Son of hell: Blood of wolves

by Michaela Burdová

  Neran noticed that the word you did not mean his retinue, but her directly. Tears welled up in Élia´s eyes.

  "The chief will avenge my death," the elf told Urvan. He just grinned. "Sure."

  Two soldiers escorted the elf to one side. Élia stood proudly with her chin up and managed to suppress her tears and grief. Neran felt awful. He wanted to prevent the pointless execution, but could not. If he tried to move the men would shoot him. He might manage to be faster than an arrow, but they were aimed at him from all sides. He might save Herlon but Urvan would then certainly kill Élia.Neran knew that she was the most important of all the prisoners and Herlon had already chosen to die for her.

  The soldiers escorted Herlon behind some trees. Neran heard the swish of the blade and saw it cut through the air. The head was cleanly severed from the body.

  "Let’s pull out," Urvan commanded right away. "Lord Karnelos will be pleased."

  Whilst advancing through the snowy forest, Neran could not help but feel that he was a mass murderer. On all sides he was surrounded by countless men with silver arrows, as if he were terribly dangerous, which he actually was, he thought, amused. There were horses waiting for them at the edge of the forest. Several would be returning home without their masters.The soldiers lifted the elves onto their mounts for the journey and tied and fastened their captives with rope to the saddles. They then mounted themselves, training their arrows on Neran.

  Urvan led them over a snowy plain, along a well beaten path so that they did not have to wade through the snow. The sky was delightfully blue with no trace of a storm. Neran was slowly beginning to freeze. His shirt and jacket were wet with his own blood and they now chilled his skin. He had tried to wipe the blood from his face to prevent it from freezing, but it had been difficult and not all that successful.

  One hour into the journey the castle appeared in front of them. It was located in a narrow, white valley and looked like a mighty fortress. It was built of dark grey stone and looked very grim. There was no other town in sight. The castle stood completely isolated.

  "That's interesting," Neran remarked, as they went down the hill on the approach to the fort. Élia was next to him and heard him.

  "Karnelos didn’t want to have his residence in any city. He always had to be somebody special," she said bitterly.

  "Somebody should have deposed him a long time ago," Neran said. "He's a tyrant."

  "He is, but he treats only us like that. Our neighbouring kingdom doesn’t see him as a threat. Arnnolen doesn’t want to venture into any new war and Erinol is obsessed with eradicating werewolves."

  "What about your relatives? The Elves of Ollewan?"

  "They have always been against war. Violence only begets more violence, these are their words. According to them, we should wisely retreat.However, nobody sees that Karnelos and his people are constantly encroaching on our territory and are trying to destroy us!"

  "Perhaps you could convince them," Neran probed. "I know the Royal Elves. They're arrogant, but they’ve always defended peace. You are of one blood, aren’t you? If you asked them for help ...”

  "Silence over there!" one soldier shouted and aimed his arrow at Neran’s temple. Neran bared his fangs at him and the man turned a little pale. The fortress was already in sight. Neran could never have imagined that his visit to the Lord of Breetia would end up like this, but he knew that he would be out of there soon. No prison cell could hold him back and the soldiers weren´t capable of fighting.He could escape easily and take the innocent elves with him.

  It was strange, he had never liked elves before, but he liked these Northern Elves far more so than their Royal cousins. Élia also didn´t look like one of those noble ladies who would speak to Neran in a way he could never really understand.

  They entered the fortress and found themselves in a large paved courtyard. Behind them, six men closed the massive gate. The snow had been ploughed to the wall where fires burned in large stone basins melting the snow, which then flowed away through drainage ditches. Lots of guards walked around keeping a watchful eye of the servants, most of whom were enslaved and mutilated elves.

  A stableman came to get the horses. Urvan, along with several of his men, took the prisoners to the dungeons located in the underground passages of the castle. In the darkness that encased them, Neran could smell damp, dirt, blood and death and could feel the mildew creeping up the walls. Somewhere, he heard dripping water. On the last step of the narrow staircase he almost stepped on a rat.

