Night of Wolves

7

“Careful with the boat,” Jerico said as Darius guided them across the Gihon. “I doubt either of us could do much swimming in platemail if you capsize us.”

“I can remove my armor in less than twenty seconds. Can you?”

“A handy skill with the ladies, I guess.”

Darius shot him a wink. “I didn’t think that would be something a paladin of Ashhur would know much about.”

Jerico laughed. “Just watch the river. I doubt any comely lasses are waiting for you at the bottom.”

They stowed the boat amid the tall reeds growing by the river’s edge. From there they checked their armor, tightened it, and began their trek.

“Keep that shield on your back,” Darius said as they jogged. “Last thing we need is your glow giving us away.”

“Perhaps you should have ducked into the river. I wonder which is noticeable from farther away, my shield’s light, or your smell?”

“Your insults are like those of children.”

“Didn’t you tell me I should adept to my audience?”

Darius hit him with an elbow, which clanged against his platemail. Jerico grinned and smacked his shoulder. For a long while they ran, the minutes passing by in relative silence. The river faded behind them, soon just a barely visible line of trees. At last they stopped for a breather, and Jerico wondered at how many miles they had crossed.

“I think I know why elves only wear leather,” Jerico muttered as he tugged at the undercoat of his armor.

“We’re slower to arrive, and slower to be killed,” Darius said. “Fair tradeoff.”

“From what I hear, they’re tough to kill as well.”

Darius shrugged. “Well, they’d be even harder to kill in plate. Must you always debate?”

“Must you always be right?”

“It’s my charming trait. What’s yours?”

“The red beard.”

Despite the heaviness of his breath, Darius laughed.

“Fair enough. I see no wolf tracks here, and the night is strangely void of their howls.”

Jerico shifted the shield on his back and then gazed west, which was a long stretch of flat ground leading to where hills grew like bumps atop the wedge. In the starlight, he saw only grass and rock.

“It is strange,” he agreed. “Did we pass their camp, perhaps?”

“I doubt that. They run faster and farther than us, so it’d make sense for them to keep distance between their pack and the river. Last thing they want is easy surprise by our soldiers. But still, why the silence? Surely there’s at least one pack out there hunting.”

“What if they’re hunting us?”

They both glanced about, and Jerico felt the hairs on his neck rise.

“Your god warning you of impending danger?” Darius asked.

“No. You?”

“No. Then we’re not being hunted…yet. Come. In time, the wolf-men will have to…”

The cacophony of howls stunned him quiet. It came from their north, the wild sounds crying to the moon. Their volume was so great both paladins shivered, their mouths dropping open in surprise.

“It can’t be,” Darius whispered.

“We have to see for certain,” Jerico said, swallowing his fear.

“But there are hundreds. Hundreds!”

“And we will get as close as we can to know for sure.” Jerico struck Darius across the chest with the back of his hand, an almost playful gesture. “You aren’t losing your spine on me, are you?”

A second wave of howls reached them, accompanied by many faster yips. Darius listened, then shook his head as if snapping out of a daze.

“Spine is still intact,” he said, staring hard to the north. “But we won’t be if any spot us. They’ll devour even our bones, Jerico. Lead on if you must. No paladin of Ashhur will go where a paladin of Karak will not.”

Jerico took point, almost wishing Darius had objected more strongly. Part of him wanted to get as far away from that fearful gathering as possible. From what he could tell, they were somewhere between the dips of the hills, but where, he did not know. Sound could do strange things when traveling across the plains. The two ran on, their idle chatter ended, their breathing muffled. The rattle of their armor suddenly seemed dangerous and unnecessary. Leather armor, thought Jerico. Yet another reason to wear that instead of this damn plate.

They slowed as they approached a tall hill, and from the other side they heard constant shouts and growls. The wolf-men spoke the tongue of humans, as all creatures other than the orcs of the Wedge did. Ever since their creation and subsequent use in the Gods’ War, the wolves had changed it the least, while the other races had added strange accents to fit their tongues. Jerico remembered studying each race during his time in the Citadel, and now he wished he’d paid ten times more attention to those studies. What could the wolf-men possibly be doing raising such a ruckus?

“Stay low,” Darius said as they neared the hill. “The wind favors us, so thank Karak for that.”

“Karak’s lord of the air?”

“And the dirt. Now shut up and follow me.”

