Chapter Ten: Dogs of War

Chapter Ten: Dogs of War

Everwinter Waste

            Morning did come sooner than anyone expected. Carsten had awoken Thomas to take his turn on watch and subsequently gone to sleep. As the night wore on, the storm wore out; the snow slowed to a light flurry, and the stars and moon came out in force. After two and half hours on Thomas’ watch, the sun poked its head above the eastern horizon. He smiled at the sight. The sun does rise here, he mused. And with the thought came a tiny ray of hope. While the sun did little to warm the snowy world around them, the sight of it proved that it truly did shine in the Waste. Still, Thomas knew quite well that he would have to wake the others soon, and he slid off the rock with the intention of doing just that. This proved needless; the rays of the sun, as it crested the horizon, roused the other travelers form their slumber and got them on their feet. After shaking out their snow-covered bedrolls and eating a short breakfast of chilled and crusty bread, they set out again. Issavea’s guards had apparently used insulated water-skins, which prevented the water inside from freezing. The travelers still dared not use the water yet; the skins took up a good deal of space in the packs they had liberated from the guardhouse. With nothing else to do, and no wish to stay any longer than they had to, the Outlanders charted their new course and set out.

            “So, where do we go from here?” Edessa had asked. As ever, she was impatient to know where they were going and to set out in that direction already. Arcaena was studying the map intently, and she took an intolerably long time in Edessa’s estimation.

            “I think this village here,” the dark elf said, pointing to a large black dot on the map. “It happens to be probably two weeks from here, maybe ten days if we push ourselves.”

            Thomas looked at the map and then off into the distance, squinting in the early morning sun. “How large do you think it is?” He asked.

            “According to the map, about two thousand occupants,” Arcaena replied.

            “Large, then,” Carsten said. “We should find sufficient food there to resupply.” Arcaena nodded.

            “It is southwest of here,” she said, pointing away into the distance. According to the map, we will hit a low-lying mountain range in a few days, so we may lose a little ground as we climb.” Edessa shrugged.

            “That matters not,” she said, already starting off. “We should get there as soon as possible.”

            “An interesting position,” Carsten called after her, “given that the village is southwest, not southeast. You are moving in the wrong direction.” Edessa stopped and, feeling the blood rushing to her face, altered her course. Carsten looked after the Huntress for a moment, and then turned to Thomas.

            “Do you know her well?” Thomas rolled his eyes.

            “Too well,” the other replied.

            “You dislike her, then?” Arcaena asked. Thomas shrugged, already moving to the southeast.

            “I did not say so,” he answered. “It is merely that I find her a little too headstrong. She tries so hard to attain perfection, and thus she acts as though she knows everything. Also, she takes correction poorly. With her, impugning her abilities is insulting. She does not easily change or agree with someone else.”
            “Exaggerate much?” Rolf quipped, falling into step beside him. Thomas grinned.

            “Given that I actually watched her run into a wild dragon’s den alone, I think not,” he answered. Carsten looked at Arcaena and raised an eyebrow.

            “Well, that one is new,” he muttered. The dark elf laughed.

            “A new low for unintelligent behavior,” she remarked. “Come on, now. It would be unseemly to fall behind.” And she began slogging off after the others.

            The whole day was spent in travel, and it took its toll on them all; even Carsten, who was usually rock-solid in the face of adversity, felt pains in his legs and lower back before more than three hours had passed. The others were visibly struggling; Rolf stumbled more than once, and Edessa fell several times in the snow. They stopped for about twenty minutes at midday for their meal and a brief rest. They could not, however, sit and rest as they would have liked to do. The white expanse of plain before them stretched on for mile upon mile, broken only by small clusters of wizened trees or singular stones rising amidst the snow. Edessa especially seemed to be hurting.

            “My legs ache,” she remarked through a mouthful of chilled, salted meat. “I cannot understand it. Trips like this should have been an easy thing for me.” Thomas nodded.

            “I know the feeling,” he agreed. “I feel like my legs have turned to jelly. They just cry to stop moving.” Rolf shook his head.

            “That is out of the question,” he said simply. “We cannot stop now.”

            “I know,” Edessa said. “I just cannot comprehend why I am in so much pain.”

