N’Mesne the Avenger: Book 3 of the Hand of Justice

By Nikki Dorakis

The Hand of Justice Series started out as one book, The Eye of Zoar released in e-book format and paperback through Author House in July 2012 as A Rising Darkness. The original story was lost in a move and the re-writing of it resulted in plot changes that expanded the storyline especially when the ending changed and I lost my main character. Such are the vagaries of fictional worlds I suppose.
The norm for characters in this series is bi-sexuality. The main character is, to use the language of his world slye he beds only with men. Those readers looking for salacious scenes will probably be disappointed; the sexual nature of the men and women of Zetaria is a fact of life and even in the use of prostitutes there is respect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477229972

Nikki Dorakis

I have been writing for a number of years. My work as a psychiatric nurse has always taken precedence until at the ripe old age of fifty-five, I decided to retire and go part-time so that I could work on his books. I am a Pagan priest and an ordained minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism and in this series I draw on the teachings, myths and legends of my religion in the creation of my characters. I write for pleasure and now want to share that pleasure with you. I hope this brings you as much enjoyment in the reading of it as it gave me in the writing of it. Nikki Dorakis passed away suddenly on 4 April 2013.

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2012 by Nikki Dorakis. All rights reserved.

The right of Nikki Dorakis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with

The Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this book may be used, edited, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise). No part may be reproduced in any manner without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles.

This work may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the permission of the Author/Publisher.

Permission can be obtained through contact via e-mail: [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction: all characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental.

The opinions expressed and language used in this book are those of the characters; they do not know about ‘political correctness’ or sexual equality—their opinions and attitudes do not represent those of the author.

Cover Design & Illustration : ©Nikki Dorakis 2012 using

Serif Page Plus X6 ® and Serif Photo Plus X5 ®

Published by AuthorHouse 09/25/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2996-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2997-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

The Songs

Prologue

Chapter 1—Fort Aylar

Chapter 2—Ambush

Chapter 3—The Blood Wolves’ Master

Chapter 4—Freeing the Helpless

Chapter 5—Return to Vorta

Chapter 6—Thenuria

Chapter 7—The Viscount’s Quest

Chapter 8—Into the Darkness

Chapter 9—Slaver

Chapter 10—Treachery’s Child

Chapter 11—Fort Hale

Chapter 12—Face to Face

Chapter 13—Fort Renzo

Chapter 14—Delay

Chapter 15—Preparing for Kivin

Chapter 16—A Death in the Family

Chapter 17—The Lost Memories

Chapter 18—Changes

Chapter 19—Memories Returned

Chapter 20—Preparation

Chapter 21—Fort Duran

Chapter 22—Ghosts of the Past

Chapter 23—The Terrors

Chapter 24—Traitor

Chapter 25—The Black Serav

Chapter 26—Reprisal

Chapter 27—Comes the Springtime

Chapter 28—Rendezvous

Chapter 29—Exposed

Chapter 30—Strike

Chapter 31—Menastra

Chapter 32—The Waiting Game

Chapter 33—The Magisterium

Chapter 34—Escalade

Chapter 35—Dinas-y-Dadrau

Chapter 36—Renegades

Chapter 37—Darkness Falling

Chapter 38—Tenebra

Epilogue

LEXICONS AND LANGUAGES

About the Author

Other Books by the same author

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Michael Shell

for the hours you spent with me being read at!

Thanks also to all those who believed in the stories.

And Special Thanks

to

The Staff of Costa, Waterstones,

Portsmouth:

Zoe, Kayleigh, Jade, Mikki,

Connor, David, George, Mike

and

Ninja Josh

For keeping the coffee coming!

The Songs

The Wild Hunt—(Chapter 7) is an original work by the author

Bryn’s Love Song to Aid’n (Chapter 15) is an original work by the author

Green Grows the Forest (Chapter 15) is based on the traditional Folk Song Green grow the Rushes-O. Words by the author.

Hale and Blow—(Chapter 28) is based on the traditional Folk Song Hal and Tow. A traditional version of this can be found on Tales from the Crow Man by Damh the Bard (Track 6)

Prologue

IRODE AWAY from Denos with a heavy heart. Leaving our newly-established home in Sabek-Noor was quite a wrench and I could not help but feel that I had left something of myself there. Bryn, too, seemed to feel the pull from the place—frequently turning to look back long after the black walls of Denos had been lost from view behind the rolling downs we were currently traversing.

Our spirits were not greatly helped by the weather. Constant lashing by the icy breath of the northern winds made the going hard and keeping warm almost impossible. Faedron was comfortable at least—he was riding two-up with Llewys snuggled against his chest.

"Is it the cold that makes you so unhappy, c’dweidd?" Bryn asked as he pulled up beside me.

"That and having our home defiled by that vadan . . . whore-spawned Magister." I replied bitterly. I thought we had made ourselves a proper home, a sanctuary, but Caerlon and Damian had turned it into a battleground…There was no peace to be found there now.

And we will not let the affront go unanswered. Bryn said coldly

No we will not. Now it is not just for Meriq that I am pursuing this leech. It is for us. You and me, I gestured to the Cast, and for them.

We will find him, Aid’n, Bryn said reaching over to take my hand in his. We will find him and we will finish him.

I smiled a rather hollow smile. We would find him—I would not stop until we did but… when we might find Caerlon or where was another matter entirely. The man was more elusive than a haunting of ghosts and had more rescues than a cat.

