Although they had broken through the city walls, Calephas's army proved even more resilient than they'd feared. The initial shock of the attack had worn and now they were fighting to gain ground against a regimented force that was used to crushing small parties such as theirs. Several of the dogs lay bleeding out their guts where they'd been speared to death, while a line of soldiers pressed them back through the narrow streets toward the hole in the wall.
Jarl had claimed three of the invaders with his knives before the swords began to swing and the spears began to thrust. Now he fell back to the vanguard and helped Eivind and Bergen keep more of the troops from closing in behind them. A quick glance at their front line proved unsettling. Five of their men were already dead, and the dogs had been reduced to snarling and snapping as they backed away from the line of soldiers in their armor and shields. Boots, graves, and a chain mail kept their fangs at bay when the spears missed.
Jarl glanced at the homes all around them and wondered with a bit of disgust why the people didn't stand up and fight with them. This was their land after all. Had Calephas drained all their bravery from them? Were there truly any more men in Fjellvidden or Arabarb but these few who'd come?
Thuring and the others fell back another dozen paces until Jarl and the two archers were standing back at the breach in the wall. Eivind and Bergen picked off the few soldiers coming along between the wall and the last line of buildings, while Jarl kept his eyes on the battle and the woods behind them. He hated having to play watchman, but his knives would never be enough against chain mail and swords. If only he could have gone to the castle he could have truly helped.
A fiery eruption detonated along the building to his right and his head snapped up to see a smoldering ruin with screaming children and a mother running away from the gaping hole and blaze. Jarl swallowed and ran one hand over his face which felt very tender; the hair was curled and brittle. Spinning about, he saw two beastly figures loping through the meadows from the southeast. One of them rose up on its back legs and another blast of energy came rushing toward them.
"Look out!" Jarl grabbed, Bergen by the arm and yanked him down to the ground as the blast slammed into the building behind them.
"We're trapped!" Eivind shouted in alarm as he ducked back behind the building while Gmork's pups loped ever closer. The soldiers, sensing their impending victory, pressed harder, striking down another of the dogs. One of them managed to skewer Thuring's upper arm and the large man bellowed, grabbing the soldier by the forearm and twisting him down until his neck crushed itself against the rim of his shield. But the other soldiers closed in, filling the hole and swinging their blades so savagely that even the mighty Thuring was forced to fall back and try to hold his wound shut.
Jarl hated having to rely on a Keeper for anything, but the gull flying overhead was certainly good for one thing. The thane's grandson lifted both his knives and crossed them at the guard until they made a saltire. The gull, circling and watching, immediately broke to the southwest and cawed frantically.
Out of the woods burst a dozen horseman brandishing their swords and shouting as they charged across the meadow. Gmork's pups turned on their heels and immediately dived to either side to avoid being run down. Riding in the midst of them was the mage Harald who clapped his hands firmly together as he shouted something incomprehensible amidst the din. Roots burst from the ground and wrapped themselves around the two pups drawing them firmly against the dirt. They struggled but could not break free.
"Here they come!" Thuring shouted, as he and the other tundra men whistled. The dozen and a half dogs still alive fell back yipping and barking as all of them ran back out through the breach. The horsemen parted around them and rushed in through the gap at the suddenly terrified soldiers. They clashed with a titanic roar as bodies were flung backward into the street only to be trampled beneath iron-shod hooves. Thuring's men let up a cheer that Jarl, Ture, and the others joined with throaty exaltation.
A grin creasing his face, Jarl and the rest rushed back into the fight, eager to shed more blood.
He couldn't really think of himself as Gmork's youngest anymore but for the time it would do. Until the boy who'd once been the tanner's apprentice had been changed as were he and his brothers, he could still amuse himself with such a designation. He hoped one day he might rather become his father's fiercest or perhaps his father's keeper of the peace. Both appealed to him for different reasons. But until then, he would be his father's youngest and be grateful for it.
He followed his eldest brother from the Listening room to the nearest set of stairs leading down to the lowest floor from which they could reach the northern wing of the castle. Both of them had adopted their most human guise for this so as not to alarm the soldiers in the castle. But most had gone to watch the battle in the city so they took no notice of them.
While crossing a passage overlooking the inner bailey, his eldest brother stopped and peered out one of the windows, hackles raised. The youngest went to the next and looked out. He saw nothing in the courtyard surrounding the gatehouse. But his eyes quickly alighted on a side passage through the eastern battlements with arrow slits on both sides that led toward the armory. Through that he could see several figures passing, some Lutin and others human. They were but slivers of various colors, but he knew what they were.
"Those aren't Father's soldiers," the eldest said with a growl. He turned and allowed his snout to grow to its fullest extent. In his growling and yipping voice he said, "Go kill Calephas and the others as Father commanded. I will deal with these fools."
The youngest grinned, allowing his beastly features to reveal themselves too. "Good luck, brother."
One paw rested on his shoulder and jowls grinned across large fangs. "And to you the same."
He continued down the passage toward the northern wing while his brother headed back to the stairs down to the courtyard. The youngest fell to all fours and loped as fast as he could through the halls, decrepit tapestries and barren alcoves rushing past. His paws dug into the stone and left long gouges in his wake.
Gmork was uncharacteristically hurried as he ran from the Listening Room and up the two ranks of stairs to the western battlements. He pushed aside one of the human guards and leaned across the crenelations to see. The guard stammered, "The Resistance broke through the barricades near the river!"
"I can see that," Gmork snapped and growled until the man whimpered and stood silent. The other four guards at the walls were all watching and looking warily at the city as if expecting another force to materialize before their gates. It would not have surprised Gmork but it would have been very foolish.