            “Confinement,” Arcaena supplied. “You were stuck in that prison for so long, your legs simply are no longer used to this kind of exertion. We should adjust soon.” I hope, she added mentally. In truth, she harbored doubts about their ability to even make it to the village she had selected on the map. While the journey so far had not been easy, traversing mountains would be even harder than what they had done up to now. If the others did not choose to ignore the pain, they might very well have to abandon their endeavor. Such surrender would almost certainly mean death for all of them. Carsten ate in silence, watching the others. He himself had no misgivings about what they were doing. Although none of them felt ready to continue or prepared to see this through, he knew that they would most likely do so. He could not explain the reason that he nurtured such a belief, but he did. After several minutes of mumbled complaints and groans of pain, Arcaena got to her feet.

            “Sitting around complaining will do us no good,” she remarked. “We will stop early tonight to rest, but we cannot simply quit moving now.” The others grumbled assent and got to their feet as well. Edessa was the last to rise, and she winced, holding her leg and massaging it gently. Arcaena seemed to take no notice, instead beginning to move to the southeast once more. Carsten was close behind her, then Rolf and Thomas, with Edessa walking last of all. She was limping now; it appeared as though her right leg was the one causing her the most pain. She swore under her breath as she kept on. This leg had given her trouble before; one of the guards, in a fit of rage, had broken it about a year back. Although one of the prisoners had done her best to set it, the bone had never healed properly. Since then, Edessa had walked with a limp. Inside a prison, it had not greatly inhibited her movements. Out here, though, it presented a substantial problem for mobility.

            Arcaena had noticed Edessa’s limp, and she slowed down waiting for Carsten to catch up. “That looks bad,” she murmured. Carsten did not even look over his shoulder.

            “The Huntress?” He whispered back. Arcaena nodded.

            “What do you think we should do?” He bit his lip, thinking for several moments as they walked.

            “In truth, I doubt there is anything we could do,” he said. “I can see that it pains her, but I could not say why or how to address the problem.” The dark elf lowered her eyes.

            “I was afraid you might say that,” she mused. “Still, perhaps I could try a healing?” Carsten shook his head.

            “That would be unwise,” he cautioned. “Your magic is critically low, and I think you know that. After healing all those other prisoners, you probably would not even have enough for three more healings. I would warn you to leave her as she is. It may be far from comfortable, but you will most likely need that energy again.”

            “How did you know about…” the dark elf began.

            “You talk to yourself,” Carsten replied. “I heard you mumbling about it one day. Does that suffice for an answer?” She looked back one more time.

            “I know that you are right,” she said, with a sigh. “Still, I feel for her.” Carsten nodded.

            “I know. Even so, it is not incumbent upon us to fix all of the world’s minor aches and pains. If you can, that is a true blessing from the Maker himself. If not, you have nothing to apologize to the world for. Life does not owe you a thing, but you owe it nothing in return.”

            “Even so,” Arcaena countered. “Are we not called to compassion?”

            “Compassion and action are different,” Carsten pointed out. “When you get your magic back, we can see about healing the leg. I did not counsel you to let her suffer on her own. I said you ought not to heal her leg now. There is a difference.”

            Arcaena sighed. “I know,” she replied. “That does not make me like it anymore.”

            “Liking what you have to do has little bearing on whether or not you actually do it,” Carsten answered. Then, looking up at the sky and the lengthening shadows, he said, “We need to find a place to stop soon.”

            “I know.” Arcaena’s eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of life or a place they could rest. “I extremely dislike the idea of spending another night out in the open, and I doubt that we will survive much longer without a heat source. But I do not see a place where we can stop.”

            “We need to find one,” Carsten said. “And we need to find it fast.”

            Everwinter Waste

            Ring of Chiefs

            Most nights during the summer, the pile of stones known as the Circle of Chiefs to the Vanahym lay empty, devoid of anything resembling life. However, tonight was a different story, as the night before had been. That night, a band of weary travelers had slept in the ring of massive stones, although recent snowfall had covered the signs of their passing. The Vanahym themselves rarely came so far south, but today was a special case. This night, the elders of the various warring factions had gathered to discuss several important matters at hand. First, there was the accusation that Golthe, the leader of the smallest and most militant group among them, had crossed the Waste-border and begun mounting attacks on villages in the Outlands. To the Vanahym, such charges proved grave matters indeed; as previous bellicose actions had gotten them exiled, the chieftains were quite reticent to go to war under any circumstances.

