hoping to avoid any inquiries from the watch after the prior night’s apprehension. Instead, Corbanis left a written explanation of everything he knew, with the conclusion that the “annoying werewolf” would not be returning to the city. Sharyn wasn’t happy about his word choice, but the demonhunter assumed it would satisfy everyone else.
The baron, properly known as Lord Wallace, maintained a relatively small holding to the north of Newport, and the demonhunter and werewolf set out toward it by following the river. Corbanis supposed it was possible the man had stayed in Newport, but his gut told him that the baron would have returned home after being confronted by one of his own kind, and then having seen one of his own kind arrested by a demonhunter. There was a chance Lord Wallace had a sizeable retinue of guards on his property, but Corbanis figured a werewolf was more likely to be a loner, if he didn’t associate with his own kind. Far from the confines of the city, Corbanis would be free to do things his way.
“So if it turns out Lord Wallace isn’t this Feral that you’re looking for, we’re just going to leave him alone?” Sharyn asked while they walked.
“Of course,” the demonhunter answered. “Being a werewolf is not a crime, at least not to my knowledge. If he was a troublemaker, I assume I’d have heard about it while I was in the city. As it stands, the only werewolf trouble I heard about was you; there were no reports of any other werewolf in the area.”
“What makes you think he’ll be involved with this latest threat, though, if it turns out it is the same one you’re looking for?”
“That’s honestly irrelevant. He’s still wanted for his involvement with the Tilcimer years ago, so if it turns out it’s the same werewolf, I’m carrying out justice,” Corbanis said.
“How was he involved, though?” Sharyn pressed.
Corbanis sighed and looked at her sidelong. “Strangely enough, he was scouting out the cities and towns, letting the demon know what kind of resistance it could expect. We believed he was also causing distractions in his hybrid form, so that the demon’s attacks would catch the cities completely unprepared. Now, I can’t help but wonder if he was planning to do the same thing right in Newport.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” the werewolf said.
“One way or another,” he agreed. “So, I’m curious: what happened to cause that scar across your torso? I can’t help but think there is no way you should have survived the type of blow that would cause that, regardless of how fast werewolves may heal.”
“You’re right about that,” Sharyn muttered. She turned a look on him that he couldn’t quite figure out; something between a scowl and doubtful grimace. “It was actually one of your uncles, I guess you could say, that did it to me.”
“My uncles? You mean it was a guardian demon that did it to you?”
The ranger woman nodded. “Typhus the Rager,” she affirmed.
Corbanis scoffed. “Oh. Him,” he said. “That doesn’t surprise me as much as it probably should. Kaelariel had little success trying to keep him under control, even after the guardians all swore brotherhood to each other. It’s honestly a surprise that my Order wasn’t ultimately what did him in.”
“Typhus is dead?” Sharyn asked.
The demonhunter glanced at the werewolf and nodded. “Some think Kaelariel killed him personally, but the consensus seems to be that he was killed trying to flank one of the Devil Queen’s battalions in the Sandur Jungle during the War.”
“Balls,” Sharyn muttered, and she met the powerful stare of the half-guardian with an equally intense gaze. “I wanted to skin that bastard myself, but at that age...I doubt I would’ve been able to.”
Corbanis let forth a humorless chuckle. “You wouldn’t be able to now. He was easily the most vicious of all the guardians, and virtually unmatched in combat. Only Kaelariel and Serenjols would’ve been considered his equals.”
The werewolf started to retort, but she closed her mouth and shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “Though I do find it strange that you know so much about all of them, considering you’re a hunter.”
“Be that as it may, I am still half-guardian first and foremost,” he replied. “I’m not sure you’ll ever understand, but considering we’re about to go hunt and kill one of your kind…maybe you do.”