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Chapter 1—Fort Aylar

(Blood Wolves)

OUR JOURNEY NORTH to Fort Aylar had been mercifully short but extremely arduous. The seven days it took us to reach the fortress seemed more like a month. The weather had not been kind and though the snow had stayed away, biting winds lashed us at every turn. It seemed to matter not which way the road turned, Drogan’s vicious icy gales blew into our faces sometimes with such ferocity that it froze our breath on the scarves we wore to protect our ears and noses from the chill. Even Llewys seemed to be feeling Drogan’s grip as he huddled into Faedron’s back to help keep the soldier warm; he had certainly been putting away more porridge, bread and honey than normal, a fact that seemed to cause Bryn a great deal of concern. And so it was that we all sighed with relief when the wind abated long enough to allow the fine powder snow and ice crystals it had been hurling at us in stinging handfuls to settle and the dark walls of Fort Aylar rose before us.

The stronghold was an exceptionally sturdy looking edifice—a Spret construction, and a legacy left from the times before the surface-dwelling Sprets abandoned the land and retreated into the mountains of Tamarind to join their subterranean relatives. No-one knew why the bearded low-mouths (as the Caerlons called them) had decided to leave, but if the insulting moniker was any indication of the Caerlons’ attitude towards the short, stocky folk from the Mountain Kingdom the reason for their withdrawal seemed pretty understandable to me. That being said, they had left the Caerlons quite a bequest.

The black granite walls had stood for over three hundred years and still showed no real signs of weathering. The blocks were cut with such precision that the fort’s walls were practically seamless. There was no mortar holding the blocks but according to the locals the city walls had withstood many sustained catapult sieges over the centuries during the various conflicts with their neighbours in Zamora. The whole city was a tribute to the architectural skill of the Spret developed, I supposed, from generations of living beneath the earth and having to shore up the unstable areas inherent in their environment.

The main gates were fashioned from the same black granite, the stiles held together by unbelievably accurate dovetailing and supported on white granite sweeps. The portals swung open effortlessly controlled as they were by a complex system of counterweights so carefully balanced that it took just one man to move the massive doors. The fort’s buildings, including its dwellings were all built from the same stone and would have given the city an extremely dour and sinister aspect had the citizens not taken to painting the buildings or decking them out with bright awnings and shutters.

We were initially received courteously enough until one of the guards caught sight of Damian’s stave realising moments later that we had tattooed Sylvans with us. They clearly knew the significance of the markings and immediately summoned the watch commander. The man inspected our papers carefully, noting the presence of the ducal crests on our cloaks. Duke Alexander made you his Freemen, did he? the commander asked, casting his eye over the Sylvans. A rare honour, that, he added without looking up from the Letters Patent. For services to the great benefit of his nation he says.

Duke Alexander has been a great benefactor to us, Commander, I answered evenly, as has Governor Theakes. It was our honour to help the Zamoran people where it fell to us.

The commander looked us over again. Yes, Lord Aid’n, I see that from Governor Theakes’ letters. He is very impressed with your abilities—and those of your—er—‘unusual’ companions. He inspected the stave that Bryn was supporting in his stirrup holster. You are not a magus, you say, Lord Aid’n. And yet you carry a lightning stave and travel with quite a sizeable pack of Seravs.

I am not a mage, I confirmed. And as for the Seravs; Master-Serav Bryn is my consort, and the remaining young men are my friends and my brothers-in-arm.

A strange way to view slaves, m’lord, if I may make so bold.

They are not slaves, Commander. They are free men. Unfettered and unrestricted.

The man looked suddenly fearful. They are not under the Rod?

No. I confirmed, They are not under the Rod.

Then you must be a far more powerful mage than you can begin to realise if you are able to keep control of them.

My Sylvan friends are not wild beasts, Commander. They are rational and very intelligent people well able to control themselves—and often do so much better than we. I told the man. "The stave is my battle-standard, gained following combat with an Ellurian Magister. My Sylvan friends have all sworn oath willingly and through choice to uphold the principals for which the Stanja-Tamar stands. Such knowledge of magic I have I learned from my late Consort, the Ez’n of Zetaria."

The Ez’n of Zetaria? That would be the Wizard Meriq Kalbraith—yes, yes—we have heard of his deeds. He is dead you say?

He is.

Then I offer my deepest and most sincere condolences on your loss, for it is a great loss. The wizard Meriq was a brave and ruthless battle mage and a just and fair-minded man—if the stories are to be believed.

If? Faedron gave a short contemptuous snort. I fought beside Ez’n-Kyr Meriq, we all did. Trust me, Commander, the stories should be believed—every last word of them. He was called ‘Janir’s Dragon’ for good reason.

The commander gave a short bow. And so, Lord Aid’n, may I ask what business brings you to Caerla?

I explained in as much detail as I thought appropriate that I was hunting the mage Caerlon, otherwise known as the Magister Lorenz so that I might bring him to account for the crimes against both Zetaria and Mederlana. In the former case I was acting on behalf of King Jae’nt and in the latter I was acting under the authority of the Medran Ruling Council. There were also some outstanding issues of slaving activities in Zamora which broke the covenant the Ellurians had made with Duke Alexander’s forebears.

The commander frowned heavily the lines in his forehead deepening even more when I told him of the attack on us in Sabek-Noor. Oh this does not bode well. If the Duke comes to hear of such an attack—especially one on his Freemen—he will muster his army and march on Elluria. I must send word to Viscount Koorse at once.

