White Wolf: A Novel of Druss the Legend dt-10 Read online

  ‘Sweet Heaven!’ said Braygan. ‘They will be torn to pieces.’

  Rabalyn became aware of pain in his head. It began as a soft thumping, then grew alarmingly. A feeling of nausea swept through him and he groaned and opened his eyes. He was lying on the grass, a little way from a line of trees. With another groan he sat up and looked around. Some distance away he could see the edge of the reed marsh. Beside him there was a splash of blood on the surface of a flat rock. He stared at it for a moment, then reached up to his head. His hand came away sticky. He wiped his fingers on the grass, leaving a red smear.

  Then he remembered the horse bolting, racing along the edge of the marsh. He had clung to the pommel horn, fighting to stay in the saddle.

  That was when the horror had surged from the reeds. Rabalyn had only caught a glance as the horse raced by, but what he saw was enough to chill his heart. The beast was massive, with slavering jaws. It stood upright like a bear, but its head was that of a wolf. The creature lunged at the horse and struck it. Rabalyn was hurled to his left, but clung on as the horse stumbled. Then it righted itself and sped away. It had galloped for some minutes, then had stumbled again. At the last its neck dipped and Rabalyn was hurled through the air. His head had obviously struck the rock.

  The youth struggled to his feet and turned. The dead horse lay some fifteen feet distant. Rabalyn cried out in anguish, and ran to it. There was a deep and bloody wound in its flank. Flesh and sinew hung from it, trailing down into a deep, congealing pool of blood.

  The pain in his head forgotten, Rabalyn knelt down and stroked the horse’s mane. ‘I am so sorry,’ he said.

  From the distance came a weird and blood-chilling howl.

  Rabalyn scrambled to his feet. The horse was dead, but the scent of its blood would carry on the wind. He had to get as far from it as possible.

  Turning, he stumbled up the hill and into the trees. He had no idea where he was going, only that he needed to put distance between himself and the carcass. His head began to pound again. Falling to his knees, he vomited.

  Then he struggled on. The undergrowth was thick, and he skirted it, looking for a tree which he could climb. But his limbs felt leaden, and he did not know if he had the strength to haul himself into the branches.

  The dreadful howling sounded again. Rabalyn could not tell if it was closer now, but in his terror he believed it was. Coming to a large oak, he began to climb. His foot slipped and he fell back, landing with a jarring thud on the ground. As he tried to rise a shadow loomed over him. Panic swept through him.

  ‘Easy, laddie,’ said a deep voice. ‘I’ll not harm you.’

  Rabalyn blinked. Before him stood the ancient axeman who had killed the lancers. Up close he seemed even more fearsome, with his glittering pale grey eyes. His beard was black and silver, and he wore a black leather jerkin, reinforced at the shoulders with shining steel. Upon his head was a round black helm, edged with silver. Rabalyn’s eyes were drawn to the huge axe he carried. The blades looked like butterfly wings, flaring up into two points. The haft was black, and runes were embossed there in silver.

  ‘What happened to your head?’ asked the axeman, kneeling down, and placing his axe on the ground.

  ‘I fell off my horse.’

  ‘Let me look.’ The axeman probed the wound. ‘I don’t think you’ve cracked your skull. Looks like a glancing blow. Torn the skin a bit. Where are your friends?’

  ‘I don’t know. My horse bolted when the beasts attacked.’ Fear returned and Rabalyn scrambled up. ‘We must climb a tree. They are coming.’

  ‘Be calm, laddie. What is coming?’

  Rabalyn told the axeman what he had seen, and how his horse was dead, half its belly ripped open by sharp talons. ‘They may have killed my friends,’ he said.

  The axeman shrugged. ‘Maybe. I doubt the swordsman is dead. He seemed a canny man to me.’ Glancing up at the darkening sky he rose.

  ‘Let’s find a place to camp. We’ll light a fire and you can rest awhile.’

  ‘The beasts…’

  ‘They’ll either come or they won’t. Nothing I can do about that. Come on.’ Reaching out, he pulled Rabalyn to his feet, then took up his axe and walked back through the trees. Rabalyn followed him. A little while later the axeman reached a natural clearing. Two old oaks had fallen, creating a partial wall to the west. With his boot the axeman scraped away twigs and tinder, clearing a spot for a fire. He told Rabalyn to gather dry wood, and, when the boy had done so, took out a small tinder box and struck a flame.

