Of Wolf And Witch Page 3

  “What is it, Duncan? Do you see what’s making the boat rock so much?”

  “Quiet yourself!” Duncan said sharply.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in, then out. His wolf senses sharpened and he could hear the creatures beneath the waves. He knew what was attacking them. Duncan had seen their kind before.

  “Lockjaws.”

  Lockjaws were among the most dangerous aquatic creatures in Rivania. They usually roamed in packs and preyed on small ships that couldn’t defend themselves very much. Lockjaws were predominantly blue fishes, adorned with yellow stripes that grew into a green tint where they met with the blue flesh. They had two dorsal fins, each one yellow like their stripes. Their most prominent feature was undoubtedly their teeth. They were razor-sharp and impossibly white. Lockjaws were sometimes called the scourge of the Rivanian Sea, but Duncan did not fear them. They were simply tricky to fight, but little more than fish with an attitude.

  The boat rocked again, and a Lockjaw breached the water. Duncan moved as quick as lightning, unsheathing Winter’s Edge and raising it, cutting along the belly of the Lockjaw as it leaped over the boat. Gore rained down on Duncan. “One down,” Duncan said as the dead Lockjaw floated on top of the water, blood spilling out into the open water. Duncan was covered with some of the bloody entrails of the fish, but that did not distract him from his goal to kill the other Lockjaws.

  The blood wouldn’t distract the other Lockjaws, however. They were only drawn by human blood. Even elves and dwarves were safer from Lockjaws than humans. Duncan’s senses sharpened to the remaining Lockjaws. There were three left in this pack. Duncan would need to end them if they were to make the rest of the journey.

  “Ovren!” Duncan yelled out. “Have you any harpoons?”

  Ovren pointed behind Duncan. “I keep them for exactly this reason, not that I have much skill with them!”

  Duncan turned to look. There was a bundle of six harpoons at the front of the boat. He immediately moved to grab them. He drew one out of the bundle with his right hand, holding the rest in his left. “Time to hunt,” he said grimly. He looked out and saw the twin dorsal fins of each of the Lockjaws. They would not survive Duncan’s coming onslaught.

  Time seemed to slow for Duncan. He could hear the growls of the Lockjaws beneath the waves. He could smell their fishy scent. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the Lockjaw nearest them. His eyes shot open and he threw the harpoon with inhuman might, drawing on the strength of his wolven side. He growled as the harpoon left his grip, and flying through the air, it hit its mark. The harpoon struck right in the eye of the Lockjaw, driving deep into its skull, ending its life. Almost instantly, as the first of the remaining three perished, Duncan had thrown not one, but two harpoons at the next Lockjaw. One pierced its body, and another, its head. One Lockjaw remained. The last Lockjaw was speeding towards the boat, and, opening its jaw, it clamped down on the front of the boat, crushing the wood beneath its sharp teeth. Duncan wasted no time in his assault. As the Lockjaw lived up to its name, locking its jaw shut and breaking the bow of the boat, Duncan moved to the bow and sunk the first of his last three harpoons into its head. Then he thrust the second into its side, spilling more blood into the water. Channeling his wolf strength, Duncan brought down his final with both hands, splitting the skull of the Lockjaw, killing it.

  While the creature had, in fact, died, it remained attached to the front of the boat, locked in place by its unmoving jaw. Lockjaws were infamous for their ability to lock their jaws in place and make them immobile. It how they got their name, after all. Through the cracks in the wood, water flowed. They were taking on water, slowly, but surely.

  “The threat has passed, but we’re taking on water. Not much, but enough that the rest of the journey will be difficult,” Duncan said to Ovren while he stared into the obsidian eyes of the Lockjaw. “I think we made need to stop in Eventide for repairs,” Duncan turned.

  “Eventide?” Ovren said. “You’re joking. You think I’d ask the elves for help?”

  “Rather than lose your boat, yes, I do,” Duncan replied coldly. “Put away your prejudice. They are simply elves, living in this world, the same as us.”

  Ovren sighed, exasperated. “Fine, Grey Wolf. Eventide it is.”