Darius climbed on his hands and knees, and Jerico followed. Near the very top they began crawling on their stomachs, and at the summit, they peered over to witness the gathering of wolf-men. Jerico’s jaw dropped at the number. There were at least two hundred, and they formed a great circle around a massive pile of rock that, he guessed, was sacred to them in some way. At first he thought them one group, but then he saw they were sectioned into two. On the left was the larger, nearly a hundred and fifty, while on the right was a group a third that size.

“Their leaders,” Darius whispered as he pointed. Jerico followed his gaze. Two wolf-men stood beside the rock pile, and they took turns howling. One of them, representing the larger group, had gray fur and a heavy stoop to its back, but its size and strength was incredible. The other, taller but thinner in the arms, snarled and consistently bared its ugly yellow teeth. Whatever they said between their howls, neither paladin could hear through the din.

“We’ve seen enough,” Darius said.

“Wait.” Jerico grabbed his arm and then gestured. “Something’s going on.”

The two leaders stepped onto the pile of rocks. They scattered and shifted, and then Jerico realized they were no rocks. They were bones, an enormous collection, all of them incredibly old. With their ascension, the rest quieted so they might hear their leaders speak.

“I am Bonebite,” said the older wolf-man. “I speak for Redclaw, pack leader of his tribe. Let all look upon me and know my strength.”

Bonebite stood to his full height and howled. It went on and on, at a pitch that made Jerico’s ears ache.

“I am Goldteeth,” said the other. “Pack leader of my tribe. Let all look upon me and know my strength.”

Goldteeth’s turn to howl, and this time Jerico plugged his ears with his fingers. His howl was louder, but did not last as long. He wondered which one would be considered the greater. Was that a lecture he slept through at the Citadel? Maybe he could take his knowledge back to his teachers and…

He felt a pain in his chest as he remembered his vision of the Citadel’s collapse. No, there would be no teachers, no students, no lessons. Biting his tongue to focus, as well as fight back tears, he listened as the wolf-men resumed whatever strange ritual they’d stumbled upon.

“You called us here,” Goldteeth said, his howl still ringing in Jerico’s ears. “We come to the Gathering. Why is Redclaw not here? Must he hide behind others? Must he use your strength, Bonebite?”

The larger group growled, the sound low and deep.

“Redclaw hides behind no one,” said Bonebite. “His pack is strong, and he is stronger than I. Would you insult what you cannot strike, Goldteeth?”

The other’s turn to growl and yip. Jerico strained his eyes to see. Goldteeth had bared his fangs, and he paced before Bonebite. His fingers opened and closed, as if he were imagining burying his claws into a foe.

“I hear his reason, and I come now to challenge it. Redclaw would seek to be leader of leaders, yet he will not appear at his own Gathering? I will not bow my head to such a coward. Hear me, it is I that should lead your pack. Goldteeth is the stronger, and Redclaw the weakling.”

“Then why is your pack the smaller?” asked Bonebite. He gestured toward them, as if mocking their numbers. “If you are stronger, why does your pack not rival ours?”

“You grow fat on better land,” argued Goldteeth. “You hunt by the river in your secret place, but it is secret no longer. We also hear of the weakness of Redclaw. My pack is small, but it is strong. You nurse weaklings and gray-furs. You do not cull the lesser. Two wolves can destroy twenty cows, Bonebite the gray-fur.”

“That got under his skin,” Darius muttered as Bonebite howled at the top of his lungs, the rest of his pack joining in.

“Still not sure what we’re watching,” Jerico said, raising his voice to be heard.

“A pissing contest is my guess. I also think Bonebite’s pack is the one that’s been giving us trouble.”

Jerico agreed, and he quieted down as the events unfolded. The two leaders were crouching before one another on the pile of bones, their teeth bared and their ears flattened.

“I challenge you!” Bonebite howled, and the rest of his pack nearly lost themselves in their excitement.

“You fight for Redclaw!” Goldteeth shot back. “He must accept my victory.”

“You will have no victory,” Bonebite snarled.

“Swear it!”

“Redclaw will accept!” cried Bonebite. “But you will fall to this gray-fur, you proud, stupid pup.”

“Holy shit,” Darius said, his mouth dropping open. The two wolf-men lunged with vicious speed, slashing their claws into each other’s flesh. Their teeth snapped and bit, and the blood quickly flowed. Jerico watched best he could, considering the distance and the darkness. He imagined himself fighting either, and the results didn’t seem promising. They were towering figures of muscle and fur, teeth and claw. Based on Darius’s cursing and slack jaw, Jerico could tell he felt the same.

At first, Goldteeth seemed to hold the advantage. He tore into Bonebite, his claws raking along his opponent’s shoulders. Several times he stopped to ram him, pushing Bonebite toward the edge of the bones.