The commander had received no reports of any Ellurian slaving caravans passing the southern border at any of the forts. The borders were closely patrolled and there was little chance of any traffic slipping through undetected. On that I had to agree, we had been challenged several times after crossing the border at Denos and taking the road to Aylar, so it seemed that Calden’s intelligence was holding up. The slavers, were by-passing the patrols on the southern border by crossing briefly into Brescia and then following the old slave route via the eastern forts.

If this is the case, m’lord, I am certain that Viscount Koorse will wish to speak with you when you reach Thenuria. He frowned again, this time turning to look at a large notice board crammed with postings. "I am wondering, Lord Aid’n—how long do you and the men of the Stanja-Tamar plan to remain in Fort Aylar?"

Maegor and Bryn exchanged knowing looks. Here it comes! they said together.

The commander took a posting down and handed it to me. It was a grubby sheet, yellowed and ragged around the edges from being much handled. There was, it seemed a great deal of trouble being caused by a large pack of Dire Wolves in and around a trading village a couple of day’s ride west. The village, Vorta, had only a small contingent of militia, about ten men in all and this was normally sufficient to keep the peace and maintain the security of the place. From what the Commander told us, the wolves had appeared just after the mid-winter though no-one could divine where they came from.

Normally the Dire Wolves dwelt in the forests of the far north of Caerla and were mainly to be found in the foothills and scree of Vas Karrennes—the land of the Mynotari, and more prevalently in and around the borders of Tev-Maris—home to the ‘wolf-people’. Something grave must have occurred to drive such ferocious predators so far south.

Something truly dire? Faedron ventured.

The commander ignored the quip apart from shooting the corporal a look so sour that it could have rotted blue cheese. As you can see, Lord Aid’n, the bounty for their skins is quite substantial. The watch commander fell silent for a moment or two. I should tell you that several of our regular hunters have gone out after these creatures but none have returned. Now, naturally enough, no-one will go near the woodland around Vorta. But if you are going to be staying for a few days while you replenish your supplies, I thought perhaps you might find yourself in the vicinity of Vorta while you are out hunting.

Regular hunters have not returned, eh? Bryn said regarding me seriously for brief moment. I suppose it is fortunate that we are highly ‘irregular’ hunters then, Master Aid’n. He turned his attention to the watch-commander. Master Aid’n and I often find ourselves blundering into the path of the Dire Wolves when we are out hunting, Bryn said casually, his tone dripping sarcasm. Putting ourselves in the way of such dangerous creatures is our favourite pastime.

No hunting trip would be complete without such an encounter, I agreed.

The Commander looked at us bewildered. "What our t’pahq is telling you in his own roundabout manner is that he is accepting the job. Faedron said. I suppose we must find an inn now."

I suppose we must, I agreed.

The offer of work, though unexpected so soon on our arrival, was not entirely unwelcome. Our purse was not particularly light, but the hundred sovereigns on offer would be helpful. Besides, I had already considered taking a few days ease in the fort as much to give the steeds some respite from the winter’s chill as to give us some relief from the harsh conditions. At least we could take some time to enjoy the comfort of warm beds and wholesome food while we prepared for the hunt.

And a bath! Bryn sighed happily. "I am so looking forward to a bath." He gave me a roguish wink making his post-bathing intentions eloquently obvious.

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Aylar’s streets were completely clear of snow. The road surface gave off a gentle warmth; enough to prevent the snow from settling, but not quite sufficient to dry the gritty surface. The kerbsides were marked with white crystalline cobbles that radiated a subdued white glow that the commander told us would brighten as night fell and light the streets along with the tall crystal-capped posts situated at the corners of each junction and at intervals along the main streets. No-one knew quite how the illuminations worked, such knowledge had been lost when the Spret left the city and returned to the world below; and since the lighting system cast no shadows it kept the streets safe from footpads and other opportunistic nocturnal criminals.

Commander Breen recommended an inn situated on the eastern side of the large market place—a location which delighted Llewys because it was close to both a pie stand and a stall sporting all manner of strange new confectionery which captured his attention to such a degree that Faedron eventually had to physically haul the boy away. Bryn, too, seemed captivated by the sweets and after sampling a few of the confectioner’s wares purchased a jar of cream and brown striped chunks the man told us were humbugs. They tasted hot and sweet and spicy all at the same time, and although I my palate normally favoured the savoury over the sweet, I had to admit that they were exceptionally tasty.

The inn, called The Drayman’s Rest, was a large, well-appointed establishment, well-patronised by the more well-to-do merchants and citizens and the landlord greeted us with the greatest civility, though he was more reserved with the Seravs, looking rather vexed that I should be placing them in rooms as opposed to stabling them with the horses, or kennelling them with the coach hounds. His attitude only changed when he caught sight of Duke Alexander’s crest on the Serav’s cloaks at which point he suddenly became ‘greatly honoured’ by the presence of Zamoran Freemen and made grand show of having them escorted to their rooms by his ‘head porter’. It was patently obvious that he was behaving so unctuously only for the benefit of his high-class clientele, but equally clear from the reactions of the customers was that Zamoran Freemen were very highly regarded and respected even beyond the Zamoran border and the title carried with it a high degree of prestige.

The Seravs received several invitations to join various groups for drinks during the course of our evening. Bryn was fascinated by the fact that it was only the Seravs who were courted for company, and considered that it was only because they were the more ‘exotic’ of our band and therefore would increase their hosts’ social standing once it was known they had spent time in the company of such unusual Freemen.

