David Dalglish: Night of Wolves

Bobby finally looked at him as his fingers worked over the sharp edges of the teeth.

“Darius said you’d try to talk me out of going,” he said.

“I’m only here to listen, friend.”

“He said you’d say that too, but it’d be a lie.”

Jerico rolled his eyes. “Lying’s not my style.”

Bobby grunted and looked away. He cut himself on one of the teeth, but if he felt it, he didn’t let it show. Faint smears of blood started to spread across the yellow and white.

“I heard her screaming,” he said. “I’d gone outside to piss, you know. That’s all. And then, as I’m coming back, I hear her screaming. Just Susie, not my little girls or my boy. Do you think that means they died quicker? Maybe in their sleep? It didn’t…it didn’t…”

Tears rolled down his face. Determined to remain true to his word, Jerico kept silent, letting the man say what he clearly needed to say.

“It didn’t even eat them, only my wife. Killed them for no reason, that fucking wolf. But Susie was alive when he was…eating. And it left me alive too, just looked at me and laughed. That damn thing laughed. I don’t know if the one you killed was the one that came here. I’ll never know. But I’ll kill every last one I can find and hope each one is that bastard. And I’ll laugh every time I kill one, Jerico.”

“I’m sorry,” Jerico said. “But this isn’t right, and you know it.”

Bobby looked up, and Jerico saw a rage there that frightened him.

“You think I care about what’s right? I’ve lived right my whole life, and look what it got me. Someone ought to do something, so I will. No one else needs to see what I saw, and there ain’t anything you can say to convince me otherwise.”

Jerico stepped back. He felt helpless, overwhelmed by the man’s grief. What could he tell him? That Ashhur worked in mysterious ways? That it was her time, her fate to have her belly shredded, her flesh ripped and swallowed while she was still screaming?

“I’ll pray for you, Bobby,” he said.

“Thanks, Jerico, but I don’t think it’ll do much good.”

He stood and carried his blood-stained necklace into his house. When he shut the door, Jerico stood there staring long after. A hundred thoughts swirled through his head, but one in particular struck him with such certainty he knew he couldn’t deny it.

He couldn’t let this happen again.

His armor and shield were waiting for him in his room. There was a reason he carried them with him, a reason every paladin dressed for war. This was one of them. Come dusk, he’d join the rest. Come the night, they’d venture into the Vile Wedge, the land of orcs and monsters.

Gary Reed kissed his wife to cease her protesting.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he said, his hands brushing through her long hair.

He knew she wanted to believe him, but her tears fell all the same, and he wiped one away with his thumb.

“You better,” she said.

Taking his sword, he left his home and walked to the town center. Fifteen men gathered there, a third of them holding torches. The rest held knives, pitchforks, and the occasional sword. They surrounded Bobby, who lifted a torch high above his head.

“It means a lot,” Gary heard him saying as he neared. “Can’t tell you all just how much, but it does. My Susie would be damn proud, I do know that. We can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

“Damn straight,” shouted an older man named Trent, the closest thing Durham had to a blacksmith.

“We ain’t sheep for them to hunt,” said another, Gary recognizing this one as a fat farmer named Gruss.

“But you are sheep!” cried a voice separate from them all, and the crowd turned. Darius approached them, wearing his full plate armor, which seemed to soak in the light of the setting sun, giving it a frightful look. Painted in white across his breastplate was the face of a roaring lion. He kept his greatsword sheathed on his back, and Gary was thankful. He’d seen the dark paladin draw it only twice, but both times the fire that glowed upon it had made him uneasy. There was something unnatural about it, as if instead of giving light it stole it and hid it away.

“Sheep,” Darius continued, for none dared challenge him. “That is, until you take up arms, as you have. This land belongs to the strong. It is weakness that lets men ignore the dangers about them, causes them to remain quiet in the face of injustice, to turn blind eyes to the chaos of this world. Tonight you do more than make his Susie proud. Tonight you do yourselves proud, your families, and your entire village! Let the wolf-men fear our wrath!”

The rest cheered, and Gary joined in. He still clung to his youth, his only child still in her second year, and he keenly felt the call for strength and pride. His sword shook in his hand, but it was from excitement, not fear.

“To the river!” cried Bobby, and the rest took up the call.

“To the river!”

Gary followed, imagining the cheer he’d receive if he were to behead a wolf-man. Bobby insisted there would only be one or two nearby, three at most. With the group of them, plus the dark paladin at their front, they would crush any of the monsters they encountered. Gruss liked to brag about the time he beat down two men from Ker unarmed, and Trent would go on for days about the jeweled bracelet he fashioned decades ago for an elven queen (whose name changed depending on how drunk he was), but who could top the bravery of him facing down a wolf-man and plunging his blade through its eye?

At the town’s edge, a man slipped into the group beside Gary, remaining at the back. His red hair was long and well-cut. He wore silvery armor, heavy plate that made Gary feel naked in his simple farmer’s clothing. At his hip swung a flanged mace, its grip leather, its metal dark. Across his back hung his enormous shield.

“Coming with us, Jerico?” Gary asked the paladin of Ashhur, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s great. The wolves don’t stand a chance now.”

Jerico glanced down at his breastplate, and Gary saw the thick scratches across its front, dulling the shine. Some of Gary’s excitement faded, replaced with a cold fear in his belly.

“I pray they don’t,” said the paladin, his face grim.

They arrived at the river. Gruss had agreed to let them take his boat, which he used for the rare trip south to sell extra crops to Ashhur’s paladins at their Citadel. It seated four, but only Darius and two others crossed the first time, not wishing to overload it because of his heavy armor. Back and forth the boat went, taking several minutes for each trip. The river was wide and slow, its waters cold from the mountain streams that fed it. Gary hung back with Jerico, feeling safer at his side.

“We’ll be able to kill them, won’t we?” Gary asked as his nerves continued to grow. He felt fine when moving, as if filled with a sense of purpose, but now that he stood at the edge of a dark forest, watching a small boat travel back and forth across the Gihon, he felt his confidence falter.

“Darius and I killed one by ourselves,” Jerico said, smiling at him. “And with all of you here, we can handle many more. But do not hope for combat, nor a chance to be a hero. Pray we all come home safe, and that your village will never see another one of those wicked creatures for many, many years.”

Gary shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and he stared at the leaf-strewn ground.

“I just don’t want to be a coward,” he mumbled.

The paladin put a hand on his shoulder, and when he looked over, his eyes were kind and unafraid.

“I know you well enough, Gary, to say there isn’t the slightest chance of that.” He pointed to the shore. “Our turn.”