Mrythdom: Game of Time (6 page)

Back inside the brewery Gabrian found a table in the furthest, darkest corner he could and told Aurelius to wait there. The old man returned a moment later with a pair of golden ales frothing over the rims of their frosted mugs.

“What now?” Aurelius asked as Gabrian sat down across from him.

“We wait.”

“For?”

“Night.”

The evening passed slowly, and Aurelius found Gabrian to be a pensive companion, content to sip his ale through long stretches of brooding silence. For his part, Aurelius was boiling with questions that he daren't ask for fear that the answers would only raise more concerns. The silence gave him an opportunity to listen to the conversations going on around them, however. The Nordic accents were strange and some of the words were unfamiliar, but otherwise he understood them perfectly.

“It be a full moon tonight.”

“Forsooth.”

“Reckon we'll see any wolves?”

“Only if they wanta be seen. Sneaky monsters they be. Pad along behind you on the clearest plain on the brightest night as though it were the darkest thicket. We'll need eyes in the backs of our heads.”

Dry laughter. “Why do they like the cursed moon so much anyway?”

“Reckon it gives ‘em something to howl at.”

“I heard it makes them hungrier and more aggressive to see it out and shining. That's why we see so much of them when the moon’s at its fullest. Why don't they just hunt the Hydrons and leave us alone? More than enough meat to share.”

“Ancient vendettas. They eat us and we skin them; maybe no one remembers who started it, but you can be dracklan sure they don't take kindly to seeing us wearing their friends and family for coats.”

“You think they're that smart? They’re just beasts.”

“No . . . not beasts. Not only. You ever hear of the werewolves?”

“A'course. Everyone has. That don't make them any more real.”

“Oh they be real. Rare enough, but real as you or me. All started when a wolf took a Nordic woman for his mate.”

“Spare me your spook stories. That's just something we tell young maidens to keep them from straying too far from home.”

“Oh, it's no spook story. It happened, many centuries ago. This wolf, he was a sick one. He took the chieftain’s daughter in a battle and dragged her off into the mountains. Everyone thought he meant to save her for a snack, but a fortnight later she was seen again, wild and feral looking, draped in ragged furs and scrabbling around on four legs like a beast. Reckon she didn't last more than a few winters, but she lasted long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“To bear a son.”

“Ack. You’re disgusting, Grimsweil. You’re puttin’ me off my food.”

The other man broke into gruff laughter, and Aurelius turned to Gabrian with a horrified look. “Is that true?” he whispered.

The old man’s eyes were closed; he appeared to be in some sort of trance. Aurelius repeated his question, and Gabrian’s eyes opened to impatient slits, seeming for a moment to be yellow rather than blue. “Is what true?”

Aurelius started. “What they were talking about. About werewolves.”

“What about them?”

“Do they exist?”

Gabrian’s lips curved into an ugly smile. “Does that frighten you?”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a warning.”

“A warning?”

“This is not your world. Many things exist here which are beyond your imagining.” With that, Gabrian’s eyes rolled up and he appeared to sink into a trance once more.

Aurelius looked away with a frown and took a hearty sip of his ale.
Many things exist here which are beyond your imagining. . . .

Like werewolves?

Aurelius awoke to the sound of bells crashing, suddenly interrupting the raucous sounds of merriment inside the brewery. He lifted his head from the table and the crude pillow he’d made of his arms to see all the men inside the bar suddenly snapping to attention. Dozens of chairs were pushed back from their tables at once as if it had been rehearsed. The laughter and shouts suddenly died away to a relative hush of heavy footsteps. Every man in the bar quietly made his way to the door and padded out into the snow. Aurelius watched the sudden exodus with bemusement. As the last of the men were filing out, Gabrian rapped him on the head with his staff.

“Ouch!”

“Come.” Gabrian pushed out his chair and stood.

“You could have just asked me.”

“I did.”

“I meant nicely,” Aurelius said, rubbing his head.

They followed the crowds outside and Aurelius shivered as he looked up at the deep, dusky blue sky, already alive with twinkling stars. The moon was a giant yellow eye upon the horizon, hovering just above the snow-covered steeple of a nearby log cabin. There inside that steeple, Aurelius caught a glint of a giant bell swinging back and forth.

“Must I hit you on the head again?”