Actually sparking a war through wanton destruction, however, was just cause for execution in most cases. Then, there were rumors that an individual once banished by mutual agreement (something exceedingly rare among them) had violated the terms of the punishment. On top of everything else, the Vanahym would soon celebrate the vernal equinox, one of the few festivals they observed. All in all, it was quite an exceptional time. The chiefs gathered there were varied, as were their peoples. There was Golthe, the warlike one, decked out in his crude suit of scavenged armor, his narrowed blue eyes scanning the others’ faces for signs of disapproval. Beside him stood Lahden, the chief most sympathetic to his position in the assembly. Unlike his sometimes-ally, Lahden counseled patience in the breaking of the exile. Golthe advocated an all-fronts assault on every detail of the agreement that had banished his people in the first place. The next chief was several feet away, and his name was Thalek. He was one of the most conservative Vanahym there; should the chiefs vote on a revolutionary proposal, Thalek could be relied upon to assent to it last of all. He wore traditional Vanahym garb; that is, he was naked from the waist up save for a broad, fur tartan cloak. His bare chest was covered in blood-red tattoos, and he wore his hair in long, ugly dreadlocks. His trousers were fur lined, as ere his boots. The traditional weapons of the Vanahym, a jagged, curved sword coupled with a small parrying dagger, hung at his right side. Of all the chiefs, Thalek alone was left-handed. Across from them sat the eldest and most revered of the chiefs, Galsdom. Galsdom had been born a mere century after the exile, a time that none of the others present could even remember. While he was old, without a doubt, all of the chiefs knew age did not equate to weakness. Galsdom’s children were some of the most respected warriors among the tribes, and he had personally instructed them. In battle, he used only a blackwood staff, a weapon that had claimed the lives of many a haughty swordsman. He wore long, unremarkable brown robes that were reserved for the venerated healer class among the Vanahym. While they did not practice Maker-worship at the Temple of Rebirth as many of the Outlanders did, the Vanahym did recall how it was done, and they worshipped as best they could. Galsdom currently led their veneration of the deity, and thus had an elevated position at the chieftains’ gathering.

            “What are we waiting for?” Golthe finally exploded. “Everyone is here.” Thalek shot the youngest chief a look and looked as though he was about to say something, but Galsdom lifted his hand.

            “Do not,” he commanded the conservative. Thalek grumbled, but he held his tongue beyond that. “Would you like to commence this meeting, Golthe?” The young leader looked uncomfortable.

            “I would,” he said, hesitating. “I…I have something I must confess to you all.” The others nodded and waited expectantly. In Thalek’s case, Golthe reflected, it seemed an almost eager patience.

            “Go on,” Galsdom said.

            “I think my authority over my tribe may be slipping,” he answered after a long pause. “Several of the elders have already attempted a break with the main body of the tribe.” Thalek inhaled sharply.

            “That is grievous news, brother,” he said. “Especially given what I have to say. My tribe has felt similar rumblings. I believe that there may be a rebellion brewing in their ranks.”

            Galsdom sat silently pondering this for several minutes. “I see,” he said finally. “And what do you believe to be the root cause?” Golthe shrugged.

            “I do not know,” he answered. “The problem is they have given no reason why I am unfit to lead. They have simply said that I am.”

            Galsdom nodded. “That is not to be wondered at,” he murmured.

            “Why?” Lahden asked.

            “Because,” Galsdom replied, “The Exile has returned.”

            Golthe’s eyes narrowed. “When?” he asked.

            “I know not,” Galsdom replied. “But I know that he has been abroad for some weeks. I called this meeting as soon as I was sure of it.”

            “A wise choice,” Thalek remarked, “given that such rumors have been spread before.”

            “There is more,” Galsdom replied. “Since his return, he has been gathering supporters, and I believe that they have crossed the border. Most of them came from Golthe’s tribe, if I recall correctly.”

            Golthe nodded. “Creating the illusion that I was somehow responsible.”

            “There is yet more to our woe,” Thalek said. “According to reports from the border, he is burning villages and towns to the ground for the sheer enjoyment of it.”

            “Not him,” Galsdom corrected. “He has chosen men to lead that he knows will act as he would, but he has not yet chosen to reveal himself.”