“They must stay atop it,” Jerico said, suddenly realizing the match’s sole rule. “That’s how they’ll decide.”

Bonebite went defensive as his back feet pressed against the final pieces of bone. His head dipped low, and his broad shoulders curled inward, his elbows pressed tight to his sides so his hands might protect his face. The other members of the packs howled and cheered, depending on whose side they rooted for. To Jerico, it almost seemed like they cheered for the sight of blood no matter who spilled it. Goldteeth slashed at Bonebite, who swayed with the blows, preventing them from gaining any strength. Blood dripped down his arms from the shallow cuts. When Goldteeth bit, Bonebite’s claws were there, pushing him back and always threatening to hook his snout.

Losing his patience, Goldteeth suddenly lunged, all his weight bearing down on his opponent. Jerico tensed, expecting the confrontation to end, but the older wolf-man was a cunning one. Instead of trying to block the blow, or step out of the way, he stood erect and opened his arms wide. Goldteeth barreled into him, quickly wrapped in Bonebite’s iron grip. Bonebite spun, slamming Goldteeth to the bones beneath him. The two snapped at one another, but Bonebite had leverage, and his teeth sank into the vulnerable flesh of Goldteeth’s neck. The horde of wolf-men cried louder. Blood spurted across the bones.

Goldteeth was too strong to die from a single bite, though. He forced a roll, his back feet kicking and slashing wounds into Bonebite’s thighs. The two came to a stand, facing one another for a brief second. They were both badly wounded, Goldteeth seeping blood from his neck, Bonebite from the many slashes along his arms and legs. They exchanged a few swipes, but Bonebite was the faster, and his claws found flesh.

And then Bonebite dove in, with such ferocity that Jerico found himself unprepared. The wolf-man’s claws slashed and grabbed, his teeth rent flesh, and in an explosion of gore he tore Goldteeth apart. Even those of Goldteeth’s tribe cheered, showing just how deeply their loyalty ran for their leader.

Bonebite lifted Goldteeth’s heart to the moon, and as he did, the crowd quieted.

“You of Goldteeth’s pack, do not swear to me as you might have once done. You will remain a pack, separate from us, but still strong, still loyal. Find yourselves a new leader, and he will swear loyalty to Redclaw. Redclaw will be the leader of leaders! Redclaw will be the moon made flesh. Redclaw will be Wolf King!”

“This is bad,” Jerico said, his throat dry. Darius nodded in solemn agreement.

“It’s time we leave, now.”

Wolves from Goldteeth’s former pack were climbing onto the pile of bones, no doubt to battle over who would become the new leader. Jerico watched for only a moment, then turned to follow Darius back to their boat. A single frightening thought hammered his mind repeatedly: whoever this Redclaw was, Bonebite considered him stronger. How fearsome must he be in battle, for Bonebite alone looked like he could tear apart ten armored soldiers.

Halfway to the river, Darius suddenly grabbed him and flung him to the ground.

“Quiet,” he hissed, but the order was unnecessary. Jerico felt Ashhur crying warning in his head, and it pounded like a drum. They lay in the tall grass, the silence of the night all around them. And then, a hundred yards to the north, ran the wolf pack. Jerico could not count them all, but there were at least ten, if not twenty. It was their leader that held his eye, and he watched as long as he could before they vanished. The wolf-man was enormous, towering over the others even when he ran on all fours.

“We’re downwind,” Darius whispered when they were finally gone. “Thank Karak for that.”

“Ashhur as well,” Jerico said, standing. He stared in the distance, a chill running up his spine. “Where did they come from, Darius? What is it they have done?”

They found their answer at the river. Beached not far from their boat was another, this one wide and flat. When they searched it, they found no trace of the supplies that had surely been atop it, and as for the men who piloted it, they found only their blood. The river, or the bellies of the wolves, had claimed the rest. Jerico whispered prayers for the fallen men while Darius cursed and turned his gaze east.

“You were right,” said the dark paladin. “They’ll starve and weaken us, and still they watch the river. Whoever this…Redclaw is, his pack is growing. When will they attack? When will they swim over these waters and tear this village apart?”

“I don’t know,” Jerico said, finishing his prayer. “But they will. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Come then,” Darius said, heading toward their boat. “Let us share the bad news. Tomorrow morning, they’re leaving, all of them. We cannot defeat such a force on our own.”

“What if they catch us while we flee?”

Darius laughed and reached out his hand to help Jerico into the boat.