Aurelius jerked out of his stargazing and hurried after Gabrian. They followed a growing throng of people through the village, snow crunching under hundreds of booted feet in a rhythm of purpose.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just confront him now. What’s the point of all this subterfuge?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand subtlety, elder, but even were I to confront Malgore and defeat him, he would sooner die than part with the relic. Therefore, unless he has it on his person, which I cannot believe is true, we would lose our only way to find that which we seek.”

“Surely you can make him talk?”

“How?” Gabrian shot him a bland look.

Aurelius’s expression twisted uncomfortably beneath the wizard’s gaze. “Torture?”

The old man smiled wryly. “You advocate torture but not stealing?”

“Well . . .”

“Regardless, no matter how much pain I could inflict, I assure you he could endure it and more. He would simply use magic to switch off his senses and I would be left torturing a lifeless doll.”

“Hmmm.”

“We have no choice but to follow him until such a time as he leads us to the relic. If we are patient, he will betray himself.”

“Where is he trying to take the relic?”

Gabrian shrugged. “Who knows. Somewhere safe. For now he just wants to lose his pursuers. I suspect that he plans to blend in here for a while in order to do that, but he underestimates my power if he thinks he can hide for long.”

“If you can track Malgore, why not the relic?”

“Magic can only track living things, and even then it is difficult unless those beings are very familiar—or very powerful. Every time someone uses magic, it’s like a beacon, shining brightly for everyone with eyes to see. The effect lingers and forms a trail that can be followed.”

“Is that why you told me to fly this way?”

“Yes, but it is Destiny’s work that brought you to Dagheim rather than someplace else. Even had I been awake I wouldn’t have been able to guide us so precisely to Malgore’s location.”

Aurelius nodded slowly as if he understood. He had a sick, crawling sensation like he should have stopped asking questions ten questions ago. They rounded a corner in the street and came into view of a broad plaza. People were crowding into it from every side with spears and shields glinting in the moonlight. In the center of the plaza was a podium upon which stood a giant man in blazing red furs with long, curly bronze hair. He held a wickedly glinting spear in one hand, and a heavy round shield in the other. Upon his head sat a furry headpiece with jagged silver spikes rising in a circle around the rim. He was looking out over the crowds, his eyes drawn skyward to the rising moon.

Aurelius and Gabrian found a place near the back of the crowd and waited until people stopped pouring into the square. After just a few minutes, the bells stopped beckoning, and the square was full. Abruptly, the man on the podium dropped his gaze and allowed his eyes to delve hungrily through the crowd. For a split second, Aurelius felt the man’s gaze linger on him and suddenly sharpen as though with anger or suspicion, but then his eyes moved on and he began to speak.

“Men of Dagheim! The time of the great hunt is upon us! The hydrons are migrating North, out of the plains and into Elder Forest. Sharpen your spears, polish your armor, and ready your shields! Tonight, we honor our families with our sacrifices of blood and sweat and flesh. Do not fear the terrors that await us! Do not flee if they come upon us! Stand firm, and you will not fall. Stand together, and we will be victorious!”

A loud shout went up and a sound like thunder split the air as assembled men began to stomp their feet. The man on the podium waited patiently for the sound to die down before continuing with his speech.

“It is a full moon tonight, fellow huntsmen, but have no fear and the mighty wolf will be afraid of
you!
They are drawn to your fear; they can smell it. To them, fear is weakness, and they are ever worrying the weakened edges of our ranks. So let there be no weakness! Be steadfast, and they will leave us alone. Yet . . .” Now the speaker shrugged his massive shoulders. “If not, we will kill them and turn them into coats!”

Another shout went up and the thunder of stomping feet resumed. Suddenly the speaker raised his spear and shield to the sky and clanked them together loudly, shouting, “May the blood of our ancestors protect us!”

The crowd repeated his gesture in a deafening clank of shields against spears and then they replied, “Or may we join their ranks in Vaghada!”

The man on the podium descended slowly into the cheering, stomping crowds, shaking his spear in the air for emphasis as he wove through the masses of people. Aurelius estimated there were at least three hundred men in full battle dress, some of them wearing armor beneath their heavy coats, and all of them wielding heavy round shields and long, deadly spears. Their eyes glittered fiercely in the dark, and they projected a collective aura of courage, confidence, and deadly intent.

