Читать книгу Jovan's Gaze - Aaron Ph.D. Dov - Страница 5

Sometime during the night, sitting on the throne of the long-fled Dark Lord, listening to the raging fire storm, I fell asleep. The pulsing pain in my hand seemed to lessen, my breathing slowed, and I began to sleep. It was an uneasy sleep. The flat, straight backing of the chair was not the problem, however, nor the un-cushioned seat itself. I had slept in worse places. No, that was not the problem.

The fire storm howled with the angry voices of countless victims. The cries reached out to me, even through the thick doors which protected me from the flames. The voices cried out, though for what I could not discern. Some of those voices had lost their bodies a thousand years past, when the first Dark Lord seized Skyreach Keep and began a reign of terror which others would continue after his death. Some died in Krona's last days, only fifteen years ago, when the magic plagues swept through the halls of the keep, and its inhabitants fled with whatever they could carry.

Skyreach Keep. Even the name was a reminder of its sullied past. It was built a thousand years ago, when the secrets of towering construction had only recently been unraveled. Skyreach Keep was built to watch over the lands of the north. Though only a scant eleven stories high, it must surely have seemed to reach into the clouds, to those early primitives who sought to extend their reign over all the land of Theris. So they built their keep and called it Skyreach, to remind themselves that their new kingdom, Esis, would soar as the great birds did.

Then the first Dark Lord came. His name long since lost to the fog of history, the first Dark Lord emerged from within the ranks of the Esis nobility. Drawn by the promise of power and riches, and worshiping the terrible gods of the sky, he seized the keep. At first, or so the murky story goes, not even the King in the south knew what was happening. A peasant uprising? A jealous knight? Some spoke of a shooting star which predicted the coming of a great evil. The stories began to travel south, carried by those lucky enough to flee the carnage which issued forth from the keep. Villages razed, crops burned. Nobles killed and their children hung from trees as a warning. At some point, and none who actually witnessed it lived to speak of exactly when it happened, the Dark Lord made a pact with the angry gods which skirted the edge of our world. What started out as a jealous noble seeking his own seat of power, became a war between decency and cruelty. The kingdom of Krona was born, with terror as its midwife. Skyreach Keep, built with such promise, was now in the hands of people who rained death down upon everyone within the grasp of their clawed, bloodied hands. The keep itself became a beacon of despair to all who saw its form on the horizon, or heard its name fearfully whispered.

Now, a thousand years later, sleeping on the throne of that terrible kingdom, images of the first Dark Lord lurked in the foggy depths of my dreams. In my mind, I watched the Dark Lord sit upon his throne, and issue orders that would sow fear and carnage across entire swaths of countryside. I listened to him laugh, and saw the deep emptiness in his eyes, which seemed bottomless pits of woe, with no soul to be found in their depths. Perhaps it was simply that his soul was too black to be seen, like a darkness which drew in the very light itself. I sensed a sickening twist of admiration and fear which gripped the people who flocked to his service. I saw their eyes, so filled with greed and hate, take in the terrible visage of their new ruler. All who looked upon him trembled with fear, and yet shook with excitement, dreaming of the power they sought in his service.

Oddly, though this same dream had found me every time I slept in the keep, I was always denied a proper view of the Dark Lord himself. I saw the hollow eyes, and the great height of the monster-king, but never the entire face, nor the body. It was as if my mind deemed the eyes enough to behold, the cruel laughter and barked orders enough to hear. Or was it my mind refusing to see his face? Did my soul fear to look at the full view of evil? When I spoke of my dreams to Jeannine, she insisted that it was the keep itself. She feared for my soul, though I paid little attention to her worries. And though I never again spoke of the dreams, I sometimes wondered about her fears. Was I wrong? Had I been wrong, all these years? Was the keep working its will upon me?

