The Exiles (28 page)

Trex raised his staff in desperation, but it was smashed back down easily. Trex froze in fear as the old wolf pulled back again for a strong finishing blow. He could see it happening in slow motion, but was two petrified to act.

Sara could also see the sword go back in slow motion. Her system overloaded; her rage, anguish, fear and determination spilled out from her instantaneously. The built-up emotions flowed form the female wolf like the strong winds of a storm.

‘Trex! Noooooo!' Sara shouted.

The effect of her projected emotions hit Horrist like a brick, he hesitated momentarily before recovering enough to swing down with all his force.

Sara's stream of emotions had by then luckily also hit Trex. Impacting on the lion's susceptible mind, it instantly empowered him beyond anything that he had ever felt in his life. Trex could feel his muscles tighten like steel spring. His hands grasped his staff solidly and he swung his weapon up. A mighty roar escaped Trex's lips as the two weapons met.

In an intense flash of light and explosion of sound, Horrist's blade disintegrated. The older wolf was thrown back by an unseen force, seemingly released from his destroyed blade.

Trex sprung to his feet in one fluid motion. The normally calm lion was unrecognizable with his menacing figure and deathly expression highlighted by a viscous snarl. Horrist was barely able to back away from the advancing lion, completely perplexed by this unexpected sight. Never in his long life had the old exile ever seen a lion enraged and seemingly using it to such devastating effect. Backing further away, Horrist was surprised when he ran into something soft. Turning sharply, he found himself looking down into the intimidating face of Sara. It suddenly became obvious to the old wolf that Trex was feeding off of his wolf friend's projected emotions. Before he could contemplate anything else, Sara landed a massive right hook which sent the exile crashing unconscious onto the forest floor.

Sara let her emotions go, breathing deeply to once again bring her levels down and regain her calm. She shook off the pain in her fist. The exiles jaw had been hard as stone. Next to her, Trex was stunned, blinking numerous times, he felt as if he was coming out of a daze.

‘What… was that!?' he gasped, clutching his stomach as if he was going to be sick.

‘That was the overpowering desire to fight and win,' said Sara in a husky voice between breaths. She herself was still coming down from her emotional high.

‘Lions are not supposed to feel that!' said Trex desperately. The feelings had been very alien to him, he had spent his life controlling his emotions, such an outburst was far more then the young lion had ever experienced, and it shook him up.

‘That's because it's normally directed against you, not for you,' said Sara.

‘You can do that?'

‘Sure. You feed off others, it builds up,' replied Sara, her voice approaching normal. With the adrenalin leaving her system she rapidly started to feel the numerous cuts and bruises that were afflicting her body.

Trex couldn't help but to think about facing an entire army of wolves emotionally ‘charged' like he had just been, surely it would be impossible to stand up to such a force. Obviously concentration was cumulative as well for a group of lions, it had to be, no one lion concentrating independently in a larger lion army could ever face a thousand of
that
running at them.

‘Misha,' called Sara. Her trusted horse emerged from the bushes. The animal was also cut and bruised, but otherwise seemingly ok. Flint followed immediately behind.

Trex turned to look at the fallen exiles.

‘What should we do with them?' he asked.

‘Leave them,' Sara instructed. ‘We don't have any time.' Sara got back up onto Misha. Her eyes narrowed into renewed grim determination. This was proving to be harder and more painful then even her pessimistic mind could have contemplated.

Running forwards quickly, Trex jumped back onto Flint. There was scantly time to look around again before he had to take off after the fast disappearing Sara.

Sage Filfia was an impressive wolf by any stretch of the imagination. Her choice of clothing was understated, though clearly unique. In her right hand she carried a large staff, its seemingly living wood ornately covered in mosses which swirled into delicate patterns on the dark rich surface. This apparent practical-simplicity contrasted like night on day next to her royal expression and mannerisms. Approaching the end of being middle-aged, she moved as if she owned everything that she saw.

Currently, her normally commanding expression had taken a softer edge as she allowed herself to simply enjoy her favored surroundings, the forest. Filfia was always happiest in nature. She had become a bit of a recluse in her later life; becoming more and more frustrated with a culture that she saw as dysfunctional. Despite this, she had still tried to remain a valuable member of society, seeing it as her duty to protect the few glimmers of hope which she saw in her race as a whole, and to block the great darkness brought by ignorance and short sighted opportunism. Fortunately, her opinions still had considerable sway in the senate, despite her distance from political events.

It was this distance that currently posed the greatest danger to her. Not witnessing the change in political mood back in the capital herself, she had underestimated the warnings from her old friends, quite possibly to her own peril.

Sage Filfia had in her pocket the message she had received early this morning from a night owl. She had just read it over again, not sure why the message still disturbed her so. Filfia supposed that it was the subject of the letter that was worrying to her, after all, it had said that her friends were in danger and needed her help. It was written a little oddly, but Filfia concluded that this was probably because the writer had been under stress.

