But facing her enemies alone only spurred Brynja to fight more fiercely. She kept the man-wolves at bay with her blade and nimbly darted away from their increasingly hesitant strikes. Exhaustion was beginning to creep into her muscles and they were now being driven on by pure adrenaline and rage. Brynja realized she could sustain such a battle fury for perhaps another few minutes before her reactions were slowed just enough for one of the man-wolves to land the blow that would split her skull and cast her world into eternal darkness. But it was not the fear of death that dominated Brynja’s thoughts, it was the regret that she had not attempted to strangle both Razlada and his mad jarl when she had the chance.
Suddenly, the man-wolves relented. They backed away from Brynja slowly, some of them emitting, threatening growls. Her mind cleared from the haze of its blood frenzy and she saw that many of the man-wolves had been slain. Although more of the creatures were alive than were dead, several of the living were wounded and Brynja thought that they had done exceedingly well considering the odds. She could not see the bodies of her warriors nearby and she assumed that they had been killed.
The man-wolves growled back and forth to one another for a moment before their ranks parted slowly to reveal what Brynja guessed was their leader. He was slightly taller than the rest and just as muscularly built. His coat was gray with black spots and it was braided in several places, with numerous small tokens from previous kills attached to the braids. For Brynja, however, the most notable difference between this man-wolf and the rest was his weapon. Where the others were armed with primitive axes made from stone heads lashed to sticks with leather cord, the beast before her was armed with what appeared to be an executioner’s axe, for it was far too large for a man to be able to wield effectively in combat.
Brynja feared that she would soon pass out from fatigue if she didn’t keep moving so she raised her heavy sword and lunged towards the leader of the man-wolves. It leapt aside rather easily and tried to lop off her head as she rushed past but Brynja fell to the ground and rolled clear of the axe blade. She jumped to her feet and narrowly dodged another swing. The beast quickly hoisted the blade back into the air and Brynja launched herself towards the beast, hoping to drive her swordpoint into its gut. But the man-wolf was not nearly as fatigued as Brynja and it drove her attack aside with its axe. She fell to the ground and scrambled away from another strike as the man-wolf pressed its advantage.
The creatures around them seemed to enjoy the spectacle, howling and barking with delight as Brynja floundered in the snow to avoid the massive blade of the man-wolf’s axe. Finally, she managed to get to her feet but the man-wolf closed the distance between them rapidly and she could barely muster the strength to lift her sword.
As the beast raised its axe high above its head, Brynja dropped to her knees before it, her head bowed down with exhaustion and resignation. But then as the man-wolf brought the axe slashing downward, she sprang forward, lunging beneath the beast’s defenses and plunging her broadsword into its heart.
The man-wolf fell back with a mournful howl and Brynja let herself fall to the ground, for she did not have the strength even to pull her sword from its chest. For a moment, she simply remained knelt where she was, her chest heaving and her face drained of color. The crowd of man-wolves fell silent, staring at their vanquished champion in disbelief. Then their feral gazes turned to Brynja.
For a moment, she expected them to pounce and tear her to pieces, but then her swimming vision spotted something familiar. A single black wolf, not unlike the one she thought she had seen earlier that day, stepped out of the darkness and regarded her with intensity unlike anything Brynja had ever experienced in her young life. The man-wolves bent down to one knee at the appearance of the black wolf and lowered their heads.
And then as swiftly as it had appeared, the black wolf was gone, slipping back into the black ocean of night. The man-wolves rose and turned back to Brynja. They began to close in on her and she reflexively lunged for her sword, which was still buried in the chest of the dead man-wolf. The sudden exertion was too much for her taxed body and she finally collapsed face first into the bloody snow.
The great forest that encircled the lands surrounding Hillcrest had ever been a source of fear for the farmers and peasants who lived within sight of it. Its towering trees were taller than anything most of them had ever known and they stood so close to each other that from a distance they could be mistaken for a wall thrown up by mythical giants long before the time of men. Restless old men whispered to their grandchildren horrible tales of its hidden evils that had been passed down the generations since the land was first settled. They spoke of long forgotten, eldritch things that lurked in the shadows of the trees, of monstrous ogres and foul spirits. It was not a place intended for men to dwell and the people of Hillcrest were wise to avoid its haunted, overgrown paths.
Yet it was here, in the darkest reaches of the forest’s depths that a young woman laid asleep next to the dying embers of a small fire. Her clothing was tattered and her skin bruised and torn. The strands of her black hair were matted together in thick, ugly clumps held together by dried blood.
The dim light of the cloud covered sun fell upon Brynja’s face and she began to stir. She moved hesitantly at first, still stiff from the fatigue that had at last overpowered her. The scent of the still smoldering ashes next to her cleared her mind somewhat and she pushed her body up from the cold ground. She examined her surroundings, hoping to find some manner of landmark by which she could determine her position, but there was nothing to see in the tiny clearing other than the endless ocean of trees and the snow covered earth in all directions. There was no sign of the army of half-bred creatures she had fought the night before.