  “Good man. Maybe you can even keep the Lockjaw as a figurehead.”

  The rest of the journey was silent, with Ovren worrying about the elves at Eventide, and Duncan worrying about the hunt that lay ahead.

  Chapter 4

  Ovren’s boat docked at Eventide after a long, slow journey. Eventide was a settlement given to the elves after the long war, in which many elves were captured and taken as slaves, and even more were murdered. It was a unique settlement because it was completely isolated. It was found on an island that sat in the very middle of the Rivanian Sea, called the God’s Eye. The God’s Eye was a beautiful place. Outside the island’s sole settlement, trees and grasslands were plentiful. Eventide, the only civilized place on the God’s Eye, was not a grand city, but a rather modest settlement. The buildings were of elvish design, sporting many windows (which usually stayed open) and domes on the rooftops of the buildings. It did not have the financial support of the kingdom, despite being ruled by the high king of Rivania. The so-called high king had ended the war and united the realm, but treated humans much better than their elven or even dwarven counterparts. Duncan was of a mind that he did not like the high king very much, but would live under his rule to keep the peace.

  Eventide was beautiful as far as Rivanian cities go. It was under-populated and had a natural beauty much like the race that built it. It was neither cold like Frostfall nor hot like Rivan and the surrounding deserts. It was temperate and felt nice. That being said, Duncan had always liked the cold more. He seemed to thrive on it. The only bad thing about this hunt for him is that it wasn’t taking place in the north.

  With the boat still taking on water, Duncan and Ovren docked the boat on the shore to prevent it sinking. They stepped onto the land of the God’s Eye and stood on the shores of Eventide. An elf strode from the settlement down to the dock to meet them. He wore a long radiant robe of elven design and walked with a staff. His elongated ears and bald head made him stand out from other elves, most of which either had hair or somewhat less prominent ears, or both.

  “Welcome, travelers,” said the elf who came to greet them. “I am Fa’Tiel, leader of the elven people.”

  “You’re the leader and you came to greet us?” Ovren asked.

  “We do not receive many travelers aside from the trade ships that come from the rest of Rivania. I wanted to show you hospitality as you landed on our shores.”

  “What if we were bad people though? What if we came to slaughter you? What would you have done if you still came to meet us then?” Ovren continued.

  “Then I would have proved my worth as a leader by slaying you and protecting my people,” Fa’Tiel said grimly. “But I do not believe that you are bad people. By the looks of your boat, it would seem you require assistance.” He looked upon the damaged boat, seeing the attached Lockjaw acting as a grotesque figurehead.

  Duncan stepped forward and bowed. “Lord Fa’Tiel, you are correct. We need repairs. I also apologize for the behavior of my friend here.”

  “Fa’Tiel is fine,” assured Fa’Tiel. “You are the Grey Wolf, are you not?”

  “I am,” Duncan confessed.

  “It is fortuitous that you come to Eventide, Grey Wolf. There is something loose on the God’s Eye. A monster stalks our people in the night, leaving only bones to be found by morning. We need someone like you, Grey Wolf. If you would be so kind as to help us, I can arrange for free repairs to your vessel.”

  Duncan stroked his chin. “A monster, you say?”

  Fa’Tiel nodded.

  “If you can assure me free repairs, then I’ll hunt the beast.”

  “Consider the repairs already done,” Fa’Tiel said gladly.

  “And consider your mon
ster dead,” Duncan replied in kind.

  Duncan turned to Ovren. “Stay here, and if they offer you anything, take it. They can be trusted. I’ll go hunt their monster and be back as soon as I’m done.”

  Ovren nodded but was clearly unhappy at being around the elves, for he did not like their kind very much. “At least the repairs are free,” he muttered.