  Urvan sent for the master. He put two elves to a cell, apparently to save space. Several of them were already occupied. The elven prisoners had to lie there without food and water for several days. It seemed that Lord Karnelos never lacked new prisoners.

  Neran remained standing in front of the cell, still surrounded by a horde of silver arrows. He was looking forward to getting into jail and his likely escape at dusk. His priority would be to find Urvan. After all, he had promised to kill him and Neran always fulfilled his promises.

  They waited quite a long time before more guards arrived. A bearded man with an arrogant look led them. The men stopped in front of Urvan and made way. From between their ranks a corpulent fellow emerged in expensive clothes and a velvet cloak draped over his shoulders. It had to be Karnelos. He looked pretty harmless, but appearances could often be deceiving.

  "Did you get my message, Sire?" Urvan asked eagerly. A tall man walked towards Neran, while Karnelos kept his distance.

  "Is that him?" he said disrespectfully, looking at Neran with an indifferent gaze. "I imagined a darkwolf to look different."

  "And who are you?" Neran snapped. "A shoeshiner?"

  The offended man puffed up. "I am the commander of the army of the Lord!"

  "Bruno, please," Karnelos gently touched his shoulder. Then he looked over at Neran. "What are you looking for in my country?"

  Neran wondered whether he should tell the truth, but to what benefit. They would not take him to the Lord’s wife. After all, he had helped the elves and he was also a monster. It really didn´t make sense to explain anything.

  "I came to see what your country looks like, and which fool killed the Golden Unicorn," he replied with a smile. "Oh, wait a moment, that´s you isn´t it?"

  Karnelos turned red with anger. "You'll soon lose your insolence!" he hissed and beckoned to Bruno. The commander turned and brought a silver chain.

  Neran held his breath. The chain would be a problem.

  Bruno grinned wickedly. He came over to Neran, ripped open his coat and wrapped the silver chain around his neck. Neran gritted his teeth and sank to his knees in pain, as he felt the silver slowly burning through his skin into his flesh. He felt as if he were being roasted on a spit.

  Soldiers then grabbed him by his arms and dragged him to his cell, chaining his wrists to the wall with iron shackles. They then sat him down on the cold floor and slammed the door behind them.

  He could forget his plan to escape. It would be no problem to break both the metal handcuffs and the prison bars, but he was helpless with the silver chain around his neck. The chain would gradually sap his strength. He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker already.

  Karnelos came to the bars and bared his yellowed teeth. "Who's laughing now, huh?" he chuckled and walked away. "Darkwolf in my cell! Isn’t that wonderful?" he shouted on the way out and the soldiers laughed in response.

  * * *

  The pack was returning from the hunt, fed and happy. Drel walked alongside Aragen. Her eyes were shining and she had a happy smile on her blood-stained face. Aragen was glad to see her loyal friend like that. The pack was strengthened and at least for a while, everything seemed all right. Aragen knew though that in reality this was far from the truth. She had a big task ahead of her that day to ensure the future health and survival of her pack.

  She walked into her cabin, put a bucket of water on the table, and began to wash the blood from her skin. At the same time, she called Drel. A shaggy head
peeked inside.

  "Bring me that girl and tie up the remaining two captives. We’ll eat them tomorrow night. Bring me Wenir too, please."

  Drel nodded and disappeared. After a while she came back with Wenir and the girl captive. The chubby girl wept and trembled in despair and horror. She smelled of dirt, sweat, and blood. Aragen grabbed her elbow and pulled her onto herself. Wenir remained standing at the entrance.

  "How is our dear guest doing, Drel?"

  "He tried to escape, but the Predators were guarding him well."

  Aragen nodded. "Get him ready. The ritual will take place at midnight tonight. He must die by bleeding to death. Get rid of his flesh. I need only his bones and heart. I will rip it out by myself.I will not risk it getting damaged."

  "I'll take care of it ma´am."

  Aragen nodded and Drel left. Now Aragen looked over at Wenir.

