Brian Murphy - The Search For Magic

“Wъlfbunde!” Kara called, desperate.

Kara brought his fists against the Forsaken’s ears, struck again, and again. The Forsaken’s bite loosened. Karn kicked and pushed the Forsaken back. Karn tried to raise his hands in defense, but his left arm wouldn’t work. He kept his right hand up, left dangling, helpless. The Forsaken shook his head, fixed his eyes on Karn, charged, and knocked Karn to the ground.

“Wulfbunde!”

Blood looked to each of the other wiilfbunde, toward Karn. Arana’s wulfbunde bit his paw, dragged a line of blood in the dirt. The black wolf bit her paw, did the same, then the brown, then the mottle-furred. They each crossed the lines with another, forming crosses of blood.

“Wъlfbunde!” Kara cried. He held the Forsaken off with his right arm, slowly losing strength against the other man’s weight and insane rage.

The Forsaken’s jaws opened wide over Karn’s throat. Karn’s own blood dripped from the Forsaken’s canines. The Forsaken’s jaws closed, canines puncturing Karn’s neck. Kara raked stiff fingers and sharp nails across the Forsaken’s eyes.

The Forsaken yelped, threw himself backward, twisted to his feet, and ran into the forest.

Blood moved toward his master, but was blocked by the other wolves. He growled at the other wiilfbunde. They bowed their heads, backing away from the crosses. Blood watched them lope off into the cover of the forest.

Karn’s eyes opened, hand lowered to his throat. His life seeped around his fingers. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, pressed it to the wound. He rolled on his side.

“Get help.” Blood licked his muzzle. Karn patted his hip, where the rod dangled from its loop. “Go.”

Blood stood and stepped toward Kara. He coughed, yelped. Turned to go, turned back. Karn raised himself up, holding the bandage with his right, left arm dangling. One-handed, he wrapped the loose ends of the bandage around his neck, brought them around, binding.

“Go,” he said. Blood yelped, sat, did not move, eyes on Karn’s wound. “Fine, wъlfbunde. Help me up.”

Blood forced his muzzle under Karn’s arm. The scout pushed himself up, braced by Blood’s strength. Karn stood. He turned his head. The bandage held, the outer roll still white. He touched his left arm, pinched his bicep, the back of his hand. He moved his left shoulder. The wound there had stopped bleeding. With his right, he tucked his left arm into his shirt.

Blood turned away, picked up Karn’s dropped daggers. The wolf sat in front of his master, dropped the daggers at the scout’s feet. Karn retrieved the daggers, sheathed them at his belt. Blood licked his muzzle, groaned. Karn removed the rod from the loop at his side, let the lash fall, raised it, struck Blood.

The wъlfbunde yelped, shied. Karn struck again with the lash, grabbed the leather, struck the wolf with the rod. Blood crouched, pressed himself down, away. Karn followed, lashing, striking with the rod.

Blood leaped up, catching Karn between strikes, paws on the scout’s shoulders, teeth bared. Karn kept his balance with a step backward. He forced the rod up into Blood’s lower jaw, knocking the wolfs jaws shut. He turned and pushed his right shoulder into Blood’s throat and forced the wolf onto his hack.

Karn pointed the rod. “You let me he attacked!” he said. “Is this the sacred hond of Canus? Why?”

Blood howled, was cut off by a kick reopening the recent wound in his side. Karn used the lash again, stripped fur from Blood’s flank. The wolf moaned, crawled away on his belly. Karn lashed Blood’s flank.

“Remember the oath as I do, wiilfbunde. My life for yours, yours for mine.”

The Forsaken howled. Karn bared his fangs at Blood. He raised the rod. The Forsaken howled. Karn growled and kicked at Blood, missed. He snarled, pointed into the forest. Blood crawled toward the howl of the Forsaken, raised himself, eyes on Karn. Karn swept the rod toward the dark. Blood loped into the undergrowth. The Forsaken howled. Karn followed Blood.

The Forsaken had run in a straight line from the fight. The forest floor was black with leaves where the trail stopped. Karn lost the trail. Blood put his nose to the ground, sniffed, walked past Karn, sniffed the leaves. He looked left, right, sniffed again. Sat and moaned.

“Found it?” Karn asked. Blood coughed. “Do it.”

Blood lowered himself to the ground, crawled, put his nose into the leaves. He sat up, sneezed, shook his head, sneezed again. He tried again, walking onto the leaves, poking his muzzle toward the forest floor. He sneezed and moaned.

Karn bent down, rubbed dirt between his fingers. He sniffed, sneezed, stood and wiped the dirt onto his shirt. “Bdnscent. He’s trying to throw us off the scent. Don’t put your nose in it.”

Blood paced back into the undergrowth, kept his nose higher, sniffed, moaned, sniffed again. Picked a direction, waited for Karn to follow. Karn readjusted his useless left arm, drew a knife.

The new moon set behind the mountains. Stars and the distant red halo from the Lords of Doom lit the forest. Karn and Blood walked carefully, quickly across the floor. Blood stopped, sniffed the ground, almost sneezed, tried again. Headed east, continued until he reached a small pond.

Karn knelt, brushed his knuckles over the grass at the water’s edge. He sheathed the knife, put his hand into the water, rubbed it over his face and into his nose to clear the banscent. He did the same for Blood. Scratched the wolf between the ears. Blood lowered his head, lapped from the pond. The Forsaken howled nearby. The two dashed away from the pond. Karn drew his knife.

The forest grew lush where the Lords of Doom lightly spread their ash. Blood followed the howl of the Forsaken, the howl sounding again around the far side of the pond. Karn ran behind, checked his strides to avoid fallen tree limbs, short brush. His left arm jogged loose. He tucked it back.

Blood ran straight. The wolves of the patrol appeared to Blood’s right, hidden from Karn by trees, matched Blood’s pace, Arana’s wiilfbunde in front. Karn watched his feet and Blood’s trail. The Forsaken howled. Blood increased his pace. Arana’s wiilfbunde coughed. Blood leaped right.

Following, Karn slipped, fell, undergrowth cracking with his weight. He slid down the hillside, struck the knife into the dirt, lost his grip, clawed. His right leg struck an outgrowth of roots, buckled. He tumbled to the bottom, landing hard on his back. Blood stopped, wheeled, returned to where he had leaped. Looked down at his master.

Karn did not move.

The wolves of the patrol walked to the hillside edge, peered down the hill at Karn, then at Blood. Arana’s wiilfbunde bit his paw, reopened the wound, and dragged a red line in the dirt. Blood shied away, paced near the edge, finally sat. He looked down at Karn, moaned.

Arana’s wiilfbunde licked at the newest wounds of Karn’s lashes, where the gash had been reopened, fur had been stripped. Arana’s wiilfbunde bared teeth, growled at Karn. The black wolf drew a line in the dirt, then the brown, then the mottle-furred. Arana’s wъlfbunde put a paw near the line in the dirt, started to drag another line to form a cross.

Blood snarled, clenched his jaws over the wolfs paw before the cross could be finished, pushed the other wolf away. Blood barked at the other wolves, then carefully edged over the edge of the hillside, inched his way to the bottom. Blood poked his muzzle under Karn’s chin, took hold of the scout’s uniform shirt in his teeth, and shook.

Karn lifted his head. He breathed deeply, tried to raise himself. Blood forced his body behind the man’s back and lifted. Karn raised himself to a sitting position. Waited, then stood. His right leg was weak but supported his weight.