by N E Riggs
It looked very medieval: the houses were built of wood and stone with thatched roofs. There were no people or animals anywhere. Some of the roofs smoldered, but they weren’t the source of the smoke. A short distance away from the village stood a small castle on a hill. High, sheer walls and a moat surrounded the castle. Smoke rose from inside and in greater quantities from the forest to the left. Brother Popovitch led them to the edge of the moat and called across, “I’ve returned with reinforcements.”
David squinted and could make out men in full armor on the walls. A draw bridge was lowered and they hurried across. It closed again as soon as they were inside the courtyard. David looked around, trying to ignore the smell of manure, unwashed bodies, and that strangely sweet odor, like something was roasting. More soldiers stood around the courtyard, eying David and the others. They were covered in metal from head to toe and clanked as they walked. They looked like knights from a history book, if a lot dirtier, and David couldn’t help but stare. “What is this, Camelot?” he said to himself.
A large door leading inside the castle stood on the other side of the courtyard. A black man with white accents on his uniform hurried out, and David started as he recognized him. He was Rolan, the Sword Priest David had met the day he first came to Bantong. Rolan didn’t look as good as he had then: his Steward’s uniform was dirty and ripped, and his sweaty hair stuck up in every direction. He smiled broadly as he raised three fingers to Iwel.
David looked at Brother Popovitch. Now that he had a frame of reference, he recognized him too. He’d been there that day too, and had held David back when he tried to get back home.
“Your Grace,” Rolan said to Iwel. “Thank you for coming.”
Iwel nodded. “Brother Popovitch says you have a werewolf problem?” David blinked at that. No one had mentioned werewolves that he’d heard. Should they have brought silver bullets or something? “And tonight is the full moon,” Iwel said, glancing up at the sky. It was afternoon on this world, though the sun could barely be seen behind all the smoke.
“Come inside, and I’ll fill you in on the situation,” Rolan said, leading them inside the castle. He walked quickly through the stone corridors, so David only had a vague impression of flagstones and candle-lit hallways before they reached a large room. Inside sat many people, all dressed as Sword Priests. Most of them wore the brown uniforms of a Brother or Sister, but three had black collars and cuffs – Vicars. One man wore a brown jacket with sleeves that stopped at the elbow – a Heart Priest. He was sitting near three Sword Priests who lay on pallets; even from a distance, they didn’t look good. David quickly counted forty-six, including the Heart Priest.
“Where is the rest of your unit?” Iwel asked, also looking around.
Rolan’s mouth thinned. “Gone,” he said darkly. “Dead, I hope.” Iwel shot him a sharp look at that. Sighing, Rolan motioned for one of the Vicars to join them. “Lunari has had werewolves for as long as anyone remembers. The people generally know to lock themselves up on the night of the full moon, so they’ve managed to cope. A few years ago, something changed. The werewolves started appearing every night. And when there was a full moon, they were stronger than ever. They could break through doors and walls and take people in their sleep. The lucky ones were eaten. The unlucky ones became new werewolves.” He pressed a hand against his eyes, looking tired. “By Hue’s estimation, the population of Lunari has decreased by at least a third since then.”
The Vicar nodded. He had dark, straight hair that went down to his collar and reddish brown skin. “We don’t entirely know what caused the change, Your Grace,” he said. “There have been rumors about an alchemist performing experiments. It seems the alchemist’s son was taken years ago by werewolves. He believed lycanthropy could be cured. The king told me that, when the alchemist believed he’d succeeded, he found and caged a werewolf one night and had it drink the potion he’d concocted. Instead of being a cure, it made the werewolf stronger. It broke free from the cage.” His face tightened. “The alchemist disappeared that night, dead or turned, no one can say.”
“Did the king say anything else?” Iwel asked.
Hue winced. “The king said very little, since we only found him shortly before he died. He had no living children.”
“Who’s in charge then?”
