Rise of the Werewolf

by Mark Tufo

  His blade dropped down and his blood-coated hands lost their grip. I had already pulled back and was delivering the deathblow. I hit him just below the sternum, opening him up like a sidelong-gutted fish, my swing only interrupted by his spine. I had easily gone through his clothing, lungs, and stomach. His eyes rolled up and, as he began to go down, I kicked him away while I pulled free. He didn’t just bleed; his innards evacuated his system as organs rolled out of him like the tide. It was with a sick horror I watched him as he blindly tried to reel in what had spilled out.

  His arms were still moving when the third man moved in, this one armed with a sword. He was slicing back and forth looking for an opening. He knew how to use the blade. Never had a problem with ninjas, that was, of course, until I had to face one. The blade came in incredibly fast, cutting through my shirt and exposing my torso to the cool night air. I found myself involuntarily backing up as he twirled that fucking thing around like a baton. Another cobra-quick strike left my arm bleeding. I was through with this shit. My fangs elongated. I got the first response out of him that I could call surprise. However, if I thought revealing who I was would magically allow me to kill him, I was sadly mistaken. If anything, he moved quicker, knowing that killing me would greatly increase his side’s chances of victory. At least a moral victory, I suppose.

  He thrust again, coming within hairs of cutting through my stitches. I was in a bit of trouble as any gains I’d made in the healing department were quickly becoming unraveled. He was going to kill me dead by a thousand cuts. His only mistake, as far as I could tell, was when he looked over my shoulder to the approaching Talboton defenders. But it was enough. I swung for the fences. Would have had the homerun if he hadn’t been just a bit quicker. He was able to bring his sword up to deflect the blow, neatly cutting my axe shaft in half. I think he would have been able to kill me if the trajectory of the axe half hadn’t brought its forward momentum smashing into the side of his head. He staggered back from the blow. I was left holding a sharpened stick, which I proceeded to shove into his neck like I was trying to skewer his Adam’s apple and pull it out as if it were a holiday Hors d’oeuvres. He still managed to scrape his sword along my ribcage before he let it go to wrap his hands round the wooden shaft protruding from him. Shots were being fired around me as the usurpers were pushed from their ingress. They’d lost twenty to our eight, but those were losses they could afford to take. We could not.

  “You alright?” Bailey asked, looking around.

  “Been better.” I was basically talking to the wind. When she realized I didn’t need help, she’d already moved on to check on the wounded and the broken wall. “Your great-grandfather would have at least waited for a response before walking away!” I shouted to her. The latest crisis had been averted, but Talboton was in the thick of it now. Between the fire arrows, and catapult or trebuchet, or whatever the fuck was chucking those rocks (probably a column of damned giants with slings if current luck was any indicator) we were screwed. I headed back to see Mathieu a little sooner than I had intended. Some of my new wounds were deep enough to be classified as a bona fide injury.

  “Have you ever thought of perhaps a new profession?” Mathieu asked as he rubbed some foul smelling concoction on my side. I thought I heard a sizzling sound to go with the skin frying sensation.

  “Maybe it should be you who rethinks what he does.” I was trying to pull away from him as I questioned his doctoring skills.

  “How’s it going out there?” he asked, taking on a more serious tone.

  “We hold out two more nights, I’ll be amazed. I mistakenly thought we had this thing all sewn up, having the advantage of rifles on our side. That’s what I get for being cocky.”

  “Perhaps it would be wise to just give them what they want and send them on their way.”

  “I’m not so sure that would work anymore.”

  Mathieu arched an eyebrow at me as he pulled a stitch tight.

  “They’re winning, and they know it. They won’t be appeased with their initial request. At this point, they’ll want everything. Plus, I think they have mercenaries, and nothing short of this town being bled dry will satisfy them.”

  “Mercenaries?”

  “Men whose services are procured for the specific reason of fighting. They have no allegiance to either side; they do it primarily for monetary gain.”

  “Such a thing exists?”

  I nodded sadly.

  “Men will fight for no cause other than coin?”

  “Been happening since history was recorded. There have always been people who love to fight, and if they can be paid to kill others, all the better.”

  “I thought I understood the harshness of this world. I was mistaken.”

  “That’s exactly why beer was created, my friend. Well…that and women.”

  He snipped off the excess thread from the stitch and I stood. I thanked him and decided to sit out the rest of the night. My dreams were surprisingly tranquil considering the maelstrom I was currently in.

  The next morning I awoke pretty refreshed. The night had not been broken by any attack, at least not by anything that disturbed my sleep. I stood, stretched, and was about to scratch what always had an itch in the morning when I heard someone yell out, “Flag!”

  I didn’t know what it meant, but it warranted an investigation. Luckily, I’d had the foresight to not undress before I went to bed. I was outside fairly quickly, though Azile, Bailey, and even Gount had beaten me. Azile looked better than she had the night before, but not great. Whatever she’d done had taken its toll. Bailey looked worse, I was convinced she had not slept at all last night, maybe not the previous either. Her face may have looked drawn but her eyes burned with fierceness. Even sleep was too terrified to take her on. Gount was rested but worry was deeply etched upon him.