  Duncan turned to go, heading into the settlement of Eventide. He would need to ask around about the monster that Fa’Tiel had spoken of. As he entered through the gates of Eventide, he saw the free elves of Rivania engaged in many tasks. Some were doing laundry, and some were buying and selling. He even saw some lighting candles for the enslaved elves throughout the rest of Rivania. Children played and parents watched. Smiths crafted wares, and merchants did business. Eventide seemed a happy place, despite how their people had been treated over the years. True to Fa’Tiel’s words, there were no travelers here. No humans aside form Ovren and himself, and not a dwarf to be seen. Other docks around Eventide had grand trade ships docked, some from the south, where the capital was located, and others from the other regions carrying goods from Frostfall and materials from Hammerforge and the other dwarven cities. Duncan looked around and decided to get to work asking about the monster that had made its home on the God’s Eye.

  At first, the search went slow. The elven people knew of the monster, but only just. None had leads as to where it might be. Duncan did learn, however, that the people of Eventide were warned to stay within the walls, as all the killings that had happened thus far had happened outside the walls. This told Duncan that whatever was killing the elves was waiting outside of Eventide, killing anyone who ventured too near to its home.

  Duncan was tired of getting nowhere with his investigation. He asked traders, but they knew little from outside the walls. He asked alchemists, who might gather things from the island, but learned only that many of the victims of the monster were alchemists. Duncan then decided to do something highly unorthodox. He asked a small elven child about the monster.

  “Mommy and daddy say I can’t go outside the walls anymore because of the monster,” the child said.

  “Can you tell me anything about the monster?” Duncan asked, making sure to take what the child said seriously.

  “I think it lives in a cave,” the little elf girl said. “My friends and I used to play near a cave outside the walls, and we heard noises; scary noises.”

  “Did you notice anything else?”

  “Well, when they said they found the bones of one of the elves who ventured outside, they mentioned the cave. I think that’s where the monster lives.”

  “Thank you, little one,” Duncan said nicely.

  “Are you going to kill the monster?” the little girl asked with hope.

  “I am.”

  “Thank you, mister.”

  “Name’s Duncan.”

  “Thank you, Duncan.” The little girl smiled and went on her way.

  Duncan smiled as the girl left. Out of the mouth of a mere child came the information he needed in order to hunt the creature. He would seek out the cave beyond the walls of Eventide and find this monster. He would drive Winter’s Edge through its beating heart. For now, Duncan had an idea of what had been hunting the people of Eventide. It only came out at night, and only left behind the bones of its victims. In Duncan’s mind, he knew it must be the rare, legendary creature known as the Wendigo.

  The Wendigo was an old legend among hunters, lost to all but old texts and those who read them. As Duncan made a habit of reading old texts, as well as anything he might get his hands on, he was well versed and knew what the Wendigo was. The Wendigo was a creature of hunger. It is said that it was once an elven warrior who turned to cannibalism during the great war in order to survive the hunger he was subject to. Having run out of rations, he waited until nightfall, and then silently slew one of his comrades in his sleep. He devoured the body, leaving only the bones. This continued until the elves had lost enough soldiers due to both starvation and the elf who would become the Wendigo, that the battle was lost, and soon after, the war. The elven warrior disappeared from record, having been thought dead, but legends and myths soon arose, speaking of a horrid creature stalking the God’s Eye, eating people during the moonlit hours. No record of the creature’s death ever appeared, but every so often, victims turn up. The Wendigo is thought to still be alive, though none now know the monster’s name or origin. It is simply called Wendigo.

  Duncan was sure that this was the creature. Everything lined up. The Wendigo was nearly a century old and was becoming more of a problem. Duncan suspected that the Wendigo was getting desperate for food. Over time, people had learned to steer clear of its suspected nesting area, and now it was getting hungry. Duncan had decided that it must be the Wendigo, despite it being a myth. Duncan was no stranger to myths and legends and had even killed a few myths and legends before. The Wendigo would be no different. It was still midday, however, and Duncan would need to wait until nightfall to hunt the beast. Fa’Tiel had been nice enough to offer Duncan and Ovren a room in the inn by the harbor. While Ovren declined to stay in the room, Duncan went and laid down, letting sleep take him.