The writer of the letter had indeed been under stress, he was just not the Anthro that Sage Filfia thought he was.

The writer who had forged the note to make it look like it had come from Shaman Katan was an Exile. The writer in question had become an expert forger during his time as an outlaw, but for this forgery, he did not have enough references to go on. The exile and his companions had grabbed what letters they could once the break-in at RefugeCross had been discovered. The thieves had grabbed everything that looked valuable (In their hast they had snatched the wispdews, recognizing the valuable flower). The letter forger had done his best, but he was still worried that his forgery would be found out…

This was concern that was apparently unnecessary, as Sage Filfia continued to walk further away from her summer home, further from the forest and animals that she knew very well, and further away from safety.

Appearing out of the forest at the edge of a large meadow, Filfia gazed around at the multitude of colors. The soft buzz of insects created a calm backdrop. She griped her large staff more tightly. The elegantly sculptured wood was smooth in her hand, its internal heat giving away that it contained living energy.

As relaxed as the Sage was, she was far from placid or carefree, bear tribe warriors had been reported in the immediate area after all. If it hadn't been for the unspecified danger faced by some of her closest friends she would have remained at home. It was for this reason that she was also on foot, she had sent her horse forward so that she could remain grounded, so to speak. With her feet connected to the earth she would be able to communicate better with the forest which was her true protection.

Filfia moved forward into the natural grass meadow. A small rabbit like creature appeared in front of her, sitting on its hind legs to get a better view through the tall grass. The female wolf bent down to pat the normally shy small furry creature. Again she received invaluable information, nothing appeared to be unusual.

The Sage could sense some larger animals nearby. Their continued state of nervousness and agitation seemed to agree with the sighting of boar-like creatures the Sage had been informed of by an owl a few minutes ago.

Boars on the Anthro world were quite similar to ours here. The powerful tusked animals had bad attitudes, the ability to eat anything, longer bristly hair and grew up to weigh almost half a tone.

Though the larger animals in question did actually have the skins of boars, they were, in fact, not boars at all.

Hunched over for hours wrapped in hot and stinking fresh animal skins, the exiles were well beyond feeling that they needed a wash. They were also very nervous, they were about to attack one of the most capable and dangerous Anthros alive.

Moving parallel to Filfia at the forests edge about thirty meters away, a snout appeared momentarily above the top of the grass. Underneath the boar skin appeared the piercing eyes of the exile, Tomn. The animal's skin was tied together by two strips of leather below his chin to avoid it falling off. Spotting the Sage, Tomn quickly dropped back down. Without turning around, he made a series of hand signals to the three figures behind him, who were themselves similarly wrapped in skins.

Tomn repeated the words Philton had told him over and over in his head. His normally slightly crazy eyes were now focused sharply. This personal mantra of Tomn's was specifically designed to tone down his emotions. Taking a few deep breaths, he turned and nodded at his small group. Each one of them was also repeating their personal mantras. Focused, they mouthed the words silently.

Philton had spent months preparing his gang of exiles for this moment; each of the nervous wolves turned gratefully to their training, putting their faith completely in Philton.

Scampering along, occasionally on all fours, the group made their way along the edge of the woods.

Tomn was immensely proud of having been given this opportunity by Philton. Some had questioned that he was the best choice for leading the group, given his volatile nature. Philton was of no doubt that Tomn was the best wolf for the job. Philton knew a great amount about emotional matters. He knew of Tomn's instabilities, under what circumstances he would be useless, as well as in what situations the young wolf's single-mindedness would be an asset, such as now.

Philton himself peered over the edge of the tall grass. He repeated no mantra, being completely calm. Around him he could feel the tension building in the four younger males as they prepared their blow pipes. Philton clicked his tongue to give the signal for them to practice their breathing exercise. The young exiles instantly complied, reduced the overall tension markedly.

His plan was coming together. Their target was getting ever closer, and still completely unaware of what lay in store for her.

‘Can't we just use arrows?' said a quiet voice behind Philton, the fear evident in the whispered words.

Sage Filfia was well known and feared for a reason. Philton didn't have to answer as another one of his group replied on his behalf.

‘Shut up you idiot, you know that all Anthro's can sense the intent to kill. Just say your mantras.'

Philton smiled, proud at how far his group of exiles had come. There had never been a group like them. They resembled nothing of the normally pathetic groups of struggling thugs, aggressive and doomed to die. Philton's exiles were skilled and trained; he had made sure of that.

The extent of the red wolfs knowledge did not stop there, he also knew exactly how a wolf Sage's power worked, how to counter it, and if necessary, how to use it. Because you see, Philton was a Sage himself, one of the first male Sages in history, even if he had never received the title from the high council of Sages.

Preparing his own blowpipe, Philton was sure that Tomn would not let him down.

Filfia had almost reached the other side of the meadow. Her mind had been happy to wander, but a nagging sensation started to creep into her thoughts. She would have to meditate a bit when she reached the safety of the forest. Something was definitely wrong, and it had nothing to do with bears.

