WULFRAM

Part IV.

Wulfram followed closely behind Thedric on the sandy tract, twenty odd miles north of Khail Sanctu. They had spoken little throughout the night and into the day, but Thedric seemed content to be moving and had left Wulfram to his own thoughts. Wulfram focused on placing one foot in front of the other and let his mind wander. He felt numb, but he'd grown accustomed to the sensation. Belton was hardly the first sorcerer he'd killed. In fact, Wulfram almost felt more himself having killed him. He'd killed nothing since crossing the border into the Old World except for some small game to eat, and the growing swell of anxiety he'd felt in Khail Sanctu was relieved somewhat now that he'd killed Belton and left the city.

He could only hope the contentment would remain and that the killing was done. He'd killed too many, some of them deserving, some of them merely because he was following orders. It was hard to discern who was friend or foe anymore, and the faces of the slain were a jumbled mess in his memory. Wulfram pushed the thought aside. He was free now, and he'd found Thedric. His king. They would go north, closer to the Five Kingdoms-closer to the Kingdom of Sargoth-but still be safely distanced from the turmoil. They'd find some small villa and reside there. He'd seen plenty of them on his hasty flight southward to Khail Sanctu. They'd make a home somewhere, with other hardworking people, and Thedric would learn the pleasure of tilling the land, of raising animals, of felling a tree and planing his own planks to build a house. If I remember how to do any of it still, Wulfram mused. His youth seemed another life to him now. He could barely picture his parents anymore. All he could remember was his contentment at being outside, his two hounds beside him as he tended to the goats and planted turnips in his father's field. He could communicate with them-with the animals-he knew now, but back then he hadn't even realized he was gifted with powers. It wasn't until the Queen's agents discovered him and took him away to Col Sargoth that he began to the learn the true extent of his abilities. That was so long ago. But still, he remembered his time on that simple farm with his parents, and just as that brief time of happiness was what he recalled when all else seemed chaos and confusion, he would provide a similar anchor for Thedric. Then, only then, would they return to the Five Kingdoms.

"Were you always like this?" Thedric asked suddenly, breaking Wulfram's reverie.

"Like what?"

"Show me your face again."

Wulfram thought to object, but Thedric was his king after all, so he complied and pulled the folds of his turban away, revealing his elongated snout and jaw, a face part human, part beast, all of it covered in a downy black fur. Thedric looked upon him, not kindly, but not horrified either.

"It was a dreamwielder," Wulfram said at last. "After you were sent away, or maybe before, things started going very badly for Sargoth. The Queen, your mother, felt it was necessary for me to be more mobile, to fight on multiple fronts, so she sent me to her dreamwielder. I was already a talented beast charmer, amongst other things, so it made sense to meld me with other animals."

"Did it hurt?"

"I don't remember."

"And now?"

"It's not so bad. I forget sometimes what I am. In the war, it was not a problem-I just acted. But now... I don't know."

Thedric nodded and walked on wordlessly, again, seemingly content to be moving.

That night, they stayed at a simple boarding house in the town of Dzhebali. They carried with them the stash of copper and silver agorats Belton had hoarded away in the leather satchel, and it did not cross Wulfram's mind that anyone might be following them. They paid for a private room, and after dining in the commons, then washing privately in the bathhouse, they retired to their room and both fell into a deep, well-deserved slumber. By the time Wulfram was awakened by Thedric's startled cry several hours later, it was too late. The old woman-the seer-was there.

She held Thedric in her arms at the opposite side of the room, too far away from Wulfram to strike with a physical attack. Instead, he instinctively summoned his power, condensed it into solid energy, and reared back to hurl it at the crone's head, a good foot and a half above Thedric's. Before he could release it, though, his thauma was ripped from his mental grasp, like the backbone ripped from a freshly gutted fish. He doubled over in pain, nauseated to near blindness. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no air would leave his lungs. He'd never felt such pain before.

The crone was laughing. When Wulfram looked up from the floor she was there, standing above him, knife in hand. "You're hideous-an affront to all that is natural and beautiful," she told him, then plunged the knife into his chest.