While he could see the ruined wall and the clot of men and some of the soldiers rushing to help, the numerous buildings blocked his sight of the actual invaders. Most likely they were the men from the north that Lubec had warned him of. But why were they attacking the western wall? They had nowhere to go once they entered the city and he had more than enough soldiers to surround and slaughter them. So why bother?
Gmork mulled that thought for a few seconds before two familiar figures dashing out of the woods halfway between him and the battle caught his eye. A wave of relief surged through him as he saw his two other pups racing from the woods toward the skirmish. At least they were still close enough to do something about these fools.
He watched in mute satisfaction as his two children lobbed fireballs at the attackers, pining them between the soldiers and the walls. But his delight quickly turned to anger when the mounted swordsmen charged from the woods and nearly ran his pups down. They dived to either side in time, but a sudden flare of magic enveloped them and then they couldn't move.
Gmork snarled, jowls curling and flecking with spittle. He drew sigils into the air with the tips of his thumb claws before his snout. Each shining blue symbol flared as it rushed to layer across his face. And with each symbol everything across the span of the city became clearer and more detailed, until with the last arcane rune his vision was as acute as an eagle's. His pups were spread across the meadow, struggling against tree roots that had sprung up and ensnared them. There were no trees within a hundred yards, so these must have been remnants from the days long past when trees had stood where now the city dwelt.
So this mystery mage was proficient with wood. That could be very useful in this land, so long as the fool wasn't killed by the soldiers. Very carefully, Gmork drew several more runes in the air before him as he leaned out across the battlements. His ears flicked from side to side to listen to the human soldiers standing there nearby; they were inching away slowly from their new lord and master as he cast his spells. Cowards.
Once he had the spells in place, he directed them to strike at the base of each of the roots pining his children to the ground. They would eventually break free themselves, but what kind of a father would he have been if he didn't help them? And as they were his children, he made sure to take the time to aim carefully.
Lancets of blue light erupted from the overlaid runes, arcing through the sky like a streaming shower of stars. They dropped one by one and struck the wooden chains, making them sizzle and crack. His pups panted and grinned as they saw what was happening. Both of them kept still until the last of the saving rays had descended, then they stood, easily breaking through their bonds.
Satisfied hat his children were free, Gmork turned to the city. The horsemen had driven the soldiers back into the main street leading to the western gate and bridge. There they formed up in ranks with spearmen and swordsmen in front and bowmen in the back. But their arrows were useless as they had all become as limp as flowers; some even sported leaves. The spears were also starting to look more like tree branches than weapons.
Gmork chuckled to himself in approval of the mage's ingenuity. His sharp eyes studied the various riders but all those in the forefront of the battle were clearly mundane men. He drew another few runes and arcs of light bolted from his claws to strike at one of the riders. The man, a burly figure with long red beard, jerked back as his flesh sizzled and wrinkled into a charred lump. Even the horse cried in agony as its back was burned black as coal through the saddle and stirrups.
His second bolt struck a shimmering shield of light and scattered harmlessly. Gmork growled under his breath at being balked so easily and let the fires race up and down his arms, pouring forth from every strand of fur to arc through the sky and descend like a flock of geese upon that makeshift magical shield.
For a few moments it seemed to hold under the unrelenting assault, much the same sort of assault he had pummeled that infuriating dragon with. But then the light trembled as the shield began to crack and splinter like a sheet of ice after being struck with a sword. Gmork's tail wagged and he let forth another barrage. With a resounding boom that made every man in the skirmish cover their ears in pain, the shield of light shattered into a million desultory fragments before each vanished into the air. One of the riders in middle of the company gasped a loud cry and fell from his horse in convulsions.
"That one," Gmork said to himself as he resumed drawing his flesh frying runes for the other riders. He hoped the man wasn't killed in the panic that was about to ensue. It would be so entertaining to break his humanity and make him a beast.
The riders and other warriors appeared to sense their impending doom as they gathered the mage and turned to flee back into the side streets where Gmork couldn't see them. But his pups were waiting for them there. Gmork rubbed his paws and watched the coming slaughter with ravenous delight. He and his children would feed very well for weeks.
One thing that Alfwig had grown used to in the two months he had been chained in the dungeon of Fjellvidden castle was the sounds of the river rushing past. The water lapped at the stone foundations and when the tide was high, at the floor beneath him. It almost purred as it flowed to the distant ocean. No matter when he felt tired, it never ceased to lull him to sleep. Fitful sleep with bad dreams perhaps, but still sleep nevertheless.
This meant that even he could hear the sound of fighting in the city when it began. It may not be in the castle, but it was sufficient for him. Alfwig slipped free of the bonds that Yajgaj had undone, rubbed his wrist and ankles for a moment, stretched his legs one last time, and then walked carefully across the dungeon. Even though Yajgaj had extinguished the torches, after two months, there was not a crevice in the dungeons that Alfwig didn't know as intimately as his own heart.
The door was unlocked and beyond he saw light at the top of the stairs. Only a single lantern, but it was enough to make the man's eyes wince. Alfwig shadowed his eyes with his forearm as he climbed the steps softly and carefully, listening for the sounds of anyone approaching. The castle was silent, and now out of the dungeons he couldn't even hear the distant combat.
At the first landing he saw the lantern hanging from the wall overlooking a sleeping cot covered in furs suitable to a Lutin. A pair of chests rested against the back wall. Alfwig found both of them unlatched. Fresh clothes suited to his frame were tucked into one, while good leather armor had been carefully arrayed in the second. He lifted the armor to his nose and smiled faintly. Crisp and with the familiar scent of the oil he'd used while working in Ture's tanning shop. This was indeed the armor he had fashioned for himself a few months ago as he'd looked forward to the day that he would help his people be free of the tyrants that had unmanned them.