Brynja rose to her feet and stretched her long, muscular limbs eagerly. She guessed from the soreness of her body and the light of the veiled sun that she had spent most of the night passed out on the ground. It was plain that she had been carried into the forest by the man-wolves, but she did not understand why they had done so. Lady Agafiia had made no mention of the Wolf Queen taking prisoners, but she had also neglected to tell her of the man-wolves as well so she could not be sure if her capture had been unusual.
She examined the remains of the nearby fire and saw that it was too small to have burned through the entire night. Someone would have had to watch over it to make sure it did not die. Even though the sun had risen, it was still bitterly cold and Brynja knew she would not have survived the night without the heat of the flames.
There were no tracks in the snow covered clearing aside from her own. She thought back to her encounter with the wolves two nights earlier for the beasts had left no sign of their presence then, either.
Although it was easy enough for Brynja to determine direction, that ability was of little use to her when she did not know which part of the forest she had been brought to, or how deep inside for that matter. It was equally likely that Hillcrest could lie in any direction. Brynja scowled at the thought of wasting the day stumbling haphazardly through the forest. If she did not guess the direction correctly the first time, she knew that it was not likely she would survive the cold to have another chance.
Frustrated, but far from panicked, Brynja looked down at the imprint she had left by lying in the snow all night. Her feet had pointed to the northwest. Without another thought on the matter, she faced northwest and began walking.
After several hours the hidden sun had climbed to its apex and Brynja began to believe that she was not traveling in the right direction. Much like the clearing she had found herself in that morning, there were no signs along her path to give her any hint as to her location in the dense forest.
She dusted the snow off a fallen tree and sat down to rest for a few minutes. Her feet were beginning to grow numb and she had already lost feeling in the tips of her fingers. If she could not find shelter before nightfall, frostbite would set in quickly and death would certainly follow. There was little chance of building a f
ire with the wet wood around her and her torn clothing afforded little protection against the elements. But Brynja was less concerned with the increasing likelihood of her death than she was by the prospect of being denied the opportunity to redress the wrongs done to her and her fallen companions by Razlada and Jarl Habrec.
While she sat and evaluated her limited options, Brynja suddenly felt a change in the cold air and she realized that she was not alone there in the forest. For most of the day, there had been no sign of her captors but the sensation she experienced was by now a familiar one. She slowly turned her head to look behind her and she saw a lone black wolf standing amidst the thick trees scarcely fifty feet away. Even at that distance, Brynja recognized its overpowering gaze and knew that she had once more come face to face with the dreaded Wolf Queen.
They simply watched one another at first, the mysterious black wolf and the wild hearted warrior. The standoff did not last long, however, for the Wolf Queen slowly began moving closer to Brynja. There was little Brynja could do but watch as the she-wolf close in on her. For a moment, she considered fleeing but she knew there was no chance of her outrunning the black wolf.
And then, as the Wolf Queen was but a few strides away from her, a strange thing began to occur that was unlike anything Brynja had seen before. The wolf’s fur started to quiver and then the skin beneath it appeared to tear loose from bone and muscle. No blood was spilled as the black wolf’s skin finally came free of its moorings and draped heavily over the body beneath it.
The creature rose slowly onto its hind legs and Brynja watched with revulsion as the wolf began to change its form before her eyes. She heard a faint cracking sound emanate from its reshaping bones, which were twisting, growing, and shrinking all at the same time.
But the one feature that did not change was the eyes, the yellow lupine eyes that burned with a passionate intensity. Brynja found herself focusing on the eyes to avoid the sight of the creature’s horrific transformation.
She did not know how long she gazed into those fierce eyes but when she at last allowed herself to look away, she gasped at the sight before her. Where once a great beast had stood there was now a tall, slender woman whose pale skin was untouched by dirt or grime. The pelt of a large black wolf was drawn tightly around her otherwise naked body. A hood for the primitive cloak had been fashioned from the fanged maw of the wolf and it had been pulled back to reveal her long, silken black hair. She seemed unbothered by the cold winds.
“Why have you come into my lands, barbarian?” the strange woman asked icily. Her eyes still retained their wolfish qualities and Brynja could almost feel the scarcely restrained savagery behind them. She did not answer the question.
“Bite your tongue if you wish, Brynja, daughter of Erlinger,” the Wolf Queen said.
“How do you know my name?” Brynja asked.
The mysterious woman looked around her deliberately, as if searching for something.
“There are many secrets to be heard upon the winds of this place. To learn the name of a stranger is no great task.”
She turned her hypnotic gaze back to Brynja.
“Do not be so suspicious,” she said. “I did not wish to see you dead last night so it would make little sense to kill you now.”
“What do you want from me?” Brynja asked.
“I merely desire to know your mind, to know why you have come to this desolate land.”
“Can you not learn from your winds, witch?”
The Wolf Queen smiled.
“Such spirit you have! The winds carry many things, Brynja, fears, rumors, and false truths among them. I would know your intentions here from your own words.”
Brynja had no great gifts for parlay and she answered in her typically blunt fashion.
“I have come here to kill you.”
The Wolf Queen smiled again.
