Brace For the Wolves

by Nathan Thompson

  I should have planned better.

  But I couldn't figure out how in the time we had, and now we might really suffer for it.

  “Five minutes,” I panted. “Make it ten. Then we have to move again.”

  I was expecting someone to either argue with me for more time or just collapse in relief, but to their credit they just nodded and sat down cautiously, taking out a bit of water or food if they ate or drank. I had to remind myself that I was working with actual professionals, people who had probably, or definitely in Breena and Virtus' case, seen far more actual combat than I had. Then I remembered that they were all older than me too, and I began to wonder why eighteen year-old me was in charge of everyone.

  Because I was the vaunted Challenger, I reminded myself bitterly. Being in charge was my curse.

  I blinked tiredly and did what I could to shake off that thought. Just as everyone trusted me to lead right now, I had to trust them to both follow and speak up when I actually did something stupid. And they had, earlier, I reminded myself. Which meant maybe this idea wasn't so dumb after all.

  But it sure felt dumb right now.

  I crushed my negative thoughts with an act of will. Our time for rest had passed and everyone was getting up. We refreshed what spells we could, then took off for the lake.

  Before we left, though, I reached down and grabbed the massive, ugly cleaver that the Mongrel captain had wielded. The massive thing was clearly enchanted, but its weight and length still made it massively unbalanced for my two hands. Nonetheless, I was strong enough to carry it in two hands, so into the magic storage space it went.

  Five minutes later we had finally reached what would hopefully be the last challenge of the day. The lake stretched before us, a sight that proved at least equal to, if not surpassing, the size of the massive Horde Pit we had passed along the way. Mist swirled all around it, and in the middle I thought I saw a giant, diamond-shaped crystal rotating in the air. And despite the distance, I could make out the silhouette of a woman inside, curled up as if she were trying to sleep or find shelter from the elements.

  And she looked like she was suffering.

  She twitched every now and then, as if she were cold, or bleeding, or shivering in the throes of a terrible nightmare. The angle of her down-curling head said focus, but everything else about her body's position said pain.

  “Guineve,” I heard Breena say softly, and I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. The sight of the woman who had fed and cared for me all those months, and then tried to battle a nightmare for me and Stell, caught a hold of something inside my throat. How long had it been since I had seen her? Did it count as only a few months, or as fifty years?

  I swallowed whatever weird hang-up I suddenly had. I was tired and the fatigue and unhealed trauma were doing freaky things to my mind. Focus, I growled in my mind. I looked out at the lake again. The mist was darker than Avalon's mist usually was, as if it had been polluted. As I looked closer I saw thick, dark veins writhe in it, as if they were earthworms trying to burrow their way toward Guineve's crystal. They struggled as they writhed, pushing against the mist as it sought to push them out of itself, but they still seemed to be inching their way toward Guineve.

  I traced the writhing veins to three origin points, which matched up with the number of remaining Horde Avalon had reported in this place. And as I looked, I saw the Horde in question.

  They stood at separate points of the mist, triangulating around the diamond in the center of the lake. They were tall, eight feet at least, with long, skinny bodies covered in wrinkled brown skin. Ragged furs and cloth hung off of them, and the black Horde oil formed at the bottom of their feet, making it look like they were standing in puddles of ink. Their heads were vaguely human, but stretched out like a horse's, with big grinning teeth. Their heads were hairless except for a single black ponytail that stretched down to the middle of their backs. Their unnaturally long hands dripped oil as well, and as they waved their limbs about, the oil flowed into the thick veins that were coiling into the mist.

  As I stared at them, Avalon flashed a warning directly into my mind-screen:

  “Superseding normal warning for foreign contaminants,” Avalon said in my mind. “Foreign contaminants are advanced Spawn-class Horde having undergone at least five Descents. Possesses additional power granted by the Dark Icon known as the Raw-Mawed Wolf. No data found on the Raw-Mawed Wolf. Further alterations detected, apparently designed specifically to resist Avalon directly. High combat power suspected. Caution strongly advised.”

  “Spawn,” Breena whispered. “Mutated Spawn, at that. This is going to be bad, Wes.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “It's frustrating that they were able to find her at all. She was supposed to go somewhere safe.”

  The device I had thrown to her was supposed to take her to a place where not even Cavus could find her. The fact that three mid-management level Horde goons were able to reverse my work was inexplicable and aggravating.

