A Dance of Fang and Claw: The Ranger Archives Volume 3, page 21
The Vorska retreated a step, as if being closer to Merith would save them.
Asher took his own step back and peered over the side of the ruins. He could just see the top of Russell’s wolfish head thrashing against the stone column, his chains groaning. Then he glimpsed a moving shadow beyond the tree line, dashing from sight. Looking elsewhere, the ranger observed reflective eyes observing him from the darkness.
“We’re surrounded,” he surmised.
“A’right,” Doran replied, a touch of concern about him. “So which do we kill first then?”
The answer was taken by chaos and blood.
Unbridled speed and strength saw one of the Werewolves burst through the ruins and ram into one of the Vorska. Two more charged in, scattering the Blood Fiends, though claws still found their immortal bodies and dragged them from the building. Merith was the only one to pivot in time to greet a leaping wolf. Where an ordinary man would have been barrelled over and ripped to pieces, the Vorska gripped the beast around the waist and twisted it over the edge of the ruins, taking them both from sight.
Asher instinctively reached out and grabbed Doran by the collar, pulling him from his feet before the entwined force of a wolf and Vorska could slam into him. Dragging the dwarf to his feet again, the ranger compelled him to jump over the edge. They impacted the snow and rolled away from the ruins, and all to the sound of passing roars and breaking bones.
“Just kill anything that moves!” Asher instructed, throwing back his green cloak.
A dark blur moved in the corner of his eye, dropping him into a crouch and roll. The Werewolf’s attacking leap took it over Asher mid-manoeuvre to strike the misshapen wall on his right, knocking several ancient stones loose. The beast growled and recovered quickly, its snouted head swivelling on the ranger with thick saliva oozing between its teeth. Asher twisted as he came out of his roll and rose to meet the monster head on, broadsword pointed in both hands.
The wolf cared little for the threat Asher posed and advanced a step, claws splayed. One swipe would turn the ranger inside out, potentially killing him faster than the black gem could heal him. Indeed, those claws went high, ready to descend on him with fury, but they never came down. A sharp whistle preceded Doran’s axe, its journey coming to an end in the creature’s face. It stumbled and groaned, one hand streaking bloody marks down the stone wall as it grasped at the wooden haft protruding from its head.
Asher was never one to waste an opportunity.
His broadsword swung true, separating all but a few strands of the monster’s neck. Blood and gore splattered over the claw marks, drenching the wall in a red so dark it was almost black.
Doran jogged over and dislodged his axe with one strong tug. “Together,” he suggested.
Asher nodded once. “Together,” he agreed.
Moving away from the body, they first laid eyes on Russell, the light of his fiery moat surely dying now. He appeared incensed by the presence of his own kind, large clawed hands pushing out from between the chains and scratching at the iron. His rage increased all the more on seeing a man and a dwarf at the base of the pillar, just outside the circle of spears.
Another wolf materialised atop the nearest wall, its attention slipping from Russell to the rangers, a snarl curling its lips. The beast slid down the wall with one hand scraping over the stone. Its hind legs had barely taken its weight before the monster pounced at them. Asher dived to the side, his reactions just quick enough to see him evade the impact. Doran could not say the same.
Four of the wolf’s five claws raked the dwarf’s left pauldron, barrelling him over a low wall. The creature skidded to a stop in a flurry of snow and mud, turning on the son of Dorain as it did so. Asher was already on his feet again and closing the gap with sword raised. One of Merith’s Vorska beat him to it, emerging from behind the ruins and colliding with the wolf at speed.
“Get up!” Asher barked, covering his companion while the two creatures tumbled over each other.
“I’m up, I’m up!”