Several young women invited the gentle Jevric to their lodgings for the night, and despite the fact that he continued to be quite shocked and disconcerted with conduct he considered shameless and a most disorderly behaviour in females, he fielded the invitations and rejected them with such charm that it was impossible for the young ladies to take offence.

I swear that boy is laced tighter than my bracers, Faedron chuckled as Jevric left yet another table of Caerlon ladies and returned to the ‘safety’ of the group.

I am not ‘tight-laced’ as you put it, Master Faedron. Jevric asserted politely. I am Sylvan. We are not loose with our bodies because we bond for life. We cannot do as you do and share our bodies indiscriminately; and it would be a grave error to enter into a lifelong bond with someone ill-suited to monogamy and who does not have the same expectation of longevity. A sudden look of alarm crossed Jevric’s face and he looked over at Bryn and me dropping to his knees. Please forgive me, Master Aid’n, Master-Serav—my statement was ill-considered.

It is nothing, brother. Do get up, Bryn said dismissively. Our love is not something we sought, it was something gifted to us by the Creators and one should never reject such gifts.

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Kana, Bryar, Bryn and I rode out just after sunrise and headed out towards Vorta and the Dire Wolves’ reported hunting grounds. The others were to scout the market and various shops for the goods we were likely to need for our journey on to Thenuria. I had taken time over breakfast to go over the bounty docket again to see if there was anything that could be of use. Scouts sent to investigate the area reported widespread slaughter of livestock, game and, of course, the hunters—when they found the bodies or what little was left of them. Over a dozen were unaccounted for, but it was entirely possible that they had been carried off by other predators. There was, in fact, precious little of use in the docket; no record of footprints or the direction from which they came; nothing that we could use for tracking. We would just have to wait until we reached the location and start from there. As Maegor had observed, Shelt might just as well have given us a bucket of fog.

It was just approaching noon when Bryn and I reined in the horses. Kana and Bryar pulled up next to us. What is it? Kana asked.

Blood. Bryn and I said together, and in response to the question that was written all over both Bryar’s and Kana’s faces we added. Human blood—and yes, it is fresh.

As we slowly crested the hillock we were riding over we discovered exactly how fresh the blood was.

Just at the foot of the declivity lay four men. Two were dead and the others were seriously injured and trying to crawl away from…

What in the Great Mother’s name are those things? Bryar gasped.

Below us, feeding on the entrails of the dead were four heavily furred white creatures that had all the appearances of wolves but were walking on two legs like men.

"Bryngwedd, Bryn said drawing his sword. They are bryngwedd.

Blood-wolves? I echoed.

Bryn nodded. They are men but not men. They change at will to hunt. We must kill them all.

Bryar nocked a telurite arrow and let fly. It struck the nearest Blood-wolf directly in the heart. The beast let out a frightful shriek and fell writhing for a while before sitting itself up and pulling the arrow from its chest with its long-fingered hand. There was a brief geyser of blood and the chest wound closed. The beast turned its baleful red eyes towards us and bayed out its challenge. Bryn turned to Bryar. Well done, brother. Now it is not just hungry—it is angry.

It should be dead! Bryar complained.

Only by silver straight to the heart, beheading or cutting its heart out will it die, Bryn stated.

"Was there—oh—ever a time—like, say, before I shot it—when you could have told me that?" Bryar asked testily.

Of course, but you fired before I could warn you and… I am a little like Master Aid’n—I dislike being predictable.

You are becoming altogether too ‘man-like’, I fear, Bryar complained, But I suppose it makes for an interesting life. The Wind Dancer considered for a moment. Probably a brief life, but interesting one nonetheless, he amended.

Are you wearing your Dragon Steel? Bryn asked.

Bryar shook his head. He had not thought to don it for what he expected was going to be an ordinary hunting trip. Bryn and I looked at him disparagingly. Very well, I admit it, Bryar grumbled. I should have known that anything involving us and a bounty is very unlikely to be anywhere near straight-forward.

Take to the air and either stay there or land in a tree. Use your lightning and if you have any, your kadium tips. Bryn said.

Unfortunately, Bryar had not considered it necessary to bring kadium arrows. We were, after all hunting wolves. Bryn turned to Kana, "You must cut off the head if you can, Kana—and do not let it bite or even scratch you. It will infect you and you will become as they are. Aid’n please stay close to me and do not be a reckless and stupid man-creature today."

There was absolutely no fear that I was about to do anything impulsive. Not with these creatures on the prowl and looking to dine.

Once it was sufficiently recovered Blood-Wolf Bryar had wounded bounded forward with surprising speed and Bryar only just managed to launch himself skyward before the creature landed exactly where he had been standing. Vyrnath turned sharply almost unseating me and lashed out with his hind legs. His blow took the wolf hard in the chest lifting the beast off the ground and sending it flying, its journey rudely curtailed when it hit a tree where it lay stunned. The beast’s pack stopped eating and began to circle sometimes on two legs and sometimes on four. Bryn blinked out appearing behind the staggered wolf and took its head off with one fell blow. The creature dropped soundlessly, its shape changing as it collapsed. It had regained its original human form before it had even finished falling.

The sight of their fellow being thus slain enraged the others and they sprang towards us. Kana took the head of her attacker with the edge of her scutum and I cut the one nearest me in half. He did not die, but began dragging himself towards me snarling as he trailed his ripped guts and dribbled frothy, bloody saliva on to the snow.