No, that was foolish. Certainly, the magic of this place ran deep. It seeped from the walls, and the plague storms which drew on that magic created fierce fire storms. That was all, though. Nothing more, certainly. The magic here was a tool for a darkness which no longer roamed the halls and dungeons of the keep. Magic was merely a tool, after all. Magic could be good or evil, and though such distinctions seemed rather childish, especially after the damage wrought by the magic plagues, it was a good rule of thumb. Still, good or evil, magic was not altogether different than a sword. A sword could be crafted artfully, or with cruel angles. Regardless, its use was entirely up to those who held it. A cruel-looking sword in the hands of a noble king was made noble. A sword wrought nobly, yet held in the hands of a creature of evil, was fouled by the uses found for it. So it was for magic, as well. The magic here, as horrid as its uses were, was nothing more than a weapon left upon a battlefield. It was only dangerous to those who did not respect such tools. I understood that, and I was cautious. Thus, I was safe.

At some point in the night, after I had let my heavy eyelids fall, the firestorm stopped. The wailing ceased. I awoke to the silence to which I was accustomed. The door had held, despite the single burst of flame at the outset. Rising from the throne, I stretched out my sore muscles. It was then that I noticed my hand. It was no longer blistered, merely red. I examined it, unsure of what I was looking at.

"Huh," I muttered to myself.

It seemed that my wounds were not what I had first thought. It was not the first time I had been deceived. The storms here were as much about fear as anything else. They played upon the mind. Obviously, my 'burns' had been another such ploy by the angry souls here, intended to sink me into a mire of despair, and then draw me in and drown me. Not today. I could not be driven to despair or madness by the sight of a few blisters and some scorched skin. I had seen far worse during the war.

Without looking back at the throne of the once-terrible kingdom of Krona, I took up my pack, and unbolted the door. Working a crick out of my neck, I started my journey home.

***

"Spent the night, did you?"

The voice called out from across the river. Erik waved at me as he crossed through the waist-deep, slow-moving river, his hands holding his massive sword above his head for balance.

"No choice," I called back, as I washed my hands in the cool water. "A storm hit while I was inside. I had to wait it out. I am not partial to being scorched down to the soles of my boots."

It was a joke, but I instinctively looked down to my hand. It was healthy and whole, of course, but the memory of the false burn of two nights past still sent pain shooting up my arm. The hallucination, for what else could it have been, was still very vivid in my mind. It had bothered me as I journeyed across the barren fields around the keep, and then through the empty fields beyond it, leading me to this small river.

Erik shook his head, his thinning mane of gray-tinted red hair waving back and forth over his face like a curtain in a breeze. He brushed it aside. "That's nonsense. You didn't have to be there to begin with."

"How would you know?" I asked.

"The package was intended for Meekwood," he retorted. "That is three walking days east of the keep."

"Your point, Erik?" I asked with a smirk.

"My point, dear boy," he replied as he reached my bank of the river, somewhat winded from the effort, "is that you wasted away that time on your little excursion."

I shrugged, shaking the water from my hands. "That is really my concern. It was a one-way delivery." I dried my hands on my pants. "I delivered it quickly. That's why they pay me."

"And how were we to know?" Erik huffed, his large, muscular form thumping down on the ground as he took some rest. "The wolves might have taken you, and Meekwood would have been without the medicine it asked for."

"I can outsmart wolves," I replied, pretending to concentrate on brushing the dust from my clothing.

"Those wolves are not just wolves, and you know it."

I nodded. "I was there when it happened."

"So you should know better," Erik said with annoyance.

Somewhere under my indifference, I agreed with Erik's point. The forests which separated Meekwood from the barrens around the keep were thick with the howls of angry beasts. The forests had always been home to wolves, massive predator packs, moving with impunity. Since the war, though, the wolves had changed. Whatever magic the locals had wrought upon those thickets did more than was intended. The rebellious villagers, seeing Kronan troops coming to crush their revolt, had sought to twist and turn the bodies of the Dark Lord's troops. They expected these troops to turn away from their intended invasion and flee, but they had not done so. The whips and claws of the Kronan officers were a far greater motivator than the magic set upon the trees. So the Kronan troops, a thousand of them in all, marched onward through the forest. At some point during their march, the wolves came upon them. Now the wolf packs and the Kronan horde were one in the same. Twisted Kronan wolves with terrible eyes, many still wearing some of the armor from their man-halves.