He stripped out of his dungeon rags, able to rip the cloth from his chest and legs rather than bother to take the time to remove them. Then, he pulled on the fresh cloths and delighted in how good a fit they were. Yajgaj had clearly studied him well in preparation for this day. How long had that Lutin been planning to betray Calephas and Gmork, and why do so only now?
Once he dressed, Alfwig donned the armor and stretched it to make sure it was still flexible. He then searched for his sword, but neither was there even a dagger in the trunks, nor was there a sword anywhere near them. He finally found his blade beneath the cot just as Yajgaj had promised. A small covered platter of bread and cheese was waiting for him. There was only enough for a few bites so he quickly chewed both.
His sword had been freshly oiled and sharpened as if it had been done by a weaponsmith of Arabarb. Yajgaj surprised him anew. He swung the sword a few times, savoring the feel of a blade in his hand again. Alfwig smiled in satisfaction, and then started up the stairs. He knew the path to Calephas's laboratory; he'd been brought there often enough. This would be the last time he ever walked that dark corridor that smelled of death.
"Lhindesaeg," he murmured under his breath when he reached the top of the landing, "I'm coming."
At the end of a long corridor at the very bottom of the castle, two levels down from the laboratory, was a solid black iron door. The only one who ever came to this door was Baron Garadan Calephas. And so it was now, accompanied by the tiger Weaker, that Calephas came to it one last time. He threw the heavy latch and pushed the door out into the crisp air and the small dock beneath the castle. The yawl stretched against the stone pier, the river slowly moving past here, but still strong enough to easily carry them out into the main current and sweep them past the city within minutes.
The Baron smiled in relief. He had hoped he would not have to pass any of the soldiers, especially the Lutins and most especially any of Gmork's pups along the way from his laboratory. He'd seen not a soul and his sword remained unused in its scabbard at his side. He glanced at the tiger carrying the chest with his potions and gestured for him to go through. "Set them on the ship and haul in the anchor. I'll ready the mizzen and then we'll cast off."
Weaker nodded mutely, climbed down the stone steps to the wharf and then over the gunwale near the bow. Calephas watched him set the chest in the little niche between either side of the fo'c'sle before turning to secure the iron door. It took both of his arms to swing it shut. A large iron bar was attached the stone wall next to the door. It was free of rust only because the Baron came here and treated it with his alchemical concoctions at least once a week even in bleakest winter. No amount of soldiers would batter down this door. Gmork could do it, but Gmork would be busy defending the castle from the idiots in the Resistance.
Calephas laughed to himself as he thought on it. Let them fight. In an hour he would be far downriver and by the evening his potions would be ready. Come the morning he could stretch majestic wings and fly wherever he wished to go, a mighty wyrm at last.
How many of his enemies had sought to destroy him over the long years? His rivals in the Midlands had driven him into exile, but he had ended up conquering Arabarb with Nasoj's help to gain a land even vaster than the one his birthright had provided him. Two years ago he'd been given the task of preparing a mountain assault upon the northwestern edge of Metamor Valley. The Keepers had driven him back and slaughtered his men, but not before his spies had found paths through the forests that could help Nasoj's armies march straight to Metamor without the fools in Hareford or the Glen being any the wiser.
And how well he remembered that attack the previous winter. Everything had seemed to go according to plan at first, that was, until one of Nasoj's divisions decided to ransack the Glen as they passed. The Glenners had found his encampment despite the winter's grip and a betrayal from within his own rank had handed him over to them. How he longed for the day he could feast on Andrig and Gaerwog's flesh. The thought of ripping their bodies to pieces with serrated teeth and cooking their flesh with his very breath brought an icy thrill that made him shiver as he crossed the pier to the aft of the yawl and climbed aboard.
Even though the Glenners had captured him, he had still escaped and while leading the remnants of his army north, led those overrated Long Scouts into a trap that very nearly decimated them. A magical artifice alone had saved them that day, one that Nasoj had long sought vainly.
And of course, Calephas could not forget his alliance with Lilith and the gift of the draconian potions. From every defeat he grew stronger. And now he would never need to fear defeat again.
He laughed to himself as he pondered all of these events, hands carefully readying the mizzen mast. He was so wrapped up in his joy that he didn't even bother watching Weaker haul in the anchor. The tiger stood staring at the anchor chain and crank for several long seconds before bending over the side and grabbing the heavy chain in his paws and lifting it up with his own remarkable strength. His lips curled back with each pull revealing sharp fangs and a long raspy tongue. Golden eyes narrowed as the anchor, a massive rusted piece of metal that weighed at least twenty-five stone, emerged above the surface of the water and clunked against the side of the ship. This he grabbed and hauled over the gunwale along with the chain, and held in his paws as if it were a holy object.
Calephas, finished with the mizzen, moved to the port to undo the ropes lashed to the pier when he noticed Weaker standing next to fo'c'sle with the anchor in his paws. "Weaker, what are you doing?"
The tiger glanced at him and his lips curled in a snarl. "Wicked."
His hand reached for his sword and his voice deepened with the authority that he had once used to break this tiger. "What did you say to me, slave?"
The tiger lifted the anchor a little higher, the chain clinking as it dragged across the wood of the yawl. His voice hissed with predatory exhilaration. "My name is Wicked!" With a heave he drove the anchor down into the chest at his feet. The wood cracked and splintered, and the three exquisite bottles with his precious potion shattered and spilled their contents across the deck.
