Ragged Heroes

by Andy Peloquin

  “Why share? I am no lord.”

  “Perhaps not, but you are a master of the mountains. My people wish to settle here, and would appreciate your blessing. Consider it an offering of peace.”

  Fenrir’s tongue lolled from his mouth for a moment as he considered. Then his eyes narrowed to slits. “The goats are fat and tasty. Easy prey. Why should I leave them alone?”

  “That is my offering to the barbegazi. I would give them a night of peace and security in exchange for the peace and security my people request. Will you help me?”

  The wolf snarled again, and shuffled to the side. Nervous tension showed in the whites of his eyes. But he didn’t leave. Garamaen suspected that despite his limited speech capabilities, the wolf was fully aware of the implications of this deal.

  “Toss it here,” he said after a moment. “I will try this mammoth meat.”

  Garamaen did as the great wolf asked, throwing an entire upper haunch in the beast’s direction.

  Fenrir sniffed. Paced a circle around the offering. Approaching cautiously, he tore a chunk from the near-frozen carcass, tossing it up into the air and gulping it down in one heaving swallow. He licked his lips, a canine smile curling the corners of his lips. “I accept, but only for tonight.”

  Garamaen dipped his chin in agreement, and tucked his hands into the fur-lining of his cloak. He watched without a word as Fenrir grabbed the narrowest part of the haunch and dragged it off into the distance.

  Garamaen huddled once more in the lean-to, wrapping his cloak tight around his shoulders. He closed his eyes and sank into his consciousness, letting his foresight expand and claim his vision. He smiled. With Fenrir’s acceptance of the offering, the visions of this negotiation had narrowed into just a few dozen possible futures.

  He sifted through the scenarios with a pained frown. The visions were foggy and unfocused. Those he could See ended in death. His, the wolf’s, the barbegazi, Ullr . . . in all but a limited few, the grand finale revealed the elves marching on the realm, wiping out all sentient life.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Chapter 2

  The next night proceeded much the same. And the next. Garamaen brought different meats each day hoping to keep the great wolf intrigued. Soon weeks had passed, and the wolf no longer shied away from the elf or his offerings. He also left the barbegazi and their goats alone.

  “What have you brought me tonight?” Fenrir demanded as soon as Garamaen appeared on the horizon.

  The wolf had grown so accustomed to the ritual, he now waited near the goats’ lean-to, his massive frame an extra wind-break for the hardy animals who crowded together on the far side of the pens. Fenrir might be accustomed to the nightly feeding, but the goats were still wary of his teeth and claws.

  “Lion-steak,” Garamaen replied, “and a request.” He held out the first of the rib steaks taken from a great plains cat in the Autumn Realm. Éostre had been kind to send a supply from her latest hunt.

  Fenrir, with surprising gentleness, took the steak from Garamaen’s hand. He no longer carried his prize off to eat in his lair, wherever that might be. Now, he seemed at ease, taking time to tear into the meat while holding conversation with the elf who was his caterer.

  “What request?” Fenrir asked, after swallowing his first bite.

  Against his better judgment, Garamaen had grown fond of the wolf. But the future had cleared, and a sacrifice would have to be made to save this realm. Garamaen couldn’t continue bringing exotic meats to this mountain. Yet, if he stopped, Fenrir would resume his hunt of the barbegazi and their livestock. The wolf needed to be contained.

  Garamaen kept his voice even, despite the treachery he was about to commit. “The smiths of my home have developed a new chain that they believe is the strongest ever crafted. They wish to test it against the strongest creatures alive. You, my friend, were the first to come to mind.”

  Fenrir chuffed a laugh between bites. “A test of strength? Who would trust it? Not the barbegazi.”

  Nor the elves. Garamaen kept the thought off his face, his expression bland. It was a great failing of his people, this belief that they were superior to all other races. It wasn’t true, but no matter how many times Garamaen proved the falsehood, the lords and ladies refused to hear him.

  Yet here he was, about to betray a friend to pave the way for his own kind to continue their colonization efforts. What else could he do?

