Brace For the Wolves

by Nathan Thompson

  That last idea felt important, but not nearly as important as finishing my jury-rigged spell. But fortunately my little experiment worked and all five of my fingers fired a thin, scorching ray of fire into the monster's chest, with a large bolt of electricity caged within those streams of fire, zapping its way into the monster’s chest.

  The second to last howler went down howling, rolling, and clutching at his chest for a few moments. Then he shuddered and went still. That left the would-be worshipper near my feet.

  “Master,” the monster begged from his knees. “What would you have me do to earn forgiveness?”

  I opened my hand and my magic handlegrip appeared in it. I summoned my spatha through it.

  “You were designed to hunt and slay me, and now you're offering me service?”

  “Want life,” the creature begged.

  “So do I,” I replied. “That's the problem. I can't trust you to both live and not try to kill me.”

  “Prince is worthy!” the monster groveled with a snarl. “Want life! Will follow the true prince!”

  “No you won't,” I said, drawing my blade back. “I've had this conversation way too many times today alone to fall for that sort of thing now.”

  “I swear by all of the Icons to follow you for all of my days! I swear that my life is yours regardless of what orders you give! I swear to defend you and warn you of danger!”

  Damn it. Virtus actually did the same thing, and Breena said I could trust it. But if I took his surrender it meant I might fall unconscious around one of the Horde. I should probably kill him anyway, even though it feels so...

  His teeth were showing.

  He was trying to hide them.

  He's grinning.

  Shit.

  It was right then that I realized that I couldn't hear Avalon's voice. Which meant I had no idea if any reinforcements arrived.

  I dodged to the side, swinging my spatha in a wide arc. Two more howlers had leaped silently at my back. My enchanted blade and dragon-man strength sheared one in half immediately. The other darted to the side, and my vision grew hazy for a moment.

  “And I swear by the Pit,” the kneeling monster shouted, “who alone can bind my oaths, to hunt and kill the traitor-prince!”

  He leaped right into me, his greater mass knocking me off of my already poor footing. I snarled and knocked him off of me, then rolled to try and get back to my feet.

  As I slammed my hand down into the ground, one of my talons broke off into the dirt. A coin-thick red scale fell off my hand as well, revealing pink human flesh underneath. The muscles in that arm suddenly strained, as if they had been overtaxed.

  You could have just let me handle this, FNG snarled at me. But you hesitated and now we're both going to die.

  I wanted to call him a dumbass, but we didn't have time. With a tooth-losing snarl I shoved off of the ground anyway and stabbed my spatha into the chest of the remaining new howler. I shook as he impacted against my blade and reached up to grab it, vital guard still intact. I swiped the claws on my good hand through his throat and felt at least three break off into his neck, a mixed blessing. Then I pulled my weapon free as he went down choking and turned to the Horde that had tricked me earlier.

  This one did not immediately charge. Instead he paced cautiously and slowly around me, as more and more scales and fangs and talons fell from my body. I felt my adrenaline leave as well, and it was all I could do not to visibly sway as I kept my spatha trained on the beast.

  Bastard still had that grin.

  I tried to charge him. He was just out of range and with my blade and new height I had just enough reach to pull it off. But I missed. The blow was too short. It shouldn't have been. And then I realized I was shrinking, as the hordebeast grew taller in my vision. My jaw cracked audibly as it tried to press in on itself, and I had to spit a whole mouthful of teeth out to keep from choking on them. The pain was almost as distracting as the fuzziness, and it was hard to fight them both at once.

  It's like anesthesia, I suddenly realized. The grogginess was to help suppress the pain. Put me to sleep so that I could have a peaceful transformation.

  Meanwhile, our vassals ensure our safety until we wake up again, FNG growled. But Father went and fucked that straight up now, didn't he?

  It is not my fault, and you are no longer my child, Pain retorted from beyond the haze. You awoke far too late. Blame the other part of your fractured brain for your upcoming death.

  I wanted to tell them both to shut up. That it was already too crowded inside my head, and that they and the others should look into splitting a three-or-four-bedroom apartment. But that meant taking the last of my focus away from the final, stupid foe who kept dancing outside of my reach.

  And because it was still today, the damned thing began chanting again.

  “Found, strength, too late, gave his life to hesitate. Watch him droop and watch him sag and then we kill the traitor-prince!”

