Awwrruuuuuuu!
Eriken had seen portraits of these humanoid beasts, but never one in the flesh. He regretted the boyish fantasies of glory. This was no storybook monster. The howl resonated through his chest, mournful and wild. Beautiful, even.
No. Monsters didn’t mourn. They didn’t feel.
The old tales rushed back, his mother’s bedtime stories of teeth and claws. Every instinct screamed flee. But fleeing would disgrace House Jaeger, make him unworthy of the Paladins.
Eriken drew his longsword.
Two men spurred their mounts forward, swords high. “Hail the Light!”
The wolfborn crouched, dark fur bristling. Its flattened nostrils flared. Foam dripped from its jaw.
Then it moved, a blur of fur and muscle. It leaped over the charging horses, claws catching helmet crests mid-flight. The riders jerked from their saddles, lifted like children’s toys. The beast slammed their heads into the dirt road.
Skulls cracked beneath its grip, blood seeping from between the beast’s dark furry fingers. Growling, it raised its arms, the helmets of the dead men crumpled like tossed parchment. Golden eyes glared with carnivorous rage at the rest of the battalion. Its jaw of jagged incisors opened wide, and a deep, bellicose roar rang out through the night.
The riderless horses instantaneously sped off into the night, whinnying in terror.
An arrow whistled from the darkness, thudding into the wagon driver’s neck. He fell, releasing the reins.
“From the right!” Sir Bandon roared.
The rush of running footsteps. Six warriors burst from the shadows, four in faceless black masks, two with cloth-wrapped faces. Their blades rang against Paladin steel.
Knightmares.
“Eriken,” Dyna warned. “Drop!”
Eriken ducked in time, hearing the whoosh of something heavy flying overhead. A Paladin behind him emitted a shout of pain, followed by a loud thump. Eriken glanced back. The wolfborn’s first kill lay across a struggling Paladin. The beast had thrown the corpse.
Then his horse reared. The beast was suddenly in front of him. It stepped back before the horse’s hooves could strike. But Eriken’s heels were not in place, and he slipped from the saddle, thudding into the dirt.
With a roar, the beast sent Eriken’s horse bolting.
Now, the beast loomed over him, hunched low and supported by its forelimbs. Its haunting amber eyes pierced him with fierce intensity, while its snout scrunched as it bared its fangs. Hot breath grazed Eriken’s face as he scrambled backward, gripping his sword tightly and aiming it upward.
The wolfborn rose on its hind legs, a clawed arm lunging toward him. With instinct born of desperation, Eriken swung his blade, cutting across the beast’s dark palm.
The wolfborn recoiled sharply, a pained growl erupting from its throat as a quarrel sprouted from its shoulder, followed swiftly by another bolt piercing its side, above the hip. It whirled toward two Paladins reloading their crossbows.
“Run!” one yelled.
The other fell as an elven arrow suddenly pierced his throat.
Eriken rolled onto his chest and scrambled to rise, but froze abruptly as he glanced behind. The Paladin fired again. The bolt sank into the wolfborn’s chest.
It didn’t fall.
Eriken wouldn’t let anyone die for him. He grabbed his fallen shield, charged the wolfborn’s back, and swung. His blade cut deep across its spine. It growled, but the wound did not fester. Slowly, the cut began sealing, flesh knitting together before his eyes—seconds, and it was gone. The bolts embedded into the beast’s torso began wriggling, slowly inching their way out. One by one, each bolt was disgorged from its body, landing harmlessly as the wounds they left slowly closed.
It heals!
The wolfborn whirled. Eriken raised his shield.
The beast’s clawed hand caught the shield’s edge and pulled. Eriken left the ground, spinning through the air. Torchlight, shadows, screaming, then his back slammed into the wagon. He collapsed face-first into the dirt.
Pain lanced up his spine. Bruised, not broken. Gritting his teeth, he spat out the dirt that had filled his mouth, feeling the coarse grains grind against his teeth.
Eriken heard men hollering and the shrill metallic scraping of claws tearing through metal. There were haunting blood-curdling screams and ripping sounds. He weakly raised his throbbing head, spotting the beast. Its immense head rose, jaws decorated with ragged flesh. Blood dripped from its claws.
Swords rang. Men yelled. Fallen torches ignited the brush, casting the carnage in flickering light. Bodies lay scattered, some still, others convulsing, choking on blood, begging for death. The Paladins still standing battled the Knightmares, but Eriken witnessed his comrades fall. The brown-skinned woman moved like a viper, her spear punching through gaps in armor. A red-haired Knightmare cut down two Paladins, her blade moving faster than they could parry.
But it was the wolfborn that frightened Eriken the most. He watched, horrified, as it leapt toward another Paladin, its claws slicing through armor as if it were made of parchment. The beast showed no mercy.
Eriken crawled beneath the wagon, spine throbbing. He searched for his comrades. No sign of Dyna. But there, Bandon, confronted by a Knightmare. Short, dark-haired, wielding twin red sabers slick with blood.
“The keys to the cage,” the Knightmare demanded. “Hand them over.”