  The darkness deepened. Rabalyn sat down beside the fire. He still felt a little sick, but his headache was passing.

  ‘Brother Lantern said you were with the Immortals.’

  ‘Brother Lantern?’

  ‘The swordsman who helped you.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, I was for a while.’

  ‘Why did you attack those soldiers?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I thought at first you were protecting your family, or some friends. But you are travelling alone. So why did you fight?’

  ‘Good question. What is your name?’

  ‘Rabalyn.’

  ‘And why are you heading for Mellicane, Rabalyn?’

  The youngster told him about the attack on his house, and the death of Aunt Athyla. At the last he also admitted the killing of Todhe, and the shame he felt.

  ‘He brought it on himself,’ said the axeman. ‘No point losing sleep over it. All actions have consequences. I used to argue all the time with a friend of mine. He’d talk endlessly of what he called the potential of Man. He’d say even the most evil were capable of good. He’d witter on about redemption, and such like. Maybe he was right. I don’t bother myself with such thoughts.’

  ‘Have you killed lots of people?’ asked Rabalyn.

  ‘Lots,’ agreed the axeman.

  ‘Were they all evil?’

  ‘No. Most were soldiers, fighting for their own cause. As I was fighting for mine. It is a harsh world, Rabalyn. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better come morning.’

  ‘You didn’t say why you attacked those soldiers,’ the youngster pointed out.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Rabalyn stretched out and looked up at the forbidding figure seated beside the fire. He noticed then that the axeman was not facing the flames, but was looking out into the gathering darkness.

  ‘You think they will come?’ asked the boy.

  ‘If they do they’ll regret it. Go to sleep.’

  For a little while Rabalyn forced himself to stay awake. The axeman did not speak, and the boy lay very still, staring up at the seated figure. The glare from the flickering fire made the axeman appear even older. The lines on his face were deep. Rabalyn saw him pick up his axe. The muscles on his forearm rippled as his huge hand curled round the haft. ‘Have you ever been frightened?’ asked Rabalyn.

  ‘Aye, once or twice. My wife had a weak heart. Several times she collapsed. I knew fear then.’

  ‘Not now, though?’

  ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of, laddie. We live. We die. A wise man once told me that one day even the sun will fade, and all will be darkness.

  Everything dies. Death isn’t important. What counts is how you live.’

  ‘What happened to your wife?’

  ‘She’s gone, boy. Five years now.’ The axeman threw a chunk of wood to the fire and the flames rippled over it. Then he rose to his feet, and stood statue still. Time to climb your tree, I think,’ he said softly. Rabalyn scrambled to his feet. ‘That one there,’ said the axeman, pointing to a tall oak close by. ‘Do it now!’

  Rabalyn ran to the tree and leapt for the lowest branch, hauling himself up. He climbed to a fork and sat down, staring back at the campfire. The axeman was still standing quietly, his axe in his hands. Rabalyn scanned the area. He could see nothing, save moonlit undergrowth and trees. Then a shadowy figure flitted across his line of vision. He tried to focus on it, but there was nothing to be
seen. Another shape moved to the right.

  Rabalyn found himself trembling. What if they could climb?

  He felt ashamed of himself. One old man was about to face these creatures, while he hid in a tree. Rabalyn found himself wishing he had a weapon, so he could aid the axeman. Down below he saw the man lift the axe above his head and slowly stretch from side to side, loosening his muscles.

  For a while nothing moved. Rabalyn became aware of his heart thumping like a drum. He felt a little dizzy and clung on tight to the branch. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, and darkness fell over much of the clearing. Rabalyn could just make out the axeman, by the glint of reflected flames on his axe and helm. He heard the snapping of branches, then a feral growl. A black shadow fell across the axeman, and Rabalyn could see nothing for a moment. A strangled cry sounded.

  Something tumbled across the fire, scattering sparks. Now it was even darker. Rabalyn could hear something moving through the undergrowth, its breathing harsh.