  I swung at him, but he was too far away. Then I went down on my knees. I tossed an expletive out at him because my mouth still sort of worked, but I couldn't even remember which one I used.

  The last surviving howler loomed over me. I felt his shadow fall over my still-molting body.

  You were supposed to be my heir and my resurrection, Pain castigated. But you not only squandered my power like all of those before you did, you actively tried to use it against me. You bent every fiber of your being to wrecking both my own plans as well as He Who Wills. And so the birth of the new you was tainted, into something impure and weak. They will kill you now. And I do not even care. For I do not count your death to be anywhere near the level of loss that your life was.

  No, the small quiet voice said. You will not die. Hold fast.

  Three-bedroom, I said dumbly to them all. You guys will need at least a three-bedroom apartment when you move out.

  The monster before me crouched, to better pounce forward and tear my throat out. There had been a lot of that going around today, I recalled. Poor guy probably felt pressured to perform because of it.

  He braced to jump. I braced to resist, and then die.

  And then she saved me.

  Mist wrapped around the howler's neck from behind, yanking him backwards and choking him. Then a pillar of white fire struck the monster. The Hordebeast screamed briefly before he was immolated, and then I heard Guineve's voice speak.

  “Help me carry him,” she said firmly. “Me and Breena.”

  “My lady,” a voice argued respectfully. “You are still recovering. I am not sure you should—”

  “No,” she rejected firmly. “Every time Breena and I put him down or leave him, he gets hurt. Help me carry him. And keep Breena close to him.”

  Soft but strong hands lifted me up. Other hands followed.

  I heard hisses of surprise, comments about all of the red scales on the ground.

  Questions that were just different versions of 'what happened to him?'

  “Guineve,” I said drowsily. “Didn't... want you... see...”

  Because I didn't.

  And worst of all, I didn't want Stell to see either. And I knew she somehow would.

  “Hush, Wes,” Stell/Guineve/Breena said softly. “It's okay. You're okay. And you're good.”

  “You're bestest,” the other Stell/Guineve/Breena added. “You're the bestest Challenger we've ever had. We're taking over now. It's okay. Everybody's safe. You can rest. It'll be fine.”

  I reached into my brain for another protest, and found sleep instead.

  Chapter 13: Here Be Dragons

  I sat by the fire and shivered.

  It was a cold, late October night. In Texas that meant you were usually fine as long as you wore a jacket but tonight, that wasn't nearly enough. I could hear my handful of northern friends snort in contempt at me for thinking that, but I still huddled closer the fire and wished I had a thicker coat.

  “Cold, son?” my father asked.

  “Just tired,” I replied.
“No offense, Dad, but this was a weird idea for a birthday celebration.”

  My father chuckled at that. It was an odd experience to see, because he was a giant of a man and whenever he laughed he laughed hard, so all of his muscles shook. I don't know how he managed to look impressive and silly all at once so often.

  But whenever I saw how strong he was, I always wished I could have looked a little more like him.

  “What do you mean?” my dad finally answered. “Lots of folks celebrate things with campouts.”

  “Yeah,” I said slowly. “And if we had invited a bunch of family and friends out here to roast hot dogs and s'mores, it wouldn't be as weird. But it's just been you and me. Don't get me wrong,” I added quickly. “I had a blast and all, but... what's this about?”

  “Fair enough,” my father said with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. I swore the man was just showing off sometimes. But as far as I could tell he only did it on purpose around Mom, and that was to make her laugh or... ugh. Never mind.

  “The thing is, for your sixteenth birthday, we would have tried to get you a car. Not a new one, and don't count on it, but it's a rite of passage I could have done with you. For your fifteenth birthday, we could have taught you to drive a car. But since you're only fourteen, and only as of today or so, I had to come up with something else to recognize that you are growing as a man.”

  “Thanks,” I said slowly. “But why all this stuff? I won’t be using any of these skills later in life, unless it's somehow to play that game you're making. And I haven't needed to actually swing a sword around to play any of the other games we've played together.”

  “I know,” my father said simply. “Some things are just fun, though, like football or other sports.”

