In The Shadow Of The Beast (27 page)

But on the outside, he seemed to warp and
shift. His limbs thickening, his fingers and nails lengthening. His
face was stretching, the bones creaking and cracking as invisible
hands worked to remake his flesh. Thick fur stood out on his arms
and back, spreading rapidly to cover him, sprouting out from
underneath his leather jerkin and over the top of his hunting
breeches.

Around him, Arook and the members of his
congregation were going through the same change. Their faces
turning to lupine snouts filled with rows of razor sharp incisors.
Their hands and feet lengthening and the skin thickening. The
digits terminating in wicked looking talons that would rend flesh
like it was parchment.

More of the pairs of amber eyes were coming
forward too, emerging from the cover of the forest into the
moonlight. Revealed, their bodies too were shifting with the flux
of the remarkable metamorphosis.

Sigourd was lost to the light of the moon.
Blinded by ecstasy, burning in agony. His mind retreated to a place
of safety deep within himself. He was possessed by a feral, primal
intelligence that he now realized had always been a part of him.
Moving in the shadowed corners of his soul, always careful to stay
away from the light of recognition. This was his true nature
revealed and unfettered in the most cataclysmic way.

Sigourd threw back his head and howled at
the moon, the sound carrying high and loud into the crisp cool air
of the night. Others joined in his ululating, exultant cry. He
could not see them, he could only hear their voices joining his
own, could only feel their life energies converging with his.
Sigourd gave into himself utterly.

In the middle of the madness, Jonn Grumble
looked on horrified. He could barely speak as he watched Sigourd.
His friend was shifting form before his eyes, becoming the sort of
feral monster that surely belonged only in children’s fairytales,
not here in the world of living, breathing flesh. Too consumed with
their own transformation, Jonn Grumble’s captors slackened their
grip, and he was able to shrug them off. He stood there for many
moments, surrounded by the inhabitants of the forest dwelling.

What he was seeing defied all explanation
save for the foulest and darkest of magics. Sigourd, Isolde, the
grim faced man who had addressed them. They were all shifting with
the insanity of this...change.

Jonn Grumble gripped his sword staff tightly
between knuckles as white as snow. He would swing his weapon, he
would cast down these nightmarish creatures. But how far would he
get before they turned upon him, rending him limb from limb to
feast upon his organs. Jonn Grumble did not fear death, a man of
the Velvet Forests had no place for such weakness in his heart. But
he was not fool enough to so casually invite the great reaper of
souls to his door.

And what of Sigourd? The wild man had yet to
repay his blood debt to the boy. He had sworn his life to the
service of the young lord until such time as the debt had been
repaid in full. But more than that, Sigourd was his friend. Jonn
Grumble had known many people in the course of his life, but few of
them had been blessed with the lad’s purity of spirit.

Sigourd had fallen prey to the magics of
this cursed place. He was no longer the brave spirit Jonn Grumble
had sworn fealty too, he was...

Such thoughts raced through Jonn Grumble’s
mind. Torn between his disgust for the freakish transformation he
was witnessing, and the loyalty he felt for his friend.

As Jonn looked on, Sigourd was no longer
recognizably human. His body had swelled and grown to take on the
shape of a hulking monster, his facial features had been subsumed
beneath the visage of...a wolf!

The beast looked up suddenly, golden eyes
pinned with black slits. Those eyes flashed at Jonn Grumble. The
wild man recoiled to see that there was now nothing left of his
friend. The Sigourd monster threw back its shaggy maned head and
unleashed an animal cry that shattered the silence of the night.
The sound pierced Jonn Grumble like a cold blade through his guts.
It carried up, up and away, echoing around the valley and into the
eternity of night. The others too began to take up the cry, their
animal voices filling the clearing with a terrifying howling.

Jonn Grumble knew what he must do. He would
grant Sigourd the mercy of his blade. If he could not repay his
debt by saving his friends life, then he would save his soul.

Jonn gripped his sword staff two handed,
readied himself to leap at the monster Sigourd now was. One clean
stroke was all it would require. He would take the beast’s head and
save Sigourd’s immortal essence from the damnation of a cursed
existence.

But too late, the other wolves had gathered
between them. Even wracked as they apparently were with the agony
of their transformation it would be an impossible task to reach his
target. Indeed, the majority of them seemed to be reaching the apex
of their metamorphosis. Like grotesque butterflies freshly emerged,
they stood trembling, basking in the silvery light of the hunter’s
moon.

Too long, curse him he’d waited too long.
Patience was the only recourse now. Patience and timing. Jonn
Grumble sheathed his sword staff, and as quickly as he could,
before any of the monsters had recovered their sensibilities enough
to restrain or pursue him, he stole away into the enfolding
darkness of the forest. Behind him the night was rent by the
howling of the wolves.

CHAPTER 15

An assembly

Huron cast a sudden glance over his
shoulder. The echoing sound of the howling rose up out of the cold
dark of the valley below. If Huron had been like other men, he
might have labelled the sound chilling to hear. He paused a moment
in scrutiny, allowing his keen eyes to roam the endless expanse of
the valley basin. The dark blanket of the forest canopy was
bordered to either side by the jagged ranges of the Ash’Harad. Like
the wicked canines of some deranged hunting dog, those mountains
bit deep into the sky, their cruel silhouettes picked out against
the backdrop of night by the silver light of the moon.

Huron didn’t doubt that he was perhaps one
of only a handful of men to have ever laid eyes on this place,
nestled as it was in the foothills of the heavens. Beyond the will
of mortal man to reach.

After a while, the distant howling died
down, the echo of it dissipating on the bitter winds that roamed
the high mountain passes. Huron spurred his horse on, the animals
breath steaming the cold air as it pushed on through the dark
between the tall trees.