  “You’re the strongest creature I’ve encountered, and smart enough to find a way out of a tricky situation.”

  That also was true. The future remained cloudy, and Garamaen suspected the wolf’s decisions, or lack thereof, were to blame. He was unpredictable.

  “And what of these mammoths, who are bigger even than me?” Fenrir asked.

  “They’re docile creatures. Once bound, they won’t fight to be free. But you prize your independence, and are smart enough to find a way out of the chain. I’m sure of it.”

  Fenrir glanced at Garamaen from the corner of his eye, his suspicion apparent. “What guarantee do I have that I will be released, if the chain does hold me?”

  “My word.”

  “You seem an honorable sort, but I cannot trust the others, whom I’ve never met.”

  Nor should you, Garamaen thought, but he couldn’t speak the words. Without Fenrir’s cooperation, the entire realm might be lost.

  “What collateral would you have of me?”

  “Bring the chain tomorrow. We shall see.”

  * * *

  Two half-sized men dressed in white goat fur cloaks and hats skied alongside Garamaen on oversized bare feet. Like Fenrir, the barbegazi men didn’t seem to feel the cold, and the endless winter didn’t bother them in the least. Their bodies had adapted to their surroundings in a way Garamaen could hardly fathom, if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

  “You’re sure he’ll succumb?” The man’s voice grated on Garamaen’s nerves. It didn’t help this was the fifth time he’d asked the exact same question.

  “He will wear the chain.” This trial was certain, the outcome fixed. The question remained if he would succumb to the trap.

  He chose not to share that revelation with his companions.

  The two men hauled the coiled chain on a sled. They had engaged their magic to clear the weather for this journey, a relief to Garamaen’s frozen and aching form. But they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—clear a path through the snow drifts. Garamaen tugged his own sled, filled with today’s offering, through another hidden rise in the terrain. Cursing when the runner got stuck, Garamaen leaned into the ropes, only to find his feet sliding out from beneath him.

  Barbegazi laughter carried on the breeze.

  Fenrir ended their levity, the low notes of his welcoming howl climbing in pitch until the air seemed to shake with the haunting vibration.

  The barbegazi dropped everything and glanced at each other, eyes wide.

  “That’s close enough,” Garamaen said. “I can take it from here.”

  With obvious relief etched on their faces, the barbegazi turned and raced down the hill, their feet leaving sprays of snow in their wake.

  Garamaen shook his head. Leaving the meat where it remained stuck in the snow, he trudged the final distance to the goat pens with the barbegazi sled. Fenrir could pick up his prize after the trial.

  The wolf was waiting. “This is the chain?” he asked.

  “It is.” Garamaen kept his emotions under strict control, knowing that the wolf could smell tension and hear the racing of his heart.

  Fenrir circled, sniffing the iron with curious intensity. Each link was bigger than Garamaen’s two fists combined, the metal rod the width of his wrist. It was thick strong chain, designed to pull heavy weights, but not hardened against stretching and twisting forces. Garamaen knew it wouldn’t hold the great wolf.

  “It smells of your people. It also smells of the barbegazi.”

  “They helped me haul it here,” Garamaen replied. “Your howling scared
the porters away.”

  Fenrir huffed and sidled to the right, away from the chain. “You said nothing of barbegazi.”

  Garamaen thought quickly. He could ruin it all, right here, if he wasn’t careful. Fenrir had to test the chain, and succeed at breaking it. Without that, there would be no containing him.

  But the wolf was a proud creature. That pride could be his downfall.

  “Perhaps, but this chain will be no problem for one of your size and strength. Use it to prove to the barbegazi and all the realms that you are a creature not to be trifled with.”

  Fenrir preened a little at the compliment. He picked up a loop of chain between ten-inch canines. Squeezed. The chain held fast.

  “It’s quality work, believe me,” Garamaen added. “However, I think my smiths underestimate the size and strength of some of the other fae races.”

  “They all underestimate me.”