The stories from the Meekwood villagers were always the same. The Kronan soldiers, driven mad by the twisting magic, lived an existence scoured of memory. They wandered aimlessly, unsure of who they were or what their purpose was. That was, until the scent of life came to them. Then the changes came, and the flesh and teeth became fur and fangs. The howls echoed among the trees, and the Kronan army became a wolf pack. Such wolves as these did not relent until their prey was felled and consumed. I had seen it happen, and I knew enough to avoid that forest, or at least to cross at its narrowest point. Thankfully, the Kronan wolves did not venture beyond the trees. Food was plentiful enough under their leaf-canopy.

Erik lay back on the bank, stretching. I heard his back crack, and he let out a sigh of relief. At fifty-two, Erik was hardly fit enough to be traveling like this. Moving between the few safe areas of our world was a job for the young. Erik's only advantage was that in his youth and well into his older years he had been a warrior of unparalleled strength. The muscles remained, softened though they were. Still, he was slower, heavier, and tired far more easily than the fierce man I had known as a young soldier.

"This is not really about how long it took to get to Meekwood and back," I started.

"No," he sat up. "No, it's not. It is about your obsession with that damned place."

I waved him off with a smile and a shake of the head. "It is not an obsession."

"What do you call it?" he demanded, his tone taking on a slight edge. "You take any opportunity to go there."

"So?" I asked. "So what if I do? I am not bringing anything out of there, and anyway, the place is dead. What harm is there in going?"

"You keep saying that," he grumbled. "You say it is dead, and yet you keep going back. What is so interesting in a dead place that you keep going back to it?"

I sat down beside the old warrior. I gazed at the blue sky, so much calmer here than the approaches to the keep. "I am curious, just that. I spent enough time in our own throne room, hearing tales about that awful place. I just had to see it."

"Fine, once." He nodded, as though declaring some truth. "Once I can understand. I will even admit to being more than a little curious, myself. In my younger days, I might have gone myself, once. Once should have been enough for you, if it is really as dead as you say."

I scowled at Erik. "I am not really sure what your problem is, Erik" I shook my head, annoyed. I had heard all of this before. "You and Jeannine, you talk like I am planning on taking the keep as my home. I go there once every year, sometimes twice, and sometimes not at all."

"How many times this year?" He asked.

"This is my second," I muttered.

"Oh?" He knew better.

"Alright, third," I conceded. "The first time, all I did was pass by. I saw it on the horizon, nothing more."

"So why did you go at all?" Erik's question was rather pointed, but I was in no mood to answer it.

"I am heading home," I said dismissively, lifting myself off the ground, and brushing myself off.

I grabbed my pack, closing up the back of it. I fastened my sword back onto my belt. I had no reason to fear much of anything from here all the way home, but still, after so many years of surviving in this ruined land, I was not about to get killed for being foolish and lazy. The sword's weight felt reassuring on my waist, the pommel familiar in my hand.

Erik stood up, his age betrayed in the way he had to roll to one side and use the momentum to lift himself from the ground. As a younger man, I clearly recalled how he would leap to his feet without effort, ready to go and smiling at his own prowess. Now getting up was harder, the scars of battle competing with the scars of aging. I helped him under one arm, and he accepted it without complaint. Once, he would have batted my hand away.

"I want you to take a break," he said as he brushed dirt off his pants. "I want you to stay in the village for a few months."

I shook my head. "That is not what I do."

He smirked, raising a bushy eyebrow barely seen behind his mane of gray-streaked red hair.

"I get paid to do this, Erik," I protested. "Not everyone is lucky enough to have what you do. I need to feed myself, and the mill only pays Jeannine with food. That does not pay for anything else I need."