Bryar loosed a bolt of lightning just as the third wolf sprang at Bryn’s back knocking the creature off its feet and stunning it. My consort spun around striking upwards out outwards and severing the wolf-man’s right arm and head as the blade sliced upwards. He finished the creature by separating the head from the arm and shoulder before the portion had time to fall and hit the ground. I ended the fourth one and signalled Bryar down. Without even a pause Bryn strode over to where the injured men were still crawling away and beheaded the pair of them.

They left them alive so they would turn and increase the size of the pack. Bryn said coldly. He frowned darkly, casting an intense eye over the fallen as he crouched beside the bodies. So far as he could tell there had been no Lead Male involved in this attack. There had only been four bryngwedd where the usual pack size was between six and eight. Bryn straightened up. He suddenly looked worried. This is no random occurrence brought about by an accidental exposure; this is an infestation.

"Meaning what, c’dweidd?"

Meaning it has been done deliberately.

According to Bryn, the borders of Tev-Maris, the home of the legendary Wolf-men, were closed and closely guarded. The Tev-Marisim rarely, if ever, had contact with the neighbouring states; he had never known it happen although stories about the Tev-Marisim abounded in the northern reaches.

Kana grimaced as she surveyed the carnage, wondering aloud if Caerlon could have had something do with the attacks.

Bryn shook his head. It was unlikely that even Ellurian mages would strike deals with magicians of the type who traded in this kind of evil. The magic was far too dangerous and unstable—and regardless of their evil natures, the Ellurian mages were far too effete and gutless for so risky a venture. True it was that Caerlon was not full-blood Ellurian, but even so Bryn thought the mage’s involvement unlikely. If he was using the Blood-Wolves to throw such an obstruction across our path it would mean he would have to know exactly where we were. That knowledge, of course, could be available to him, if he was tracking us as we were tracking him; the man would, like as not, have a good network of spies.

Bryn inspected the fallen men and the former Blood-Wolves more closely. The wolves’ victims were all military and were wearing what Bryn assumed was the insignia of the nearby Fort Greave on amulets around their necks; they were naked otherwise. There were only two ways we could find out if our theory was sound. The first was to ride to Fort Greave and check—which would put us smack bang in the middle of Blood-wolf Central, and the second was to return to Fort Aylar, report our findings to Breen and show him the medallions.

Bryn was very seriously in favour of returning to Aylar; not just because it was the safest option, but also because it would give us the opportunity to rally the rest of the Stanja-Tamar.

But Master-Serav, these were no problem to despatch, Bryar said keenly, If there are more at Greave or Vorta, surely they will be…

Bryn cut him short. The dead blood-wolves were mere cubs. The fact that there were only four of them probably meant that they had strayed away from the main group—or run off from them. Blood-wolves were not bound in packs in the same way Dire and Mountain wolves were. Neither were they bound to each other as were the Wolf-men and women of Tev-Maris. Bryn turned his gaze in the direction of Fort Greave and then towards Vorta. I suspect they were first-changers taking their first kill, he told us. Those infected earlier would be stronger, less impulsive and much, much more cunning and dangerous. If this was deliberately engineered infestation there was likely to be number of Lead Males—yl blaenwril. Bryn shuddered. "They are much like Master-Seravs, very fast, very powerful and very hard to kill—even with silver. Bryn turned to me. Aid’n, we must go back to Aylar and get the others."

Is there any thing else we might need to know about these things Bryn?

He nodded. One other thing—they could quite easily be Thralls, he said quietly. He paused. "They may be under the control of a mage or some kind of sorcerer. Blood-wolves are clever creatures but they are not generally well ordered. They do operate as a pack but in their beast forms they are rarely strategy-minded. A blaenwr can control them and might order their mode of attack before they shift shape, but a magus with enough knowledge could quite easily subvert a Lead Male and have the beasts do his bidding. "My knowledge of these creatures is very limited, Aid’n. I know only what legend says and what I have been told by men claiming to have fought them. We must be extremely careful, c’dweidd."

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So, Spikes, what else do you know about these wolf things? Faedron asked as we settled over a lunch of spit-roasted rabbit and vegetables.

There was not much more Bryn could tell us beyond what he had already disclosed. There were numerous legends surrounding the bryngwedd. One was that they were originally a group of Ellurian slaver mages who had been transformed by a magus of the bhain-llwr. It was said that he had done so to prevent them from casting more spells and bleeding the citizens of his village while their hunters rounded up the children. Changing them had prevented them from casting, but it had not lessened their desire for blood or power and when they killed for the first time it temporarily broke the transformation and they regained their human forms.

According to the legend the return to human form could not be sustained—the Sylvan’s curse was extremely strong and could only be undone for a couple of weeks at a time. The stronger mages managed to sustain the change for a month and sometimes more, but then they would revert regardless of whether they used their bleeding curse, and they would have to kill again in the form of a wolf in order to regain their original aspect. Another thing the mages discovered, as did the Sylvan mage, was that a bite or scratch not resulting in death passed the curse on to others and so the mages began to exact their revenge by biting the magician’s clansmen rather than killing them. Most died as a result of being bitten or scratched, but some succumbed to the curse and converted.