  The moon emerged, bright silver light bathing the clearing. The axeman still stood. Across the fire lay the body of a huge beast. Smoke wreathed it, and Rabalyn caught the smell of charred fur and flesh. Another beast leapt over a fallen tree, hurling itself at the axeman. He spun on his heel, the axe thudding into the creature’s massive neck. As the beast half fell the axeman wrenched his weapon clear and struck again. The axe blades crunched through the creature’s shoulder, biting deep. Two more beasts ran in. Tearing his axe clear the axeman turned to face them. They backed away, circling him. One rushed forward, then sprang away as the axe rose.

  The second darted in, but also swerved aside at the last moment. Rabalyn saw one of them look up at the sky. The boy followed its gaze. More clouds were looming, and he realized the creatures were waiting for darkness.

  The axeman leapt at the first beast. It sprang away. Rabalyn wished there was something he could do to help the man. Then it came to him. He could distract them. Taking a deep breath he shouted at the top of his voice. Startled, one of the creatures half turned. The axeman charged in, his weapon cleaving through the beast’s ribcage. It screamed and fell back, tearing the weapon from the man’s hand. The second creature sprang through the air. The axeman spun and hammered a right cross into its jaws. The weight of the beast bore the axeman back, and they fell together, rolling across the clearing. Rabalyn scrambled down the tree and jumped from the lowest branch. He ran to the body in which the axe was embedded and grabbed the haft with both hands, trying to pull it free.

  The beast was not dead. Its golden eyes flared open and it roared.

  Rabalyn threw his full weight back. The axe wrenched clear. The beast gave an ear-splitting scream. It half rose, then slumped back, blood pumping from the great wound in its chest. The axe was heavier than Rabalyn had imagined. Struggling with it, he hefted it to his shoulder and stumbled to where the axeman was wrestling with the last creature. The old man’s helm had been knocked from his head, and blood was flowing from a gash in his temple. His left hand was locked to the creature’s throat, straining to hold the snapping fangs from his face. His right was gripping the left wrist of the monster.

  Holding the axe in both hands Rabalyn raised it high. It tipped backwards, almost making him lose balance. Righting himself, he hacked the axe downwards. It thudded into the beast’s back between the shoulder blades. A hideous screech came from the creature. It arched up, dragging the axeman with it. Releasing the beast’s wrist the axeman thundered a punch to its head. Behind the creature Rabalyn grabbed for the axe haft, trying to tear it clear. The beast spun. Its taloned arm lashed out, striking Rabalyn in the chest and sending him hurtling through the air. He landed heavily. Half stunned, he struggled to his knees. The old warrior had his axe once more in his hand. The beast backed away, then turned and fled into the trees.

  The warrior watched it go, then walked over to Rabalyn. ‘My, but you are a game lad,’ he said. Reaching out, he hauled Rabalyn to his feet.

  ‘You killed three of them,’ said Rabalyn. ‘It was incredible.’

  ‘I’m getting old,’ replied the axeman, with a grin. ‘Was a time when I wouldn’t have needed my axe to deal with such puppies.’

  ‘Truly?’ asked Rabalyn, amazed.

  ‘No, laddie, I was making a joke. Never was much good at jokes.’ He lifted his helm, wiped his hand around the rim, then settled it back on his head. A low snarl sounded from one of the bodies. The axeman walked back to the creature. Its legs were twitching. The axe swept up, then down into its neck. All movement ceased. Returning to Rabalyn, the axeman thrust out his hand. ‘I am Druss. I thank you for your help. I was beginning to struggle a mite with that last one.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, sir,’ answered Rabalyn, feeling proud as he shook the old man’s hand.

  ‘Now I want you to climb that tree again.’

  ‘Are there more of them?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I need to leave you here for a short while. Don’t worry.

  I’ll be back.’

  Rabalyn climbed to the original fork and settled down. His fears returned once Druss had left the clearing. What if the man left him here?

  He banished the thought instantly. He did not know the axeman well, but he instinctively knew he would not lie about coming back.

  Time passed, and the sky cleared. Wedged against the fork in the branches Rabalyn dozed a little. He awoke to the smell of roasting meat.

