Night Blades and Morning Blood

Chapter 13

As Barrett’s senses began to return to him, his heart drummed loud in his ears.
The memories began to replay in his head. How could he have been so stupid. His anxiety grew quickly as his grogginess lessened and sensations began. To materialize.
He legs felt like they were just rousing from a deep sleep and something pinched at his wrists. He tried to talk but his throat was dry and tasted of vomit. He wanted to climb back into sleep and let this all just be a bad dream. A splash of frozen water washed away the mist encompassing him and his surroundings appeared in frightening detail. He gasped and opened his eyes, he sucked in breathe in desperate moaning gulps.
It was worse than he had feared.
Strapped by his hands and feet, Barrett hung on a cross in the shape of an X. His clothes and armor were nowhere to be seen and cold water flowed across his bare flesh, dripping where it could and pooling on the rough, stone floor. A smoky fire burnt in the caves center and was being used to cook a large hunk of meat turning on a spit. The fat dripped down onto the embers and made them spit and crackle in what would have been irresistible in another setting. But the most disturbing thing about the cave, was the company.
Two witches sat warming their hands by the fire, their eyes fixed, muttering softly into the flames. A third witch stood turning the spit carefully, slowly dragging her tongue across he pointed teeth as if wetting them would prime them for a feed. Her black eyes never blinked and never left him. The last witch stood with an empty bucket, breathing hard through her few remaining black teeth in a twisted attempt at a smile.
In the corner of the cave two Direus soldiers sat noisily eating another slab of meat, this one raw and still dripping with blood. They were not wolves as the tales had told. They were, like him, just men and Barrett’s fear shrunk a little. Seeing them with his own eyes he saw no reason to fear them any more than any other man; he was sure they would bleed and die the same way.
Neither soldier seemed overly large or muscular and though they crouched low he judged them to both be a little shorted than himself. He could not see their hair underneath the wolf skin head dresses both wore and their faces were painted with thick stripes of black and red. One glanced up at him and grunted, bloody saliva dripping from his chin. The striped red and black extended down onto their bare chests and they wore only ragged brown shorts and tatty black shoes. A rusty hatchet hung from the belt of one and the other sported a looted imperial short sword.
“Are you awake now assassin?” The bucket holding witch hissed. “Not so clever now, are you? Our little spell worked even better than I expected.” She cackled and discarded the bucket noisily to the floor. Barrett winced at the overload of noise.
“I’m sorry, cutthroat, was that a little loud for you?” She mocked in a voice of false sweetness to the spit turners delight. She moved close and bathed him in rancid breath.
“Loud noises are the least of your worries, boy.” She spat. “Maybe I’ll start but cutting off your manhood and drying it for a trophy.” Barrett gasped at the touch of cold steel on his member.
One of the Direus stood and shouted at the witch in a foreign tongue that was more like the deep barking of a giant dog than actual speech. The witch replied in the same language and after a brief exchange of heated words the hag huffed loudly and moved away.
The Direus put down his meal and moved slowly on all fours to take the witches place.
“That foul woman…” he said in a thick accent drawing himself up to Barrett's level. “Does not understand… that you are not to be… spoilt. His majesty will be the first to taste your flesh.” Barrett was both confused and scared but the mystery of the wolf lings words. “This… Thing they have created… it is a…”
“The wolves think the beast is a god!” The two untransfixed witches laughed.
“Silence!” The soldier barked. “He is a god. You should be honored to be his feed. Soon, very soon.” He slunk back to his meal and began to tear at it noisily, slurping at the bloody chuck of meat.
The entrance of the cave was behind Barrett and as the wind gusted in it made his skin rise.
The first witch came over to him again.
“You don’t recognize me do you, boy?” He looked the witch up and down. Her dress was once green but now little of the color showed through the dirt and blood that stained it. She had filed her nails to sharp points and as she dragged them slowly down his bare chest he stared deep into her eyes. They were the color of coal, just beginning to take to a flame; black with grey flecks and a subtle shimmer of red.
“I have killed many witches, filth, more than I care to remember, you are not remarkable, you are not special.” The witch’s eyes twitched with anger.
“Not too long ago, on a rainy night to the east.” She began through gritted teeth, renewing Barrett's urge to gag. “You fought witches on a hillside. Seven witches.”
It was the hair, Barrett saw it now. Blacker than the deepest darkness and without blemish.
“That witch died. She tasted my steal and she screamed. I watched her body burn,. “
“SHE WAS MY SISTER!” She screamed showering him in a fresh layer of slime. “Witches sisters aren’t like you and yours, boy, we are bonded.” She moved close and whispered in his ear. “I felt your blade that night. I felt the flames too. I will have my revenge and you will feel what I felt, what she felt, a thousand times over.”