  "I’ve invited you for a feast, Wenir."

  The girl stared at her with her frightened eyes and began to weep.

  "I've had enough."

  "I was watching you. You were only killing the old and the sick. You didn’t even let them moan. Tell me, what’s good about rotten meat?"

  "It's not rotten, but aged."

  Aragen stepped closer to him, dragging the girl behind her. She looked into his only remaining eye. It was so beautiful. It was such a pity that she had had to deprive him of one. It had broken her heart to do it, but his defiance had meant that she had had no choice. "Do you know what? You remind me of someone. My father. He didn´t kill the old ones because they tasted good, but killed them out of compassion. He didn´t want to take young lives. He felt...pity."

  "I don’t feel pity."

  He looked unemotional and indifferent. The Wenir she once knew a long time ago was not the man that stood in front of her now. Aragen had managed to destroy him and that was exactly the way she had wanted it.

  "I hope so," she caressed his cheek, "because my darkwolves know no regrets. My darkwolves are strong and ruthless. Compassion would ruin us."

  He frowned at her. "I know that, Aragen."

  "You're full of anger, Wenir. You have to get it out of you somehow. Can you find a way? I cannot look at you like this any more. Let’s eat together." She looked over at the girl who had been listening to the conversation, her eyes now full of sheer terror. She began to scream and made futile attempts to struggle free. Aragen grabbed the girls arm.

  "Calm down. I don’t want to kill you now, I want to enjoy your suffering, so don’t spoil it for me."

  "No, no, please! NO!"

  With her other hand Aragen grabbed the girl´s blond hair to hold her steady. She bared her fangs and took a bite, slowly sinking her teeth deeper into the soft juicy flesh. The more the victim screamed the more euphoric Aragen became. In her reverie, Aragen looked over at her companion with her fiery eyes.

  "Wenir, please, help yourself."

  Wenir stepped closer, looked at his victim, and then sank his teeth into her neck. As blood spurted out of her arteries, the girl's knees gave way. Aragen burst into laughter. "So tell me, my love, isn’t this better than feeble old people?"

  Wenir looked up at her and then finished the job by ripping out the blond girl's throat, the limp lifeless body now hanging on his arms. Aragen looked on with satisfaction and could not stop laughing.

  In the morning, she rose and sat alone in her cabin trying to focus her power. She could feel the power beneath her skin flowing towards her spine. This type of magic was very difficult. There was only one ritual, a very bloody and powerful one, by which to summon a demon. In her youth, Aragen had searched for every reference to demons, she was therefore well versed in their ways. For the invocation she needed the cooked bones and the heart of an elf. Aragen had therefore prepared an attack on the elven village of Wen-Erlön.The pack did not manage to cause as much damage as she had desired because the elves had been prepared and were fast.Although their silver arrows could not destroy Aragen’s pack, each wound stung like hell.

  They had captured a young elf, whose bones were now boiling in the pot in front of her.

  Aragen clutched the elf's heart between her hands, held it above the pot and squeezed until all the blood had dripped out. While she did so, she silently called the demon's name and tried to establish contact. When she felt that he was near, she brought the ritual to its climax. She put down the heart, dipped her hands into the boiling broth, scooped some of it up, brought it to her mouth, and drank. The blisters on her skin soon healed. Between sips, and with her eyes closed, she whispered words in the ancient language of the Coming.

  A suffocating whiff of evil went into her throat. At first, she was afraid that she would throw up, but then her heart began to pound with excitement and she began to inhale the amazing power of darkness with delight. The oil lamp burst and a dreadful darkness set in.

  Something materialized in front of Aragen. She recognized him instantly, as if she had known him for an eternity.

  She slowly stood up.

  "Who are you that you dare to summon me?" a booming voice bellowed. The huge mass in front of her expanded and pressed its way up to the ceiling.

  "I am Aragen, the last direct descendant of Wolfgar. Does that mean anything to you?"

  The mass withdrew slightly and the charge in air became less aggressive.

