by Ben Cassidy
Kendril felt his swords rake across the beast’s arms. It was as if he had slashed the blades across a stone wall.
In a move so fast that Kendril could barely register what was happening, the werewolf’s arm smashed into his side.
The blow felt as if a tree trunk had crashed into him. Kendril felt himself lifted bodily into the air and thrown across the chamber. He landed hard on the stone floor and rolled for several more yards until he ended in a heap near the chamber’s exit.
The werewolf threw back his head and bellowed in triumph.
Kendril scrambled to his feet, biting down the pain that pulsed through his bruised body. He could feel blood running down past his ear. His right leg felt almost broken, but it held firm under his weight as he stood.
There were no burning slashes from the claws. The beast must have hit Kendril with the flat of its paw and arm. Lucky. If the claws had gotten him he would have been split open.
One of Kendril’s swords lay across the chamber where it had fallen out of his grip. The other was somehow still clutched in his hand.
Kendril glanced quickly around the chamber, breathing hard.
Bronwyn and Tomas were both lying still and unconscious on the ground.
Just him and the werewolf, then.
The beast turned towards him, growling menacingly. It tensed as if it was getting ready to spring across the distance.
Kendril licked his lip, tasting his own blood.
Then he turned and ran.
Not the most courageous of strategies, surely, but sometimes discretion was the better part of valor. Even for a Ghostwalker.
The werewolf roared in the chamber behind him. The creature was angry, robbed of its prey.
Kendril kept running. He pulled out one of his pistols and reloaded it as he went.
Could one pistol shot even stop the monstrosity behind him? Somehow Kendril doubted it.
He emerged out into the massive main chamber of the sea cave. The smell of salt and dried kelp assaulted his nose in full. At the other end of the cavern was the bright flickering of the bonfire. Kendril headed towards it.
There was a crash behind him. Kendril stole a look over his shoulder.
The werewolf was coming after him, running on all fours across the wet cave floor. It roared.
Kendril’s booted foot caught on a twist in the rock floor. He staggered and almost fell, but managed to keep his feet. He cursed, then splashed through a wide tide pool.
The werewolf leapt onto a nearby slab of rock. It glared down at Kendril as he ran, then threw back its head and howled.
Kendril couldn’t outrun it. On all fours the monster was lightning fast, and the sea cave was too wide for him to make it to the bonfire before the werewolf caught him first.
That left the pistol. Every precious second counted. Kendril had to load the shot, ram down the paper cartridge, prime the pan….
All in the dark and wet of a cave, with death breathing down his neck just yards away.
The werewolf stood to its full height. It eyed Kendril, something like a grin on its bestial face. The creature flexed its claws and snarled.
It was toying with Kendril, playing with him like a cat might play with a mouse. Kendril had no doubt that it could cover the distance between the two of them in one mighty leap. The claws on the werewolf’s paws were more than capable of shredding Kendril in a heartbeat.
“You…die,” the werewolf growled.
The half-human voice coming out of the mouth of this abomination of nature made Kendril’s flesh crawl. He snapped back the lock on his pistol. “You first,” he said.
The werewolf snarled and cocked its head.
Kendril lifted his pistol and fired.
The flint sparked and fizzled. Smoke drizzled from the barrel of the firearm.
A misfire. This really wasn’t shaping up to be Kendril’s day.
The werewolf leapt.
Kendril flung his pistol at the beast, then stabbed forward with his sword.
A mighty roar shook the cave. The werewolf landed almost on top of Kendril.
Kendril thrust forward with his short sword, ramming it into the creature’s body with all his might.
The beast gave out a hideous scream of pain and rage.
Kendril had time to give a grim smile as he felt his sword gouge in deep.
Then his world exploded into white and purple flashes and blinding pain.
Kendril opened his eyes, blinked, tried to keep the room steady. He couldn’t feel his right arm. There was an agonized howling in his ears, a roar that echoed all around him. He felt cold, wet stone on his back. Something warm and wet covered his face.