Sharyn smiled grimly and gave what seemed to be an appreciative nod. They continued onward to the north. They followed the river the entire way, and reached a point where the river basin flattened out, allowing them to see what they assumed was Baron Wallace’s homestead in the distance. The sun was rapidly retreating toward the horizon, and Corbanis lightly berated himself for misjudging how long it would take them to reach the noble’s home. He wanted to confront the alleged werewolf when the sun was still high in the sky, in the hopes it would diminish its power, even if it meant the same would be true for his ally.
Corbanis paused and considered his options. He knew, based on Sharyn’s information, that the baron was a werewolf; that didn’t give him the authority to attack or take the noble into custody, though. What he needed to do was force the man to shift into a hybrid form so he could verify Baron Wallace was indeed Feral. If he could do that and it turned out the baron wasn’t Feral, then Sharyn might at least be able to talk them out of the situation. Of course, it was always possible that Sharyn was mistaken altogether.
The demonhunter thought about how to get a werewolf to shift forms without actually threatening the man first. It was possible that recounting the tale of his first encounter with Feral and the Tilcimer might alarm the werewolf and cause him to panic. It was also a possibility that Corbanis showing up at Lord Wallace’s door with Sharyn at his side would be enough to send the noble into a rage. Corbanis honestly couldn’t say either way; he had little true experience with werewolves, and they were far from the Order’s areas of expertise.
Ultimately, he decided to play his cards somewhat innocently. It was quite common for demonhunters to request shelter from locals when engaged in a hunt, and though Lord Wallace was a noble and under no obligation to help Corbanis, the mere request wouldn’t necessarily be seen as suspicious. If anything, the Baron’s reaction would be the suspicious thing if he took offense to Corbanis and Sharyn’s arrival, particularly if they pretended their meeting was by chance. Settling on that as his best option with the sun fast fading, Corbanis turned to Sharyn.
“We’re going to knock on his door and request shelter for the night,” he explained. She seemed quite surprised by his plan, so he elaborated, “Demonhunters can request shelter from locals. They don’t have to give it, but he’ll have little reason to deny us if we act
like we are here by coincidence. So our story shall be that I am taking you north to meet with the Silver Blades – he may even recognize the name – and that we are just passing through. If he gets nervous or even attacks, we’ll do what we need to.”
“So if it’s this Feral of yours, the plan is to just kill him, right? Not arrest him or tie him up to ask questions?” she asked.
“No information he could or would give is worth the risk of letting him live, if it turns out it is him,” he confirmed. “But we have to play this by the law: we cannot be the ones to initiate any kind of hostility. Hopefully, just our presence – yours, more specifically – will prompt him to do something stupid, assuming it’s him. You’d best give me your weapons; if he asks, we’ll need to tell him I’m escorting you north as a prisoner.”
Sharyn nodded, and handed over her blades. Corbanis strapped the two-handed sword to his back and stowed her other weapons in his pack, and then the two continued on their way. The river basin was bathed in long shadows and deepening pools of purple as the light failed completely. The baron’s home was modest for that of a noble; it appeared to be only a half-dozen rooms in total. Still, there was no sign of an outhouse, which suggested it might have indoor plumbing of some kind, or at least an attached privy. Only one window showed firelight within, and there was no lantern or other light beside the door to offer any sort of welcome to travelers.
Corbanis took the lead and stepped up to the door, knocking firmly three times. There was a grunt of surprise from within, and the sound of footsteps approaching the door shortly after. Corbanis pulled up his dog tags and laid them across his breastplate, and stood a respectful distance from the door while staying close enough that a lantern would illuminate him. Sharyn stayed by his side, and for the briefest instant, he wondered if being a werewolf let her see better in the dark than a human normally would.
The contemplations came to an end when the door opened. It was certainly odd to the hunter for the baron himself to open the door, and not a servant. It still didn’t prove anything with regard to him being a werewolf, but if the baron lived alone, that was certainly suspicious to Corbanis’ thinking. The “human” held up a lantern, casting inadequate light on his doorstep, and he was unable to hide his shock at seeing this pair before him again.