Night of Wolves (7 page)

Jerico turned away and refused to acknowledge him. The silence dragged on, awkward and uncomfortable. At last, Pallos put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Do not be mad with me, Jerico. I am old, and have seen the evil this world fosters. I only say this because I fear the hurt that will befall you. But let us talk on other things. Your shield…is it still your beacon? I would very much like to see it.”

Jerico welcomed the excuse to leave his presence, if only for a little while. He seethed at such condemnation of someone like Darius. Sure, the man had his faults, but didn’t everyone? But he’d been there beside him, bleeding and fighting for the safety of the village. He called the men to be strong, the women to be faithful, for all to follow laws that, while strict, often seemed fair. They were both young, and they understood the trials each of them endured, and what it meant to stand before a crowd and speak from the heart on matters of faith. Betray him? Never.

In his room he retrieved his mace and shield and carried them back to Pallos.

“Incredible,” said Pallos as Jerico held the shield aloft. The blue-white glow swirled over it, not as strong as it’d been on the night fighting the wolf-men, but nothing he would be ashamed of, either.

“And your mace?” he asked.

Jerico held it closer, so he could see it held no glow, no power. Pallos drew his sword, its blade swirling with the light of Ashhur, showing the strength of his faith.

“When I first heard of this during your training, I didn’t believe it,” Pallos said, sheathing his sword. “Even coming here, I thought it would have faded over to your mace. Ashhur has granted you a strange gift, Jerico. Never have any of us encountered a paladin’s shield becoming his beacon of faith over his weapon. I hope you study it closely to learn its reasons, its limits.”

Jerico set the shield down by the tree.

“It’s a big hunk of metal that glows. I think I understand it well enough.”

Pallos shook his head.

“You should show more reverence to the gifts of Ashhur. The people here study the way you speak, the way you act. You are an example to them, and if you show such callousness toward the miracles of our god, then you will instill them with the same.”

Jerico felt his neck flush.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Come now, I am no teacher, and you no wet-nosed pupil. You are a good man, and I expect greatness out of you. I would not have sent you here if I did not. There are a hundred villages, all needing to hear the word of our god. But Ashhur expects something special from you. I only pray you are prepared for it.”

Pallos stood, and he brushed the dirt from his armor.

“I must be going,” he said. “There are others who must learn of Mornida’s death.”

Before he could go, Jerico stopped him.

“Wait,” he said. “You see, I…”

“What is it?” Pallos asked.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he said. “The same one, really, and it comes with greater frequency.”

The old paladin tilted his head. “Well, tell me, and perhaps I can interpret.”

“I see the Citadel. The lower walls are cracking, and then the surrounding field bursts with fire. It’s raining, but instead of water, bones fall. I hear a sound, like the roar of a beast, and then I awake.”

Pallos looked troubled by what he heard.

“Perhaps you dreamt of Mornida’s death,” he said. “It is always a troublesome time when our leader falls.”

“Are you sure?”

Pallos gestured to the distance. On the other side of the square, Darius was gathering men and women for another sermon.

“Perhaps it is Ashhur warning you of his presence. The Citadel is strong as ever. But to be in the company of a dark paladin…you must expect some of his shadow to fall upon you. Stay safe, Jerico. I hope to see you on my return.”

Jerico watched him go as Darius’s speech grew louder and filled with fire. He listened for a little while, then went back to the field. More than anything, he wanted the monotony so he might think over what he’d heard, as well as calm the turmoil growing in his breast. It was only an hour later that he realized he’d not once mentioned the wolf-men that had attacked their village.

5

L
eaving tower Bronze, Daniel felt an immense sense of relief. Their boat drifted along the center of the river, slow and deep enough they could relax and let the Gihon carry them. Daniel sat in the back, dipping his fingertips in the cold water to keep awake. Not that he needed the help. An argument with someone as stubborn as Sir Lars was easily enough to get him worked up and ready to hit something.

“Unsupplied as I am, you want me to patrol twenty miles south to help protect some...simpletons stupid enough to go into the Wedge?” Lars had asked. He was shorter than Daniel, but still outweighed him by plenty. They’d bickered in his study, him wearing a family breastplate that enhanced his rotund physique.

“At least those simpletons aren’t afraid of what they face,” Daniel had shot back. Lars had flustered red, and he’d tugged at his long blond mustache while trying to find words to say. During many battles with bandits in the south, as well as the initial skirmishes with the elves, Lars had earned a reputation as a cautious leader. To those with enough alcohol to loosen their tongues, he was a coward, and that cowardice had eventually landed him his position in tower Bronze.

“Sir Godley might be a sour, quiet sod,” said one of his men as they drifted along, “but I’d take him any day over that fat weasel Lars.”

There were twenty of them, and they all shared a chuckle. The jest was in good nature, but Daniel knew he couldn’t let the man get away without reprimand.

“If you’ve got the energy to waggle your tongue, you can grab some oars and do a bit of rowing, Jon,” he said. “I’d hate you to end up as fat as Sir Lars.”

More laughs, but they got the point. Jon took to rowing, knowing he’d have to be a fool to try and escape the rather lax punishment. The oars dipped in and out of the water, the sound rhythmic, relaxing. Trees lined either side of them, growing tall with their roots crawling down into the river. Worn stone surrounded both sides, soft rock and dirt half the height of a man. The sun set, the moon rose, but so flat was the river they continued along, two men at the front using poles and lanterns to make sure they had no surprises.