  “What gives?” I asked when I got to the makeshift meeting.

  “Envoy,” Gount said.

  “They surrendering?” I asked, trying to maybe instill some morale into the glum expressions that were looking back at me.

  “Quite the contrary,” Gount started. “They are here seeking ours, and I am inclined to give it to them.”

  Now I knew why Bailey looked like she wanted to bite through nails.

  “We’re not out of this,” I told him. It was not quite a lie. Close but not quite.

  “How many more citizens do I have to let die before I acquiesce? I will gladly give up the rifles if it stops the killing.”

  I wanted to tell him it would do no good and relay to him what I’d told Mathieu, but I had a feeling he already knew and was now trying to buy some time. For what, who knew.

  “Let’s go,” Azile said. “Bailey, I have your word you won’t do anything rash?”

  “Maybe she should.”

  Azile shot me a glance that I swear I felt. “Do not instigate further trouble, Michael.”

  “We’re in the middle of war, what more could she and I instigate?”

  “I know enough about you, Michael, that the words are justifiably spoken.”

  “I’m coming with you. Someone needs to keep an eye on Bailey,” I said when Azile started to protest.

  “I wish you would both stay behind,” Azile said as we headed out.

  “It’s my town,” Bailey and I said in unison. It was Gount who gave us the strange look.

  ***

  It was the usual suspects when we got out there: Saltinda, Biddings, and Alden, plus a couple of guards and a new guy. He hung back a pace or two, but he had that same Cajun lumberjack look I had seen among those I’d killed.

  “Who’s your friend?” I asked of Saltinda.

  “Michael, this is a serious negotiation, and I would appreciate it if you would treat it as such.” Azile grabbed my arm and pulled me a step or two away. I don’t know how a woman can “yell” at you without raising her voice. It’s a talent.

  “I was merely asking him a question.” But she’d already returned to the talks, such as they were
.

  “Negotiation?” the Cajun man asked, although when he said it the “g” was missing in the pronunciation. Took me a couple of seconds to figure out what he was saying. “Full surrender.”

  The “l” letters were missing and the “d” was an “n”. Phonetically it was “fuh surrener”. I’ll write his words down the way I figure they were supposed to be written; otherwise whoever picks this thing up is going to need an asshole-to-English translation dictionary.

  “Thisun all r’s nah.”

  Sorry, had to one more time. “This is all ours now,” I figured he said, or maybe he said something about his underwear being too tight.

  “You got some banjo strings in your mouth?” I asked him. “Maybe some of your sister’s pubic hair?”

  I don’t think he knew what a banjo string was, but his sister’s privates? Yeah, that part he got. There was no warning, no teeth bearing, no grunt, nothing. He just attacked. One second he was standing there looking all hillbilly swamp smug; the next, he had brandished a blade and was prepared to drive it through my throat. He almost caught me too, he’d moved so fast. It was more of an instinctual upward thrust of my left arm that knocked his blade-wielding arm to the side. Once I regained the advantage, my right arm shot out and I gripped him tightly around the throat, well, at least the front part of his windpipe. The man’s neck was as thick as an alligator. I guess it makes sense, as you are what you eat. Although, if that was the case, he should have had a slender neck like his female sibling…well…then again, she would be like what she ate, so it stood to reason his neck was that thick.

  He did not seem overly daunted that I was trying to stop the flow of air to his lungs. He was kicking his legs, not in a desperate bid to suck in much needed air, but in a way to do me potential harm. By now, Azile and Biddings were trying to pull us apart. I noted that Bailey had tightened her grip on her weapon. She was not going to intervene, if anything, I had to believe she hoped I’d kill him. I couldn’t get enough of my hand around his damn tree trunk thick neck to lift him off the ground. He was able to bring both his arms up and knock mine away. He pulled back, the only reaction I got from him was a larger than normal intake of air. Could have been yawning for as distressed as he looked.

  “Stop this!” Gount shouted. Standing between us, he almost ended up with a knife in his belly for his troubles. If not for Azile knocking the stranger’s arm askew that might have been exactly what happened. I think he would have done it on purpose as well and blamed it on the heat of the moment as Gount laid in a pool of his own intestines. The savage looking blade was curved and could have been classified as a short sword.

  “We are here to prevent more killing, not add to it!” Saltinda got into it now. “If you had just given us what we wanted and it had worked, this could have all been prevented.”

  “Bullshit!” Now it was Bailey that was getting riled up.

  I stepped to the side so she could get in closer. Denarth guards came closer as well.

  “If we had given you working rifles, you would be using them against us right now. You have been preparing for this war for a long time. This is no spur-of-the-moment engagement.” She was looking down at Saltinda, her arms pulled back. If she got any closer, they could potentially be considered dancing, although Saltinda didn’t look like a willing swing partner.

  “You cannot be expected to hold all the power in the region and others not want their share,” Saltinda answered evenly.

  “We have never used it as a means to expand our control, only as a way to defend ourselves against transgressors!”

  “Be that as it may, we also have no desire to influence the rest of the region, just defend our borders against this threat which we all share,” Saltinda said more diplomatically.