It was a sight to behold. Aurelius turned to Gabrian in askance, and the old wizard answered him before he had a chance to voice his thoughts. “We must go with them.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we have no choice. In Nordom, every able-bodied man must join the hunt, and for this reason, too, we must go, because Malgore will also be along.”

“I don’t have a weapon. They keep speaking about these wolves and mentioning other deadly ‘terrors.’ How am I going to defend myself?”

Gabrian fished into his voluminous robes and produced Aurelius’s pistol. “Now that you’re not going to shoot me with it, you may have your weapon back.”

Aurelius hesitated, expecting some kind of trick, but when the pistol didn’t explode in Gabrian’s palm, he took it as a sign of trust and snatched his weapon from the old man. He checked the charge, flicked the switch from stun to maximum power, and snapped on the safety before holstering the weapon at his hip. “What about you?”

The old man hefted his staff. “I will not need more than this.”

“That’s how you use magic?”

“No, I can use magic without a staff, just as you can kill a man with your fists rather than a sword. The staff merely focuses my power.”

“I see.” Aurelius turned to watch the man in crimson furs walk by. Now that he could get a closer look, he saw that the jagged points of the crown upon the man’s head were made of giant canine teeth, each of them no less than four inches long. “Who is he?”

“Rathgur of Dagheim, the chieftain of this clan. There are rumors that he is a magician himself.”

“So where is his staff?”

“There are many ways to focus power. One may also wear an amulet, or embed a magical stone in the hilt of a sword. If the rumors are true, I suspect our fair chieftain focuses his power through hidden means. Sorcerers are not popular in Nordom.”

The crowd quieted as they began marching after their chieftain. Gabrian and Aurelius followed. “What do you mean they aren’t popular?”

“The real reason has been lost with the long passage of years, and few now know it, but in the beginning it was because of Thesla hur Loban. In the human tongue, Thesla the Wolf. He is the one you heard about in the Firestone Brewery.”

“So when they said that a wolf took a woman for his mate, they meant that this Thesla guy took her for his mate. That makes a lot more sense.”

“Yes, it does, but I know what you are thinking, elder, and you haven’t asked me how Thesla the Wolf got his name.”

Aurelius hesitated. “How did he?”

“Thesla was a powerful shape-shifter. His favorite form was that of the wolf.”

“You mean he could actually turn into a wolf?”

“Exactly.”

Aurelius shook his head in disbelief. “So a wolf really did take a woman for his mate. He must have changed back to a human before they . . .”

“I doubt it. The problem with shape-shifting is that the longer you stay in any one form, the harder it is to change back, and the less you desire to. One’s essence changes to that of the form which one takes.”

“You’re saying he
became
a wolf, took a human mate, and had a son by her?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, that’s definitely creepy, Wrinkles, but I don’t see how that would enrage so many people for so many years. She was just one woman. She must have been popular or loved by a lot of people at least.”

“Perhaps. Regardless, that woman’s son was the first werewolf. Since then, many thousands of werewolves have been born to Thesla’s line. Over time, they interbred with real wolves, creating a much larger, more intelligent species which is now the modern wolf, and the old wolves have all but died out.

“As for the werewolves, only a very few pure-blooded ones still live. And those few that there are have become pariahs, hunted through all the seven kingdoms of Mrythdom. All the unsolved crimes in Nordom and even some other parts of the world are blamed on werewolves, though they are very rarely seen and even more rarely caught. Unlike regular wolves, werewolves can blend in with people; they can look almost human right up until the moment they rip out your throat. Whether or not they deserve their reputation as criminals, werewolves are very dangerous and not quite as human as one might hope.”

Aurelius shivered. “Okay, I guess I can see why people hate sorcerers then.”

“Fortunately for Malgore, they hate wolves even more, so they will let a sorcerer join the hunt for the chance that he can protect them on this full moon.”

The crowd of hunters came to the palisades and there they stopped. Aurelius could barely see above the tops of the giant hunters’ heads, but he heard the heavy wooden gates open with a groan, and then the crowd jerked into motion with a roar, running out through the doors with a clanking of steel and crunching of snow.

Aurelius and Gabrian matched their pace and joined the hunters outside the walls. The men flowed into orderly groups, having obviously drilled together often. They quickly formed three tight square formations, and after a moment’s deliberation, Gabrian moved to join the rearmost group. They took up positions behind the square, catching a few smirks and scowls from the soldiers in that rank, as if they were saying,
You don’t belong here, strangers. You will die here.