David Dalglish: Night of Wolves

Sighing, Jerico grabbed one arm, Darius the other. Together they dragged it across the leaves, through the forest, and to the town of Durham, so the people might see they had nothing left to fear.

T he Citadel loomed before him, looking tall and proud in the twilight. As the sun continued to fall, an uneasy fear set over him. Spiderwebs of cracks stretched higher and higher throughout the Citadel’s foundation. Fire burst upon the grass around it. Bones fell from the sky. As a great roar shook the plains, he heard a terrible crack, and then-

Jerico’s eyes snapped open. His heart pounded in his chest. Despite the chill of autumn, his body was soaked with sweat.

Again? he wondered. What is it, Ashhur? What is it you need to tell me?

For the past week he’d had the same dream, and always it felt like it ended unfinished. Dread settled over him come the morning, and at least twice he’d thought to return to the Citadel to ensure everything was in order. But with Durham threatened by wolf-men sneaking out of the Vile Wedge and across the river to feed, he couldn’t dare leave his assigned post.

As his senses slowly returned, he realized what day it was and groaned. He stayed in a small room of Jeremy Hangfield, the town’s wealthiest occupant, the room freely given in exchange for protecting them from the various menaces of the wild. They were far from the great city of Mordeina and her guards, patrols, and roads. Here there were outlaws, bandits, and now, creatures of the Wedge. But fighting wasn’t his sole duty, though sometimes he wished it was. Instead of putting on his armor, he donned his only pair of clothes that weren’t bloodstained, a simple white tunic adorned with the golden mountain, symbol of his god. He clipped his mace to his belt but left his shield, feeling silly carrying it when not in armor.

His congregation was small, and they gathered in the town square. When he’d first come, nearly half the village had shown up, out of curiosity more than anything. As the days passed, his numbers had dwindled, now just a faithful twenty or so. Wishing he could be fighting wolf-men instead, Jerico preached best he could, often relying on songs to break the monotony. As he neared the end, he saw Darius watching him from the back of the crowd.

“Ashhur be with you all,” Jerico said, ending his final prayer. As the crowd dispersed, Darius remained behind, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore a brown tunic with a black belt, the drab colors making his long blond hair stand out all the more. A smirk spread across his young face.

“Sometimes I wonder if Ashhur hopes to convert the lazy of Dezrel,” he said. “Men who would be happy for an hour’s sleep every third day, guilt free.”

The comment stung. Twice Jerico had caught someone drifting off beneath the shade of a tree during his sermons.

“I guess I could scream and holler as if the world were on fire,” Jerico said. “That just isn’t my style.”

Darius seemed unoffended. Jerico had witnessed the man’s services, always held the day after his. The dark paladin was a far more animated spectacle, speaking with a passion he could never hope to match. He’d cry for strength, denounce cowardly sacrifice, and demand obedience in the face of a chaotic world. “Order,” Darius would shout at the top of his lungs. “Bring this world Order!” Handsome, energetic, and passionate, his sermons gathered fifty to sixty men every time, a fact Darius never let Jerico forget.

“Your style should be what works,” Darius said, tossing Jerico a waterskin, for he knew how draining such a performance was. “Not what you feel like. Perhaps you should attend a few more of my sermons. You might learn something.”

Jerico drained half of it, then handed it back with a muttered thanks.

“How did Bobby take the news?” he asked, referring to the father and husband of those killed by the wolf-man.

“Come,” said Darius. “I’ll show you.”

Together they walked down the dirt path, out from the village center. Wood houses sprang up on either side of them, fairly large due to the abundance of nearby lumber. At the end of the path was a post marking the entrance to the village. Hanging from ropes tied to its wrists was the body of the wolf-man.

In daylight it looked less fearsome. Its fur had dried out, much of it caked with blood and dirt. Flies buzzed about it, and it stank something unholy. All of its teeth were gone, and along its chest were at least twenty punctures new to Jerico.

“You let him mutilate the corpse?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. He just hoped he might somehow be wrong.

“Do you know a better way to move on after the death of a loved one?” Darius asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Here is his beloved’s killer, and though it is dead, I still gave him a chance to exact his revenge. It accomplishes nothing, and after awhile, Bobby learned this as well. So I told him to take its teeth, and fashion a necklace so he might never forget.”

“Bobby is a gentle soul,” Jerico said, his stomach turning. He ran a hand through his red hair, his fingers gently touching the knot on the back of his head. It felt the size of his thumb. “He once paddled his daughter, then came to me to ask if it were right. Meanwhile, half this village wallops sense into their children at the slightest mistake. How could you let him do this?”

“Because he spoke to me of wanting to die,” Darius said, yanking Jerico closer. “Would you counsel him love and forgiveness for the beast that ate his family? Would you promise him a better life in the world he wants to kill himself to enter? I gave him a desire for vengeance, and through that, a desire to live. You would have him remember his loved ones. Instead, I have him remember their murderer, and as long as he thinks of it, he is not wallowing in sorrow for himself and his family.”

Darius let go of his tunic.

“Bobby’s organizing a group of men to go into the Wedge,” he said. “They want us to go with them.”

“Will you?”

The dark paladin shot him a wink.

“I gave him his desire for vengeance. Do you think I’d abandon him after that? Question is, will you come with us? I never am certain, given Ashhur’s rather womanly tendencies. You’d scout for more, yes, but will you come for revenge?”

Jerico glanced into town, trying to decide. Of course Ashhur frowned upon revenge, but still, the entire safety of Durham might depend on their success. Besides, if something went wrong, many lives would be in danger. Could he turn his back on them?

“I don’t like it,” Jerico said. “But perhaps it should be done.”

“They’re just beasts,” Darius said, slapping Jerico across the back. “Filthy, vicious beasts. We’ll put them down, just like any other rabid animal.”

Looking at the hulking form suspended by ropes, Jerico couldn’t suppress a shudder.

“Any other animal?” he muttered as Darius walked away. Before he could decide for certain, he trudged back to the village. The streets were barren, for with autumn speeding by, the men and women were harvesting every bit of nut, fruit, and grain they could find or grow. He realized Bobby had not been there for his sermon like he usually was, and this fact squirmed in his gut like a snake. Needing to talk to him, he found the man’s home, and sure enough, he was there instead of out in the fields with the others.

“Morning, Jerico,” Bobby said. He sat on his porch in a small chair, his shoulders stooped and his leathery skin pale. His eyes had a glazed, distant look to them. In his lap, he held a necklace of teeth.

“Missed you at the square,” Jerico said, leaning against the house. “Something the matter?”

“Sure is.”

“Care to talk about it?”