“Then I guess we’ll have to win anyway. What’s wrong, paladin, lost your faith in the impossible? Hopefully not yet. We’ve still got to convince a couple hundred farmers and wives to leave everything they have based on the testimony of two men.”

“They’ll listen,” Jerico insisted.

“We’ll see,” Darius said, and they let the subject die.

R edclaw detected the scent of his many brethren within the hills, and it warmed his heart. His two pups, still without names since they were yet to reach their first year, would be there among them. Hopefully one of his pack members had ensured them a close seat for when Bonebite challenged Goldteeth. They should witness such strength firsthand, see what it meant to face a rival and conquer him without hesitation or remorse.

The rest of his party loped behind him, and Redclaw did his best to put Yellowscar out of his mind. The fool had endangered his pack, cost him the life of a fine warrior, and revealed himself lacking in any sense of cunning or tactic. Let the humans kill him once he grew fat on the plentiful game waiting across the great river.

“Do you think Goldteeth won?” Rockeye asked.

“Goldteeth is stupid. His pack is small because even the wild dogs think better. He will expect to win on strength alone. Bonebite is smart. Bonebite is fast. I have no doubt who won. Goldteeth’s pack will swear their allegiance to me.”

They crossed the hills, and as they did, something tugged at the back of Redclaw’s mind, like a thorn that had worked its way underneath his skin. Ignoring it, he slowed his run so he might arrive standing tall and proud instead of with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. As they walked, Rockeye cocked his head and listened.

“The Gathering nears its end,” he said. “I hear them howling in celebration.”

“A new leader,” Redclaw said. “Let us meet him.”

They entered the circle, and Redclaw was pleased to see the sacred mound soaked in blood and gore. The best Gatherings were ones where not a shred of bone remained white come the rise of day. Three dead wolf-men lay atop it, with one lone survivor standing, his left eye swollen shut and the fur of his chest hanging ragged from torn skin.

“Bring him to me,” Redclaw said as Bonebite came closer.

“Of course,” said Bonebite. The dead wolf-men were placed before their pack, and they began their feast. Redclaw looked for his pups while he waited. Sure enough, they were near the front, within easy view of the bone mound. He grinned, and when they saw him, they respectfully dipped their heads. Pleased, he looked to the new pack leader, who came and knelt before Redclaw.

“I am Moonclaw,” said the wolf. “My pack swears its loyalty to you, mighty Redclaw. Bonebite fought in your stead, and his tongue tasted much blood. We will learn from that strength.”

Redclaw narrowed his eyes as he looked over the new pack leader. He had an almost lanky appearance, for while he was as tall as Redclaw, he lacked the muscle. His fur was a deep black, with a few splotches of white across his face and hands.

“I must see you fight another time,” Redclaw said. “I wish to judge your strength, but tonight, I deem you leader of your pack.”

“And I deem you leader of leaders, Wolf King.”

Moonclaw bowed even lower, and Redclaw felt his heart leap at the title. So it had begun, small perhaps, only the tiny step of a pup, but a step nonetheless. The wind shifted, swirling for a brief moment, and with it color poured over the hills south, the scent faint but inescapably human. Redclaw felt panic only a moment, swiftly replaced by anger.

“They were here!” he roared. “Humans! They watched the Gathering, and none of you saw? None of you heard their whispers, smelled their scent?”

“The noise was great,” said Moonclaw. “And what else could we smell but the blood upon the mound?”

“Forgive us,” Bonebite said, stepping back and lowering his head. “I heard and smelled nothing either. The wind was their ally, and the noise of the Gathering their friend.”

Redclaw let loose a rumble from deep within his belly. The rest of his pack gathered around him, remaining just far enough back to maintain a respectful distance. He felt his plan weaving through his head. They lacked the numbers for what he desired. They could slaughter the village, that he knew, but it was the humans that would come from afar that he feared. So far he’d kept his numbers hidden from them, but if any had seen the Gathering, had seen the force building so very near…

“Moonclaw, Bonebite, with me,” he said. “We have much work to do, even beneath the angry fire of the sky. Rockeye, go west to the packs of Bloodfang and Murdertongue. Summon them to a Gathering. We have little time.”

“Yes, Wolf King,” said Rockeye, leaving at once. Redclaw walked south, the two strong wolf-men following him. He found where the men had lain, and he inhaled their scent. There had been a pair of them, and they stayed for a long while. Shaking his head, he turned to Bonebite and Moonclaw.

“No help,” he said. “No rescue. No chance for war. Hear my plan, Moonclaw. Hear me, Bonebite. Our freedom from the Wedge begins at dawn.”