He tried to rise, but fell back down, sick and dizzy. His right arm still had no feeling, and wouldn’t move when he tried. Kendril gave out a cry of pain, and forced himself up to a sitting position.
The werewolf was a few yards away. Both of its massive paws were clutched on the hilt of Kendril’s sword. The blade was driven straight into its huge chest. Its glowing yellow eyes stared straight at Kendril with complete hatred.
Kendril tried to stand. The room spun, and he felt nauseous. He staggered, almost fell, and barely managed to get up.
Without a sound, the werewolf slowly pulled Kendril’s short sword out of its chest. The blade emerged inch by inch, covered with the creature’s blood and fur.
Kendril had no weapon. Both his short swords were gone, his misfired pistol lay on the floor in a pool of water about fifteen feet away, and his second pistol was still unloaded.
He gritted his teeth, wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of his good arm.
The werewolf growled ominously. It finished pulling the sword from its chest, then tossed the blade aside.
This was it. Kendril had mocked Eru the One, and now he was paying the price. Death had finally come for him.
Still, he couldn’t help the thought that getting killed by a werewolf just seemed so…excessive.
The werewolf tried to take a step forward, then lurched down towards the ground. Black blood dribbled from the wound in its chest.
Kendril forced his sluggish mind to think. He had no weapons. Nothing that could work on a creature that size, anyway. He didn’t—
Wait. He had one.
Kendril turned and ran towards the bonfire.
Or at least he intended to run. In fact it was more of a fast limp-walk. His leg hurt like nothing had a right to, and he could feel blood flowing from at least two stinging cuts on his forehead. His right arm still wouldn’t move.
Behind him the werewolf growled.
Kendril didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford to. His only hope was that even an eight-foot tall werewolf couldn’t take a sword in the chest without some severe degree of hurt.
There was a scrabbling of paws on wet stone.
Despite his better judgment, Kendril looked.
The werewolf was coming at him, dragging itself across the ground with astonishing speed. Its lips were drawn back in a snarl.
Kendril tried to hurry his lopsided gait as much as possible.
The bonfire was straight ahead. The flames were still burning bright and strong. Benches surrounded the blaze, as well as a couple spilled mugs of what looked like ale, and some remains of a meal.
But it was the fire that Kendril needed. He reached into his cloak with his good hand, searching his pockets feverishly.
The werewolf snarled again. It was right behind him.
Kendril pulled out the hard, spherical metal case that he had been carrying with him for months now. It was a grenade, one of the ones that Maklavir had made so long ago before the Despair had begun, back when tracking down the Soulbinder had seemed the biggest of Kendril’s problems.
Kendril had to admit that Maklavir’s odd penchant for all things of an explosive nature had proved undeniably useful to him in the past. In truth, it was the one thing Kendril actually missed about the man.
He only hoped that Maklavir’s sk
ill in explosives would help him one last time.
The werewolf roared. It lifted itself up to its full height, despite the gaping wound in its chest.
This was it. Kendril’s last chance.
Kendril stuck the matchcord of the grenade into the blazing fire. It sparked and flared to life.
The werewolf started forward.
Kendril turned with more confidence than he felt. “Chew on this,” he said. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the grenade towards the lumbering beast.
The grenade pinged and bounced across the uneven cave floor. The matchcord sputtered and hissed. Smoke curled in a strange pattern in the bomb’s wake.
The werewolf paused. It looked down at the oncoming grenade curiously.
The grenade rolled right next to the werewolf’s foot.
Kendril threw himself flat on the floor behind one of the wooden benches. He covered his head with his hand.
There was a long fizz, then a phut.
Kendril kept his head down.
One second. Two. Three…
The werewolf growled. Its voice was low and deep, vibrating like the chords of a cello.
Cautiously, Kendril lifted his head.
The grenade lay cold and dead at the monster’s feet, the matchcord burnt out. Smoke wafted unimpressively from the bomb’s hole.