Erik shook his head. "One of the few advantages to the exodus is that nobody wants for a place to live, and none of the nobles are around to collect taxes on the land. You do not need anything beyond food and clothing, and you have both."

I waved him off. "I want to live, not just exist."

"Oh," he said with a knowing-nod. "I see. Yes, I understand. You want more. How much more?"

I stopped, held still for a moment. Since the war, the plagues, and the exodus they caused, there were few greater accusations than to be called greedy. Lust for power and dominance was exactly what had brought us to ruin, Esis and Krona both. To be asked "how much more do you want?" was really to be asked "do you wish to be like the people who did this to our land?"

Erik took my silence as leave to continue speaking.

"I think you like the thrill of it, Jovan." He said accusingly.

I stepped back a step, looking northward in the direction of the keep.

"I think the war was not enough for you," he said, "and you want more. You are like some fool inching toward a flame to see how close he can come before he gets burned."

Without thinking, I rubbed my hand, the memory of the not-burn tingling my skin. I shook it off, and the dust on my coat with it. "Nonsense."

He smirked again. "Really?"

I nodded slightly. "Really, Erik."

His nod was decisive. "Excellent. Then I am sure you will be happy to help me in the village for the next few months. I have a long list of repairs and it is going to be a long winter, so you can help me. The cold slows me down these days, and I can always use a good worker. I will see to it that you get paid, and Jeannine can stop bothering me."

"Ah," I said with a knowing nod. "This is her talking."

"No, this is my idea. I want you to stay close for a while." His smirk was brief. "It is just good fortune that it will please my daughter."

"Trying to get those marriage bands around our wrists?" I retorted.

Erik stepped in then, grasping my arm with his powerful hand.

"Hey, Jovan, I am serious about this." His look was partially grim, partially concerned. "This is not about you making Jeannine an honest woman. Right now, truth be told, you are in no position to ask her. I want you around because you need to be away from places like this."

He looked about him, but we both knew to what he was referring. He wanted me away from Skyreach Keep.

He continued. "The villagers are starting to avoid you. I know all about the last time you went to the tavern, and started telling your stories. By the time you finished telling them, the only person left to hear it was Gern, and he was not pleased to see all of his customers walking out on him."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked, trying to pull away, but held fast by Erik's grip.

"Nothing you do not already know," he replied. "Nothing you have not already said to yourself. Nothing Jeannine has not already said, either. More and more, people do not want you around. They are afraid that the places you go are twisting you. If they knew how often you went to the keep, they would drive you from the town."

I shook my head. "You would not let them."

"Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? I am one of the few people willing to give you this chance. Even Jeannine has her limits, patient as she is."

My jaw clenched at that. Though our time together was hardly the dizzying, young love of years past, we had grown to accept each others company and warmth. I did not relish a day in our village without her smile or embrace.

Erik could see that thought in me, as though he read it upon a page. "So take this chance. Stay around the village, help me do my work, and maybe by the time the deep snows melt away in the spring, the people around you will actually want to be around you."

I swallowed hard. I was not at all certain that I could avoid the sojourns I so relished, but Erik's tone was enough to make me take stock of what the alternative was.

I simply nodded. In the back of my mind, I even agreed with him. We headed south, towards home.

***

"Hold!" He whispered with a fierceness that stopped me in mid-stride. "Listen."

I did not ask what was wrong. I was not so foolish as that. I listened, as commanded. He had no authority over me, not since the earliest days of my service, but his instincts were screaming for his attention, and I knew well enough to listen to their cries. The journey from the river to this small forest had been a silent two days, with barely a dozen words exchanged. Now though, our eyes spoke back and forth across the distance between us, leaving behind the strained silence that had come since the argument at the river.

I turned my head left then right, slowly and steadily. I listened, picking up every sound around me. As I had been trained by the Royal Guard, I imagined myself at the center of an arena, every obstacle around me, every tree and rock, every bird and man, all of it, as adversaries. In my mind's eye I saw myself from above, as though I were a small figure upon a war planning table. My ears and eyes filled in the spaces around me, as I pinpointed the trees and rocks, and the sounds which had called Erik's attention.