A second legend claimed that the Blood-Wolves arose when a human hunter killed a Dire Wolf called Kapaethir. The wolf, so the legend claimed, was no wolf at all but was the human consort of Treya a patron goddess of hunters and wolves. She had fallen in love with a handsome young hunter, Kasparin, from a country called Tev-Maris in the far northwest and as a love-favour had granted him the ability to change shape and hunt as a Dire Wolf.

Word spread of a great and ferocious Dire Wolf with eyes the colour of the sky that hunted in the snow-capped ranges of Vas-Karrennes and the northern forests of Caerla. In the true nature of the man-creature, Bryn said, bands of hunters went out in search of this wolf, determined to bring back its pelt and gain the huge bounty the King of Tev-Maris had placed on the creature.

Naturally enough no-one could find the creature because Kasparin only changed when he went hunting. Then Kasparin made a fatal error of judgement; he told his brother, Javeth, the secret of his immense success at hunting. When Kasparin announced he was going to hunt deer in the northern forests of Caerla Javeth begged his brother to take him along so that he could see the great wolf Kapaethir in action. Kasparin foolishly agreed and when he changed to stalk a great white hart Javeth drew out his spear and slew his brother. Of course, he did not gain the pelt for as soon as Kasparin died he returned to his human form.

Treya, having witnessed the murder of her lover flew into a rage and in the torment of her grief she cursed Javeth to hold the form of a Dire Wolf forever. Not satisfied with this she wove the curse in such a way that he would be forever hungry for the blood of men, specifically the men of his own family and to ensure that he could not end the family line but would have to go on killing his family forever, she imprisoned him in a cage of silver in a cave somewhere near the source of the sacred river Tigra and would only release him to hunt for four days once every ten years. He could kill only once in that time and when he had chosen his victim and killed him the goddess would come for him and return him to his cage. The legend claimed that, tired of being forced to kill his family, Javeth tricked the goddess by savaging one of his family members to the point of death and convincing the deity that the boy was in fact dead.

When the boy recovered he carried Javeth’s curse but was not limited to the blood of his family and he would change every few weeks and remain as a wolf until he had killed a man and eaten his heart. Whatever the truth behind the existence of the Blood-Wolves, it was clear that, as Bryn said, we had an infestation to deal with. The problem we would have now, I guessed, would be getting the Watch Commander to believe us.

Sure enough, when we reached Aylar and returned to the guardhouse, the Watch Commander regarded us somewhat dubiously, handing the crests to a younger officer he introduced as Captain Shelt who confirmed that the crests were those of soldiers from Fort Greave.

The Watch-Commander brow creased heavily. This is very serious, but I must confess I find the explanation… difficult to accept.

Believe what you will, Watch-Commander, Bryn said, I certainly have no desire to engage the Blood-Wolves of Tev-Maris in a fight, and would be more than content if Master Aid’n ordered us on to Thenuria. In fact it is my most fervent wish that he does just that and without further delay. You can then sort out your own mess. You will need silver tipped arrows, several very sharp silver-dipped long swords—and probably about fifty or sixty men in full armour all with silvered weapons. Good luck.

And you believe that you can accomplish with eleven men what you think it would take us fifty to bring about. Captain Shelt sounded outraged.

"You are not a Serav and your men are not Stanja-Tamar," Bryn observed coolly.

And neither am I so patently arrogant. Shelt stated somewhat acrimoniously.

It is hardly arrogant to point out the superior fighting power of a particular type of warrior. Maegor stated stepping up to Bryn’s side. I should like to see any one of your strongest warriors best even little Llewys here in a hand-to-hand—I could not do it.

"But I would let you win, father." Llewys whispered.

Maegor smiled and nodded. You would have to, pup, he said crouching beside the boy and giving him a hug. I have lived long enough to know when I am outmatched by a warrior of skill.

If you wish to see for yourself, Shelt, you are more than welcome to join us and bring along a cohort of men or two. I told the man. Regardless of the prowess of our Sylvan brothers, I do not believe that in this situation we can have too many swords.

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We spent the next two days making our preparations. The weapons master took much of our silver to forge arrowheads and when the silver began to run low he dipped our remaining arrows in the crucible to coat them so that we would have enough left to dip the swords. Whether the heads would work or not on a creature I still believed was somewhere in the realms of myth I could not tell, but I was not foolish enough to dismiss any myth as complete fantasy; experience had shown many times that every myth has some foundation in fact—coming face to face with The Reaver taught me that—and if Bryn said we needed silver to make the arrows work then I for one wanted silver-headed arrows.

We were also fortunate enough to find that one of Aylar’s last remaining Spret citizens was an armourer with a supply of Kadium which he was happy to form into arrow heads so that Faedron could maintain his stock. According to Bryn, though the Blood-Wolves might have the form of a wolf of sorts, they were still men on the inside and the kadium should work as effectively except that it was only likely to kill the one it hit. Any bryngwedd caught in the fallout when the arrow exploded would be injured but would heal quickly as was their way. Faedron and Bryar split the arrows between them, Bryar taking more of the silver tips because he would have a greater advantage targeting as he would be from the air.

The last of our silver we used to dip our swords. Neither Kyrintamar nor Bryn’s laminaris would accept the coating and after having the plating simply flake of within moments of its application we abandoned the idea, concluding that Bryn’s alloy blade would be effective in its own right, as would the enchanted ‘First Blade’.

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We set camp a couple of miles from Fort Greave and when Yarrow had finished constructing our shelter he set to building a set of complex defensive barriers around the dwelling, effectively creating a small ice fort. Shelt and his men looked on in amazement, and were even more surprised when they entered the abode and found the floor clear of snow and completely dry.