Rolan ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose I am, Your Grace. We only got here three days ago. We evacuated the people of the village to the castle. We’ve been able to hold off attacks the last two nights, but it’s taken a toll. If the werewolves come again tonight, stronger than before, I fear they’ll get past the walls. There’s at least three hundred of them in the woods.”
David shivered as he listened. He glanced at the other acolytes. Bellon’s eyes were bright, Conal had his jaw set, Anur stood tall, and Niam had a hand on her agitator. They didn’t look afraid. Ashamed, he tried to stand straighter.
Iwel paced the small room a few times, looking thoughtful. He finally stopped at the narrow window, looking out over the forest. Tendrils of smoke still rose into the air. “Has there been a fire?” he asked, not turning around.
“A few,” Rolan said. “Last night, we set some of the werewolves on fire. A few raced into the woods while they were still alight.”
“Did the fire kill them?” Iwel asked, finally looking at Rolan.
“The ones we found this morning were all dead,” Rolan said.
Iwel nodded. “We’re going to set the forest on fire.”
Both Rolan and Hue jumped. The other Sword Priests nearby also stared at Iwel, including the Vicars who’d come with him. David and the other acolytes were equally surprised.
“Your Grace,” Hue said, “The forest stretches for miles. Any number of people could be killed if we burn it down.”
Iwel crossed his arms over his chest, his face set. “If they’re living alone in the forest, from everything you said, they’ve likely already been killed by werewolves. We don’t have the numbers to fend off three hundred of the things. We need to attack now, during the day when they’re weaker. Is there oil in the castle?”
Rolan nodded. “There should be. Maybe in the cellars.” He turned to Brother Popovitch. “Take the acolytes with you. Bring as much oil to the courtyard as you can find.” Popovitch nodded and motioned for the acolytes to follow him.
David’s chest felt oddly tight as he followed Popovitch down a dark, narrow staircase. He couldn’t complain, though. Of all the things he could be doing, running errands was the least dangerous. Popovitch found a woman in a long dress with a high collar and an apron over the top. “Where can we find oil?” he asked her.
“In the kitchens and the storerooms,” she answered, curtseying.
Popovitch nodded, “Thanks,” and led them down another hallway. Now that they were further inside the castle, David saw other people, besides the knights in shining armor. There were other women dressed like the one earlier. They passed a large room filled with children, watched over by women with pinched faces. An older woman stood off to one side and held a large knife, her face grim. That room had no windows and only one sturdy door.
The kitchen was near the bottom of the castle, he thought, but he’d gotten pretty turned around. Large pots hung over open fires and were filled with unappetizing looking gruel. A few women stirred the pots, glancing often out the windows, even though it was still afternoon.
“We need all your oil,” Popovitch said to one of the women. She nodded and opened a storage room off to the side. She pointed to a shelf filled with jugs on one wall. “Take everything you can carry and go,” Popovitch said, picking up three jugs. David took two large jugs and headed out to the courtyard.
They made many more trips back and forth before they’d taken every liquid that was even remotely flammable. Iwel, Rolan, and the other Sword Priests had rolled two smallish catapults into the courtyard and were making adjustments. When David came back from the kitchen with his last load, one of the catapults had already started lobb
ing rags drenched in oil into the forest. The scent of burning wood filled the air, masking other, less pleasant aromas. His eyes watered from the smoke as he placed the last few jugs near the other catapult.
“The wind is in our favor,” Iwel said to Rolan. “The fire will blow further into the forest.”
Rolan nodded. “Let’s hope.”
David stood still with the other acolytes for a few minutes, watching as the catapults were loaded again and again, aimed at slightly different angles each time. Iwel had them stop when they’d only gone through half the oil. “We might need more later,” he said.
The sun was rapidly setting, and David bit his lip. He really didn’t want to be here when night fell. Scatha took charge of the acolytes from Popovitch and took them up to the wall around the castle, relieving the knights who stood guard.