"No!" Calephas shouted in fierce rage. His sword leaped into his hand as he dashed across the short distance. He swung the blade at the tiger's side, but the Keeper swung the anchor up to meet the blade. He was faster than Calephas had imagined carrying so heavy a weight, as he deftly parried blow after blow from the heavy sword. Calephas had to yank his sword back each time to keep the blade from snapping against the anchor.
The tiger's eyes were fierce with triumph as he stepped to the right, moving slowly around the baron. Calephas felt only rage and hate for this traitorous slave. The loss of the potions was devastating, but he knew enough now that he could create them anew. It would take months, but he would do it. First this tiger would die.
His voice was ever one of his weapons. "You little shit! How dare you try to stop me from striking you! You are nothing without me, Weaker. You are a weakling without me. You are dust! An ant! Dung! I am your master! I am your god, Weaker. Drop that anchor and face my wrath as you ought! I am your god!"
Weaker smiled at him and kept turning to the side. He never lashed out with the anchor, only deflected Calephas's sword blows. All the baron needed was for this foolish Keeper to try to strike him once and it would be over. No matter how fast he could move that heavy weight, Calephas could slip through his attack. His sword had already nicked the tiger in the upper arms three times and the trails of blood were staining his orange and black fur as they dripped down to join the mess of purple and gray smearing the deck.
And then, after the tiger was finally back on the gunwale side, he shifted to his right with the anchor and Calephas drove home in the slight window between his arm and chest. The blade sank deep into his flesh, piercing just beneath his lung. Blood spurted along the haft of his sword and the tiger's expression of delight became blank with pain.
"Weaker," Calephas sneered as he slid the blade further into the tiger's belly, curving it as he drew it back out. Another moment and the craven beast's innards would spill across the deck.
But the tiger lowered his right arm and grabbed the chain dangling from the end of the anchor and grinned. "More Wicked," he said with a vicious hiss before he turned and threw the anchor over the gunwale.
The chain which had been dragged along as the tiger had circled him snapped into the air, caught Calephas behind the back and shoved him into the tiger's chest, the sword driving completely through the tiger's middle as the breath was forced from his lungs. Calephas tried to scream as he clawed at his slave's shoulders to break free before the sinking anchor vaulted them from their feet and carried them both down into the water tangled in the heavy chain.
The yawl rocked back and forth for a moment after they disappeared. The water rippled with the current that babbled briskly in the sudden silence.
The armory was guarded by a quartet of Lutins from the Blood Harrow tribe and two of Calephas's human soldiers. As soon as Khilaj approached with the six Lutins that had once stood guard at the eastern gate, he nodded his head and grinned sadistically. As the two humans pondered this, their Lutin companions drove spears through their backs and out their chests while grabbing their mouths so they couldn't scream their final breath.
The Resistance followed close behind, and after Brigsne and Khilaj opened the heavy doors banded with iron, they streamed into the armory. Within were racks of weapons, swords, spears, axes, with blades of steel and wriought iron kept polished and sharp. Suits of armor and shields lined one wall, while strong bows and hundreds of arrows were stored along the middle racks. The men of Arabarb stared at the treasure trove and their eyes glittered with fire.
"Take what you need," Brigsne said as the eight men and nine Lutins fanned through the armory. It was sectioned into three aisles with a break in the middle featuring more ornate suits of armor that must have come from the Midlands; no man of Arabarb would ever be wearing full plate. Brigsne shoved a hand-ax through his belt and then hefted a sword to test its weight and balance before adding, "Don't take too much."
"Don't take anything at all," a refined yet guttural voice echoed from the doorway. All eyes turned in horror to see one of the pups standing there with arms outstretched, clawed hands curling through the air as if he were stroking lace, bright blue eyes capturing them all in a single glance, while a furless tail wagged through coats of once fine fur. "We have traitors in our midst."
"Kill him!" Brigsne shouted, throwing the hand-ax before ducking into the nearest aisle. The pup grinned as a snout swelled out of his face to reveal long fangs and a bright red tongue. He dodged the hand-ax and curled his fingers in the air, drawing out strange blue light.
Luvig threw two of the little jars at the ground near the pup's paws, but the curls of light exploded in a shower of scintillating sparks that transformed into a gust of wind, propelling the yellow and shining powder backward into the faces of the men and Lutins. One of the Lutins screamed and clawed at his face as the powder flew into his eyes.
The pup spread his arms wide as he stood in the doorway, the wind he'd created pressing them back. The weapons tilted in their stands, arrow head snapped off as they bent like reeds beneath the gale. Luvig lost his footing and crashed into the ground, shattering several more jars, whose contents streamed out of his pack like sand in an hourglass.
The pup's savage grin widened as fur spread across his bare chest, arms and legs.
Gmork's youngest had never been to the laboratory, but it was not difficult to find. Calephas had walked there almost every day for so long now that the path through the corridors was festooned brightly with the baron's musky and salty fragrance. He loped down each passage, pausing only at the few intersections to make sure he took the proper fork. His path led him down almost as far as the dungeons, though now on the northernmost portion of the southern wing. From there he followed the scent into a narrow hall with a single iron door on the right. The hall continued to a twisting staircase but there was nothing else visible.
There were several scents mingled with the baron's rank aroma. He could smell his father's musk, as well as that of his other two brothers. There were a few Lutins as well, and more recently, a pair of humans that he recognized. And as he recognized them, he saw them.