Growling. I could hear it on all sides, now. It was a low, quiet growl. The growl came from many throats, perhaps as many as fifty. Most of the growls were behind us, but several came from my left and right, and a few more in front of us. I heard the rustling of fur, and the scraping sound of claws against rocks, and to my left, against a fallen tree. The growls were not more than fifty feet away.

"Wolves." Erik's voice was low, rumbling. I knew the tone. He was putting his mind toward violence, readying his mind and body for the struggle.

I slowly drew my sword, careful not to allow the blade to scrape against the metal parts of my belt. Erik's massive sword was already in his hands, though I had not seen him draw it. I watched as he tightened the straps on his pack, as did I on mine. This would be a running fight, and anything dropped would be shredded by the angry beasts.

Erik looked toward the path ahead, and he shook his head. I saw the creature's eyes, first. Cruel and glowing with a terrible red that reminded those unlucky enough to see them that terrible magic plagued the souls of these creatures. This was not a wolf, not really. Once, it had been a man, but now it was a man no more. Not a man, not really. The creature was something in between, and as my eyes traced the outline of its form, that became all too clear. The fur was a mottled black and red, giving it the look of having been splashed with blood. The arching back of the monster was far more pronounced than in a normal wolf, as though the magic had twisted its form. The shoulders were muscular, and half-covered by armor which I recognized from my time in Skyreach Keep. The front legs seeming half-way between proper wolf's legs, and those of a man. The paws were more like hands, each finger ending in a sharp claw.

I looked toward Erik, nodding my understanding. He returned the nod. I whispered what we both knew, as if saying it aloud made it more believable. "Kronan wolves."

This simple truth was that these beasts did not leave their forest cover in Meekwood, not ever. Not in all the years since the Kronan army had marched into Meekwood forest, had a single beast been seen beyond those trees. Yet here they were. They would have had to cover the open fields between those woods and these, which was a day's walk, even for these beasts. They could run it in far less, but what would drive them to dash the distance? The Kronan wolves never stepped onto open ground. What were they doing here?

The eyes. I was pulled back to its eyes. They glowed red, and I saw the anger of a man behind them. Though this was certainly not the time to have such musings, I wondered to myself if these beasts were truly as mindless as the locals thought. I knew the glare of a hungry wolf, a stare that, while fierce, was devoid of any real anger. A real wolf was aggressive and fierce because it had to be. This creature, with its red eyes, was full of hate. I could see it. I could smell it. I could taste its bitterness on the wind. It was poisonous, and I felt nauseous at its touch.

Erik's shaken head told me that he did not want to advance forward. Wolves, even normal wolves, knew well how to trap prey. Give chase, drive the prey forward, exhaust it, and then force it into the jaws of the waiting pack. I knew this, as did Erik. Most of the pack would be ahead of us and to our flanks, well out of reach of our ears. Only a few would be at our rear, intended, not to catch us, but to push us forward. They would make enough noise to seem like many more than a few. Why did this one Kronan wolf stand in our way? It would only make us less tempted to go that way. I could hear the growls, and my mind's eye placed them upon the war-table in my head.

I looked back toward those red eyes, staring into them, trying to discern their will. I felt something crawling on the back of my neck, though nothing was there. I could feel the Kronan wolf using the angry magic in his red eyes to whisper doom to me. I could sense its hate, its desires, and…

In an instant, I knew what was happening. I looked to Erik. He was looking around, seeking a route for escape. He did not realize what I did. He did not see it. I clucked my tongue ever so slightly, just enough to get his attention. As soon as his eyes locked upon mine, I nodded sharply. Erik's eyes narrowed, and I could read his words, even though he said not a word.

'No, Jovan. Bad idea,' his eyes seemed to say. Perhaps it was, but I had no time to explain what had become obvious to me.