  He awoke with a start. Breathing heavily and drowning in cold sweat, Duncan looked around. The room was dark, but he could tell no one was around. His senses were sharp enough to tell him that much. Night had fallen. Duncan had admittedly slept longer than he had planned, but there was still time to prepare for the hunt. Duncan calmed. He had experienced a nightmare, which was common to him, unfortunately. They never changed. It was always the same nightmare. He saw it clear as day each time. The Sanguine latched onto Asha’s neck, but she was not in pain. Sanguines had a way of making their victims enjoy the act of the change. It gave pleasure to the victim and the Sanguine making the change happen. Duncan looked on in horror, hoping, praying that he wasn’t too late, but knowing deep in his soul that he already was.

  He always shouts in the dream. Some variation on “Get away from her,” or “Let her go”. The Sanguine never obeys, but his attention always turns to Duncan. Asha always crumples to the floor with a thud, and Duncan rushes forward in a rage. Sometimes the nightmare changes here. Sometimes the Sanguine lunges and restrains Duncan before he can attack, as he begins to change him, just as he had done to Asha. Duncan always wakes before the change is done. Other times, he slays the dream sanguine, only to find that he was too late. Asha has already turned, and Duncan wakes with tears flooding his eyes, as he relives the loss of Asha.

  Duncan fiddled with the pendant around his neck. It is the only memento left from his time with Asha, save for the ring he had forged her, which was back at home. The pendant had been a gift, useful for warding off magic. Duncan loved the gift and never took it off, given his hatred of witches.

  “I’m sorry, Asha,” He whispered to the darkness. He knew she could never hear him, but he still spoke nonetheless, hoping against all hope that she was somewhere where she could hear his apology. That was Duncan’s largest regret. He never got to apologize to Asha for not being there. When he took her in his arms, it had already been too late. Asha was gone, replaced by the blood-feasting Sanguine. He never got to apologize, and he never got to say goodbye.

  Duncan felt something in the temperate air. It wasn’t something palpable, but he could sense it. Something was here with him. He suspected a monster of some kind.

  It was a creature that fed on dreams and nightmares. It was known as a Dreamweaver. To the uninitiated, it would appear as a specter in tattered rags and lacking a true face, instead having only eyes that glowed red. Particularly powerful ones could even create dreams for people to see, which they then feed on. They are like parasites: highly annoying, even if mostly harmless. Duncan had no patience for them, though. He grabbed Winter’s Edge from the corner and leveled it at the Dreamweaver.

  “Begone or I will be the last thing you see.”

  The Dreamweaver did not heed the warning. Instead, it
made a guttural noise and moved towards Duncan.

  “Have it your way, then,” He said gravely.

  Winter’s Edge swung through the air, striking the Dreamweaver, or at least the place where he was. The Dreamweaver was magic, and it was hard to affect him with conventional weapons.

  “Shit,” Duncan cursed.

  The Dreamweaver moved closer still, threatening to send Duncan back into slumber. Duncan would not have it. He swung again to no avail. He had but one choice. Looking around the room, he noticed a candle stand with three candles lodged in it. Fire, that was the solution. A fire would drive off the spirit. Duncan rolled across the room and took up the candle stand. Most of the room was wood, which meant it could burn. He threw down the candle stand on the floor near where the Dreamweaver hovered. A flame burst forth, catching the floor on fire. The Dreamweaver took notice of this and began to panic. Dreamweavers did not get along with fire. Duncan took the opportunity to bolt for the window. He would let the vampire of dreams perish in the flames. Duncan leaped out the nearby window, landing on the hard ground outside. He thanked God that he was only on the first floor.

  A thought then occurred to Duncan. His armor was still in the room. The fire would take time to spread without an accelerant, which gave him the time he needed. He ran through the front door of the inn and rushed to the counter. “Room’s on fire!” He said, running out of breath.

  The elven innkeeper wasted no time. He ran off towards the room with Duncan behind. He burst through the door to see the fire slowly spreading from where the candlestick had landed. The Dreamweaver was nowhere to be found. The innkeeper was prepared for things like this. He uttered something in elvish, and the fire faded as if doused by water. Even the spot where it had been, though scorched, was now wet. It was as if he had poured a great amount of water over the fire to douse it, but he had done no such thing.