It was only a few moments before the knight
came at last to the place he sought. Scattered amongst the dense
forest in loose formation formation was one hundred of The Baron
Mortaron’s household cavalry.

Known as the Baratiis 75th, they were the
latest incarnation of a company that had been founded by The
Baron’s ancestors over three hundred years previously. The company
had always served The Baronial line first, and the ruler of
Corrinth Vardis second. Their loyalty to The Baron Mortaron was
unquestioned, and they were seasoned and efficient killers who took
pride in their brutal work.

The elite troops had been sent behind Huron
to bolster any effort he was required to make in prosecuting The
Baron’s will. And now their skills in Warcraft were most certainly
required.

As he was bid, Huron had followed the young
lord into the valley. As soon as the knight had laid eyes upon the
wonderfully strange village in the heart of the forest, surrounded
by trees so large they dwarfed the tallest spires of the palace at
Corrinth Vardis, he had known that he had found the place The Baron
had spoken of. The place and the people that his liege lord had
instructed him to raise to the ground.

Having dispatched his hawk with a note of
summons for the commander of the Baratiis three days previously,
Huron had settled in his place of concealment to observe not only
Sigourd and his unkempt companion, but the village also.

He had seen mostly families, children and
women. But there was also a strong presence of men folk about the
place, perhaps several dozen that were of age and able bodied
enough to muster a compelling resistance to their impending
annihilation.

However now that Huron had arrived here, the
question begged asking; why should The Baron wish for this
seemingly tranquil place to be put to ruin? Wiped from the face of
the world as if it never was. Those had been The Barons’s words.
What secrets were hidden amongst the people of this dwelling that
The Baron should want for even their children to be
slaughtered?

The question begged asking. But it was not
Huron’s place to question the commands of his baron. He would
obey.

The hawk had already returned with the watch
commander’s response, and Huron decided that it was time he go to
meet the Baratiis.

Here they waited, in a place that he had
scouted especially to allow them the advantage of being able to
observe their target while remaining hidden within the cover of the
forest. Huron rode between gatherings of men, some who had
dismounted, others who sat patiently in their saddles awaiting the
order to move on their intended target.

All of them turned to watch the knight as he
moved past. The Baratiis were all swarthy, battle hardened
veterans. But even amongst their ranks, a figure with the stature
and reputation of the old baron’s enforcer was not something you
cold help but gaze upon with weary respect.

Picking out the watch commander amongst a
huddle of mounted officers, Huron trotted his battle steed over to
the group. The commander, a portly man with thick, strong arms and
a roughly groomed mustache the points of which tapered up and over
the edge of his gorget, looked up from his deep discussions. He
nodded to his men that they should allow him a moment with the
approaching knight.

‘
Well met, enforcer. You
have located the Prince Regent?’ said the commander.

Huron inclined his head by way of
acknowledgement, ‘In the valley below. There is a village of sorts.
Mostly women folk and children. But there are some amongst their
number who might provide a small measure of challenge for you
men.’

‘
It’s the challenge that
the women will provide that most interests my men,’ said the
commander with a malicious twinkle in his eye, ‘We’ve been riding
hard for days now. We could use the distraction.’

Huron turned slowly to
regard the other man, his face an image of pure distaste, ‘Your men
will comport themselves with the dignity that is usually associated
with soldiers of your esteemed station. If that is not the
case,
you
will
answer personally to
me
.’

The commander hesitated, before allowing
himself a curt nod of understanding ‘Yes, lord.’

Huron once more turned his attention to the
twinkling of the strange lights in the village far below. Even at
this distance, and through the intervening morass of trees and
foliage, the beauty of the village could not be denied. It sat in
the valley below them, twinkling in the darkness and totally
unsuspecting of the fate that was poised to befall it.

Huron’s plan was to attack the village
immediately before daybreak. They would storm the target
simultaneously from all sides, driving the occupants to the centre
where they could more easily be culled. The Baratiis would ride out
of the forest, the rising sun at their backs, their blades
whispering death as they fell.

‘
We’ll take up position
around their encampment and move on the primary when I give the
command, understood?’ continued Huron.

The watch commander nodded once more,
smiling this time, ‘With the Prince Regent secured, The Baron will
be free to execute his plan.’

Huron inclined his head. He had been made
aware of no plans save the repatriation of the prince. He would
need to press this fool commander in order to glean further
information.

‘
Yes, we are almost at the
point of fruition,’ Huron agreed, ‘all we await is the final pieces
falling into place.’ Huron hoped that by playing along he would be
able to draw out of the commander some insight into these
mysterious plans.

‘
When The Regent rides out
to lay siege to the Morays, he will receive such a surprise,’ cooed
the watch commander. Huron tried not to reveal the depth of his
curiosity, but he had to push a little further.

‘
It will be the sort of
surprise that shakes the very foundations of the court,’ he
said.

‘
You have a talent for
understatement, enforcer,’ scoffed the other man, ‘even an army as
disciplined as The Regent’s will not be able to overcome the trap
The Baron has set. The entire Morays war host lies in wait at the
border for The Regent and his men to cross over. It will be a
massacre.’

Huron’s stony demeanor slipped momentarily.
Even he had not considered that The Baron would be capable of so
monstrous a betrayal. But of course it all made sense now. The
Barons insistence on pursuing war with the Morays. The explosion of
the weapon store. It was all an attempt by the old man to force The
Regents hand. To force him into overextending himself and his
forces with fatal consequences. The Baron was planning to overthrow
The Regent with the help of the bitterest rivals of the realm. For
what? Riches, power?

Even The Barons desire to see the young lord
Sigourd returned safely to the palace must now be called into
question. With his father deposed, Sigourd would be the only one
capable of laying forth a legitimate challenge to whichever usurper
sat upon The Regents throne.