  “The warding zone used to veil and protect Lady Guineve of the Lake has a limited duration,” Avalon supplied quietly. “Its purpose is to temporarily veil and heal the Starsown or one of her Satellites in the event that they are discovered by an Umbra-type monster. They were designed with the expectation of only needing to last for a few weeks or a month. Lady Guineve's injuries were greater than what could be healed within that time period, making a journey to her Lake of Power necessary.”

  “So you're saying she was expecting to hide in the safe area created by the stone until Cavus believed she was off-planet and left, and then she would be able to come back?”

  “Affirmative. Discussions with the Steward revealed that this method was successful in escaping Umbra-class monsters in the past, before her journey to Avalon.”

  That didn't make any sense.

  “Avalon, how could that be true? When Cavus arrived here, she called him a bad dream, said he was just a nightmare she had made up.”

  “Affirmative. The Starsown retained protocol for contact with Umbra for the entirety of her time here on Avalon, all while stating their nonexistence as an absolute fact. The discrepancy was observed and noted by Avalon, but the Steward refused to explain herself.”

  “I see,” I replied simply.

  Because I did.

  I desperately wanted the last several months, or fifty years depending how one counted the time, to be not real, to be a nightmare. But even if I ever managed to believe that, I'd still take every precaution I could to make those events stay not-real. To keep them from ever 'not happening' again.

  But I was letting myself lose focus. If I did that again, someone might get killed.

  We were tired and spent, but we still had one advantage. These three Horde were on almost opposite sides of the massive lake. Unless they were hiding sniper rifles somewhere in those nasty rags, we had a good chance of taking them out one by one. I was anticipating the monsters to not be much stronger than the ones we fought before, but it wasn't like we had much of a choice. We would engage them or they would reach Guineve, and then things would get bad for real.

  We moved slightly to get into a better position to attack the first Spawn. He kept his back turned toward us the whole time, focusing on sending the black vein of Horde oil into the misty lake. When everyone was in the best position to attack with spells or missiles, the creature turned his body and waved at me.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince, parley with the traitor-prince,” he chanted with a grin.

  God.

  Damn it.

  “You really get this all the time, don't you?” Eadric asked quietly.

  “You have no idea,” I said with another sigh. “It's like having a really bad skin disease, only it starts to talk when you cover it up or go to parties.”

  “Halt strife, cease spell, talk with one who ran from hell. Offer eyes, and offer ears, and parley with the traitor-prince.”

  With those words, he ceased whatever spell let him project the dark vein
into the mist.

  For reasons unknown to me, the monster had just given Guineve more time. And given us more time to save her.

  “Will you answer it?” Karim asked, staring speculatively. I don’t know how, but my companions had begun to pick up on their strange English chants.

  “No,” I answered. “Obvious trap is obvious. Prepare to light him up. Especially if he starts that damn chant up again.”

  That last part came out a little louder than intended, and the monster cocked his head and looked at me.

  “Shall I speak plainly, traitor-prince?” the thing hissed, and I could tell by the gasps that the Spawn had switched to a more universal language.

  “Actually,” I said after another thought. “Yes. Please speak plainly.” I sent an impression through the link.

  He can talk for as long as it takes everyone to charge up another lightning bolt.

  “I wish to apologize for the actions of the younger children,” the creature hissed. “As well as those with a more... singular purpose. Their intelligence does not allow for complex thought. Even the oldest of children have difficulty processing an appropriate reaction to your... choices.”

  “If you are referring to the Ilklings, Wretches, and Mongrels, then I have already offered them my absolution. But feel free to let me know if I missed one.”

  To my surprise, the creature chuckled, completely getting my joke.

  “You demonstrate the potential for such great things. That makes your choices all the more puzzling. We wonder if you do not know how proud you could make your fathers. Is that the case? Please answer a curious Spawn. When did you leave the nest? And why did you turn your back on the rest of the brood?”

  “As has been the case in previous conversations with your kind, I am completely unfamiliar with literally everything you are talking about,” I said dryly, privately impressed with my own patience. “No, scratch that. I was misusing the word 'literally.' You only lost me when you mentioned 'fathers' plurally, as if my mother was some kind of polyandrist, or the main character in those reverse harem novels my parents never found out that my sister reads.” Sorry Rachel. I just outed you on another planet. “I'm also confused as to your mentioning of nests and broods, because humans really don't use either to reproduce.”

  “I see,” the Spawn said curiously. “Yes, that makes sense.”