From out of the wall to his left which looked perfectly solid to his eyes, stepped the two apprentices, their eyes wild and anxious. He marveled briefly at the illusion concealing their hiding spots, but then listened as they both tried to tell him as quickly as possible of Calephas.
He stopped a dozen paces from the iron door and held up his paws. "One at a time. What is it?"
He pointed to the black haired apprentice and the man who had once been so contemptuous now prostrated himself at the youngest's legs, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Oh! The Baron and the tiger fled down the corridor! We wanted to stop him, but our Master told us not to leave. Please forgive us for moving. We had to warn you. We had to!"
He took the man under the shoulder and hoisted him back to his feet before gently licking his face of tears. "You have done well. My father will be proud of you. Now go to the armory and help my brother fight the Resistance. Go!"
Both of them nodded eagerly and dashed back up the hallway and the stairs, eager to please. They loved his father too. If only the others in the city could know him and love him as they did.
Gmork's youngest wasted no more time pondering. He dropped back to all fours and loped down the hallway past the iron door that hid the laboratory. He could smell the baron and the pungent scent of the tiger as he almost leaped down the stairs, his claws digging and catching on the slick stone. At the bottom he saw a long passage at the end of which was another iron door, this one reinforced and banded. He panted and checked the latch but the door was barred on the other side.
He grinned, jowls stretching across his fangs as he felt power course through his arms and chest. With a lightning thrust, he jabbed his hand forward, the flat of the palm striking the door in the middle. The stone gave way an inch even as the middle of the iron door buckled, the imprint of a beastly hand visible in the flickering light of the single torch at the bottom of the stairs.
The magical core of energy inside of him swirled tighter and tighter, feeding into his arms, pressing even more silvery black fur out across his skin and making his claws thick and strong. He grinned again and struck the iron door. It creaked and bent further, the hinges tearing through the stone on either side. Another blow and the door buckled inward and spun across the stone steps just beyond.
He blinked for a moment as bright light spread across the wet dock and yawl only a dozen feet in front of him. The water glittered with each reflected ray of sunlight and his felt even more sensitive than he knew they once had.
But Gmork's youngest was not going to allow the elements to balk him. He leaped over the twisted hunk of metal that had once been the door and jumped onto the yawl. It was large enough that it did not sway when his claws gripped the wood of the aft deck. He could smell the baron and the tiger, but neither of them were here, nor was there any place for another ship to dock. The river current was too strong even here to risk swimming, and there was no purchase to climb along the side of the castle toward the shore.
He thanked his father for providing him a nose far superior to his eyes as he smelled the blood before he saw it. Nearby a strange pool of scentless purple fluid that was slowly eating its way through the wood near the bow were several splatters of fresh blood. And next to them he saw the chain for the anchor wrapped about the gunwale; the wood had splintered where the chain had been draped over the top.
He grabbed the chain with his paws and hauled it up one link at a time. His prodigious strength made it a simple matter, and when he saw what was in the chain his lupine grin spread to encompass his face; his tail wagged at the delicious irony. Tangled in the chain was the already pallid body of Calephas and the tiger. The tiger's fangs were pressed into the baron's neck, while the baron still gripped a sword driven through the tiger's gullet.
With one last heave he deposited their bodies on deck and checked them for any signs of life. But both of them were truly locked together in death. Even squeezing their flesh provided no more blood to spill. Gmork's youngest sat down on his haunches, tipped back his head, and howled in triumph. The disgusting baron was dead at long last. All of Arabarb could sleep peacefully now.
At least once his father's enemies were defeated.
He tossed both bodies back into the water and they quickly sank out of sight. There was only one more thing that he needed to do before he could join his brother. There was the boy that his father wanted dead, the boy that Calephas had been performing experiments on. Judging from what little he knew of them, surely death would be a preferable thing than to anything that the baron had done. Still, while he didn't like the idea of killing a boy, if his father asked it of him, it must be necessary.
He shifted back into a mostly human guise as he made his way back inside the castle, through the long corridor, and then up the stairs. His sense of urgency was still present, but he didn't need to smell his way back. His beastly legs carried him up the long flight of stairs and back to the laboratory doorway.
This iron door however was not locked. Gmork's youngest lifted the latch and swung the heavy door inward. He could see before him a long table of beakers and flasks containing unguents of every hue. Beyond them propped in a corner was a sledgehammer with blood stains along the metal. And chained to the far wall was a naked boy pale from illness.
He stepped into the room, mostly human face frowning as he looked down at the helpless child. Gmork's youngest swallowed and pondered how he could disappoint his father when the boy looked up at him and with wide-eyed wonder shouted a single word.
His name.
Lindsey's stomach swam from side to side and back and forth with each blink of the boy's eyes. His head would have been swimming too if it weren't being crushed by a headache that felt more like Guernef sitting on top of him. The inscrutable gryphon was even shifting his weight back and forth from left flank to right in order to better fuse the boy's head with the stone floor.
But despite the agony he would not give up trying to find a way to remove his true mother's spell. If becoming a dragon in body and not just in blood was the only way that he could survive, then that is what he would do. In between moments of austere concentration and his many treasures of agony, he often pondered cavorting about the sky and the forests with his older brother Pharcellus while the Keeper birds circled them cawing their delight. Other times he tried to imagine how Chief Tathom, Michael, and the other members of the logging crews would react to having a dragon working alongside them. Tree hauling duty sounded rather pleasant compared to many of the other tasks he'd often been given.