David ended up on a corner, the post furthest from the forest and the raging fire. The knight who’d been there before him paused before he left. “Will we survive the night, sir?” he asked, pushing up the visor on his helmet. David was surprised to see a young face looking back at him. The man looked maybe twenty-two, barely older than the other acolytes. His eyes were very wide as he waited for David to reassure him.
“We’ll be fine, I’m sure,” David said, hoping his voice didn’t shake. He gave the knight as wide of a smile as he could manage. The knight stood up a bit straighter before leaving, and David thought he’d done well. He leaned against the wall and stared down. This side of the castle was rocky ground with some sparse grass. It probably wouldn’t burn. He could feel the heat of the fire at his back, hear the trees cracking apart.
He shivered. Burning down a forest like this would be considered a horrible crime on Earth, if only for environmental reasons, never mind any people who might or might not still be alive inside. He hoped there weren’t any people left in there, and he hoped that the flames killed the werewolves. Over the years, he’d watched many films with John that involved werewolves. He remembered laughing at those movies, mocking how awful the werewolves usually looked and thinking how silly the very idea of werewolves was. He wished he could laugh like that now.
He glanced down briefly at Bramira and wondered if it could kill a werewolf. It worked great with griffins and barghests. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.
The late afternoon dragged on. Outside the castle he didn’t see any people or werewolves, either. Evening fell, and soon he couldn’t see much of anything, what with all the smoke. Popovitch came past to light the torch next to his lookout. “Doing alright?” he asked with a smile.
“Think so,” David said, trying to look brave.
Popovitch squinted at him for a moment. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“Um, a little. I’m a traveler. We met a few months ago, when I came to Bantong. I was with Cardinal Jing when she died.”
He snapped his fingers. “Yes, that was it.” He clapped David on the shoulder. “I’m Alosh Popovitch. I’d like to say we’ve got better circumstances, but, well...” he trailed off with a shrug.
David managed a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, okay?” Alosh said. “Rolan’s the best traditional Steward on Bantong. And now we’ve got Bishop Longar too. He’s a living legend, you know, can work with any of the divisions. Of all the Bishops, he’s the closest adviser to Cardinal Syatog. If anyone can get us safely through this, those two can.”
“Okay,” David said, standing a bit straighter. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Stand ready now. The moon’ll be rising soon.” Alosh continued down the wall to check on the next person. David watched him till he was out of sight. Then he turned back to staring out over the rocky ground beyond the castle, trying to make anything out.
He wondered what would happen if he died here. He believed in heaven in a vague sort of way, but that may have only been because of his parents’ deaths. Even if there was a heaven, would David still go there if he died on another world? And what would happen if he got changed into a werewolf? In all the stories on Earth, a person became a werewolf if they were bitten by one. David didn’t know if that was true here. He shivered and wished he was wearing armor, like the knights were.
He pressed his fingers hard into Bramira’s sharp edge. He didn’t cut himself. He never cut himself on Bramira, and sometimes he wondered if he even could. Maybe there was a magic to Bramira that kept him safe – even having been told there was no such thing as magic and that priestly abilities were a gift from Aeons, David couldn’t help but think there was something magical about Bramira.
Even though he couldn’t cut himself, the feel of the sharp edge beneath his fingers helped him focus. This was no time for dark, depressing thoughts. He had to stay vigilant. There were people inside the castle depending on him.
The smoke was heavy enough that he could only dimly make out the moon as it rose. He swallowed at the sight, even as he noticed it seemed bigger than the moon on Earth. There were fewer dark regions too, he thought, though he’d never paid much attention to the moon before. He really was on another world. This was the third different world he’d been on, and it still seemed strange.
Suddenly, howls filled the air. David jumped, clutching Bramira to his chest in shaking hands. He couldn’t tell how many different howls there were, but even one was too much for his liking. It seemed the fire hadn’t killed all the werewolves.