Only feet away, the Werewolf clamped its jaws around the Vorska’s arm, filling its mouth with blood. The pale creature seemed not to notice. Using its free arm, the Blood Fiend hooked its thumb into the wolf’s right eye and squeezed its fist. The beast howled, releasing the arm. With brutal efficiency, the Vorska wasted no time grasping its foe’s top and bottom jaws, paying no heed to the teeth piercing its flesh. In one smooth motion, it pulled the jaws beyond their natural limits, breaking bones and tearing tendons. The wolf’s cry of pain was instantly garbled before being snuffed out completely when the fiend snapped its neck.
Grinning wickedly at its kill, the Vorska took too long admiring its work to realise a silvyr short-sword was flying towards its head. The creature fell flat in the snow with a piece of the most expensive and rarest minerals in the realm protruding from its skull. Finishing the job where he had not before, Asher stepped in and chopped his broadsword across its throat, severing head from body.
“I’d say it’s no theory,” Doran said cheerily, removing the short-sword and kicking the head away.
Asher accepted the blade back and returned it over his shoulder. “Let’s see if it stays dead.”
Moving away from the bodies but staying close to Russell, the duo ducked and weaved between the ruins to better see the monstrous warfare. Werewolves stalked the perimeter of the clearing before dashing in left and right, always targeting the Vorska. To see one monster next to the other it seemed no contest at all, yet the wolves were brought down just as often as the Vorska. That is to say, they were ripping each other limb from bloody limb.
Merith stood defiant at the base of the hollowed building, a wolf on its knees and at his mercy. He had none. Proving their methods tried and tested, the lead Vorska pulled the beast’s jaws apart. It sounded to Asher like someone was breaking a tree branch in half.
Leaving the Werewolf to flop at his feet, Merith drew a sword from within the shadows of his long coat. It looked an antique, its design from another era, with a cross guard that curled up into points not unlike the creature’s bottom fangs. The Vorska strode out from the ruins and met an oncoming Werewolf with the self-assurance not likely seen in the hearts of men.
Like a wraith, Merith accurately predicted the wolf’s movements and evaded its initial strikes while simultaneously whipping his blade from side to side and over his head in a graceful arc. The fight, if it could have been called such a thing, was over in seconds and ended with the Werewolf strewn in the snow, its major arteries exposed.
Asher looked from the dead wolf to Merith and discovered the Vorska was already watching him from afar. A devilish grin pulled at his dark lips, pushing together the gash in his left cheek. When his smile faded, the gash was healed, leaving his marble-like skin intact once more.
“Let’s take his head!” Doran urged, stepping out from behind the wall.
Since that had been the ranger’s plan from the beginning, he joined the dwarf, his broadsword still dripping with Vorska blood. Merith welcomed the challenge and began walking towards them, his weapon held out to one side, catching flakes of snow as they drifted down.
Another Werewolf tried to interfere, hurtling towards Merith on all fours, but was intercepted by two Vorska that pulled it down by its hind legs. The beast scrambled to be free of them but the nimble fiends navigated its thrashing body like ants swarming an insect. Together they dismantled the wolf until it was naught but a torso and a head.
As thunder might tear through a silent sky, so too did a savage roar cut through the surrounding forest and spill into the ruins. Everything stopped. The Vorska paused as no more than gargoyles amid the stonework while the wolves hesitated to pursue battle, with some even retreating a step.
Most telling of all was Merith’s reaction.
The lead Vorska turned to the tree line, the rangers forgotten. Mimicking his Lycan foes, the fiend’s lips curled into a snarl of derision.
What silence and mounting tension followed was disturbed by movement slightly behind Asher. The ranger pivoted on his heel, blade rising to meet the new threat. In truth, he didn’t know what to make of the man who leapt from the first floor of the ruin, nor did he have much time to make an assessment. Hooded and draped in blue and grey robes, the stranger landed between the rangers and Merith, a wooden staff held high in one hand. The moment that staff impacted the ground, pushing through the snow, the other end exploded with light. Vorska and Werewolf alike were bathed in the radiance, their heightened senses momentarily overwhelmed.
When Asher peeled his arm away from his eyes, the figure was already rushing past him. “Run!” he cried. “You cannot hope to fight what is coming!” When the rangers hesitated to follow, he called back, “You should be running!”