I dashed forward, my legs driving me onward as though I were mounted on a powerful war-steed. My feet found good footing on the dry earth, and I did not have to waste energy or concentration on slogging across wet ground. A fallen tree before me became a tool in my hurry, as I planted my foot upon it and launched myself forward, hitting the ground at a run. I leaned forward, running as though in a race. A race it was indeed, with my life and Erik's as the prize.

I could hear Erik following me, growling at what he no doubt thought was foolishness. Was I mad, he surely wondered, to race into the waiting jaws of the pack? His footfalls were heavy, and the fallen tree groaned under his weight. He hit the ground with a thud, but did not falter. I could hear his heavy breathing. His age was an enemy now, as much as the Kronan wolves. He was slower than I, less agile. I was careful not to push too far ahead of him, though my plan relied on putting some distance between the two of us, if just for a moment. The sun cast his shadow ahead of me, and I could see that his sword was held mid-way between point and hilt. His type of sword was not particularly sharp, relying mostly on the brute force driven by the muscles of men as big as Erik. Held as it was, it was only useful to fend off attacks. Erik was not on the attack, confused as he was by my actions. That was fine, since my plan required only a moment of violence, and all of it from my hand. If I failed, or my instincts were simply wrong, the prowess of this old warrior would not matter at all. We would both be food for the cursed soldier-wolves of old Krona.

I hurried forward, readying my sword. The Kronan wolf to my front snarled aloud, bearing his fangs. They were long and sharp, and I had seen such jaws and fangs rend deer in two bloodied pieces with one violent motion. I would not survive those jaws. The creature snarled and barked, and then howled to the sky. The sound was answered with many such howls, most of them behind us. I was right. They were almost all behind us.

I gritted my teeth, my own fierceness coming to the fore. I felt the slackness of many months without bloodshed melt away, and the old training return. As the wolf began its headlong charge toward me, it raised itself on its back legs and came at me like a man. The eyes burned all the brighter, and its fangs were ready for me. Its claws reached out, and its muscular legs moved it forward. It snarled, and so did I.

The beast shifted to its left, and so I took my sword in my right hand, positioning it to make just the right stroke. I focused on the footing and movement needed to make the kill. The forest seemed to hush, and even Erik's heavy breathing grew quiet. I only caught some of his words, demanding to know what I was doing. I did not answer. My own breathing grew more quiet, and then I heard it no more.

We galloped toward each other, the man-beast and I. I had a sword, and it had claws. I had training, it had the rage of years roaming as a beast of the forest. I felt our fight begin even before we met, as our wills met in the middle, doing battle over the ever-shrinking distance between us. It snarled and I growled, as if our voices were fierce enough to bat away the others' strength.

The beast's feet hit the ground lightly, gracefully. My own feet seemed so much heavier as I paid close attention to each step, each shift of my muscles. Balance and timing were everything. Between us was a small patch of rocky ground, and I could see the dried remnants of algae upon the rocks. This had been a river, recently dried. The rocks would be slippery with the dusty remnants of the river bottom. I adjusted my plan.

Closer and closer we came, until at the last moment I shifted my weight backward, allowing my feet to thrust ahead. I slid across the water-smoothed, dry, algae-covered rocks, using my left hand to balance myself. I felt the dry, smooth rocks glide beneath my palm. The Kronan wolf swiped at me with its right claw, but it was too late. My sword drove into its stomach. My momentum carried me forward and past the beast, but I held onto my blade. As our bodies passed each other, the momentum of our movement pushed the edge of the blade toward the beast's flank, tearing the creature's innards as it sliced. I tore out the blade, and felt the blood spatter upon my face. The motion spun me around, and I came to a stop facing the cursed creature.