A couple of Shelt’s men returned with firewood and began setting the hearth and the jib for the cauldron. As one of the men pulled out his tinderbox Llewys walked past and spat a fireball into the hearth igniting the kindling. The men jumped back. Faedron laughed. We do not need such things with our Llewys around, gentlemen.

Your brothers-in-arms are unusual, the man acknowledged somewhat shakily.

We have been called less complimentary things, Bryn stated as he settled next to me stroking my ear as he did so.

Jevric and Bryar began preparing the evening meal while Shelt, Maegor, Faedron, Bryn and I went over the plans for the Fort.

Greave was a sturdy construction clearly designed to withstand any normal strength military attack. The watch towers set at the cardinal points gave the garrison a very clear view of the border and beyond, almost to Ebony Gate to the south and Vorta to the North. We were camped in dense woodland midway between Vorta and Greave and all we needed now was to establish which of the settlements were infested.

They are close to each other, Bryn observed. "They could both be infected, but one of them would be the main nest where we would find most of the Leads and Deputies and their actual Master. There would be at least one lead and one deputy at the secondary location, if there was one.

Shelt frowned. Are you saying that someone has set these creatures on us?

The more Bryn considered the situation, the more he thought it probable. The Blood-Wolves were rarely so organised and controlled even with a pack leader; they hunted like wolves with the same efficiency, but they were wild and blood-hungry and would normally sweep through an area as would a plague until they were all destroyed or the pack so depleted that the Lead would pull the pack back in order to rebuild and regroup. According to Bryn the last infestation of this kind recorded by Ellurian historians was over a century ago and had been stopped by the Mynotari when the creatures breached the borders of Vas-Karrennes.

We settled for our evening meal and began planning for our task. I would send Jevric to investigate Vorta and I thought Bryar more suited to checking on Fort Greave.

With respect, Master Aid’n, Gwrhydd said crouching beside me and placing his hand on my leg. I think you should send Yarrow and me—we can approach unseen and Yarrow can detect numbers from the heat of the bodies.

So are you telling me you can become invisible as well? Shelt demanded sarcastically.

Gwrhydd inclined his head slightly, the angle of reflection in his eyes shifting just enough to indicate his displeasure at being addressed disrespectfully. He rose signalling to Yarrow. The pair stood side by side and started to glow softly.

Within moments the dome was filled with thick impenetrable fog as Gwrhydd’s warmth clashed with Yarrow’s chill. It was almost impossible for me to see the hearth even though I was sitting next to it; and when the pair stopped working and the fog dissipated Shelt found himself sitting with the two Seravs behind him and their daggers at his throat.

Gwrhydd leaned around close to the man’s face. I believe that made us invisible enough, did it not, Commander Shelt?

I could not help but smile at the man’s discomfort. "Pyllw, brwdhynn. I think you have made your point. I turned to Bryn. Will the wolves detect them?"

Bryn considered for a moment. Provided they were all in human form then the Seravs could walk amongst them in the fog without being detected. If, however, any of them were wearing their wolves forms then they would detect them by scent. The same would be true of Jevric should he emerge for any length of time through the ground or stonework of the Vortan trading post.

We will all of us be cautious, Master, Jevric assured me. He gave a little smile We do not like you to worry, though we know you will anyway; and none of us wants to be eaten by Blood-Wolves.

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Chapter 2—Ambush

(Idrahen)

JEVRIC RETURNED IN the mid-morning with the news that Vorta seemed to be clear. The citizens were going about in what looked to be a normal way—shopping and trading and arguing with their neighbours. He had, however, seen two very large Dire Wolves stalking a hart as he moved through the forest. They had seen him but the pair seemed more intent on bringing down the hart.

Not Blood-wolves then, Bryn said, if they had been they would have abandoned the deer in favour of human flesh.

I hate to labour the point… Faedron teased.

Bryn rolled his eyes in fake exasperation. Yes… I know… we are not human. It is just a convenient way of describing the Blood-Wolves’ preferred diet. They will feed on us just as readily, in fact more readily. He gave Faedron a haughty look, Obviously we taste better than you man-creatures!

Yarrow and Gwrhydd returned just a little towards noon. Greave definitely had something going on. The people were milling about, not really engaged in normal day-to-day activities. The populace seemed listless, purposeless. It was very strange to see, Master, Gwrhydd said giving a slight shudder. It did not seem at all right.

And there is something else, Master, Yarrow said nervously. As we were retreating we saw a large pale grey wolf. It seemed to know we were in the fog because it was looking directly at us—well, in our direction.

It was probably your imagination, Faedron offered. It is easy to see a threat when there is none, especially in such a tense situation.

Gwrhydd looked offended. We did not imagine a wolf, Master Faedron. It was as big as you.

No, no, Gwrhydd. That’s not at all what I meant. I meant it is easy to mistake a situation—like someone looking at you when they are not. It often happens when one is lying in wait while an enemy patrol goes by. A scout can seem to look directly into your eyes, but he cannot see you at all, in point of fact.

I see, Gwrhydd replied evenly. I apologise, Master Faedron. I misunderstood you.