            “We must find him,” Golthe growled. “And end him before he spreads the illusion that we are abroad again.”

            “That will not be so simple,” the other admonished. “His whereabouts are currently a mystery. He has all but disappeared.”

            “Why call this meeting, then?” Thalek asked. “We have things to do.”

            “Indeed,” Galsdom answered. “And that is why I called you. If he is to be stopped, we must unite our efforts.”

            “Will that be enough?” Golthe asked.

            “I do not know,” Galsdom replied. “But we must try. If he divides us, we have already lost. If he wins the tribes…”

            “Then we lose any hope of redemption,” Lahden finished. “Agreed. He must be stopped. Shall I summon the Whisperers?”

            “No,” Thalek interjected. “You must not. If we bring them into this…”

            ‘What damage could it possibly do?” Golthe challenged. “We are already on the defensive. The last thing we want is full retreat.” Though that may be the best option, he added mentally. For all his bellicose posturing, even he knew when a tactical retreat was viable, and now seemed like one of those times. But backing down in the face of the Exile would only serve to confirm his newly established power, and that was something Golthe knew he could not allow. Therefore, he made a resolution: he would bring down, humiliate, and destroy this arrogant outsider by any means necessary.

Everwinter Waste

Two miles to the south

            The travelers had finally found a place where they could stop; a small copse of trees in the middle of a small hill that rose out of the snow. From this position, they could easily see approaching enemies, though what exactly they would do should such a thing happen was not quite clear. Thomas had taken his axe to the trees around them, and, thanks to a firestarter kit that Carsten had saved for just such an occasion, they had managed to get the wood blazing. One by one, the people around the campfire dropped off to sleep, leaving Carsten awake. He sat staring into the flickering light and sharpening knives for a long time.

            “Enuva for your thoughts?” Carsten sighed. It was Arcaena, who had also stayed awake, as he had. Unlike him, she was whittling a piece of wood, which seemed to be taking the shape of a deer.

            “Why?” He asked. The dark elf looked up from her work.

            “Pardon?”

            “Why do you want to know?” He asked again.

            “Because I get concerned about my friends,” she answered. “Is that wrong?” Carsten shook his head.

            “I just wondered if you had…oh, never mind. Anyway, I was thinking about what I was going to do after we get back.”

            She nodded, returning to her whittling. “Any ideas?” She asked. The dwarf shrugged.

            “What am I supposed to do?” He asked. “I have no idea where to go or what to do. I do not even know…” He put his head in his hands. “Everything in the world used to be so simple.”

            “And what changed?” Arcaena asked as she cut more pieces of wood off. The funny thing was, that she thought she already knew the answer. “What happened that changed the world?”

            “Nothing,” he answered. “That is what bothers me the most. The world is exactly as it was when I left home. I just saw more of it, I suppose. I met more people. It is not the world; somehow I know that. I changed, I guess.”

            “That bothers you?” She queried. Carsten lowered his eyes.

            “Not everything about it. I am stronger now, I think.” He went back to sharpening his knife again.

            “So what is it that you are uncomfortable with?” She pressed.

            “You are not about to let me off, are you?” He asked. Arcaena shook her head.

            “Not on your life,” she answered. “You started sharing, and I want to help you.”

            “Fine,” Carsten said. “I will tell you. Have you ever had something turn your whole world on its head? Arcaena nodded.

            “I know what it feels like,” she answered. “Why?”

            “I just…” Carsten paused, as though unsure of what to saw next. “Everything used to be so simple. I cannot well speak to something I do not understand fully.”

            “Oh.” Maybe I was not so far off, she mused. “If you change your mind and want to talk, let me know.”

            “I will,’ Carsten replied. “I will tell you one day. I promise.” Arcaena smiled inwardly. Maybe sooner than you think.

            “By the way,” she said. “Since you cannot return to your family, I could ask my father to find a position for you in the army as an auxiliary.” Carsten looked at her, smiling. He could feel a surge of hope in his chest. Perhaps, he thought, I will not lose her after all.

            “I would be delighted if you would,” he answered. “Now, you should get some rest. Morning comes early, after all.” She nodded and rolled up in her blanket. Soon, she was breathing evenly. Carsten kept his eyes open for the next four hours, but nothing much happened. At two in the morning, he woke Rolf to take his turn on watch. Then, he curled up and went to sleep.