  “Yet here you are, on our border,” I tossed back at him. “Men and women dying on both sides; even children now that you’ve decided to toss burning arrows and stones into the mix. You know you’re really a piece of shit, all of you. So what do they call a pile of shit? Does that have a unique name? You come hear preaching unity and peace while killing and striving for power. You can shove the surrender you seek up your ass. Come and get it. Oh wait, you won’t, you’ll send in some poor farmer’s son to do the dirty work for you. Or maybe this hired gun asshat and his stupid asshat mercenaries. Makes no difference. I’ll plant them all. Blood makes incredible fertilizer, rich in iron. These fields will be fertile come next season. Fuck you all.”

  And with that I walked away. Bailey came up next to me within five feet. I was seething. If I had a vent on the top of my head, steam would have been issuing forth from it.

  “You have a certain diplomatic flair, Michael Talbot.”

  If her voice had been a little deeper and she wasn’t so damn beautiful, I would have thought it was BT. Her words had been delivered with such dryness and with a perfect timing that she had to be a relation of his. I couldn’t help it, my hands went down to my thighs as I hunched over and just started laughing. It got worse when I thought how much that was probably compounding the problems behind me. I had just a moment ago told a peace seeking committee to go screw themselves, now I was laughing so hard tears were coming down my face. It got exponentially worse when Bailey joined in with me.

  “Oh boy, we are going to be in so much trouble when we get home.” I was doing my best to get away from the meeting. Bailey had wrapped her arm around my midsection and was guiding me back. We were both laughing like a couple of kids. Well, Bailey sort of was one, and I suffered from a severe case of Peter Pan Syndrome, so I guess it was all right.

  Azile found Bailey, Mathieu, and I in the hotel lobby bar a half an hour later. I had not as of yet lost the mirth Bailey had instilled in me. I was fairly convinced by the end of the night the three of us would be singing crude tavern songs.

  “Are you two happy with yourselves?” Azile was attempting to berate Bailey and myself.

  I clinked my mug against Bailey’s. “I am. Are you?” I asked Bailey.

  She seemed a little more reserved with Azile staring her down, even though she about doubled the witch’s size. Azile had that influence on people. It was tangible. “Looking back on the encounter it was, perhaps, not the right thing to do.”

  “Perhaps?” Azile questioned. “Oh forget it; I can’t pretend to be mad. I think I should have just let you kill Jangrut and let the chips fall where they may.”

  “Jangrut was the name of the asshole I take it?”

  She nodded as she sat down and took my mug from my hand. She downed my beer before I could even protest.

  “That was my beer.”

  “It was. When you get another one please refill this.” She handed me my now old mug, then placed her hand up to her mouth and burped lightly. “Excuse me.”

  I was back quickly. We were the only ones in the place and the barkeep really loved the gold coins I kept giving him. I probably should have just bought the hotel by this point.

  “What now?” Mathieu asked upon my return.

  “We keep fighting. This meeting wasn’t about making an accord. It was a test of our resolve. They wanted to know if we still had fight left in us. I believe you answered the question eloquently enough.” Azile held up her mug before drinking from it.

  “See, Bailey, I told you I know what I’m doing.” I grinned at her.

  “You lie.”

  “They have given us today to mourn our dead. Tomorrow, we either surrender or they said they will resume the catapults.”

  “What do you believe their surrender would entail?” Mathieu asked.

  “Complete capitulation.” She wiped her mouth and handed me her empty mug again.

  “Oh wait, let me get that for you,” I said sarcastically.

  “Thank you.” She either hadn’t picked up on it or didn’t care. “They will want all of our weapons and, they did not come out and say it, but I believe that partial payment to Jangrut’s band would be enslavement of a fair number of Talboton’s.

 
; I thought Bailey was going to split the table in two she brought her fists down so hard. “I will cut out his asshole and stick it in his mouth for speaking such words!”

  “Easy there, Killer, you damn near spilled my beer. And can you technically cut a ‘hole’ out? By definition it’s an empty opening.”

  “You know what I mean!” She pulled a knife and pointed it in my direction.

  “It’s never going to happen…the enslavement part I mean. I fully expect you to make good on your threat. Azile, do you have any idea what else they have in store for us?”

  “I do not. It is safe to assume it will not be anything good for us. Hurry up with my beer.”

  “Your legs broken?” I mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Be right back.”

  On my return trip, the beer in my hand rocked violently. “Day to mourn, my ass.” I nearly tossed the beverage to the floor before realizing how egregious an act that would have been. As it was, I felt badly for the little that had sloshed out. As I placed it on the table, I grabbed my rifle and headed for the door.

  Then…more rocks hit.

  A fruit cart blew apart into splinters, sending one woman to the ground with pieces of wood imbedded in her back. She’d live, but until she got that stuff removed she would be a fire hazard. Bailey raced me to the parapet and the direction of the offending missiles. We could see two of the catapult arms being reset, the third had just let loose its volley.

  “I could send men to attack them.” Bailey was fuming.

  “Why go out there?” I grabbed a bullet and began to depress the detent, a spring-loaded catch used to adjust the front sight post for distance.

  “Michael, those catapults are easily four hundred yards away.”