But none of it would happen if he didn't decipher his mother's spell and remove it. First he needed to determine which one it was. Jessica's spell keeping him a child was a bright pinion in his spirit that he could feel pressing against him and interlacing through the black nebulous mass that he knew to be the curse that had made him a man. Even if he could remove Jessica's spell, it would likely only purchase him another hour or more of life. But even if he had ten year's to train, Lindsey knew he'd never be strong enough to remove one of Jessica's spells.
And there was even less point in trying to remove the Curse. All it would do would make him a little girl, and not only did he not want to be a woman anymore, it wouldn't help him anyway even if it were possible.
Which left only is mother's spell. But where was it? Was it the strange glow that flickered beneath the dark mantle of the Curse? What else could it be? Lindsey concentrated on that glow and tried to feel his will along the underside of the Curse. Each time he thought he could feel the warmth of his mother's magic, a magic that felt so ancient and yet so familiar, the headache would pound his thoughts into dust. By the time he could think clearly enough to focus he had to start all over again.
This continued for a few minutes before his ears, more sensitive than before, heard the clatter of claws against stone through the closed portal, followed by panicked human voices. He closed his eyes and listened to what must obviously be two of Gmork's pets shout miserable protestations of their guilt and of Calephas's flight down the corridor. The one who spoke to them sounded gravely with the beastly growl of Gmork, but the voice was clearly not that monster's. It sounded familiar but he couldn't place it. Perhaps it was the pup he'd met earlier.
Lindsey's heart beat a little faster when he heard the news about the Resistance. He hoped that they were all right, wherever they were. But after the pup and the two pets ran off in opposite directions, he resumed trying to study the magical glow within himself.
The headache pressed down on him again and he could do nothing but breath as deeply as he dared. His stomach felt like a sack of molasses that had several small holes. His bowels quivered and he pressed his legs together hoping that nothing would come out.
Several seconds of this and the pain began to recede enough that he could think clearly. How he just wished he could be home playing with sticks, chasing dogs and birds, and catching fish. How he wished he could just see his father and mother one last time even if she wasn't really his mother. And his brothers Andrig and Pharcellus. What had happened to any of them?
The sound of claws came running back up the hallway, and his eyes lifted slowly to the iron door. He heard the latch lift and the door swung inward. After only a moment's pause the pup stepped into the room, mostly human face swinging around to meet his frightened stare.
The pup was not the same one that had brought him to Calephas the previous night. His legs and tail were coated in dark fur and looked similar to what he might expect from a wolf Keeper, though there was something more wild in the posture and in the length of his claws. His upper body was mostly human apart form dark claws tipping thick fingers, light brushes of black fur along the backs of his hands and wrists, triangular ears coated in fur, and a broad nose that was darkened with slight tear marks on either side. His eyes were a bright golden hue, clearly the eyes of a beast and not a man.
He bore a tattered black robe that at one time extended to his ankles but was now torn in long strips. On the chest he could see an insignia with a red shield with palm inscribed and inside the palm a white sword. He knew that symbol. Lindsey stared at the face, and despite the scratches marring the skin, the strange wolf-like ears, nose, and eyes, he also recognized the broad foreign face with auburn hair.
He gasped in horror. "Jerome!"
Gmork's youngest balked at hearing his name shouted by the sickly boy. He hadn't heard his name in so long now that he'd very nearly forgotten it. He stood still, a growl building in his throat. He let the fur drape his arms as he spread them, crouching a little lower over the chained boy. "Who are you to know that name?"
The boy gasped and trembled in his bindings, clearly scared out of his mind in addition to whatever poison Calephas had fed him. "It's me, Jerome! It's Lindsey! I'm Lindsey your friend! What happened to you?"
He blinked as that name too was familiar to him. "Lindsey... Lindsey was a man."
"I am," he said again as he closed his eyes fiercely and pressed his head back against the stone. "Jessica... Jessica cast a spell to make me a boy... so... so I could... kill Calephas."
He knew that name too. A bright memory of a black-banded hawk came to him and his still human lips curled into a smile. Lindsey and Jessica were his friends. Was this really Lindsey though? "Prove you know me or I will do as my father bids me!" His snout stretched out and he deliberately bared his fangs.
The boy whimpered and pulled his arms against the chains in anguish. Gmork's youngest waited for an answer while wondering what it was that the dead Calephas could possibly have poisoned him with. If he really was Lindsey, then he'd have to find him an antidote. His father would never have wanted him killed if he knew that the boy was one of his pup's dearest friends.
At last, after whatever episode of agony the boy suffered had ended, his lips parted and he cried, "The Rheh Talaran! The flying horses! Remember them? Remember what they said to you in the swamp when they left? 'Goodbye strong and mild, never wild.' That is what they said to you, Jerome."
He blinked as those words floated into his mind and sank deep within him. The youngest wolf of Gmork stretched wide his jaws, and flexed his hands as if recognizing them for the first time. He bent lower, blinking as the memory of those golden horses flooded through his consciousness. How well he could remember the pounding beat of air as they pierced the sky, their hooves trails of fire, and their cries claps of thunder.
The words slid from his long tongue as he stared in wonder at the boy. "I remember." His jowls curled ever so slightly into a smile. "You are Lindsey."
Gmork's youngest crouched over the boy and grabbed the chains around his wrists and with a tug snapped them apart. He then curled his fur-covered arm around the boy's back and hoisted him out into the middle of the floor. Lindsey coughed and vomited as he propped on wobbly hands and knees. He took his robe, his Sondecki robe, and draped it over the naked boy to help warm him. He then sat on his haunches and gently stroked his hair softly as he'd seen his father do. "What did that monster do to you, Lindsey? You look very sick."