  “Yeah, but people don't look at me weird when I ask if they want to play a game of football. Well, Chris, the new quarterback, gives me weird looks all the time when he thinks I won't notice. Don't really know what his problem is. But I'm pretty sure asking people to come form a pikewall or swing flamberges around with me would come up at a PTA meeting or something. At best, they'd think I'm a LARPer, but actually no one in this town but Rachel's friends even knows what that means.”

  My dad chuckled again. And again, I reminded myself that one of the main reasons I had joined football was to try and get into the same shape he was. Not that I even knew how he managed to do it.

  “Well that's why we trained out here then. Safe from prying, judgmental eyes.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Training? What do you mean by training?”

  “Hmm?” my father answered, his face giving me nothing. “Did I say training?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” I answered. “Pretty sure you did. And I can't think of any jousting competitions coming up, so I'm confused by that word. I know Rachel and I say this all the time about school, but I can't see any reason at all for knowing how to swing a sword or handle a shield. Did you sign us up for some kind of father-and-son deathmatch?”

  I tried to say all of that jokingly, because that idea honestly sounded kind of cool.

  “You're gonna have to forget I mentioned training,” my father replied with a sad smile. “It's probably not going to stick anyway. All of this is just a precaution.”

  “A precaution?” I asked, puzzled. “What, is there going to be some kind of medieval apocalypse?”

  “I hope not,” my father said with a shrug. “But too many people will pay attention to me teaching you what I just taught you, so I'm being as careful as possible with all of this.”

  “Whaa?” I asked, making the proper face for that almost-word. “Not getting any clearer, Dad. This is getting moodier than one of your Pathwalker campaigns.”

  My dad was the one who taught me and my sister to play. But she kept saying that for her next birthday, she wanted to run a campaign herself. That sounded like a horrible idea to me, but Dad had jumped right on board with it.

  “Wait,” I said, as something else clicked. “Training implies that you knew all this stuff to begin with. Was that actually the right way to swing a zweihander? And when did you learn all of that? And how did you get so many different types of probably-illegal weapons to begin with?”

  “They're not illegal, son,” my father chuckled again. He was doing that a lot tonight. It was like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. Which was scary to think about, because Dad was always the calm one to begin with. “And most of the replicas are wooden anyway. Just balanced really well.”

  “See,” I persisted. “The fact that you know that they're balanced to begin with brings me back to my first question. How do you know about all of these weapons, Dad? I've never seen you even keep any of this stuff around the house.”

  Heck, we didn't even own a gun.

  Lots of people actually didn't own guns in Texas, but my point was that if Dad was really worried about home security, he had other options than the long sword he just worked me over with.

  That was another thing. Padding sucked. I was convinced it didn't so much block injuries as make me feel more stupid about getting them in the first place.

  My father sighed.

  “Believe it or not, we've had this conversation multiple times,” my father said sadly. “I've tried to be honest with you all, but you never remember the experience afterwards. I think that's just part of the magic. Though I don't know why it happens.”

  “Magic?” I asked. “What magic?”

  “That of other worlds,” my father said somberly. I wanted to believe he was kidding, but I knew he didn't kid like that. “No one I talk to ever remembers the discussion afterwards. Not my friends. Not my coworkers. Not even my wife or children. I wonder if that's inherent, or if it was something Stell did.”

  I was still confused, but I didn't want to sound like a parrot so I let my dad finish.

  “Believe it or not, son, I've actually told you about Avalon nearly a dozen times by now. Two of the campaigns I ran with you actually featured parts of it and its sister worlds. But after a few days, it fades from your memory. I don't know why, but I've learned to accept it. I'm just grateful it let me grow to be a better man.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “But were you really a bad person before, Dad?”

  My father shrugged again.

  “I don't think so, but that depends on who you ask, I guess. But my time as a Challenger helped me realize ways I could grow and be more of who I wanted to be. It wasn't always easy, but it showed me how growth could be joyful, instead of just painful.”

  “Cool,” I said. “But um, you're saying I'm going to forget this conversation? Am I going to forget all the weird weapon practice too?”

  “Yes, unfortunately,” Dad grimaced. “Unless...” He took a breath. “Unless you become a Challenger yourself.”

  “A what?”

  “It's what people on Avalon and the other worlds near it call a person who comes from Earth to save them.”

  “Like in that campaign you ran last year?” I asked suspiciously. “What exactly are the chances of that happening, though? Have you met another Challenger, Dad?”