The Sage suddenly heard a sharp loud bird call in front of her. This was almost immediately followed by a reply from behind her. She turned her head just in time to see four figures rise from the tall grass. Momentarily surprised, she was barely able to sidestep the volley of darts that flew towards her. Feeling a sharp pain in her thigh she turned back to see another group had appeared in front of her.

On instinct, the Sage slammed her staff into the ground; in a flash of strange green light, a solid wall of towering grass shot out of the ground. It seemingly grew from nothing in an instant, blocking the next volley of darts from that direction. As quickly as Sage Filfia had reacted, she couldn't avoid a second dart that slammed into her shoulder. Clenching her teeth in frustration and sweeping her staff around in a large arc, she pointed it at Tomn's small group. Wind seemed to pick up around the Sage as her hair and long skirt started to flick around violently. Around Tomn and his group the ground suddenly started to glow the strange green color. Instantly, vines and grasses sprang from the dirt, growing in seconds to wrap themselves around the unfortunate attackers.

Tomn and his comrades dropped their blowpipes to grab for their swords in desperation, only a few were able to get at them, trying to hack away at the aggressive vegetation. Two wolves struggled in vein as the vines effectively tied them to the spot, their arms wrapped up too heavily to move.

Meanwhile, in front of her, Philton and his group were now effectively blocked by the wall of grass.

‘She's hit!' Philton yelled triumphantly. ‘Kill her before she escapes!'

Around Philton his wolves grabbed for their swords. Springing forward as one, they snarled and growled aggressively, fueling their communal aggression. The intent to kill was now present and completely unmasked, the air around the group burned. The exiles rushed past their leader.

Philton held back. Unlike his fellow exiles, he was walking forward calmly, concentrating on his mental state. The reason why became quickly apparent. The crafty red wolf felt the wave of energy pass through him. Philton noticed how the world seemingly got darker, how a strong wind was now rushing out from the point where Sage Filfia suddenly appeared, surrounded by her swaying protective vines. He noticed how he felt suddenly more alone, despite his fellow exiles. But Philton was not scared, no, he actually felt more confident; fear came from the unknown, a lack of control, and his convictions were not based on bravado or arrogance, but knowledge.

The other male wolves did not have this benefit. They found themselves suddenly rooted to the spot in terror. They felt completely isolated, all they could see was the glowing Sage in front of them, larger then life, the vines that surrounded her stretching out towards them twisting and turning threateningly like a nest of angry vipers.

Around the exiles, the world suddenly appeared a lot more hostile. They could hear the sounds of numerous angry birds, a dark husky call of an elk like creature nearby. Filfia was calling the animals to her defense, the forest was mobilizing.

The powerful Sage was at the centre of a storm, her hair and dress fluttered unworldly in an improbable wind. Filfia's concentrated face was the perfect picture of will and power. Her outstretched hands conducted an orchestra of forces. Filfia's mouth opened slightly as she began to pant with the effort. It was the first visible sign of her internal fight to slow the poison from the darts from running through her system.

It was an impossible struggle. The same high heart rate and adrenalin that was feeding her power were also the same forces helping to spread the poison throughout her body. Though the chemical would not be directly deadly, she would soon be unconscious, something that could well lead to her death.

Filfia could feel the terror of the exiles around her. Soon all manner of animals would arrive, once the attackers were confronted it should be enough to scare them away and allow for her to make an escape. Already the insects of the grasses were swarming around the scared exiles.

Noticing something out of place around her, Filfia turned to face the only male wolf that was still walking casually towards her. His ordered mind had not gained the attention of the Sage before now. Focusing her eyes to make a visual assessment, a moment of confusion passed through her mind, this was enough to break her emotional projection and wind manipulation turbulently.

‘Philton!?' she mouthed in shock.

Philton had waited for this moment, instantly he turned up his aggression and control. The wind swirled violently in response to Philton's counter efforts.

The exiles immediately next to Philton snapped out of their paralysis; shaking their heads as if to clear a fog from their minds. The young male wolves refocused their thoughts on the Sage, she suddenly appeared considerably less threatening then only a moment before.

‘Focus men! Kill any animals that come to help and surround her! Don't let her get away!' Philton called encouragingly.

From behind the Sage, Tomn let out a mighty howl, reacting to his leader's initiative. The physical signal was electrifying, the exiles rallied and aggression again filled their veins.

Filfia could tell that the tide had turned. Her failing strength would not allow her to intimidate the attackers enough to win on emotions alone. Despite many animals having already arrived to attack individual exiles, they would not be able to alter the outcome of the conflict alone. Filfia wouldn't be able to maintain their unnatural levels of aggression for long. She was not going to get away, Philton was simply too strong. The hopeless situation caused naked anger to flare within her.

Already a few exiles had come close enough to strike her. With ease, she blocked the blows with her powerful staff; one attacker she entangled with a new growth of vines, while she sent the other flying with a sweeping blow.