            Rolf rose onto a horizontal log as he watched the world around him. In fact, he only had one eye on the world around him. The other was directed at the only piece of his childhood that he had held onto. It was an intricately carved steel pendant in the shape of a wolf’s head, which the people he knew told him he had been wearing when they found him. In fact, it was tied around the bundle that he had been in when the people at the orphanage found him. The eyes especially fascinated him; instead of rubies, which he had expected, they were two white sapphires. The necklace had three runes on the back, which read in Panalian script as WS. The letters had never made sense to him, and he had long ago given up trying to decipher them. He simply turned the necklace over in his hands, looking at the head in mesmerized wonder. No matter how many times he did this, the pendant still cast some kind of spell over him. He could spend a full ten minutes just looking at it. Tonight, though, he spent less time than normal doing so. For as he was pondering its meaning yet again, he heard sounds in the distance. They sounded like the clashing of weapons and loud shouts. There was another sound, rising among them; the voices of dogs, snarling and barking viciously. Slowly, the shouts began to turn to screams and moans; then, they died away altogether. By now, all of the others were awake. The travelers listened in horrified silence as the sounds slowly died away. Arcaena looked at the others.

            “There is no question,” she stated firmly. “We can no longer stay here.” The others nodded assent. Carsten threw snow over the spot where the fire had been and packed his bedroll. The others did the same, and they all prepared to leave. As they set out, Rolf wondered about the sounds that he had heard. Who had been fighting? Why? Were there survivors? What were war dogs doing in the Waste, of all places? As he asked himself these questions, he knew that he would probably never find the answers.

            Everwinter Waste

            Telara Wayfinder stood on the field of battle, satisfied with the Huntresses’ work. They had come upon the party of raiders in the night and utterly destroyed them and their wolf mounts. One of the curious things about their animals was the brands on their necks; each one was marked with a rough sign that looked like a hieroglyph of some kind, although what it was or the purpose it served mystified her. Though they had been roused from a dead sleep induced by a night spent carousing with stolen kegs of ale, the raiders had fought long and bitterly against her troops. She felt confident that she had done good work here; these raiders were doubtless the ones responsible for the column of smoke that she had seen several days before and the destruction wreaked upon the Outland villages just across the border.

            “Mistress,” called one of the Huntresses. “We have found something.”

            Sighing, Telara stepped over to where the woman was kneeling down in the snow. Already, white flakes had begun to fall again, covering the corpses that lay on the field and the prints of the clashing forces. She knelt beside her subordinate, squinting in the dim torchlight.

            “Tracks,” she said finally. “Tracks leading away from the battle.”

            “Yes,” the woman said, growing excited. “Do you know what this means?” She asked.

            “I believe so,” Telara said. “Because of the sprawling nature of the camp, we could not surround them. Therefore, we attacked from the west side, cutting off their easiest route of escape. Given this spot’s relation to our point of assault, I would assume that this was one of the last spots we reached. Also, these are wolf prints, not the boots of these…whatever they are.”

            “Which means that some of them escaped on their wolves,” the woman finished. “Do you wish us to order our fastest runners to hunt them down?” Telara looked back at her Huntresses. Though they had fought well, they were near their breaking point. Without supplies, they could travel no farther north, and she had still not found her daughter. As bitter as the idea tasted in her mouth, she knew she had to abandon her search.

            “No,” she answered. “Give the command to return home. We will resupply at any villages we find still able to provide food and water.”

            “But your daughter?” The woman asked. “What of her?”

            “She has vanished without a trace,” Telara replied. “I would not be surprised if she is already dead.”

            “But the wolves?” The woman pressed.

            “It matters not,” her superior snapped. “They pose no danger to us. We move out immediately.” After all, she thought, what harm could a dozen wolf riders do to thirty Huntresses?

            Waste

            Several miles north

            By now, the travelers had moved into the mountains, their drive to reach the southern village stronger than ever. The thick copses of trees on the snow-covered slopes hindered their progress, and the ever-present drifts of white powder had by now grown maddening.

            “If we ever get out of this,” Edessa puffed, slipping in one of the snowdrifts, “I will never, ever leave the south again. Or complain about something being too hot.” Thomas nodded assent.