That terrible roar split The Evermoore again, heralding the arrival of something new. “Go!” Asher encouraged, shoving Doran after the fleeing stranger. Together, they followed in his wake, leaving the Vorska and the Werewolves to renew their war.
They were also leaving Russell to his fate.
Chapter 17
A New Ally In An Old War
Thindle - These scrawny monsters might not look like much, being skin and bone and with a head of thick hair that conceals their everything from the neck up, but they’re vicious little blighters. They lurk around swamps mostly but that don’t mean they’re confined to such.
Now, if you consider yourself a strong but slow hunter, these aren’t the contracts for you. Speed is required to tackle a Thindle’s agility. And never let them get a single swipe in. Their nails carry disease that will spoil your blood and put you in the ground within days.
A Chronicle of Monsters: A Ranger’s Bestiary, 12th Edition, Page 50.
Authen Madwell, Ranger.
Doran damn-near fell over when they eventually reached the edge of Lirian. He was sweating like the others but his breath was far more laboured. “I’m out o’ shape,” he rasped, doubled over with his hands on his knees.
Asher ignored the dwarf and put himself between the son of Dorain and the stranger they had followed from the ruins. He had his back to them, facing the city of candlelight. From his attire, the ranger might have assumed he was simply a vagrant, with naught but a tired satchel over one shoulder and a wooden staff in hand.
His recent display of magic, however, informed Asher that he was standing behind a mage.
“Who are you?” he demanded, fighting the urge to retrace his steps and return to Russell.
“We’re still not safe here,” the stranger replied, the movement of his hood suggesting he was taking in the city. “We must seek shelter.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Asher stated. “Not until I know who you are.”
The figure sighed. “You have only survived this long because the wolves arrived in Lirian the same night the Vorska came for the orb. Their constant fighting and hunting each other has kept them out of the city for the most part. After tonight, who can say if that will last?”
“Wait,” Asher interjected. “Have you been watching us?”
“Of course I have. You have no idea what has been in your possession. And you bring it here of all places,” he barked, waving a hand at The Tower of Gadavance, its crooked structure looming over the city. “We must seek shelter immediately,” he pressed again. “Somewhere we can put a wall to our backs.”
The ranger couldn’t agree more, but he was nothing if not stubborn. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I at least know your name.”
The stranger was shaking his head. “I can tell you my name, Ranger, but names rarely have anything to do with who we really are. Should it move things along, however, you may call me… Hadavad.”
The dark of night yet reigned when the trio descended to The Ranch’s basement. They heard Danagarr long before they saw him, his work continuing seemingly without a break. When he did appear, it was only to retrieve more supplies from the courtyard. He offered Hadavad no more than a nod, being either too exhausted or too ingrained in his work to care who he was.
“He gets like that,” Doran assured, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water. “Best to leave ’im to it for now.” The dwarf went on to dab the cut above his eyebrow, likely gained after leaping from the ruins, if not in the attack he suffered.
Asher absorbed the information with little effort, his attention fixed on the mage. Hadavad made immediately for the fireplace, leaving his staff to stand perfectly on end in the middle of the room. Doran raised an eyebrow at the trick and couldn’t help but poke the staff to see if it would fall over. It didn’t. The dwarf’s fingertip bent and his face flushed with blood, but the staff refused to budge.
He tutted. “Mages…”
The ranger ignored the staff’s placement and moved to come up on Hadavad’s side. He was yet to even see the man’s face without the shadows of his hood. “Remove the hood,” Asher commanded.
Hadavad didn’t move, his palms held out to the flames. “I see you trust people about as well as I do.”
“I want to see your eyes,” the ranger told him firmly. “And your skin.”
“Prudent,” Hadavad remarked, pulling back his hood. “Though I could not be a wolf, and I am certainly not a Vorska.”