  Did I just do it? the still hopeful part of my brain asked. Did I just have a rational exchange with one of these things?

  No, the other part of my brain said. Calm down. Wait for it...

  “Yes, I understand now,” the creature said confidently, as if he had worked out a puzzle. “Live birth from a female. A human female, of all things. You did not even require a hatching. You are the rarest of our kind, prince. Truly fortunate. But befitting, given your high station.”

  I took a moment to let my brain finish vomiting. The Horde beast took my silence as permission to continue his explanation.

  “But that puzzles me even more, traitor-prince,” the monster continued. “I just wish to know, why? Why leave everything? You would have had the most treasures. The greatest of teachers. The tastiest of prey. The most beautiful, and fragile, slaves. And the greatest potential for power. Even the fabled Pit Lords would have come in droves just bend their knees before you. Why give all that up? What could taste so sweet, be so filling, for you to discard the greatest inheritance?”

  “Do not listen to him, Cess!” I heard one of the other Spawn call from beyond the lake. “He would make us all wrong!”

  “How will we know, if he does not speak!” the Spawn in front of me shouted back. “Do you truly think the others tell us everything? Perhaps he has found better treasure! Prettier food! Tastier slaves!”

  Horf, my brain said again. But an angry glance behind me told me Weylin, Breena and Karim were all still charging their spells.

  “Okay 'Cess', I'll level with you, if it'll keep that stupid chant from ever happening again,” I said, knowing full well that it wouldn't. “I wasn't born with any treasure or slaves or magic powers. I was born into a suburban middle-class neighborhood that meets the stereotype most people think of for suburban middle-class neighborhoods in my country. No one believes in magic where I'm from back home. I've never seen any of you, or anything that looks or acts like you, until I found you all torturing tiny women. The teachers I had, especially my greatest one, my actual sire, raised me to stand up to anyone who did things like that. So when that freak announced his plans and tried to stop me from saving those people, I killed him.”

  The monster cocked his oblong, horse-like head, considering me.

  “I see,” he repeated, blood-red and veiny eyes still staring at me. “You told another to stop, because you did not believe he had claim to the little preys.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “He had no claim to them whatsoever.”

  “And then when he resisted you,” the creature continued, “You killed him.”

  “Also yes. We're on a roll here. Please don't ruin it now by saying something stupid.”

  “Roll?” He cocked his head in the opposite direction. “Ah. Humor. Defiant humor, at that. You do not hold the authority of others in high regard.”

  “No,” I answered, remembering the leaders of my community, and remembering them entering here in Malus robes. “Not anymore.”

  Hurry up, damnit, I thought angrily at the people behind me. How long does it take to charge up explodey death magic? People have killed themselves with hand grenades faster than this!

  “You told him not to torture and kill. He challenged your authority, and since it was less than yours, you killed him.”

  “That,” I sighed, and had to stop for a minute. He's being sincere, I realized angrily. Between the two of us, the demonic sociopath is the one trying to find common ground and a peaceful resolution.

  Fucking Mondays.

  “You know what? Let's just go with that. His actions were against my authority. In fact, rulers in lots of places would demand that he not do what he tried.”

  “But they are rulers appointed by prey.” The creature cocked his head. “And prey themselves. Therefore not rulers at all.” The Spawn's barely-flexible eyebrows narrowed as he looked at me. “Why would you care for their laws?”

  “I told you when we started talking,” I insisted, a little more seriously than I intended. “I was raised to stop people from being hurt. To stand up when someone hurt someone else for no reason. And it's a good thing.”

  And I'm proud of you.

  A memory of my father's voice, after I had stood between an unconscious girl and the high school quarterback. It snuck in right now, like a defense mechanism for the last of my sanity.

  “But...” The bony, horse-like jaw opened, and then snapped shut. “You were taught that. You were taught all of that. And you believe it is right.”

  “Cess...” another of the monsters called out from across the lake.

  “No!” Cess shouted back, baring his teeth. “I have learned the root of it! Be silent while I announce it!” The Spawn turned back to me. “That is why you did what you did,” the monster whispered. His voice was flat and strained, as if he wanted to project a feeling that his biology would not normally let him feel. “You were not turning your back on us. You could not have. You were raised by prey instead of us,” the creature's voice rose. “You were taken by prey. Raised by prey. Treated like you were fellow prey. And so when you saw other prey being hunted and caught, you stepped in on their behalf. Because even though they were not the prey of your own race, they were fellow prey.”