            “I would gladly spend a whole week in the forges after this,” he said. “At least there, they feed you.” They walked for hours and hours, quiet except for whispered conversations and grunts of pain. The mountains seemed to undulate up and down, and they kept on tirelessly. The trees seemed thinner as the mountain range rose higher into the sky, which allowed them to move faster. They stopped briefly just before dawn to eat a meal, and then started on their way again. Unlike the last time, there was no fire. Arcaena had vehemently discouraged the others from building one, as she felt it too dangerous given the noises that they had heard earlier. So, grumbling, the travelers had settled for a frigid meal without any water, after which they continued on their way.

            They kept on for hours after dawn, slogging through drifts and avoiding the now-more-numerous stones that blocked their way. When they had come to a tiny copse of trees, Edessa sat down on a rock and refused to move.

            “I can go no further,” she said simply. “I am exhausted and hungry and cold. To make matters worse, we have seen no sign of danger since we heard those noises.”

            Carsten’s eyes scanned the now-bright snow around them. “If you saw danger coming, it would cease to be so dangerous,” he remarked. “But I see nothing now.”

            Arcaena shook her head. “We should…” Before she could finish, Carsten leaned close.

            “We should stop,” he whispered. “I think she really has reached her limit. If you do not let them rest, they may simply drop from exhaustion.”

            “What if…” Carsten shook his head.

            “We have to rest sometime. No one can go indefinitely like this, and she has not been doing well. You said you wanted to help her. Did you mean that?”

            “That is unfair,” she hissed back. “You are suggesting putting us all in danger.”

            “We have not ceased to be in danger since we left the prison,” he pointed out. “Every moment we spend asleep is dangerous.”

            She sighed. “All right. I will give them a few hours. Speaking of sleep you look like you could use some more.” Carsten raised an eyebrow at her.

            “Thanks,” he said, smiling. “That makes me feel so much better.” He took out his bedroll, spread it on the snowy ground, and was asleep almost before he finished laying down.

            Arcaena watched as the members of the group drifted off to sleep one by one. As she surveyed the ragged, tired group, she had to wonder how any of them had gotten as far as they had. Even as a group, she found them unremarkable, herself included. The problem with that was she somehow knew they had to be better. With those pessimistic thoughts dominating her mind, she found herself struggling to keep awake. While Carsten might have been on watch for the past few nights, Arcaena had had trouble sleeping. Since the meeting with Issavea, in fact, she had been suffering from extremely vivid nightmares. Thus, she fought and fought to stay awake. In the end, however, she succumbed to sleep, her eyes falling closed as she leaned back against a snow-covered rocks.

           

            She was standing on what looked like a battlefield, a long wooden staff in her hands. In front of her stood what looked like the remains of tall trees, once proud, but now reduced to burning stumps. Their trunks were charred black, and beneath them she saw the mangled forms of corpses, some with weapons sticking out of them. Smoke was everywhere, and she thought she could smell flesh burning. Ahead, she heard the sounds of metal ringing against metal, and suddenly the vision shifted. What she now saw stopped her heart. Two figures were battling in the splintered remains of a house, their weapons flashing and striking one another at impossible speed. One of them, the taller figure with an axe-staff, was pounding the other one with all his strength. The axe-staff, an ae with a single, mirrored head at each end, allowed for brutal whirling attacks and facilitated fighting styles based on momentum. He wore rusted armor on his body, but no helmet. His face sent chills through Arcaena’s body; he had thin, hawk-like features and beady red eyes. His hair fell down his back in long braids, and his skin was dull, ash grey. The other fighter was substantially smaller, and he wore red-and-black armor from head to foot. As hard as the other fighter attacked, the smaller warrior defended, deflecting the strokes from the axe weapon and returning with precise counters of his own. Still, it was apparent that he had already been through a battle. His armor was pitted and broken, and the helmet/hood combination he wore was dented in multiple places.

            “You are throwing your life away needlessly,” the tall warrior hissed.

            “Am I?” The other replied. His voice seemed familiar, but it struck a memory she could not touch. “You took everything from me. First, it was my home. Now, you threaten my family and my people. Is that supposed to make me want to join you?”

            The tall man unleashed a series of vertical slashes, all of which hammered against his opponent’s guard. “Everything I did I did to get you to see reason. And yet you continue to resist. Why?”