Bandon raised his sword. “Hail the Light!”
The Knightmare shrugged. “A yes or no would’ve been enough.”
Their blades met, Bandon’s longsword crashing down on the Knightmare’s crossed sabers. The sellsword’s arms shook but held. Bandon shoved him back with a grunt. The Knightmare recovered instantly, blades spinning. He was impossibly fast for someone so short. His sabers deflected every strike, parrying with mechanical precision.
And he wouldn’t shut up.
“Really?” the Knightmare taunted. “Is that all? White’s a shit color for bloodstains, by the way.”
The mocking never stopped, even when Bandon’s blade came within inches of his throat. Then the Knightmare charged, one saber raised high. It crashed against Bandon’s sword.
The feint.
The second blade came low while the first held Bandon’s attention. It slid through the gap in his armor, below the breastplate.
The Knightmare slashed Bandon across the lower belly, the gap where breastplate met belt. Blood sheeted down his leg. The Knight-Captain staggered back, gasping, pressing his gauntlet to the wound.
Eriken’s jaw clenched. He’d let Bandon fight alone. Shame burned through him, and rage at the cutthroat in black.
The Knightmare had to die.
The Knightmare lunged for the fallen keys, sidestepped Bandon’s desperate swing, and shoved him aside. Then he ran for the wagon.
The ache in his back remained, but Eriken couldn’t wait. He crawled from beneath the wagon and stood, sword in hand.
The Knightmare halted, swords at the ready, his dark eyes glinting through the mask. “Move, Paladin. I won’t ask twice.”
“The keys, Knightmare.” Eriken brandished his sword. “Drop them.”
“Not a chance.” The Knightmare glared at him, an amused lilt to his tone. “You want to play the hero tonight?”
No time for talk. Eriken raised his blade high, two-handed. The sellsword charged, sabers crossed to catch the downward strike. The blades were Nilosian steel, wine-red and lighter than common steel. Stolen, no doubt. A disadvantage.
They locked eyes: Paladin and Knightmare, enemies since the beginning. They strained, muscles swelling as their arms shook. In the backdrop, their comrades did the same, blades of Paladins and Knightmares crossing and singing while the wolfborn’s roars echoed around them.
“Do you think you can defeat a Jaeger?” Eriken growled through gritted teeth.
The Knightmare cocked his head. “What?”
“I’m Eriken of House Jaeger,” he said. “A house of warriors!”
“Don’t care.”
The Knightmare kicked him in the gut. The armor absorbed most of it, but Eriken staggered. The sellsword rushed in. Eriken raised his blade, parried, parried again. His back throbbed with each movement, slowing him.
He didn’t care. This bastard must die.
“You’re good,” the Knightmare admitted, his taunts unwavering as he continued his relentless assault.
One saber swept toward his neck. Eriken ducked, barely. Deflected the second blade. Counterattacked. The Knightmare parried effortlessly. This sellsword was well trained, his reflexes seeming superhuman. Killing was second nature for him. This fight was a game, and Eriken planned on making him regret playing it.
Eriken struck again. Blocked. The sellsword’s counter came fast, the saber’s tip grazing Eriken’s arm. He hissed, stumbling back.
“But not good enough,” the Knightmare mocked.
A horse charged between them. The Knightmare leapt back, avoiding the hooves. The keys fell, glinting in the dirt.
A mounted Paladin swung his blade down at the sellsword. “Get the prisoner out of here! Now!”
Eriken recognized the voice. The Knight-Captain still lived. Eriken snatched the keys and ran to the wagon. He heaved the driver’s corpse aside, grabbed the reins, and cracked them across the horses’ backs. The stallions bolted, trampling corpses. The wagon lurched and bucked.
He was not alone. Three other horses rode beside the wagon. Knight-Captain Bandon, Dyna, and Samwell had all acquired mounts and followed. All other Paladins, Eriken guessed, were dead.
“Behind us!” Samwell shouted.
The wolfborn pursued at a terrifying gallop, eyes locked on the wagon. Gaining. Eriken whipped the reins, shouting at the horses. They couldn’t go faster. The wolfborn leapt, claws catching the cage bars. The wagon’s rear sagged under its weight, wood cracking and groaning. The front wheels lifted off the ground, then slammed back down. Eriken bounced in his seat, tailbone screaming.
The beast held on, growling as its claws wrapped around the bars of the cage, the metal straining under the pressure. It was trying to free the prisoner.
Dyna fired her crossbow. The bolt struck the beast’s shoulder, one arm releasing. It didn’t fall. Eriken drew his dagger, raised it high, and threw. It struck the beast’s other shoulder, near the neck. The second arm gave out. The wolfborn fell, tumbling across the road.
The wolfborn’s body vanished into the shadows, and then a deep, pained howl pierced the night, echoing through the forest as Eriken and the remnants of their group continued their frantic escape.
“They’re supposed to be extinct in these lands,” Samwell said with disbelief.
“They’re not,” Eriken said, still looking back at where the wolfborn had vanished. “We need to warn the empire. There are wolfborn in Tymeria.”