  “I know. That’s why I want you to try. It’s just you and me, here. If you break the chain, I can return to my smiths with the proof of their failure. But if you don’t, I will release you, and I will say you refused to wear them.”

  “That will make me look weak. I am not weak.”

  “No, but if you test the chain and fail, does that not also make you look weak? A failure can be turned into a victory if told in the right way. Perhaps you outwitted the invaders and their inferior technology.”

  With a twitch of his ear, Fenrir considered. Garamaen held his breath.

  “I will do it.”

  Garamaen blew out a relieved breath of air.

  Fenrir lay down on his side, his feet extended. “But you must bind yourself to me.”

  Garamaen’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “How can I bind myself to you? I am not strong enough to break free, and I’m sure to be injured in the process.”

  “Tie me in such a way that if I break the chain, you will also be released. If you stand near my head, you won’t be harmed.”

  Garamaen closed his eyes, opening his mind’s eye to foresight. He scanned the possible futures. If he refused the binding, he Saw himself standing alone, holding the chain, while the elves prepared for war. Blood would be shed and war would rage across the world. Two sentient races would be lost.

  Unable to manipulate the chain with gloves on, Garamaen was forced to set them aside. He gripped the first link. The metal was so cold it burned Garamaen’s hands as he hauled the chain out of the sled.

  He began by wrapping the chain around Fenrir’s rear legs in several loops, then wrapped the front legs in an easy hog tie. The wolf had some slack between front and rear that Garamaen knew would give him the momentum and leverage he needed to break the chain. He then looped the chain around his own waist and locked it tight.

  Fenrir eyed the final trap with a sly smirk. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. With one great heave of his back legs, the wolf broke the chain. He didn’t even bother to stand.

  “Your smiths are weak,” Fenrir chuckled. “That chain could not have held even my smallest cubs.”

  Garamaen struggled to keep the shock out of his expression even as his heart stuttered. If Fenrir heard the staccato beat, he didn’t let on, but Garamaen hoped he would attribute it to surprise at the ease of his escape. He hadn’t known Fenrir had a family. Even more now, he couldn’t kill this creature.

  “I will send this back and have the smiths continue their work. If they wish to have a breakthrough in their armories, they will need to do better.” Garamaen said, attempting to cover his confusion.

  Fenrir grinned, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and drool slicking his black lips. “You didn’t forget my dinner, did you?”

  It was Garamaen’s turn to chuckle. “No, but it’s stuck in the snow drift a little ways out. You'll have to get it yourself.”

  * * *

  A week later, Garamaen brought a thinner chain, the links barely the width of his wrist and tightly woven. The smiths had spent some time on this one, testing the strength at more than twice the capacity of the first. Yet still, Garamaen knew the wolf would easily break the cord.

  “Is this truly the best your smiths can offer?” Fenrir preened after the chain fell away from his paws. “I thought the elves were superior to the rest of the fae, their skill in all things unmatched.”

  Garamaen pretended to frown, as if perplexed. “They will not believe me this time. They will think I have been fooled somehow, the chain manipulated.” He paused, brow furrowed. “I will bring another length in time, but would you mind if others come to witness the breaking of the chains?”

  Fenrir paused, considering. “If it is to be a show, I will require greater reward.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “An entire mammoth to cache for the winter, delivered directly to my lair.”

  “That, I can arrange.”

  Chapter 3

  A week later, Garamaen crawled into his borrowed room in the barbegazi village. Keeping his head low to avoid bumping the overhead beam, he sat cross-legged next to the hearth, letting the warmth seep into his bones with an audible sigh of relief. Agda had built the fire to a roaring blaze, finally understanding the needs of the elf with an affinity for heat. After days trudging back and forth between his home world and this tiny cell, it felt like he would never be warm again.

  But the preparations had been made. The mammoth would arrive tomorrow with Éostre and Ullr. The chain had been crafted and tested. Nothing remained but to get a good night’s sleep.

  Lying down in the piled furs and wool blankets, Garamaen closed his eyes.

  The vision hit him like an axe to the forehead.