            The red-armored warrior ducked a horizontal slash and threw something from his belt at the other. The tall man grunted, and his hand went to a knife that suddenly appeared in his left shoulder. “You say that everything you have done is for our good, and yet you have done such brutal things.”

            “In the defense of our home,” he responded hotly, laying more strokes about the red warrior. “You would have done the same.”

            “No,” the red knight replied, moving in close to land a shallow cut on the man’s right arm. “I would not. There is nothing so precious in this world that you should do wrong to attain it. I learned that the hard way and you will, too. Come, there is still hope. Even after all this, it is not too late. Abandon this madness, I beg you.”

Before she saw anymore, the dream ended in darkness. With a jolt, she was awake and alert. Suddenly, she realized what the sound that had awakened her: the howling of wolves. Rolf and Carsten were already awake and rousing the others. Looking around in shock, she realized that it was dusk; they had slept through an entire day and into the next. She got to her feet and grabbed her pack and quiver.

            “We should move,” she said, cinching the quiver straps. “I have no desire to meet any wolves that inhabit this place.”

            “Wolves?” Rolf echoed. “Those do not sound like wolves. Their voices are deep; that indicates that they are too large.”

            “What they are makes little difference,” Carsten answered.

            “Agreed,” Arcaena said. “Run. GO!” They all broke into a run, leaving the small dell and entering a forest adjacent to it. The howls had faded by now, being replaced by barking and snapping noises.

            “They draw nearer,” Edessa said, coughing as she did so. While she was no longer so tired, the ache in her legs had still not vanished. Suddenly, she felt an impact on her back, and she went down. The fall was immediately accompanied by a pain in her shoulder, and then a jarring impact to her head. Through her now-blurry vision, she saw a flash of light, and heard a shriek of agony, followed by a nauseating splatter. Then, everything went black, and, with her last conscious breath, she whispered a prayer for her friends.

            Arcaena felt her heart sink as she heard the wolf behind them. Even so, she did no more than turn around before the beast closed the distance and leaped onto Edessa. Through the blur of dark-colored fur and snapping teeth, she saw an animal far larger than any dog or wolf she knew of. It bared its teeth and sank its teeth into Edessa’s shoulder as the dark elf watched. She reached into her quiver, and, without thinking, she whispered the words to the Boltarrow spell that she had availed herself of in her days as a Huntress. The arrow began to glow with green light, and Arcaena sighted and released. The projectile struck the beast in the side and exploded with an emerald flash. The beast pitched backward and dropped, dead before it hit the ground. Carsten immediately went to Edessa’s fallen form and put his hand to her neck.

            “She is alive,” he announced. “However, I think she struck her head on this stone; she is unconscious.” Without saying anything else, he actually picked her up and put her over his shoulder. It was a curious sight, a dwarf lifting someone a full foot taller than him off the ground. He seemed to have some difficulty with this, however. After all, lifting a girl who weighed more than a hundred pounds is not an easy feat. “Come on,” he said, starting off again. “I thought we were in a hurry.” Even as he said the words, the sounds of barking grew closer still. Arcaena nocked another arrow to her bow and ran off after him, with the others close behind.

            For how long they ran, they did not know. They ran with reckless abandon, trying in vain to convince the creatures at their heels from continuing the chase. With every step they took, they were aware of the fact that their pursuers were growing closer, and they tired by the minute. Carsten ran in front, still holding Edessa’s limp form in his arms. Suddenly, he pulled up short. The others stopped, confusion writ large on their faces.

            “Why are you stopping?” Thomas yelled. “They are right behind us!” Carsten pointed down, and Thomas saw the danger. Before them, a wide black chasm opened, and in the rapidly descending shadows, he could discern no bottom.

            “A crevasse,” the red-haired dwarf replied. “We can go no farther.”

            “Then we go around,” Arcaena said simply. She turned to run, but even as she did so, a pack of wolves and their riders burst out of the forest behind them. She drew back her bow, sighted, and shot, striking one of the riders through the helmet and knocking him off his mount. As they galloped closer, two of Carsten’s knives left their scabbards, stopping a pair of the foremost wolves in their tracks. Then, the wolves had closed the distance between them, and battle was joined.

