Anthology: Realms of Valor

"Is that the remnants of your blaze?" he asked Stefanik as they both dismounted.

"Yes. Here's the old birch root I pulled out before I went to sleep," replied the younger traveler, kneeling beside the gritty fire scar. "No one's been here since me."

"I'm not surprised," muttered Pawldo. The murkiness of the forest was now unnervingly oppressive, but he shrugged off the feeling as best he could. "Where did you find the knife?"

"Over here." Stefanik crossed to the left fork of the converging streams, indicating a shallow depression near the bank. "It was lying right here. This hole is where I pulled it out."

Pawldo knelt beside the shallow excavation. Freshly turned dirt lined the hole, although tufts of moss already tinged the exposed earth. The depression matched the dagger's length. The object had rested just above the water level of the stream, between a pair of rocks.

Looking up the channel, Pawldo saw gloomy outcrop-pings of granite looming through the trees. The creek emerged from a deep cut between these high walls. Though tree trunks blocked much of the view, he saw the passage nestled between these bluffs-a narrow canyon, source of this left branch of the Birchbrook. He studied the steeply sloping streambed, dropping from that narrow gap to the small backwater at his feet.

Confidently Pawldo took the dagger out of his pouch and held it before him. "Show me the Palace of Skulls," he commanded, waiting for the telltale flush of heat to infuse the handle. Nothing happened.

"Maybe you have to drop it on the ground," Stefanik suggested.

Pawldo threw the blade to his feet, but it lay lifelessly in the dirt.

"What did you do before-to make it glow, I mean, and point toward Ketheryll's palace?" Stefanik wondered.

"I don't know," Pawldo snapped, but then bit his mouth shut. "Look!" he hissed.

As it had in Lowhill, the dagger began to glow. The halflings could feel its warmth as they stood over it. Then, very slowly, the weapon wiggled across the ground. In a few moments it lay still, pointing directly at the narrow, rocky gap up the stream.

"Up there," Pawldo said. "That's where it came from."

"It-it looks pretty dark," Stefanik observed hesitantly.

"Morning will brighten it up," Pawldo announced, his voice heartier than his thoughts. In truth, the forest-shrouded chasm seemed like a foreboding place. It didn't take him more than a moment to decide to postpone its exploration until the morrow.

Stefanik unsaddled the ponies while Pawldo gathered some dry branches he found scattered conveniently around the camp. He set them beside the fire scar and looked to Stefanik-only to see the younger halfling freeze taut, his eyes bulging at a sight behind Pawldo's shoulder.

The lord mayor whirled to confront a pair of unblinking yellow eyes, less than six feet away. A canine face stared impassively. A narrow snout gaped, while a pink tongue lolled between long, white fangs.

"Wolf!" Stefanik hissed.

Pawldo had already recognized the powerful body of the predator. The creature squatted upon a rock, ready to pounce.

Yelping in astonishment, Pawldo fumbled for his sword, but all he managed to do was stumble backward to collapse into an ungainly heap. All the time the wolf stared at him with those penetrating yellow eyes. By the time he had his sword half-drawn, the halfling realized that the creature presented no immediate menace.

"He looks hungry," observed Stefanik. The wolf's flanks showed the clear outline of his rib cage, screened only slightly by scattered patches of mangy fur. One of its ears flopped sideways, scarred by an ugly red wound. At the sound of the voice, the wolf shifted its gaze to the younger halfling's face, the good ear cocked forward attentively.

"Give him something to eat!" hissed Pawldo, more than a little embarrassed by his clumsiness-and still not certain of the wolf's intentions.

"Here, fellow," said Stefanik, pulling an entire slab of bacon from the saddlebags. He threw it onto the ground near the animal.

The wolf's eyes followed the meat but then came back to Pawldo. Finally, hunger won out. The creature sniffed tentatively, then hopped down from the rocky perch. With another look at Pawldo, who still had not climbed to his feet, the wolf settled to its haunches, tearing at the tough meal with teeth still white, long, and sharp.

In short order the wolf put a dent in their stockpile of cheese as well. Keeping a wary eye on the beast, Pawldo built the fire while Stefanik stretched out the bedrolls. They cooked some bacon for themselves, throwing another morsel to the wolf, as full darkness descended. Finally the animal dropped its head onto its outstretched forelegs with a contented sigh.

"I think we've found a friend," Stefanik said as the wolf closed its eyes.

"I suppose we could have a worse companion in these woods," Pawldo observed warily. The thought of sleeping here, with this huge carnivore just a few feet away, bothered him more than a little. "Maybe we should give him some more bacon."

"I think we should let him rest. He looks all worn out."

In fact, the animal appeared to have reached the end of a long and grueling trail. The shaggy flanks, now noticeably bulging, rose and fell with deliberate breathing. Pawldo noticed that the animal's muzzle and forelegs were also scarred, though not so badly as the ear. Many wounds, however, showed raw and moist-they had not yet had time to heal.

"Don't wolves usually travel in packs?" asked the younger halfling. "It seems odd to see one by himself."

"Do you see lots of wolves in Llyrath Forest?" demanded Pawldo.

Stefanik shook his head. "They're rare. Once or twice in the fall and winter we've seen them running past the village-like gray ghosts in the forest. They don't bother us.

In fact, they haven't even gone after the sheep kept by Whitebeard Karywether. But even then, when we see them there's always a pack-at least a dozen, sometimes twenty or more."

"From the look of this one, he's had to fight for his life. I wonder if he's the last survivor of his pack," Pawldo mused.

"I don't know what could slaughter so many wolves," Stefanik said. 'There are bears out here, but a wolf could outrun one of them without a problem. What about firbolgs?"

Pawldo shook his head. "Even if the giant-kin came this far south, they wouldn't do this to wolves. Sometimes they capture them for pets, but they wouldn't torture and maim them."

Soon the unsettled pair of halflings curled into their bedrolls and went to sleep. Neither slumbered soundly, and Pawldo stirred as soon as the gray dawn filtered through the mist of the streambed.

The wolf, he saw, was still there-though the animal no longer slept. Indeed, the yellow eyes followed Pawldo's every move as the halfling rose and crossed to Stefanik, nudging the youngster to wakefulness. They packed up their camp, half-hoping the wolf would be on its way. But when they started into the narrow canyon, the wolf bounded ahead, picking a way around gnarled roots and over massive rocks. He led them straight into the canyon.

The chasm walls, great shoulders of granite, glowered overhead. Streaks of moss and lichen ran across their weathered faces, and the rocky walls projected a chill that sapped every vestige of warmth from the air. The stream narrowed to a channel choked with debris. Nevertheless, Pawldo had no lingering doubts that the source of the splendid dagger would be found near the headwaters of this creek.

"We won't be able to take the ponies through," Pawldo announced, gesturing into the steep and narrow canyon. "Let's picket them here and try to get back by nightfall."

Stefanik, too, realized the futility of taking the steeds through the maze of rocks and deadfalls. The wolf watched them from its vantage of a high boulder as they dismounted, loosely tied the mounts, and selected a few important items-weapons, flasks of oil, and the platinum dagger-to carry as they progressed on foot. Surprisingly, the wolf seemed more interested in them than in their horses.