Barrett smirked. “Not before the wolf god gets his taste… and you clean my piss off your dress.”
Now it was his turn to laugh as the golden stream darkened her dress at the belly.
Her face began to convulse in anger as the hot liquid steamed against the cold stone. Her eyes began to glow as the coal took light. No longer able to contain herself she pulled a knife from her belt and gave a deafening holler. But the wolves had been watching.
They leapt from the corner, over the fire and both hand and knife span away, clattering against the cave wall. The witched screamed, but shriller now, grasping at her wrist as it spurted black blood. The wolves stood behind her and the second buried his axe into her neck. She fell to the floor, covered in Barrett’s piss, dead as her sister.
The wolves growled as the fire flared and the witches hissed like frightened cats.
The axe came down again and again until her head was lifted high and he licked blood from the rusty steel. The first shouted again in his bark like, foreign tongue and as the witches leapt into the fight the fire guttered out and darkness filled the cave.
Barrett's eyes were useless in the all-consuming black but the sound was deafening and horrific; snarls and growls interspersed with clatters and smashes. Hot liquid sprayed into barrett’s mouth and hissed on the fire, the metallic taste unmistakable.
The cave became still and the embers began to glow again. It was over as instantly as it had begun.
Blood both red and black spattered every wall and the corpses of the fallen littered the ground with a collection of broken wood and ripped clothes. The cooking spit had been knocked over and smashed, the shards of it protruding from a dead witch’s body.
In the corner of the cave the last survivor of the fray sat eyes wide open staring down at the knife buried to its hilt in his chest.
“The wolf god will come soon.” The Direus whispered. “After I have gone, he will come and have his feast. I hope that I am worthy.” Barrett had nothing to say in reply. The soldiers breathing intensified and his chest heaved. With his last breath, he raised his head and howled at the ceiling. The call quickly became a gurgle and he coughed and sputtered as his own blood flowed up out of his lips like a fountain. Then, like his comrade and his enemies, he was still.
The immediate danger gone Barrett began to struggle against his bonds. He strained hard for a long time but the ties held fast. Another gust of wind assaulted him from the rear and he shivered hard against the cold. Still he fidgeted against the ropes, twisting and wriggling until his wrists burned. Another gust came into the cave, then another, each one colder and harder than the last.
The cave flashed with light and a roll of loud thunder followed.
Then he heard it for the first time. A sound that would haunt him in his worst nightmares forever. The howl.
It was unlike any howl Barrett had ever heard before, like the cry of a thousand wolves screaming in praise of a giant moon. It was deep and booming, a howl that echoed long through the next flash and roll. It seemed to penetrate his soul and make him panic and think only of flight. He winced as it washed over him but still the icy spear of terror drove into his belly. He wished more than anything for it to be over, he wished he could cover his ears and cower in the corner of the cave.
Barrett gasped as the cry ended. Had he not been breathing?
Another flash of lightening filled the cave, followed by another earth-shaking howl. The second was stronger, debilitating and terror inducing. He fought and fought against the rope passing the point where he could feel the sticky blood flowing to his elbow. Being free and running far away were the only things that mattered.
As the second howl faded it gave way to another sound. A scratching sound. Barrett unscrewed his eyes and tried to pull himself out of sobbing breathes.
A red headed witch, one of those who had been muttering into the fire, had begun to move. At first it was just a twitching of the fingers that tickled the cold atone, but slowly the witches elbow, then shoulder began to bend. Barrett struggled again, a grunt of pain an effort escaping him despite his best efforts. The witch snorted and turned her head slowly to look at him. He had read about the re-birthing of dead witches in the books at the collage but had never had the misfortune to witness it.
Barrett froze.
The hag twitched slowly and moved herself onto all fours.
Another flash of lightning.
The witch began to convulse and grunt rhythmically. The spasms grew and grew until Barrett heard something snap inside her. In a torrent of black the witch vomited all over her own hands and the cave’s floor. Again and again she poured out blood onto the floor, spattering it onto Barrett's exposed feet.
Another flash of lightning and Barrett resigned himself to death. A monstrous figure cast a shadow across the inside of the cave. He closed his eyes.
“Assassin?” Came a familiar voice. “Assassin are you in there?” The Witch vomited violently again.
“Yes, yes!” Barrett shouted in panic “In here, help!”
