The Silver Sheen Chronicle - Emblems of Power

by C.L. Patterson

  As the week went by, other members of the tribe, as it was called, came up to greet the wolf. The wolf allowed them to pet his fur, scratch behind his ears, and rub his belly. He even tolerated the little children pulling his tail. Each morning, the man would put on the wolf’s muzzle, so all that he could do was growl and maybe scratch when the petting and playing got too rough. And each night, he had dish of water and meat.

  The headaches came and went as members of the tribe mentioned things like caravans, guards, trade routes, and the capital, but the wolf learned to tolerate and control the pain as he pushed back against the shadows that seemed to swell up in his mind at each word. After a week, the pain was gone and each word was just a word. There were no shadows attached to them, no daggers of pain that pushed against his skull, it was just information. He also learned that the man with the tattoo of the snakes was named Iserum.

  A fortnight after his arrival, a large tribe meeting was called. Everyone gathered in a semicircle around a big fire that was built in the middle of the camp. Iserum took the rope from the post and walked with the wolf towards the center of the fire. He held the wolf tightly to his side as he faced the crowd.

  The entire tribe was present. Women held their babies, children sat cross legged, drawing pictures in the sand, while most of the men stood with their arms folded, staring at Iserum. Iserum looked down at the wolf.

  “Sit,” he commanded quietly. The wolf understood and sat.

  “A caravan is going to be passing close by us tomorrow. It will be escorted by twelve guards, including the Captain. Our last encounter with the Captain was less than desirable, but my resource says that we should have swift success. The Captain is still injured but do not think he is an easy target. He lost his son in the uprising. My source tells me that he has no constraint to kill.”

  “Has your resource said anything about the Dark One?” someone asked from the crowd.

  The Dark One was a new word that brought pain to the wolf. The wolf closed his eyes as the stabbing pain swelled in his mind. There was a buzzing sensation and his teeth went numb as he continued to push against the shadows that the word created. After a couple moments, the pain was gone.

  “He said that the man who was to kill him failed. They are working to find a solution, but until then, these caravans are our only support for food. They will have plenty of grain and old suon pulling the wagons. We leave at moonset.”

  Other questions were asked, but the wolf stopped listening after the word ‘suon’. That was the type of meat that he was fed every night and as long as more of that was on the menu, he would do whatever Iserum asked him to. The wolf was tied back to the post after the meeting. He lay down, thinking about a leg of suon and began to fall asleep. He grumbled when Iserum woke him at moonset, but realized he was closer to another good meal.

  The night passed slowly. Iserum and the wolf walked at the front of the group. The sand and wind always blew into the wolf’s face. He sneezed and snorted, blowing the sand out of his nose. Iserum had wrapped his face with some fabric. The wolf thought about something wrapped over his nose, but it would be too much like rope and a muzzle, so he disregarded the idea and walked on.

  The group walked between the dunes, covered in the dark shadows they cast. Each dune seemed identical to the wolf as the last, but each turn was intended. The wolf noticed small differences in each dune; a small bush, a plank of wood, the height and width of each dune, and began to see how Iserum could lead them. The last part of the journey was to climb one of the taller dunes. On the other side of the dune was the trail that the caravan would pass by.

  Iserum called a stop near the top of a dune just as the night was beginning to disappear. The wolf perked his ears and turned them, hearing the grunts of the Suon. The scent of man sweat and grain wafted in the air. The caravan was very close.

  “Stay,” Iserum whispered to the wolf. Iserum prostrated himself on the sand, motioned for the men behind him to do the same, told them to stay where they were, and crawled to the top of the dune on his belly. All the men carried a saber on their hip. A few carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. There were twenty men in the in the party, each eager to capture the caravan. The caravan appeared as it turned from behind a sand dune. A shadow began to appear in Kosai’s mind, but he repressed it before the pain could arise.

  Iserum looked back at the men and made a motion with his arms, like he was pulling an invisible bow. The archers pulled their bows from their backs, knocked an arrow, drew the strings back, anchoring it against their cheeks, and then slid onto their backs, poised to release a small volley. Iserum lifted his hand and watched the caravan as it pulled closer and closer to the dune. When it was in front of them, the man lowered his hand. The bows hummed as the arrows rocketed upwards.

  “Take cover,” cried a guard from the caravan. Iserum turned his hand in a circle, motioning to the archers to release another volley.

  “Come,” Iserum called as the bowstrings twanged. The wolf ran towards his master. The first volley of arrows thudded against ground, caravan and a few shields. As the second volley began to descend, Iserum stood up and drew his sword. Others did the same and rushed over and down the sand dune. The archers aimed their last arrows at the guards. Each penetrated a shield, pushing the guard back against the caravan wagon.

  At the initial clash, the wolf continued to run. He stopped when he was on the other side of the battle and began to circle around, looking for Iserum. It was two tribesmen per guard. Each blow from one of the tribesman was deflected with sword, spear or shield and then countered with a stab or slash. He ran from tribesman to tribesman, searching for his master.