  "Wolfgar's descendant?"

  "The promise that one of you made to my ancestors years ago is losing its effect. My pack is dying. I need you to stop it."

  The demon burst into laughter until the cabin shook. Aragen was afraid it would collapse, but it survived. "You need me to stop it? Do you think you mean anything to me?"

  "We can help each other. I know that you are looking for the Thirteenth."

  "So what?"

  Aragen stepped forward, intoxicated by the power that was spreading through her. "I can sense him. You make sure that my pack stops dying, and I'll find you the Thirteenth."

  "Are you saying that even if I cannot find him myself, that you can?"

  "I not only possess a part of your strength, but also strength that emanates directly from the depths of hell. My senses can detect even the slightest trace of a dark power."

  The demon paused before replying: "Even if your wolves stop dying, you'll need new blood for your pack.It should be a non-degenerate individual who will ensure its continued survival."

  "I am aware of it and it's been taken care of. So, is it a deal?"

  The darkness turned around in a powerful maelstrom. "It’s a deal."

  Chapter 7

  Prisoner without Shackles

  From the bloom of ages she appeared

  Through a kiss she took a life

  When Death shook her hand

  The Thirteenth arose.

  Slumbering in darkness,

  Eternal Liadalla

  Neran was sitting on the floor leaning against the stone wall, focusing on and enjoying the delightful coolness of the cold as it froze his skin. It was his only relief. The thick silver chain had already burned his skin and etched into his flesh. The worst thing was not the pain, but how quickly the silver drained his strength. He felt weak and as parched as desert sand.

  He bent his head back and rested it against the wall, his face dripping with sweat from his efforts, his mouth dry. Outside it had to be dark by now he thought. He had been sitting there for several hours and had tried several times to gather his remaining strength and break the shackles that tied his hands to the ground, but it had all been in vain.

  It had been a really rough day, he thought to himself, and the best was yet to come.

  He wondered what they would do with him. There were not many options. He could get stuck here forever as a slave, weakened by silver, forced to do hard manual work. Alternatively, they could sell him at a market for slaves and monsters. Such markets were officially banned across the entire country, but were held and were very profitable too. Then again, they could just kill him for aiding the elves, which in Breet
ia was by far the worst crime you could commit.

  Neran had no intention of dying there, or crawling at the feet of the king as his servant. He would get out, he just needed to figure out how. It would have to be quick too, he didn´t want to fall into a coma and die in the stinking dungeon.

  As he thought these thoughts, he also reminded himself of the reason why he had come to Breetia.Nobody knew anything about the Tears of Étarlina, except for Karnelos’ wife.She was bound to resemble a witch. Neran sighed, he was really in for it.

  "You're not a darkwolf."

  He heard the familiar voice from somewhere nearby. He lifted his head, forced himself to open his tired eyelids and looked searchingly into the darkness around him. Something soft and gentle touched his naked shoulder. He turned his head, focused, and took a closer look. It was Élia. She was sitting in the next cell and the gentle touch on his shoulder was her tiny hand. Half comatose, Neran realized how lovely the elven was.

  "I'm not.If I was, I would have turned this chain into a silver ornament."

  "Then you must be the last werewolf."

  "I’m one of the last."

  "The darkwolves are changing," Élia whispered, her eyes flashing in the darkness. "We came across one in the forest. He was alone and delirious. Before we could do anything, he gnawed off his own leg and then died, just like that."

  "Darkwolves have been breeding among themselves for far too long. They are giving birth to freaks, and I mean real freaks."

  "So they do have a weakness."

  "If it continues, in just a few years they will die out."

  "You look happy when you say that. Aren’t they your brothers?"

  "Relatives, yes, but I have only one brother."

  "You're the first werewolf who didn’t try to eat us."

  "That doesn´t mean that I am a cuddly puppy, right?" His voice cracked as he spoke. Clearing his throat seemed to sap even more of his strength. "I know the taste of human flesh. There is no greater pleasure ... but when you overeat, you soon burst! That's my motto."