  Blood. Pain. A cavern whose walls dripped water. A boulder wrapped in iron. Chains. Garamaen’s right hand, gone. Red splashed across stone. A mammoth carcass piled to the side. Ullr and Éostre struggling through snow. A mourning howl.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Garamaen opened his eyes to the physical world. His heart raced. He wiped clammy palms on wool leggings. Unable to catch his breath, he faced down the terror.

  Never before had he faced such unrelenting blackness. His visions had always been clear, his purpose defined. But now . . . it was as if there were no future.

  Could this be his end?

  He closed his eyes again, searching for the visions. He walked back in his mind, replaying the decisions he'd made to this point and choosing new paths to go forward. Any remaining alternative ended in genocide.

  But if he walked into that cave with Ullr and Éostre in tow, bound Fenrir as planned, his future ended.

  Could he do it? Was this the right choice, the best path? Could he justify letting two species die to protect his own life?

  When is survival less important?

  Eyes wide open, sleep eluded Garamaen’s exhausted brain until the twilight of the dawn.

  * * *

  His belly roiling with nerves, Garamaen forced his feet to move forward through the deep snow. He glanced at his sister and his best friend, each leading a team of sturdy mountain horses pulling laden sleds up the slope. They’d joined him that morning, bringing the mammoth meat from the Upper Realm. They understood the plan, though not its ultimate outcome. Yet the pieces continued to fall into place.

  Each team pulled a sled with half the mammoth meat. Garamaen would honor the terms of the arrangement, and see to it that Fenrir was well supplied. He would be caged, yes, but he would be cared for. And his family would be free. It was the best arrangement he could hope for.

  Éostre and Ullr would do their jobs. They would ensure the treaty was settled without the loss of life. At least, without the further loss of life. They were the two most honorable elves he knew.

  “Brother, are you sure about this?” Éostre asked. Deep furrows of concern creased her ageless brow as she watched Garamaen’s expression. She was a healer, one of the best, trained in the ancient halls of the origin. Knowing what was to come, he ha
d asked her to be present. If anyone could change the future unexpectedly, against all odds, it would be her.

  “I am,” Garamaen replied. He was careful to show no fear, no nerves. The wolf would take his price in blood and pain. There was no other way.

  “And you expect us to simply stand by and watch,” Ullr asked, incredulous. Shocking white blond hair and beard made the broad-shouldered elf look like a larger version of the barbegazi. If everything went as planned, he would be the leader of this settlement, his skill with snow and ice, and his ability to keep a level head, the natural complement to the natives. He would guide the two communities to an easy alliance.

  Eventually.

  But first Garamaen had to lay the foundation.

  “I do. I need your witness. You must play your part. Fenrir can’t realize the trap until it’s too late.”

  The last was important. They couldn’t give Fenrir any excuse to break the deal. He had to wear the chains.

  “I don’t like it,” Ullr grumbled. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  Garamaen forced a bitter laugh, trying to cover the truth in Ullr’s statement. “It’s the only solution. I can See no other way.”

  Ullr growled, his icy gaze piercing through Garamaen’s tightly controlled facade, but said nothing more. If he knew that Garamaen’s future was black, he didn’t let on.

  Fenrir’s request for direct delivery was a blessing hidden in a physical trial as they heaved thousands of pounds of meat across ice and snow. They’d been invited into Fenrir’s lair, which would become an ideal dungeon, but the grueling trek was a slow battle up the mountain. Each inhalation sliced through their lungs, and each exhalation froze on impact with the bitter cold air. Holding fast to the horses, they leaned into the wind, struggling to reach the cliff Fenrir had indicated.

  As they neared the mountain, the wolf loped out to greet them. The horses reared and whinnied, eyes rolling in fear of the giant predator.

  “Easy, easy,” Éostre whispered to the pack animals as Garamaen stepped forward to meet the wolf.

  “Ah, delicious.” Fenrir sniffed and licked his lips, drool flowing freely from the corners of his mouth. “These beasts walk the plains of your home world?”