Sharp, heavy footsteps sounded nearby, and David turned to see seven knights in full armor jogging down the wall towards him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No sir,” said the closest knight. “We were ordered to hold this part of the wall with you. Sir Rolan thinks the attack will start soon.”
“Right. Well, um,” David paused, wondering what he was supposed to say or do. “Spread out, I guess, and keep your weapons out.” He cringed over the way he’d said ‘I guess,’ but the knights spread themselves out along the length of the wall, holding large, heavy swords and spears. One put a container of oil on the ground near the torch. For when the werewolves tried to scale the wall, David assumed.
He pulled out his agitator and thumbed off the safety. He glanced down briefly. Then he switched it to kill mode. He hadn’t been given permission to change it, but he assumed he could. Anyway, Bramira had no stun mode, and he’d be using that just as much.
The werewolves continued to howl, and now he heard shouting coming from the side of the castle closest to the forest. The attack had begun. To the knight closest to him he said, “Keep an eye inside, too. In case they get past elsewhere.”
“Do you think that likely, sir?” the knight asked.
“God, I hope not,” David said. “But we should be ready.”
He saw something move amongst the rocks. He leaned across the wall for a closer look. There was definitely something down there, a large animal with a white coat. As if it sensed him looking, the animal stopped and raised its head. David tensed as he looked down at a giant wolf – it had to be at least as big as a bear, maybe bigger.
“Aeons protect us,” one of the knights whispered.
The wall was a good thirty feet tall, and wolves weren’t meant for climbing. I’m safe here.
The werewolf let out a long, sharp howl. More wolves appeared, five, ten, fifteen. “Sir?” said one of the knights.
“Attack!” David shouted belatedly. He raised his agitator and quickly let off a shot. He hit the first werewolf, and it fell limply to the ground, smoking gently. He continued, shooting as quickly as he could. Some of the knights had bows and picked off the wolves with him. Another stood next to the jar of oil, ready to light it.
Suddenly, one of the werewolves threw itself at the castle wall. It hit with a loud thud, and the whole section of the wall shook. David nearly dropped his agitator. He looked over the wall again to see a dent where the werewolf had hit. Bits of the bricks flaked away.
“Shit,” David said. He remembered now that Rolan and Hue had said that werewolves could brea
k doors down, and that was without the full moon. At this rate, the werewolves would make a hole in the wall in no time. “We need to get down there,” he said to the knights. He pointed to the three with bows. “You stay up here. The rest of you come with me. Where’s the closest way down?”
“This way.” The four knights without bows led him down a narrow staircase. The wall rocked again as they climbed down, and one of the knights tripped. The others pulled him to his feet, and they soon reached the ground. From here, David could see the part of the wall that the werewolves were attacking. Cracks spiderwebbed the area, and two of the bricks were sticking out.
David took his place in the center of the knights a short distance from the cracked area. “Don’t take chances,” he said, already aiming with his agitator, ready to throw Bramira at a moment’s notice.
Another thud filled the air, followed by a crack. Three bricks fell out of the wall, the others cracking further. There was a hole just big enough for David to shoot through, but not big enough for Bramira. He saw matted white fur and starting shooting.
He couldn’t see clearly enough to know whether he was doing any damage, but he kept shooting anyway. For a minute, no new cracks appeared on the wall. Another white form hurled itself at the gap. David shot it, but it kept coming. It hit the wall hard enough to make the ground shake. And it didn’t stop at the wall. It crashed all the way through, bricks raining down with it.
David stared at the dead werewolf for a moment. He couldn’t make out much, since it was covered in bricks and dust and blood, but he could clearly see the claws on its paws and the fangs in its mouth. God, he really hoped it was dead.
Another howl thundered through the sky, soon joined by others. David jerked his head up, looking again at the hole in the wall. Beyond it, he could see a whole sea of werewolves. Where had they all come from? They threw themselves forward at the hole, dark eyes glinting, saliva dripping from their canines.