"Arsenic," Lindsey replied after he stopped vomiting. The putrid stench he'd upchucked smeared across the floor toward a drain in the center. Gmork's youngest was quick to help the boy so that he wouldn't get any of the foul miasma on himself. He wiped the boy's lips with the corner of his robe and felt a growl percolate through his chest.
"There's no cure for that," he said through bared fangs. "My father might be able to help."
Lindsey lifted his head slightly to look at him, shuddering when he saw him. "Your father? And why... why are you... one of his... his pups?"
The question was rather confusing. He tilted his head to one side and yipped. "My father helped me be this way just like my brothers and just like him. He sent me down here to kill Calephas and that tiger." After a moment he lowered his snout and added. "And you, Lindsey. I don't think he knew who you were."
Lindsey blinked as he tried to ease back into a sitting position, the robe bunching beneath him and around his slender shoulders. "Your father..." And then his eyes widened and he put one hand to the side of his head. "Ungh... your... your... ungh... father is... Gmork?"
His tail wagged and he nodded. "He knows strong magic. He'll be able to help."
Lindsey scowled fiercely, a rage filling his pallid eyes. "He wants me dead! He is... is a... monster, Jerome!"
He growled at those words, but stopped himself as soon as he started. His claws dug at the stone and his tail fixed in place straight behind his haunches. One part of him knew that his friend Lindsey would never lie to him. But the vast part of him knew that he loved his father dearly and hearing anyone speak anything against him was a terrible crime. And since he knew that Lindsey was telling the truth, but that his father wasn't a monster, it must surely be the case, he reasoned as he fought the urge to growl and stretch his claws, that this boy who was his friend must be mistaken or must have misunderstood.
"That foul baron was a monster," he agreed with a smile, allowing his snout to retract back into his face. He kept the fur on his arms and chest though so he could help warm the boy. "And Father never liked him either. Father sent me to kill him, Lindsey. But he was already dead. He and that tiger of his were drowned together trying to kill each other."
Lindsey coughed and shuddered, his flesh turning an even more sickly white. "At least... there's that."
"But Father, he... he... he is a beast, but not a monster."
Lindsey tensed and then looked into his face and shook his head very slowly. "He uses his baubles to steal the wills of anyone useful to him." The boy swallowed slowly as he trembled. "He... he told me that... if I didn't tell him... about the Resistance that... he'd eat this old shepherd's guts out. And... he used... his bauble to... make that man... beg to be killed... beg to... be eaten."
Gmork's youngest swallowed heavily and shook his own head, ears lowering as if he could block out the disagreeable words that way. But one word did catch his attention and remind him of just what was happening beyond the walls of the laboratory. "The Resistance! They've gotten into the castle. I was to go help my brother once I finished here." He stood and took a step toward the door before turning back to look down at the boy. "I'll be back soon, Lindsey. Father will heal you, I know. I have to stop the Resistance. They don't know Calephas is dead yet. They'll stop once they know."
Lindsey stretched out one arm and almost fell onto his face. "No! Don't!" He hacked and heaved dry air three more times before he regained himself. "Don't go to him. Don't. Jerome, please."
His name again. Yet he did not seem able to think of himself that way. He was Gmork's youngest. Was not that more important? Yet, his name was so very important to this boy, his friend Lindsey. It was enough to make him pause by the door and turn back to the child. "Why shouldn't I go help my brother?"
"He... is not... your brother..." Lindsey said, each word an anguished effort. "The other Sondeckis. Charles. Krenek. Ladero."
He took a long breath and stared at the black robe he'd wrapped about the boy. He remembered those names very well, and the faces each of them bore. And with that he remembered adventures, laughter, sorrow, and so much more of years living and fighting along side one another. He would have without a second thought given up his life for their sakes. And he knew that he had as well. He had never gone back to Sondeshara so he could protect Charles who was now a rat with a wife and children at Glen Avery. He smiled and wagged his tail at the thought of that wonderful little family.
And yet, as he thought of eldest and the others, even that boy in the Listening room, he knew that he'd only known them but recently, but that they were his brothers. This he knew to the depth of his being. Just as he knew that Gmork whom Lindsey feared was his father.
"You don't understand," he told the boy gently and crouched closer. "But you are my friend, Lindsey. I won't leave you if you need me. I'll protect you." He sat on his haunches again and wrapped one arm about the boy's middle and held him close and warm. "Just fight the poison. Pray to Eli and all will be well."
And surely his father would come down here soon to check on him and then Lindsey could be healed. He nuzzled the boy along the back of his head very gently, wishing that his father would hurry.
"Jerome," Lindsey murmured as he trembled in Gmork's youngest's arms. "What... did... he do to you?"
"We can't hold them off much longer!" Eivind shouted over the clangor as he aimed his rapidly diminishing supply of arrows. Calephas's soldiers had closed around them on three sides, forcing them back toward the breach in the barricade where Gmork's two pups were busy burning to ash anyone who came within view. Their number had been cut by a third in the few minutes it had been since Harald had been struck senseless by Gmork's spells. If something didn't change soon none of them would survive.
Jarl took an axe from one of the fallen tundra men and joined the fray, pressing against the soldiers who hemmed them in from behind. Ture and Bergen were only a few feet away hewing at the wall of shields and spears that jabbed and forced them to fall back step by step. Around their legs the dogs snarled and snapped where they could, occasionally managing to drag one of the soldiers out of line where he was quickly dispatched by half-a-dozen slavering jaws. The tundra men and Gerhard's horsemen milled about in the middle trying to form into a group to strike back without making themselves into a target for the pups.