“How far?” asked Jon, a man who had refused to give his last name upon enlistment. Daniel figured him a former bandit or thief, but whatever the crime, he was willing to let it be forgotten so long as he served faithfully, which he did.

“You mean until we’re there, or until you stop rowing?” Daniel asked.

“Either’s good.”

“We should be arriving soon. Keep your eyes peeled for a wooden dock. They should have one, from what I gathered before we left. They rely on a lot of supplies coming up and down the river, given how they’re in the middle of nowhere. And put your oars down, Jon.”

The man did, and he stretched his back while letting out a pleased grunt.

“Getting shallow,” said one of the men with the poles up front. “Might consider pulling off lest we hit something.”

“Rather sleep with a roof over my head,” Daniel said. “Keep your eyes open and your lanterns west. And hand me one of them, will you?”

Several others joined the search, their shifting rocking the boat enough that Daniel lost the grip of his lantern. It fell to his left, hit the boat, and then rolled off the side. His fingers seemed an inch away the whole while it fell to the water.

“Shit,” he muttered, peering off the side. As his eyes lifted, he saw a yellow pair meet his own, then vanish.

“Gregory,” he called out, keeping his voice calm.

“Yes, sir?” asked Gregory. He was a young man, but he was strong, and more importantly, had a keen mind. Both Daniel and Robert had wondered how Marcus had erred in letting such a man end up at their towers.

“Look east,” he said. “Keep it quiet, and don’t make it obvious.”

“What am I looking for?” asked Gregory. He put his hands on his back and acted as if he were stretching. The boat continued drifting, many of the men still shining lanterns and searching for the dock, or at the least, distant signs of the village.

“If they’re there, you’ll know.”

Gregory swore. His hand ran through his brown hair, and then it fell to his side, where his sword should have been. It was not. All their gear was stowed in three chests placed equidistant from each other along the center of the boat.

“Eyes watching us,” Gregory said.

“How many?”

Daniel leaned his chin in his hand and stared east as if he were bored. Yellow eyes peered at them, and they had a hungry look that sent shivers up his spine.

“At least six pairs. Maybe more. They’re wolves, aren’t they?”

One of the men near them heard and glanced back, worry crossing his face.

“Wolves, sir?” he asked.

“Shut your mouth, right now,” said Daniel. “That’s an order.”

The man nodded and obeyed.

“What do we do?” asked Gregory, lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

“If there’s that many, they aren’t here to watch. Can’t armor ourselves, otherwise every man tossed overboard drowns.”

“I say pass swords around, low and out of sight. And we need to do it fast. I see the eyes no more.”

“Have they left?” Daniel asked.

“No,” said Gregory, kneeling beside the closest chest and removing the latch. “They went into the water.”

“Pull back your lanterns,” Daniel ordered his men, and they did so. Gregory started sending swords down the boat, arming the east side first. “Take what we’re giving you, and don’t act up about it. We got eyes watching us, and Ashhur knows how intelligent they are, and how much they can understand. Jon, Letts, you keep watching for a dock, any dock. Everyone else, scan the river.”

Daniel drew his own sword and laid it across his lap, comforted by its weight. If the wolf-men assaulted their boat, there were advantages for either side. The wolves would have surprise, and they’d close the distance without fear of arrows or defensive formations. They’d be slowed by the water, though, and vulnerable trying to climb into the boats. Assuming they tried to climb them, anyway. They were strong, and if they were many, they might be able to overturn their vessel. If that happened, they soldiers would be easy prey.

“Wait for a signal,” Gregory said, a sword at his side and a torch in his hand. “A wolf pack won’t attack until they get a signal.”

The night had gone unnaturally silent. Even the men of the boat were quiet, no longer joking, calling out what they thought might be a deer, stone, or dock. No, they were watching, waiting, cold steel in their hands. Fighting wolf-men without armor, they faced a horrible challenge. Those claws could shred their skin like cloth. Those teeth could rip their limbs from their bodies. Daniel had fought wolf-men plenty in his years guarding the Wedge, but never like this, never ambushed helpless upon the water. And why were they there? The implications were just as frightening as their current situation. To have so many near the Gihon, watching, patrolling even…

From the far bank came the howl, and with that, the water on either side of their boat erupted with claws and teeth. The wolf-men lashed out at them, clawing at the wooden sides and hoisting their bodies upward. With their dark fur wet and matted, they were blacker than the night, just flashes of yellow eyes and eager claws.

Daniel saw two paddling at the rear of the boat, and he lunged with his sword at the first. It lashed up at him, but its paw went wide. His blade slashed its arm, and it yipped in pain, its swimming no longer enough to keep pace. Daniel grinned at the thought of its blood pouring into the river. The second grabbed hold of the rudder, its claws easily sinking in. When Daniel tried to stab it, its teeth snapped back, and startled, he nearly lost his sword.

To his right, a wolf-man lunged high enough to grab the side and pulled itself up. Gregory struck it with his lantern, the light blinding it. His sword pierced its chest, and kicking it off, it fell atop another wolf-man trying to climb in.