The beast staggered for a moment, grasping its sides, trying to stem the flow of blood, organs, and filth. It made a half-hearted growl, and then collapsed into a pile atop its own spilled parts. The light in its eyes seemed to dim, and then suddenly, shockingly, the eyes were as a man's! They were pale blue, and they were filled with tears. It, no, he looked at me from his ruined form, and for the briefest moment it seemed as though he were thanking me. I shook off the very idea that a Kronan wolf, evil even before the magic mangled his form, would be thankful of death. Nonsense.

A moment's revere was all I could afford, and then I was up again. I wiped the blood from my face. It was still warm, and the smell of iron mixed with something I could not place, nor had the time to think on. Erik was quickly approaching, and I had no time to think deep thoughts about what had occurred.

"What are you doing?" he snarled as he approached.

"Keep up!" I called back.

I turned on my heel and dashed onward. A second Kronan wolf appeared ahead of us, leaping from behind a tree. I slashed at it, catching it in the shoulder. Like the other wolf, this one still carried the armor of its days as a soldier of the Dark Kingdom. My sword glanced harmlessly off the rusted armor, and I lost my balance. I stumbled forward, the beast missing me in its leap. I tried turning to meet the beast, but my right foot caught a stone and I tripped. As the creature reeled on me, itself well footed and ready for the kill, it suddenly jerked forward clumsily. I rolled aside as it struck the ground. I heard the clank of metal against metal. It was Erik's sword, driven through the beast and striking its armored shoulder plate.

Erik hurried to me from some several strides away. He had thrown the enormous blade, heavy though it was. I smiled briefly at the feat, his prowess still there when needed, even beneath the cobwebs of age. He lifted me from the ground, with me using my sword to help steady myself. As soon as I was up, he took hold of his sword, pulling it from the beast. The blade scraped against the bones of the Kronan wolf as he drew it from its new flesh-scabbard, just below the right shoulder. It was a sickening sound, and the creature's lung sighed its last, as the air escaped through the wound.

"What now?" he asked.

I gestured behind us. "Look," I said through hard breathing. "They have stopped."

Indeed, the pack had stopped. Until that moment, I had not truly understood what pursued us. A pack of Kronan wolves, yes, but I had taken their number to be fifty, no more. Instead, the pack pursuing us numbered several hundred, all of them slowing to a walk, and finally stopping. They were silent, save for the panting from the pursuit. All eyes, red and glowing angrily, were upon us. No, they were upon me. I felt them as I had the first wolf's. I had the feeling that something was crawling up the back of my neck, only this time far more powerful. They glared at me, and I felt the glares press upon me. Still, none approached beyond the corpse of my first victim, just as I had expected.

"What is this?" Erik grumbled. "Why do they not just finish it?"

I took Erik by the shirt, pulling it to goad him onward. We started trotting away, keeping the motionless pack in our sight as we hurried from its sight. As soon as we started moving, the beasts began to howl. It was a baleful sound, menace mixed with sorrow. They entire pack howled thus, and it drove Erik and I onward as surely as the threat of their fangs and claws. As the pack receded out of sight, hidden by the trees, we picked up speed. The trees seemed to fly by us as we ran. The sound of the howls chased us through the forests, as though the sounds themselves were angrier than the wolves which created them, and more willing to pursue us. Still, the howls grew quieter, more distant.

We listened for sounds of pursuit, but of course I knew there would be none. The pack was likely where we left it, if not already turned to return to its own proper home in Meekwood Forest. Still, we kept alert for sounds of danger. Thankfully, none came. I sensed nothing but the confused, angry glare of my fellow, who was too winded from the run to ask what was no doubt foremost on his mind.

We did not stop running for perhaps an hour, when we finally cleared the tree line. The lush, green fields of our home stretched out before us. We were on the soil of our Mother, Esis, and the sun seemed all the warmer for it. The grass was long, swaying in a slight breeze. We kept moving, though. These fields were not friendly, nor had they been since the days of the plagues. Here the winds and grasses swayed maliciously, sometimes even violently, hoping to drive their victims eastward toward a nearby tar pit. Thankfully, as cruel as the intent of the winds and grass might be, they were nothing more than winds and grass. Travelers needed simply to keep moving.