After their initial volleys, the pups had contented themselves to waiting by the breach and picking off any who came too close. They seemed to prefer to let Calephas's soldiers bear the brunt of the battle; and clearly to bleed as much as possible for their victory. At the very least it meant that Jarl and the others in the Resistance were still alive. But Jarl couldn't see anyway that it would last for more than another few minutes of tense fighting.
He chanced a glance at the two birds in the sky. The gull and puffin were circling over a the building immediately to their west and squawking at them. Jarl pondered what the insufferable Keepers were doing and whether or not they had just gone mad, when it dawned on him what they must really be doing.
"Gerhard," he shouted and pointed. "Follow them!"
Gerhard, ducked an arrow and pressed his free hand on his horse's neck before turning and shouting the same at Thuring and the other three tundra men who fought on the western flank. Thuring nodded his head, and, with arm bandaged, waded in more deeply with his broad double-bladed axe. The veritable giant of a man immediately cleaved one soldier's skull, while the others turned their spears to keep him from breaking their line.
Jarl wanted to watch, but he had to keep the soldiers on their eastern flank from pressing them back toward the barricade. He ducked under a swing, and then lopped off the end of a speartip, before thrusting his knife toward the nearest soldier with his other hand. His blade skittered off the edge of the armor, and he had to dance back before the next thrust skewered him like a fish.
Behind him and the clopping and stomping of the horses he heard Thuring bellow in pain. He chanced a glance back and saw the man had a spear thrust through his side drenched in blood and rising up out of his shoulder. Jarl gasped even as the wounded tundra man swept the double bladed axe with his uninjured arm. He knocked aside another soldier who quickly fell beneath a Resistance axe before kicking the one who'd impaled him squarely in the groin. Even through the metal, the man cried in agony and dropped his weapons. Thuring smacked him in the head with the butt of the spear, and shoved him aside.
A sword thrust made Jarl duck to his right and he danced back another few paces behind Eivind who had just run out of arrows. The Fjellvidden hunter rushed back beside him, before shouting, "Bergen! Ture! Look out!"
The tanner immediately ran back several steps, but Bergen's foot caught on the limp body of one of the dogs. He overbalanced and swung his arms to steady himself. The soldiers closing in hewed him through the middle before he could regain his footing. Bergen spat blood as he tried to beat the soldier who'd killed him over the head with his bow. Eivind's face purpled with rage, "No!" But it was already too late. A second more and Bergen was stomped underfoot as the soldiers closed the gap.
"This way!" Gerhard shouted, as the horses all turned toward the west. Jarl grabbed Eivind by the arm and dragged him back from his dead friend while Ture swept his sword back and forth to keep the soldiers from closing too quickly. At the eastern line Thuring swept his great axe in broad arcs from left to right, driving the soldiers to either side. Those caught between the Resistance and the barricade wall screamed in horror as they realized they were trapped. Not a one of them survived.
The two birds cawed in delight as Gerhard and the others started to pour into the opening. Thuring kept Calephas's troops from advancing from the north, until another soldier managed to drive a second spear through his upper chest. Thuring roared with what air he had left and threw himself body spread wide on the dozen closest men. They clattered under his weight and collapsed, struggling to get back up. The mighty warrior's body pinned them down long enough for Jarl, Ture, Eivind, all the horsemen and tundra men and their dogs to flee between the houses at the west end of the city.
Jarl glanced back one last time at the frightening man of the icy steppe and breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. Thuring and Bergen had died like men of Arabarb.
Quoddy and Machias felt horror at seeing so many of their new friends fall to Calephas's soldiers while they could do nothing but fly overhead and watch. Machias cawed in shock when Thuring was pierced both times, and then looked ready to swoop down and beat the soldiers over the head with his wings when at last the great man of the north gave his last breath to carve a path for his countrymen.
But Quoddy shouted, "I need you, little brother!" That was all it took to guide the puffin back to flying across the homes and businesses bolted shut from fear of the fighting, but mostly from fear of the soldiers and of the pups. Already two homes had begun to collapse from the shattering concussion of the spells the two pups had launched, not to mention the rain of incinerating fire that Gmork lobbed all the way from the castle.
What surprised Quoddy was that both of those homes had been struck in the first few minutes of the fighting. Since then, the pups had restrained themselves to only those they could directly see, and Gmork had carefully avoided striking anything other than the Resistance with his spells. Why would he do that? It couldn't be that he truly cared about the people, not when he'd so casually had Strom's innards chewed free in order to break Lindsey's will. So why spare them?
Regardless of the reason, it gave them something to exploit. After breaking through the western flank, the Resistance had an almost completely clear race to the city gates where they could flee back into the woods; there they would have the advantage over the regimented soldiers. But first they had to get there and that meant navigating the narrow corridors between the homes. To step into the street was to risk incineration by Gmork.
"This way," Quoddy called back. Gerhard led them forward, still quivering Harald lain across his steed's rump. The other surviving Resistance members followed him, moving as quickly as they dared, while the dozen living dogs weaved through their feet and hooves. They had to keep low enough that they couldn't see the castle, which meant that Machias flew ahead to make sure the path they choose actually led somewhere.
The puffin was flying back and forth at the end of the alley checking for dead ends when Quoddy flew forward to join him. The soldiers were trapped behind them and it would take at least a minute before they could return to the main road and try to block their escape. If they were lucky they just might make it.
And that's when Quoddy noticed that the two pups had dashed back out into the meadows south of Fjellvidden. From there they could easily see them both. He beat his wings harder and squawked, "Machias, watch out!"
The puffin banked over the gamboled roof toward him just as an arc of brilliant blue light erupted from one of the pup's paws.