            The melee between the fleeing travelers and the wolf pack was swift and chaotic. Thomas’ axe sliced through three wolves at once, sending their heads rolling. Arcaena managed to get off another shot toward a rider, who fell with the arrow protruding from the gap between his spaulder and breastplate. She drew her hunting knives and slashed and thrust at any beast that drew close enough. Carsten dropped Edessa, drew his sword, and fought savagely to keep the attacking beasts at bay. He impaled two with a thrust, withdrew his blade, and killed another wolf and its rider in a single blow. Rolf’s knives slipped in and out as he ducked, dodged, and rolled his way through the fracas, killing beasts and men as he moved. Still, the wolves inflicted damage of their own; one of the beasts latched onto Arcaena’s arm, though she struck him down with a blow from her second knife. Rolf found himself engaged with battling a dismounted rider, whose sword lacerated the gray-haired man before a well-placed slash across the neck put him down. Carsten felt a jolt of pain as one of the beasts tackled him, pushing him past Edessa’s limp form and perilously close to the cliff’s edge. Dropping his sword, he grabbed the animal’s muzzle, desperately trying to fend off its snapping jaws. His metal-and-leather glove could not keep out the animal’s teeth, which bit into his flesh through the material. In a rage, he grabbed the beast’s head and jerked as hard as he could. The beast’s head twisted awkwardly to one side with a nauseating snap, and the creature’s body went suddenly limp. Carsten pushed the wolf’s corpse off himself and rose to his feet. Already, the sounds of battle were fading around him; the wolves had already begun slinking into the forest, as many of their comrades lay dead or dying in the now-red snow. Arcaena was standing in the midst of the battlefield, raining arrows on the retreating creatures. A few of them fell, but the majority made it to the safety of the tree line. She watched them go, satisfied, and turned back to her comrades.

            “Well,” she said, “we are alive. Not exactly the picture of health, but we survived.” Thomas was off in one corner, leaning heavily on his axe. One of the beasts had bitten his leg and, while his metal greaves had protected his skin, the attack still left him bruised and hurting.

            “That could have gone better,” he muttered.

            “Better how?” Rolf asked. “We survived. We are all here. How could it be better?” Arcaena was about to nod when she heard a high, ethereal whine behind her. She turned and in doing so saved her life. The first she was aware of the shot was a burning pain in her arm, and she saw with detached surprise that an arrow had suddenly appeared there. Despite the agony, she looked up and saw the archer, barely visible beneath the shadow of the trees. He had already nocked a second arrow, but she was faster. As he sighted the bow, she nocked, sighted, and released with uncanny elven accuracy. Even as the arrow streaked away, the other archer released his. The shot was low, hurried by the fact that he wanted to dodge the shot. However, the effort was in vain. The elf’s arrow struck him squarely in the throat, pinning him to the tree he had tried to shelter behind. Then, his shot struck her in the side, a good bit below the ribcage. While it did not pierce her flesh, the arrow slashed through her leather armor and opened a wide gash there. Suddenly, she felt faint, and she dropped to one knee, doing her best to keep herself upright. The pain was, to be conservative, excruciating. She felt like her entire left side was on fire, and that from a mere graze.

            Carsten felt his heart sink as he saw the arrow streak form the tree line. It hit the dark elf squarely in the arm, but she barely noticed. Indeed, Arcaena managed to return a shot, hitting the other archer in the neck. He found himself running over to her, his feet somehow missing the bodies littered about them in the snow. She listed to one side and fell, holding her shoulder and wincing. He was at her side almost instantaneously, and he dropped beside her.

            “Are you all right?” He asked.

            “NO!” She exploded. “I just got shot twice with arrows. That is not exactly pleasant.”

            “I know,” he replied, “but you can just heal them, can you not?” She pulled the arrow out of her shoulder and examined the head closely. It appeared to be covered in a grimy, black substance, most of which had now seeped into the wound. Poisoned, she realized. Putting her hand on the wound, she muttered a healing spell and waited. To her surprise, she felt nothing: no tingle as the magic flashed through her digits, no searing pain as the wound closed, and no drain as it left her. All that happened was a weak green glow on her hand, which almost immediately winked out. With horror, she realized the awful truth; the Boltarrow spell had drained her of the last of her magic. She now had poison coursing through her veins, and she was powerless to flush it from her system. And with that knowledge came a feeling that had only plagued her once before, the day her mother had died: the feeling of fear.

Author's Note

Please note grammar, spelling, and mechanics errors. Positive feedback is appreciated but not required.