  Down in the campsite the axeman had hauled the dead beasts from the clearing and had rekindled the fire. He was sitting before it, a thick strip of flesh held on a stick before the flames. Rabalyn climbed down to join him. The aroma of the food made his senses swim. He squatted down beside the axeman. Then a thought struck him. ‘This is not from those creatures, is it?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Though were I hungry enough I’d try to cook them. Smells good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From the dead horse.’

  ‘My horse?’ asked Rabalyn, horrified.

  ‘There’s only one dead horse, boy.’

  ‘I can’t eat my horse.’

  The axeman turned to look at him. ‘It’s just meat.’ He sighed, then chuckled. ‘I know what Sieben would say. He’d tell you that your horse is now running in another place. He’d say the sky is blue there, and the horse is galloping across a field of green. All that’s left behind is the cloak it wore.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘That horse carried you from danger — even after it was mortally wounded. In some cultures they believe that to eat the flesh of a great beast is to absorb some of its qualities into yourself.’

  ‘And do you believe that?’

  The axeman shrugged. ‘I believe I am hungry, and that what I don’t eat the foxes will devour, and the maggots will thrive on. It’s up to you, Rabalyn. Eat. Don’t eat. I’m not going to force you.’

  ‘Maybe your friend was right. Maybe he is running in another world.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I think I’ll eat,’ said Rabalyn.

  ‘Hold on to this for a moment,’ said Druss, handing Rabalyn the toasting stick. Then he rose and took his axe to a nearby tree. With two swift chops he cut away sections of bark, which he carried back. ‘They’ll make do for plates,’ he said.

  Later, after they had eaten, Rabalyn stretched out on the ground. He felt almost light-headed, as if in a dream. His stomach was full. He had helped defeat monsters, and he was sitting by a fire in the moonlight with a mighty warrior. ‘How can you be so good when you are so old?’ he asked.

  The axeman laughed aloud. ‘I come from good stock. Truth is, though, I am not as good as I was. No man can resist time. I used to be able to walk thirty miles in a day. Now I’m tired at half that, and I have an ache in my knee and my shoulder when the winter comes, and the rain falls.’

  ‘Have you been fighting in the war?’

  ‘No,’ answered Druss. ‘Not my war. I c
ame here looking for an old friend.’

  ‘Is he a warrior like you?’

  Druss laughed. ‘No. He is a fat, frightened fellow with a fear of violence.

  A good man, though.’

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘Not yet. I don’t even know why he came here. He’s a long way from home. He may have returned to Mellicane. I’ll find out in a day or two.’ A tiny trickle of blood was still seeping from the gash in the old man’s temple. Rabalyn watched as he wiped it away.

  ‘That should be stitched or bandaged,’ he said.

  ‘Not deep enough for that. It will seal itself. And now I think I’ll get some sleep.’

  ‘Shall I keep watch?’

  ‘Aye, laddie. You do that.’

  ‘You think the beast might come back?’

  ‘I doubt it. That was a deep cut you gave it. He’s probably hurting too much to think of feeding. But if he does then two great heroes like us should be able to deal with him. Don’t worry overmuch, Rabalyn. I am a light sleeper.’

  With that the axeman stretched himself out and closed his eyes.

  With Braygan clinging on behind him Skilgannon urged the tired horse down the slope towards the refugees. The steeldust was almost at the end of its strength and stumbled twice.

  As he rode Skilgannon scanned the land. He could see no sign of the beasts. Transferring his gaze to the refugees he saw two swordsmen walking at the head of the column. Both were tall, with close-cropped black hair, and both were heavily bearded. They paused as he rode up.

  Leaping from the saddle, Skilgannon approached them. ‘Are you in charge here?’ he asked the first warrior. The man cocked his head and looked confused, then swung to the other swordsman.

  ‘Are we in charge, Jared?’

  ‘No, Nian. Don’t worry about it. What is it you want?’ he asked Skilgannon. People were milling around now, anxious to hear whatever news the newcomers had brought.

  ‘There is great danger here,’ Skilgannon told Jared. ‘It will be upon us at any moment.’ Turning away from him Skilgannon pulled Braygan from the saddle, and slapped the rump of the horse. Surprised, it began to run towards the reeds. It had travelled no more than a hundred yards before it swerved to the right. A Joining reared up from the long grass and leapt at it. The horse bolted. Screams of shock came from some of the refugees.