  Iserum was being driven back against one of the wagons. The captain, who wore a four-pronged amulet, blocked every blow with his sword and each strike was to kill. Each of the captain’s attacks fell like thunder and snapped like a snake bite, the black and red tinted blade cracking and chipping Iserum’s sword. The captain’s back leg was covered only by cloth. Eagerly, the wolf sprinted towards the captain and bit through the captain’s calf. The captain screamed and turned. The wolf released, but the captain was quicker. The Captain struck his sword down. The blade flashed a red tint in the morning light and the blade slashed down the wolf’s back. Blood sprayed out over the captain. In the next instant, Iserum thrust his sword through the captain’s neck. The captain jerked as the blade was pulled free, then fell, blood bubbling from his throat.

  The wolf howled in pain and ran underneath a wagon as the fight continued. Guardsmen turned from their fights to tend to the dying captain, but it was too late. The momentous kill had been done and within seconds, the guards surrendered. The drivers jumped out from their wagons and were lined up next to the suon. Iserum walked in front of each, but the wolf couldn’t hear what was said. His back felt like it had been struck by lightning and everything grew dark again.

  [][][]

  The wolf awoke as the sun was setting. His back was bandaged and he was lying on a blanket. Iserum knelt next to him, rubbing the wolf’s head. Another man was looking at the wolf’s back and unwrapped the bandages. A bittersweet gel that smelled like mint and vinegar was applied to the long cut.

  “What do you think?” Iserum asked the healer.

  “I’m not sure. This infection is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It attacks the blood and turns it black. See here, on the back, the veins are turning dark red. The infection spreads quickly, and will soon get to his heart, but your creature is fighting hard against the disease. I have applied the strongest medicine we have, and with it… I can only hope that he will make a full recovery. Hold him down, the wound must be closed.”

  The man held the wolf’s head and waved for others to help him. More men came and held each of his limbs and the healthier parts of his chest tightly as the healer wove thread in and out of the wound. The wolf felt a slight tug as the needle poked through his flesh, but there was no pain.

  When the stitches were complete,
and the bandages redone, the wolf was again leashed and muzzled outside Iserum’s tent and was given a blanket to lie on. Iserum chose not to stay in his tent, but lay next to the wolf, gently scratching and petting behind the ears. The muzzle was only removed when fresh suon and water was brought.

  The bandages were worse than the rope. It was like an itch on the inside of an ear, and the wolf hadn’t the strength to relieve the annoyance. It hurt to move his legs, to rock his head, to do anything. Searing hot pain raced from the wound and pulsed up and down his back. His stomach and ribs ached from tensing at the pain. The wolf whimpered and wined, and then looked up at Iserum.

  Iserum patted the wolf’s head and rubbed its side. The warm hand and soft touch helped still the pain for a short time. Iserum called for the healer and asked if there was any pain killer that he could give to his pet. The healer said that a bottle was found, but he was unsure if he wanted to use the precious liquid on an animal.

  “This animal saved my life, our lives. If it wasn’t for him, I’m not sure if we would have succeeded. My wolf has a right to that medicine, and you owe him your life for the food he was able to obtain for us.”

  The healer looked down at the wolf, seeing him wince and howl quietly in pain. The healer frowned and pulled a bottle of thick brown liquid from his robe and gave it to Iserum.

  “Thank you,” Iserum said.

  “A quarter of the bottle should subdue the pain,” the healer said as he turned and walked back to the tribe. Iserum unstopped the bottle and pointed the opening towards the wolf’s mouth. The wolf sniffed at the medicine, and snorted at it.

  “Drink,” Iserum said, pushing the vial closer to the wolf. The wolf wrinkled his nose and moved his head away. “Drink!” Iserum commanded. The wolf flattened his ears at the firm tone. Iserum grabbed the wolf’s snout, held it firmly and forced the contents of the bottle into the wolf’s mouth.

  Shortly after, the wolf’s eyes grew heavy, drowsiness overcame him, and the wolf rested. While he slept, Iserum made a small shelter from some wooden posts and a spare canvas that was stolen from the caravan to protect the animal from the sun.

  That night Iserum slept next to the tent on his own blanket.

  While the tribe was resting, a low, dark cloud billowed and rumbled over a nearby sand dune. The wolf woke and watched the strange storm. It was darker than the night, and the wind that preceded it was colder than the southerly winds. The cloud shifted and jetted towards the outskirts of the camp. The wolf watched it closely for a few moments. Iserum was sound asleep and did not shudder at the cold. When the wolf looked back up, the cloud was directly in front of him.

  “The Dark One,” the wolf thought. He growled and prepared to howl, but a being materialized from the darkness and clamped the wolf’s mouth shut with a metal gloved hand. A feeling of darkness, emptiness, and forgetfulness sat on the wolf, as if he was dreaming.