“There are many things you could be,” Asher replied. “I would make that judgement for myself.” Indeed he did, scrutinising the man before him. He was older, perhaps in his late sixties, though his display at the ruins suggested his body was in excellent condition. Long white hair fell over his shoulders in waves and blended into an equally long beard of the same colour. His skin was creased with time and paled by winter’s lack of light, but his dark eyes were full of so much life that they might have belonged to a younger man.
“Well?” the mage enquired. “Do you see man or monster?”
In truth, Asher found the two hard to distinguish most days. “What part do you have in all this?” he asked instead. “Why would you help us?”
Hadavad chuckled lightly to himself. “I have oft found that questions such as those are like the seeds of a great tree: small and easy to handle, until they grow wildly beyond your ability to manage what comes next.”
Doran rolled his eyes and slumped into one of the armchairs. “I’m already lovin’ where this is goin’.”
“Speak plainly,” Asher instructed. “I still haven’t decided whether you are friend or foe.”
“Trust me, pal,” the dwarf commented with some amusement, “ye don’ want to be the latter when it comes to this fella.”
“Friends are like leaves,” the mage said dolefully, his gaze drifting back to the flames. “They all have their time until they wither and fall from the branch.”
“It’s to be foe then?” Doran looked almost eager at the possibility, the thrill of the fight still lingering in his veins.
“If only the world were so black and white,” Hadavad mused, taking the seat opposite Doran’s. “If my centuries of life have taught me anything, it is that the world is infinite shades of grey. In that regard, perhaps you should consider me more ally than friend.”
Asher tried to absorb the mage’s words just as he had Doran’s but, like the dwarf, he was stumbling over the timescale Hadavad referred to. “Centuries?” The ranger’s voice had dropped an octave, adopting a threatening tone.
The mage smiled knowingly. “Like I said: shades of grey.”
“Ye’re not human then,” Doran concluded, shuffling to the edge of his seat, eyes darting to the axe and sword he had discarded.
“You needn’t fear me,” the mage replied, hands flicking up from the armrests. “I assure you, I am human. Painfully so,” he added, clenching one fist and frowning at the pain he felt there. “I must admit, it’s been some time since I inhabited a body of this age.”
Asher looked Hadavad up and down again before sharing a quizzical look with Doran. He was also discreetly gripping the dagger hidden at the base of his back. “If you’re pretending to be human, you’re doing a terrible job.”
Hadavad responded with a hearty laugh, one hand pressed to his chest. “It’s also been a long time since I have held a conversation with anyone. Forgive me. I only mean to speak plainly, truthfully that is. If we are to be allies—and given what we’re up against we really should be—then we ought to lay our cards on the table as quickly as possible.”
“We’re rangers,” Asher said succinctly. “What the hell are you?”
“Aye,” Doran directed, thumbing at Asher. “Let’s start there. Then tell us how ye’re connected to the monsters.”
Hadavad took a breath, considering where to start. “There are many beginnings. My own goes back five hundred years, when I was truly an old man. Perhaps that is too far to begin,” he pondered. “I could start my tale when first we met, Asher. Back then you saw only foes—I certainly considered you one. Then again, who wouldn’t consider an Arakesh to be a foe?”
Quite confounded, the ranger could only blink, his grip relenting somewhat on the dagger.
“Ye two know each other?” Doran glanced at Asher and saw the same level of confusion his own tone had conveyed.
“I rarely forget a face,” Asher said. “Nor a name. I have no memory of you, mage.”
“I didn’t know your name then,” Hadavad clarified. “But like you, I rarely forget a face. Even a blindfolded one.”
Where he might have initially been disarmed by the unfolding revelation, Asher was beginning to feel seen, a sensation that pressed upon him a degree of threat. His grip tightening once again around the hilt of his dagger, the ranger asked, “Where did we meet?”
“In Kelp Town of all places,” the mage answered cheerily. “I’m aware that you have recently come from there. Even after five hundred years I cannot say whether I believe in coincidences or fate.”