The witch raised here black spattered face and stared at him. Bloody vomit leaked down her neck from a wide gash across her windpipe. He skin was pearly white and her eyes glowed a luminescent green. She staggered to her feet and took a few tentative steps towards him.
“Help! Help, quick!” He shouted again, unashamed of the terror in his voice.
The footsteps were quick and light. The messenger ran to his aid, sword at the ready. A gust of cold wind followed him, blowing the witches hair clear of her black washed neck. The messenger screamed as his sword traced the gouge perfectly, finishing the cut and sending the witches head bouncing from the caves walls in a fully of dark ichor.
“You are lucky assassin. A full day unconscious in this company should have seen you dead.” He wiped the blood from his sword and slotted in back into its sheath “But just how lucky we shall see.”
He was dressed in full imperial uniform except for his copper helm. Snow littered his dark hair and weaved thick into his fur jacket. He began to cut away Barrett's bonds with a small, sharp knife.
“You have been here a long time, assassin. The sun has rose and set since we spoke and night has fallen once again. The Kretch attacked the fort with a party of legionnaires at dusk. It thinks you are there. It speaks with a man’s voice and promises to hunt you relentlessly. He said freeing Barrett's feet. “When I snuck away the gates held but we cannot be sure how long it will be before the truth is discovered.” He cut the assassins arms free and Barrett gave a soft yelp. The stranger gave a wry smile.
“Hurry, get dressed, we must leave.”
Barrett rubbed his sore, bleeding wrists and looked back towards the cave entrance. He was relieved to see that his clothes, sword and armor were stacked neatly in a pile. Quickly he dressed in his warmest clothes and cloak. He stuffed his armor back into its bag and hung his sword over his shoulder as he made for the outside world.
“Hurry, hurry, assassin. Give me that.” The messenger took the armor from him with a rattle. “I will take it to the fort and see that it is returned when you reach…” He was interrupted by another howl. Barrett grabbed at his ears and feel briefly to his knees, teeth clenched to hold back the bubbling scream of terror. “Come.” The stranger continued leading him outside, panic in his voice.
“Take that horse and head for the road.” The messenger said, indicating to a white and grey stead that Barrett was sad to see was not his own chestnut horse. “Ride hard, keep your sword close and I will meet you on the other side of Berry. Now!” He kicked his own horse into action and sped away into the darkness.
Barrett drove his horse towards where the ground sloped down and the world became a mass of flurrying white. The unburdened horse was fast. Snow flew past him quickly, sticking to his face and melting on his lashes. Soon Barrett was wet and the wind stabbed at him with frozen knives but still he rode harder and harder his urgency to flee overpowering him.
Another howl came as the ground began to flatten, it sounded further away than before, but the message made the horse whinny and gain speed. The distance was all that stopped it from inducing pure, unbridled panic and instead only made his spine tingle with anxiety and fear.
Less than an hour later Barrett had navigated the farmers’ fields and could see the beacon fire of Berry surround by its miniature brothers. Still the blizzard raged and Barrett lost sight of the warm light. He slowed and aimed for what he thought was east. He had guessed right and soon the the snow under his horse hoofs changed. He had found the road.
The adrenaline began to ebb as he circled his horse, trying to keep both of them warm. He glanced constantly up the road at the distant fire, praying for the clipping of hooves.
The lightning continued to flash and the snow poured from the sky. The howl sounded again, closer, angrier. His heart renewed its frantic race and he whinied despite himself. Thunder rolled hard and as it faded away the unmistakable sound of a speeding steed echoed down the road to meet him.
The hooves were moving fast, very fast. Barrett remounted and circled to greet the rider. A flash of lightning, it was the messenger, black cloak billowing behind him.
“Ride!” He shouted over the gusting wind. “Go, go, Ride!”
Barrett matched his speed and they sprinted down the road through the snowy darkness.
“Take this!” He commanded, tossing the assassin a steal tipped spear. “The wolf is behind us, it is coming, we must find shelter before night falls again tomorrow.”
“There is a castle, by the Marath lake, it’s lord will help us.” Barrett shouted over the drumming hooves.
“Good, we will go there first and see what can be done.”
They rode into the night as fast as their horses would carry them, the messenger franticly checking behind without cessation. The howl came again and nearly disabled the assassin. Was this the feeling a deer had before as it was chased through the forest? The desperation to be away from its pursuer on pain of death?
The beast was close now, very close. The air seemed to shake around them as the war cry rang in their ears. Still they drove on.
As the sky began to lighten with the threat of dawn, the snowfall began to subside. The horses were tired and lathered with sweat despite the airs chill. They slowed though their riders flicked the reigns hard. The snow was almost a foot deep around them and Barrett guessed it would be even thicker where they had come from.