  “No, don’t do that,” the Dark One said. The feeling dissipated, but when the wolf looked around, a shadow had settled on the camp like a dark blanket of ash. “I am here as a friend, a healer if you will,” the Dark One said. The wolf growled quietly and pulled his lips back. “You are always the fighter, always will be.” With his other metal gloved hand, he pointed a finger at the wolf. “I give you speech.”

  The wolf felt something in his throat, as if he swallowed a bone. The sensation passed and he looked again at the Dark One.

  “I will release my grip, though if you howl, I will kill your master, his family, and the rest of this tribe. Do you understand?”

  “What are you doing here?” the wolf growled with his hackle still raised.

  “I have come to heal you. Two weeks ago, you were on a sand dune, I saw you there and watched you until you came to this camp. Do you remember anything before that?”

  Shadows again appeared in the wolf’s mind as he tried to think before that night. The pain increased as he tried to grab for some memory, but the pain in his mind and in his back, was too much.

  “There is something, but I can’t see it. It hurts to think about it and the pain is unbearable.”

  “I can restore those memories to you, so that you will know your purpose and how you can serve me.” The Dark One placed his hand on the wolf’s head. The shadows that plagued the wolf’s mind began to change into memories.

  “You are Kosai, known as the wolf of the Capital Barracks. Your mother died in childbirth. The Captain, your biological father, raised you at the Barracks. You were to become one of the Guard, more than that, a Second Lieutenant, the youngest in history,” the Dark One started. Kosai could see himself as a young man riding on a white horse, escorting a caravan. “You were attacked by a group of nomads during an escort, something within you stirred and you drove them away by summoning a sandstorm. You returned after the escort and told your Captain about the success.”

  In his memory, he drove his sword through many nomads, but there were too many and the caravan was going to be lost. He raised his hands and a sandstorm appeared, forcing the nomads to retreat, thus saving the caravan. The Captain was worried about his power, and told him and the other guards that were with him to tell no one of what happened.

  “The School of the Faye saw promise within you and took you in, hoping that you could help heal the Seeps in Olfstead and Varlette.” He could see the School, the Seer, the Head Teacher, Theo and Mearto. Mearto stuck to teaching him personally. “They wanted to teach you more of the Faye and groom you to become the next Head Teacher.” He saw in his memory the teachers sparring with him, refining his ability, grooming him for greatness. “Then the school betrayed you. They wanted to kill your Captain who was your father and the rest of the guard so that the School could rise to power and govern the people as they saw fit.” Kosai saw himself in a conference room arguing with the Teachers. No one stood with him as he talked about their uprising and their betrayal against the Guard and the people. Mearto, his teacher and mentor, the one whom he had grown attached to, even stood against him.

  “You fought well, but you failed, they cursed you as Nameless.” He saw himself fighting against the teachers, knocking out two and nearly killing the Seer, but without success. The Head Teacher shot out black binding ropes and spoke words of power. He cried out to Mearto, and she did nothing but cry herself, her tears falling like broken promises. The dark one removed his hand from the wolf’s head and spoke to him directly.

  “The teachers didn’t kill you because they wanted you to do one last thing for them. They believed you would aid the nomads in killing the Captain, who was your father.”

  As each memory came into his mind, a new pain rose in him. The pain rushed to sadness and then anger. The wolf wasn’t sure whether to cry or howl or run back to the school. They had tricked him into killing his father. A dark fire grew within his chest and he growled… deeply, and glared, not at the dark one, but at his memories, at the teachers, at the school… at her.

  “I want them dead. I want them all dead. They had this planned from the beginning. The only reason they took me in was to kill my father. They need to die, every one of them, including that treacherous woman.” The wolf growled and snarled as he spoke, speaking in an animalistic tone.

  “If you swear loyalty to me, I promise you that you will have your wish. And with your loyalty, I will give you a gift, a gift that only I can bestow… a gift of immortality. Only the blood of my blood and the flesh of my flesh can rescind it. Will you be loyal to me?”

  “And how can I trust you to keep your word? How will I get my revenge?”

  “You and I have the same goal in mind. I was once the Head Teacher before my Assistant and others turned against me. Can you guess who my assistant was?”

  “Daius,” the wolf growled. “I swear loyalty to you.” The Dark One leaned closer, his amber eyes glowing in the night.

  “Then let it be.” The Dark One pulled a vial from his robe that was filled with black liquid. Small purple strands of lightning swarme
d around the vial. “Your life is bound to mine.” As he spoke, a purple mist flowed from the vial and into the wolf’s nose and mouth. After the wolf had breathed in all the mist, he bowed before the dark one.

  “In a little more than two decades, one of my servants will come into the foothills of the Broken Blades, searching for something only you will be able to find. You will aid him in any way you can and as you do so, you will come closer to exacting you revenge. His sign will be his power. Rest now, and remember what I have told you.”

  “I will.”

  END

  EPILOGUE