“Then it is as I thought. I appreciate your honesty. It has been many years since foreign boots trod the dirty streets of Hillcrest. Tell me, what do you think of Jarl Habrec’s little kingdom?”
“No man can claim to rule a kingdom when he dares not venture beyond the walls of his own home.”
“Well spoken,” the Wolf Queen said. “Long has the land suffered under his reign of delusion and fear. But one day soon we will breach his pathetic little wall and offer up howls of delight to the spirits of the wild when we spill his blood upon the snow.”
“Why do you bring this hatred against Hillcrest?” Brynja asked. “Must all of his subjects pay for his madness?”
The Wolf Queen sneered.
“You speak of them as if they bore no stains of guilt. They are slaves to his will. Did you not hear of their cruel blood hunts and foul tortures? No tales of how swiftly they turn on their own? Even on their jarl’s own blood?”
“But the jarl’s sons died in battle and his daughter Agafiia yet drew breath when I last saw her. She spoke of a sister that died long ago, but…”
Brynja examined the Wolf Queen’s face more carefully. She saw the similarities in the jawbone, the bridge of the nose, and the shape of the mouth, the similarities to the features of Agafiia.
Realization struck her like a warhammer to the chest.
“You,” Brynja said, “you’re the jarl’s other daughter!”
“You are perceptive, as well, Brynja, daughter of Erlinger.”
“What manner of witchcraft is at work in this foul forest that the dead might come to walk among the living?”
“You misjudge me,” the Wolf Queen said. She parted the pelt of wolf skin to expose her naked body and pressed her hands against her bare skin. Brynja noted the ugly, thick scar that stretched down and across her chest from the left shoulder to just below the ribcage on her right side of her body. It was a sword wound.
“This flesh is not yet cold to the touch.” She clenched her hands over her breasts. “Nor has the blood ceased to pump through the ferine heart in this chest. I am much more than alive, it is the slaves who worship the ghost of my father that no longer live.
“It was his vile words that twisted their suspicion of me into hatred. The curse that his arrogance brought down upon them was judged to be of my own making.”
“You were driven out of Hillcrest, then.”
“By stones and lashes I was driven. Cast outside the supposed safety of the wall and left to die here in the wild. But it is here that I have been reborn. I found refuge among the packs and even came to quell their hatred of men for a time until my father’s merciless blood hunt nearly destroyed us.”
“Vengeance,” Brynja said, “this is all about vengeance.”
“We are not so different in that regard, dear Brynja. Each betrayed by my father’s fear, the fear that has driven him to turn against even those who have come to his aid. But you are a woman of great strength and resolve, more at home here in the wild than among the creatures that cower behind the walls of Hillcrest. I can feel the savagery in your soul, the spirit that drives you to fight, to live, and to love more fiercely than they could ever know. You are one of us, for where do you belong if not here among the wolves?”
The words of the Wolf Queen stirred something within Brynja and she felt the temptation to heed her call.
“I am offering you this chance,” the Wolf Queen said, holding her hand out to Brynja. “I can change your form as easily as I have changed my own and then you will know the freedom that forever eludes those who dwell in the world forged by the crude hands of men.”
Brynja’s hand began to reach for the Wolf Queen’s almost of its own volition, without any conscious thought by her. Their fingers nearly touched when an image of a war torn field of battle flashed through her mind. There, amidst the heaping corpses, she saw the bloody face of her father, his dead eyes staring back at her. They were filled with a mixture of sorrow, abandonment, and betrayal. The sword in his hand was rusted and slowly crumbling to dust.
The image fled from her mind as suddenly as it appeared and Brynja pulled her hand back.
She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly.
“I cannot,” she said with some regret. “Too many oaths I have taken, too many vows sworn to turn away from this life so completely. I am sorry.”
“As am I,” the Wolf Queen said. “For now I see no reason to protect you any longer.”
Brynja heard the sounds of movement all around. She looked and saw that they had been surrounded by wolves. Among the beasts she could also see several of the two legged man-wolves hunched over on all fours. There were far too many for Brynja to hope to defeat, especially without a weapon.
“Farewell, Brynja, daughter of Erlinger. I would have enjoyed the hunt with you at my side,” the Wolf Queen said as she began to pull the head of her wolf skin cloak over her own.
Brynja called out to her.
“Wait!”
The Wolf Queen hesitated.
“Have you never revealed your true form to anyone beside the wolves?” Brynja asked.
“Never.”.
“Your sister, Agafiia, spoke of you fondly. Do you not think she would want to know that her sister lives?”
The Wolf Queen considered the notion, but did not answer.
“Your father has accused her of treason. She is to be hanged for her supposed crime.”
“Hanged?”
“It was she who summoned us to Hillcrest, not the jarl. He believes she is plotting to kill him and steal the throne within his rotting hall. We were to be hanged alongside her, but his dog Razlada thought it better to let the wolves carry out our death sentence.”
The Wolf Queen’s fiery eyes betrayed her hatred for her father, Jarl Habrec.
Distant Worlds Volume 2 Page 29