“Oh, come on,” Kendril said.
The werewolf smiled, if it was possible for an eight-foot tall wolf-creature to smile, then took a step forward.
Kendril tried to get up, but his leg almost gave out underneath him. He gritted his teeth against the blinding pain, and grabbed the wooden bench in front of him with his good hand. If he could lift it, maybe he could swing it. Not exactly a good weapon, but he needed some—
A flash and booming roar filled the cavern.
The werewolf was torn in two from the waist down from the force of the explosion. The remains of the creature pattered all over the cave floor.
Kendril slammed back hard against the far cave wall. His teeth rattled and his ears rang from the concussion. He shook the blood from his eyes, and peered out at the mangled corpse of the beast. He wanted to laugh, or say something particularly witty even though there was no one here to hear it.
Instead, he passed out.
A cool hand touched Kendril’s face. He felt the slender fingers, the soft touch, and knew instantly that it was a woman’s hand.
Bronwyn. It had to be. The witch had somehow gotten loose. The next thing that Kendril would be feeling would doubtless be a knife across his throat.
He struggled to sit up, and blinked his eyes open.
The woman was crouched over him, between him and the fire of the bonfire. Her long hair flowed down over her shoulder. Her face and features were hidden by the bright light behind her.
“Don’t—” Kendril started to say. His voice was slurred and drunken. His good hand flapped helplessly against his belt, searching for a weapon that wasn’t there.
Wonderful. He was so battered and injured he couldn’t even defend himself against a woman.
“Kendril.” The woman caressed his face. She pushed the hair back over her shoulder. “It’s me.”
Not Bronwyn.
Kendril stared up at the woman. He squinted past the oscillating light of the fire, trying to make out her face, but he already knew who it was from her voice alone.
“You’re safe,” the woman said again. She bent down, and kissed Kendril’s face. The side that was scarred from the heat and fire of the Void.
“You’re…dead,” Kendril managed to say. He closed his eyes. He was so tired. His body was so battered and bruised that every part of him ached.
“Yes,” she said. She kissed him again.
Kendril opened his eyes again. With the light behind her, the woman looked like a Guardian of Eru. He had forgotten just how beautiful she was.
She smiled at him.
“I’m…sorry,” Kendril said. His throat throbbed with each word. “So…sorry.”
The woman didn’t say anything. She kept smiling, and put her hand on Kendril’s face again.
Kendril closed his eyes again. He reached up with his left hand, the only one he could move, and grabbed her hand. “Don’t…leave,” he begged. “Please…don’t—”
A warm, wet tongue scraped across Kendril’s face.
He opened his eyes, surprised.
A long, muzzled face hung just over his in the darkness. Giant teeth glinted in the light of the bonfire.
The werewolf. It was alive, and back.
Frantically, Kendril reached for his weapons again.
The head moved back and brayed loudly.
Kendril winced at the foul breath. He focused his blurry vision. “Simon?”
The muzzle came down again. Sloppy lips and a raspy tongue slid over Kendril’s face.
“Whoa,” Kendril gasped. “Whoa…boy.” He could barely breathe with the mule’s tongue all over him.
“Get off him, you daft fool!” Marley came into view. He grabbed Simon by the bridle and pulled the animal off to one side. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kendril. How are you feeling?”
Kendril put his head back down, and closed his eyes. “Like the whole Archangel cathedral fell on me.”
He was lying on his back on the damp cave floor. The warmth of the nearby bonfire soaked into his right side. The refreshing feel of bandages graced his head and thigh. His right arm seemed to be in some kind of sling. Kendril tried to move the fingers on his right hand experimentally. To his relief, they wiggled.
Marley’s face came back into view. He tugged at the sling around Kendril’s arm. “Sorry about this. I did the best I could, but I’m no doctor for sure.”
Kendril closed his eyes and groaned. “Makes me wish that Joseph was here.”