"How did you know?" Erik asked when we finally slowed to a walk. "How did you know they would not run us down?"

I held my tongue for a while, perhaps a minute. I pondered how best to word my reply. Would he understand? Would he think me darker, having heard the truth? I did not want to lie to a friend such as him, who had seen me through half a life's worth of strife. Still, the truth would not improve my image in his eyes. What to say?

"Jovan?" he said, grabbing my arm, stopping me.

The breeze picked up, and the grass swayed more violently, as it sensed the chance to harry potential victims. The breeze began to howl in my ears, and the long grass whipped at us, almost grabbing at our legs. I ignored it, as did Erik. His eyes interrogated me, and I averted my gaze.

"Jovan, how did you know the Kronan wolves would not run us down?" His question was more intensely asked this time, and I would not dare make him ask it a third time. I could sense the anger in him.

I could not think of how to phrase it, so I simply stated it as though a mere fact, unimportant and beneath explanation. "Kronan wolves never attack without their leader. I killed the leader, and you his mate."

"How did you know that wolf was their leader?" His tone was no less suspicious.

I shook my head. "Their leader always come in from the front. They hunt like that, always. Their leader moves ahead of the pack, and when it spots prey between itself and the pack, it brings more wolves to it. Then the main pack drives the prey into the leader's group, and they bring it down." I looked past him, seeing it in my mind. "They feed right there, their feet covered in the still-warm blood of the prey. Sometimes the creature is not altogether dead when they start feeding."

Erik's eyes narrowed with that wary glare of his. I carried on.

"When I saw the pack leader out in the open," I continued, "I realized that the other wolves had not caught up with him yet. So, I took the initiative and charged. Once it was dead, I knew the pack would stop. I have seen it before."

The silence hung between us, with only the sound of the malevolent breeze and swaying of the grass to beat against our ears. Erik's eyes searched my own for the truth, as though he expected that I was lying to him.

"You never mentioned to me that you had seen these things hunt before. Why?"

I shrugged. "You keep telling me that nobody wants to hear my stories, so I stopped telling them."

"This is one I want to hear, Jovan." He grumbled again, the sure sign of his annoyance. "And perhaps, at some point during the tale, you can explain why it is that a pack of Kronan wolves, who have not once ventured outside their own tiny forest, suddenly decided to cross open ground and enter a forest that is not familiar hunting ground, all to kill two men."

I shrugged again. "How would I know that, Erik?"

"Not once, Jovan! Not once!" He yelled, and the breeze blew harder, the grasses rustling more, as though excited by the anger shown here.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked quietly.

I realized then that he still held my arm, and was squeezing tightly. It hurt, his powerful grip tightening ever more. He shook his head, and the look of anger that covered his face deepened, darkened.

"They were following you, Jovan." He nodded. "I think they were stalking you."

"Why?"

He looked me over, shaking his head in disgust. "They can smell it on you, that place!"

He pushed me backward, and I stumbled several steps away from him. He stabbed at me with a pointed finger. "This is what I am talking about, Jovan! This is what I mean. You insist on going there, to Skyreach, and this is what happens. The stink is all over you, and it is not the sort of thing you can wash out of your cloths by dipping them in the river. I might not be able to smell it, but those things obviously can!" He pointed back toward the way we had come.

"That is," I started.

"What?" he barked. "It is what? Absurd? Ridiculous?" He paused, looked around. "Is it, really? This is what I am talking about," he repeated his damning accusation, obviously too upset to say much more. "This is what I am talking about."

He pushed past me, shaking his head as much in disappointment as in anger. The grass seemed to pull away from him, as though his anger was more than they wished to encounter. I stood in silence for a moment, ignoring the grasses which tried to goad me eastward. The anger coming from Erik, which seemed worse now than the howling fire-storms of Skyreach, cried its own doom. I swiped my hand at the wavering grass, and followed in Erik's wake.

Our village was still a two day walk southward.