Not long after the horses tired another sound joined the ragged breaths and pounding hooves. At first it was soft and Barrett had to strain to hear it over their own commotion. As the minutes dragged on it grew louder and louder. The pair drove hard again and he pleaded silently to his mount for more speed. They kept their vigil to the rear until the first burst of dawn light exposed their quarry.
And it was monstrous.
Running on all fours the beast foamed and growled behind them, gaining fast. Its fur shimmered in the light and its muscles bulged through as it pounded the cold earth. Its eyes glowed crimson like pools of hot blood on fire, a red so deep and angry that they rivaled the flames of hell. Barrett could not believe the size of it, a tall as a plough horse and longer still, its legs were a blur of speed as it pursued them.
“Faster, assassin, faster!” The messenger urged, but the horses had no more to give even with their death behind them. With every moment, it gained on them and the hunger in its eyes grew ever more terrifying. The growling grew louder and louder and the beast began to bark like a hound on the scent as it closed. It was extremely close now and began to snap its jaws loudly in anticipation and excitement.
Barrett looked over his shoulder as the beast leapt forward at the messenger’s horse. The man shouted and the horse screamed as both tumbled into the snow. Barrett drew up.
“Go, Leave, now!” He screamed as the Kretch dove onto the fallen horse, grasped its head with its massive hand like paws and sank its teeth hard into the poor animals skull. “You need to go, I’ll hold him off.” The messenger called over the shrill death yelps of the horse as its skull buckled with loud pops and cracks. But Barrett couldn’t. He was transfixed as the beast shook its bloody snout and ripped off the horse head. Still shaking violently, it tossed the head in a high arc and Barrett heard it thud out of sight.
He knew he should fight, but the terror was deepest and soaked through his bones. He should run then, but he couldn’t do that either, like a rabbit, transfixed by a stoat he was frozen still.
The giant wolf stepped away from the dead horse and eyed the tiny man who stood before him. The comparison was terrifying. The beasts blood soak head was nearly twice that of a horse’s, the snout all teeth and the jaw bulged with great knotted muscles. The wolf stepped slowly and deliberately towards the pointed spear, growling and snarling. But the tiny man held his ground.
“You are no match for me, child.” It said in a thunderous growl. “Lay down your stick and your death will be painless.”
“Away, beast!” The messenger retorted, the terror unmistakable in his voice. The wolf gave a hearty chuckle.
“Very well.” It said as it drew itself up on its hind legs to stand tall.
It was larger than Barrett had imagined, at least twice the height of him on his stead. The beast gave a shake as it stretched its muscular arms wide, a wolf built thing in the shape of a man. It lifted its hairy snout and the black striped, silver fur rippled as it howled again. Barrett clamped his ears again, though little good it did him. He felt the childish noises of fear escape him and did not have the strength to fight them. When he opened his eyes the snow had fallen from every tree and bush that surrounded the road, shaken loose by the tremendous noise. But somehow the spear wielding stranger held his ground.
The messenger screamed as he ran into battle, his roar less battle cry more desperate scream of anguish.
From the first strike the beast advanced at him, swiping and swatting as the man parried and ducked. Quickly the wolf grew wise and the spear flew away like an arrow into the snow. Without a weapon the tiny insect had lost any hope of stinging its predator and the giant wolf came down on him hard.
The messengers arm disappeared down to the shoulder and he screamed. The beast bit and swallowed before bringing its razor-sharp claws down to bear on the screaming enemy, his head leaving his shoulders without resistance and disappearing into the bushes. The broken body sprayed blood like a fountain and twitched as it slumped onto the cold ground.
Any shred of Barrett’s courage dissolved but he knew he could not outrun this monstrous creature. He charged at the wolf an act of pure desperation, his face fixed with a twisted grin of all consuming terror. The Kretch bared it’s crimson teeth and barked ready to receive him.
Before he got within striking distance Barrett reared his horse and flung his spear with all his might, deep into his enemy’s thigh. The new sunlight showed how the crimson liquid misted out of the wound into the snow and the fur around grew dark and shiny.
The wolf-man yelped and grasped at its damaged leg, but Barrett was away. He sped towards the rising sun and safety.
From behind him the yelping peaked with the crack of snapping oak. The spears tip came end-over-end, metal glinting in the dawn and missing Barrett by an inch as he turned a bend in. The blade carved straight through a birch tree as easy as it had done muscle, the final attempt at vengeance from a wounded and bitter foe.