Marley’s face pinched in puzzlement. “Who?”
“Never mind.” Kendril made a half-hearted effort to sit up, then thought better of it and lay still. “How did you find me?”
Marley chuckled. He fished around in Simon’s saddlebag. “How did I find you? How could I not find you is the better question. It sounded as though you were setting off a ship’s powder store in here. Gunshots and explosions to wake the dead. I could hear it clear up where me and your blasted beast were hiding.”
Simon snorted angrily.
Marley gave the mule a hateful look. “Don’t talk to me like that, you dumb animal. If it was up to you we’d both still be hiding up there and you know it.”
Kendril rolled his head from side to side, peering into the barely-lit darkness around him. “We’re still in the cave?”
“Aye.” Marley crouched over Kendril with a canteen. He lifted the container to Kendril’s mouth. “Take a sip of this. It’s good for what ails you.”
Kendril had several other questions burning inside him, but he was unable to wave the canteen away, so resolved to drink first. Expecting water, he was startled when he got a mouthful of whiskey.
“There,” said Marley with a smile. He tipped back the canteen and took a long swig himself. “This stuff’ll get you better in no time. Good as any doctor it is.”
Kendril choked and sputtered for a moment, feeling the burn of the alcohol go down into his stomach. “Marley,” he said as soon as he regained his breath. “This is important. Did you find the witch? Bronwyn? She was—”
“She’s taken care of,” came a new voice from the other side of the fire. There was a rustle of movement, and Tomas appeared out of the darkness. His face was swollen with a nasty bruise.
Kendril looked over at the other Ghostwalker. He felt relieved to see the man wasn’t dead. “You tied her up?”
“You mean better than that sloppy sash around the wrists job you did?” Tomas nodded and sank down onto a bench by the fire. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s tie a knot. When she wakes up she won’t be going anywhere.”
“I was a little rushed,” Kendril said crossly. He coughed, and felt his side burn with pain. “Wh
ere is she?”
“Over there.” Tomas inclined his head towards a shadowy form lying on the ground by the wall.
“She’s still out?”
“Like a light.” Tomas took the canteen of whisky from Marley, and took a drink himself. “If you hit her half as hard as you hit me, I doubt she’ll wake up until morning.”
Kendril pushed himself up to a sitting position. He fought the urge to grunt or groan at the pain. “You should be lucky I didn’t kill you, Tomas. You were coming at me with a knife.”
Tomas touched his swollen face and stared morosely at the fire. “I don’t remember much. It’s still pretty fuzzy. She cast some kind of spell on me, didn’t she?”
Kendril gave a quick nod. He flexed his right arm, his face twitching at the sharp stabs of pain. “I’ve seen her do it before. In Balneth.”
Tomas sighed. “Lovely. Always good to know that I’m so weak of mind.”
Kendril shrugged his good shoulder. “I don’t see how that’s telling us anything new.”
“Ha-ha.” Tomas rolled his eyes and took another drink of whiskey.
“You be careful with that, now,” Marley sputtered. “Don’t be drinking it all.”
“Where’s the werewolf?” Kendril asked abruptly. He leaned over and spat some dried blood out of his mouth.
Tomas stared at him. “The what?”
Kendril returned the glare. “The werewolf. It’s dead, right?”
Marley and Tomas exchanged a confused glance.
“I think he bumped his head harder than we thought,” Marley whispered.
“Don’t give me that,” Kendril said angrily. With several sharp grunts of pain, he pushed himself up to his feet, tottering uncertainly. “One of the Jombards transformed into a werewolf. I saw it myself. He was—”
“You mean that poor slob?” Tomas nodded towards some gruesome remains just a little ways from the bonfire. “What did you do, shoot him with a cannon?”
“Blew him up with a grenade, actually.” Kendril leaned against one of the walls, his legs still unsteady.
The body, or rather the pieces of the body, was very human. No sign of the werewolf remained.
“He must have changed back after he died,” Kendril muttered.