Faedron shrugged the apology aside. Despite the fact that we now all spoke each others’ languages, there were still some of the finer nuances that escaped all of us; subtle things like the difference between sibhras and siibhras. The former being the affectionate bite or nip and the latter being a proper aggressive bite such as might happen during a fight; the difference was only noticeable by where the syllabic stress occurred and distinguishing between these subtleties was quite challenging at times. Sometimes the linguistic accidents were amusing and at other times they caused friction. It was only to be expected—especially in so culturally diverse a force as ours where we had no common ground from which to start. At least with the Morlans we had some familiarity with the race; with our Sylvan brothers it was generally trial and error.

We were just settling to a light lunch to prepare for our foray into Fort Greave when Llewys, who had been outside sorting the firewood let out the most fearful shout, yelling and cursing and calling us to arms.

We grabbed up our weapons and ran for the enclosure only to be bowled sideways by a pack of six blood-spattered white wolves as we emerged. Llewys was flaring wildly and spitting fireballs at the wolf that had gripped him by the shoulder and was shaking him about like a hunting dog with a hare. His dragon steel shirt was glittering and flashing in sympathy with his fire, but nothing he was doing could break the wolf’s grip on him. The fire scorched off the creature’s fur but it re-grew almost at once as did any seared flesh.

Yarrow managed to impale one of the creatures with an ice lance, freezing and shattering its head before its regenerative abilities had chance to function. He was taken down almost immediately by another member of the pack and as the creature’s fangs flashed towards the exposed flesh on his face he encased himself in ice and then shattered the makeshift armour, the force of the explosion throwing the beast on to the spears of ice that protected our southern flank. He leapt to his feet and beheaded the creature before it could pull itself free from the spears.

Faedron had finally managed to reach Llewys and sank his silver-dipped sword deep into the beast’s chest. The blood-wolf let out an enraged roar, rising up on its hind quarters and shifting into a form halfway between man and wolf. It lunged at the Corporal slashing at him with its blade-like claws. Faedron ducked and rolled forward, jamming his blade into the beast’s gut. The wolf-man writhed for a moment and then changed fully into a man. Llewys was on the wolf-man’s shoulders in a trice, and now able to focus properly he flared violently reducing the assailant to ash. He looked at Faedron grimly. They do not seem to do quite so well as men do they, Master Faedron?

Indeed not, pup.

Bryar managed to take to the air and ensconced himself in a tree where he fired his silver-tipped arrows into the attackers, forcing them into the weaker forms of half-wolf. But just as we began to gain the upper hand in the fight a second wave of ten clambered over the top of the dome and fell on us.

I took the head of the creature nearest me and Bryn let out a pulse that scattered the beasts making it easier to manage them. He suddenly lit up and I knew that he was about to use The Rage. Yet even though the mist formed, nothing happened. The wolves looked bewildered for a short time and glanced around as if they were trying to remember what it was they should be doing, but even as we slew those within reach, the others renewed their assault. Bryn shouted a warning at me just a heartbeat too late and as I turned I came face to face with a monstrously huge wolf with fangs almost as long as my fingers. It struck me full on but even as I fell a second shape catapulted from my right bowling the creature off me. It was a few moments before I realised that my rescuer had not been Maegor or Bryn as I had supposed, but a huge silver-grey Dire Wolf. The Grey sank its fangs into the other’s throat and tore it out, shifting into a half-man form before ripping open the blood-wolf’s rib cage and tearing out its heart. Within moments our campsite was overrun with fighting wolves, shifting into half-man forms and back to wolves as they slaughtered each other. The air was filled with howling and roaring and the sound of our battle cries as we threw ourselves once more into the fray.

Silence fell abruptly, like an executioner’s axe—killing even the breath of the wind and muting the sound of our laboured breathing as we stood in our clearing face to face with a pack of eight of the largest silver-grey Dire Wolves I had ever seen and surrounded by the body parts of the men and women who had once been blood-wolves.

The tall grey who had saved me reared up and shifted becoming fully a man apart from the thick fur he retained to cover his legs and feet and to maintain his modesty. Greetings and the blessings of our mother Treya be upon you. The man looked us over seeming to scent us before signalling to the others. Three more shifted one man and two women while the other four remained as wolves. I am called Devlin, the man said offering me his hand. These are my brothers and sisters. He presented each in turn. these are my sisters, Jen and Isla, and this is my younger birth-brother Kristien.

Your other ‘brothers and sisters’ seem rather shy, Faedron observed wiping his blade clean but making no attempt to sheathe it.

Devlin looked puzzled and then smiled. "Oh! No! They are our friends from the forests. They are real Dire Wolves."

You fight exceptionally well for men; it is quite surprising. Kristien said as Jevric served us tea when we settled around the external hearth Llewys had built for us. He turned his head and cast his eye over the Sylvani. You fight well also considering.

Bryn bristled. Considering what? he demanded spikily.

Considering that Seravs usually rely on their augmentations and are quite dishonourable in battle. Of course, the young man continued, clearly unconcerned by the offence he was causing, "you did not have a choice, did you, since your abilities have no effect on the Barghest?"

Devlin cuffed his brother around the back of the head. You are being insulting, Kristien. Go and check on Ziza and the pack. They will probably be hunting and will bring back food shortly. He turned to Bryn. I must apologise for my brother, he tends to say what is on his mind before he thinks."

Faedron laughed. Well then, he and Bryn should get on like a forest fire. They share that same ‘quality’.

Devlin smiled then frowned as he looked over to where Faedron was applying a salve to Llewys’ shoulder. "Oh! Your small brother is bitten. That is