David Dalglish - Night of Wolves

Jerico watched the river flow, the half-moon’s reflection sparkling atop its waters, and from its darkness the creature emerged. Despite his training, despite discovering the crossing they’d used to harass the nearby village, the paladin felt his confidence falter.

“Be with me, Ashhur,” he whispered as it swam toward him, its eyes gleaming yellow. He could only see the top of its head, a brief stroke of its arms, and the curve of its spine. Every inch was matted with wet fur, and it shone slick in the moonlight. One of its strokes pushed its head fully above water, and he saw rows of teeth before they sank below. It was those teeth that had devoured three children and their mother two nights before. Water dripped from its long claws as it stepped upon the shore. It was those claws that had torn the entrails from their bodies so it might feed.

A wolf-man, bastard creation of the god Karak and an unwanted relic of a war centuries past. It approached on two legs, its body hunched, its muscles taut and frightening. Jerico wondered how useful his platemail would be against those claws and teeth. The armor would do nothing if the creature grabbed his head and ripped it off his shoulders. He watched from the cover of trees that grew to the water’s edge, his right hand clutching the handle of his mace. Slung upon his back was his shield, which he kept there, deciding he needed at least one surprise come the fight.

At the Citadel, he’d been trained to face all opponents with honor. An ambush, or stab in the back, was considered shameful. Jerico wondered if the same rules applied to the wolf-men. He’d never fought one before, only heard stories of their savagery.

Before he could decide, the creature stopped, and he heard sniffing.

“Man?” it growled, and Jerico felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. “Where is it you hide?”

With that nose, it’d only be a matter of time before it found him. Cursing his stupidity, he stepped from behind his cover, mere feet to the side of the wolf-man. It turned, and even with its hunched back, it still towered over him. His weapon shook in his hand as those yellow eyes narrowed when meeting his own.

“Leave now,” Jerico said. “The village is under my protection, and I will kill you if I must.”

The wolf-man laughed, its whole body shuddering. Its voice was deep and gravely. Jerico slipped his left arm back, grabbing the leather straps holding his shield. A single tug, and he’d have it at the ready.

“You want us imprisoned in the Wedge,” said the creature, referring to the vast land beyond the river. “You wish us to starve and die. But there is food here, human. Food…”

It lunged, accompanied by a thunderous roar. Jerico stepped to the side, avoiding its charge. His mace connected with its chest, but hit so much muscle and hair it only tore free a small chunk of flesh. The creature’s claws slashed his armor, scraping the metal with a horrific screech. Jerico swung again, this time aiming for its head. The wolf-man moved with amazing speed for its size, ducking underneath the attack and then grabbing his wrist. With its greater strength, it held his weapon back, leaving him defenseless. Its drooling teeth snapped inward, aiming for his neck.

Jerico pulled the straps. Down came the shield, its steel shining a soft blue as he cried out to his god. The wolf-man’s teeth snapped against it, and he felt his arm jolt at the contact. The creature howled, blood spurting from its nose.

“Back!” he cried, ramming with his shield. His heart hammered in his chest, and his eyes felt wide as saucers, but he’d survived the initial confrontation. The light of his shield grew, its power equivalent to the strength of his faith. The wolf-man released his arm, instead protecting its eyes from the light. With it dazed and on the defensive, Jerico tried to finish it off. His mace came in for the side of its head, but his confidence soon turned to panic. The wolf-man batted it aside with an arm, howled, and then attacked. The muscles in its legs were powerful, and it closed the distance with such speed he didn’t have time to brace himself.

The creature shoved aside his poorly positioned shield and then rammed into his chest. Jerico flew back several feet, halting when he hit a tree. The air blasted from his lungs, and his vision swam from where his head struck the bark. Blood trickled down his neck.

“Your towers stop nothing,” said the wolf-men as it stalked toward him, blood from its nose dripping across its teeth. “We come to feast, foolish man, and we are greater than you humans. We are not dogs. We are not orcs. You cannot stop us.”

Jerico held his mace and shield before him, but his legs felt rubbery. He tried to focus, to anticipate the attack, but all he could do was stare at those yellow eyes and wonder how painful his death might be. Would he be alive when it ate him? His weight leaning against the tree, he vowed to fight until the wolf-man had no choice but to lop off his head.

“Greet me with open arms,” he whispered to Ashhur as the wolf-man crouched down, preparing another lethal charge. But instead of leaping, it tilted to the side, and a pained howl escaped its throat. Dark fire swarmed across its body, and blood soon followed. It turned to run, one of its legs twisted at an awkward angle, but then a sword punched through its skull.

His armor was dark, the fire on his blades darker, so when Darius pulled his weapon free, he seemed a shadow blacker than the night itself.

“Ashhur won’t need to take you yet,” Darius said as the blood sizzled in the fire of his blade. His blue eyes twinkled. “And you can thank Karak for that.”

Jerico slung his shield on his back and then rubbed his forehead. A chuckle escaped his lips.

“I didn’t know you were following me.”

“Neither did the wolf.”

He suddenly felt ashamed for showing weakness before his rival, so he pushed off from the tree and fought through his grogginess. Gingerly, he touched the wound on the back of his head, but it felt shallow. He’d have a knot there for several days, but that was better than being a wolf-man’s meal. Jerico joined Darius’s side, and together they looked at the corpse.

“Do you still think the villagers are liars?” Jerico asked.

“Of course, but not about this. Even liars tell the truth from time to time.”

“Such cynicism.”

Darius laughed. He shook the crusted remains of blood off his weapon and then sheathed it. With its fire extinguished, it seemed Jerico could see easier in the darkness.

“It’s merely truth, Jerico. I see the world as it is, you as how you want it to be. Doesn’t take a scholar to know which of us will be right more often.”

Jerico used his foot to roll the wolf-man onto its back. Its mouth hung open, and even dead, those rows of teeth gave him chills. He absently ran a hand along the deep grooves of his platemail.

“Did you hear what it told me?” he asked.

“I did. Who knows how many it meant. A pack could be five, or five-hundred. I suppose I should have left it alive long enough to question…”

Jerico pointed to the river. “We could cross and find out.”

Darius laughed.

“Into their territory? Are you mad? I’ve never considered you paladins of Ashhur the brightest of men, but I figured you would at least have more sense than that.”

Jerico shot Darius a wink.

“Ashhur calls the simple ones to do his work. We tend to accomplish more. Besides, if we go in the daylight, we could catch them sleeping. If they’re crossing the river to hunt, they mustn’t be too far.”

“They’ve killed only four. That isn’t a pack. That’s hardly anything. This was a lone hunter, nothing more. Now, will you help me bring it to town, or must I do everything myself?”