They had been street urchins in Athos, the Great City, Dentin and his younger brother, Marcus, prior to the Emperor raising his Great Army. They were, along with the many other beggar boys, picked off the thin streets of the Black Alley Markets and given a sword and a shield. Dentin’s scrawny, pale arms could barely lift the weapon, and the ragged, ill-fitting leather “armor” he’d been given provided little mobility in his torso. They didn’t even put in the effort of telling us how to use a sword, he thought bitterly.
Despite this, Dentin was glad to be in the Emperor’s service. It was the first time in his life he’d ever found regular food and a warm tent in which to sleep. At night, he shared a tent with his brother, Vilicus, another orphan boy from the Black Alley, Selericus, a Noble from the Scorched Bay in the Empire’s southernmost provinces, and Belrik, their unit’s Commander.
Belrik was one of the few men in the Emperor’s newly created army that had any fighting experience. In reality Belrik wasn’t a Commander, he was a Northern Mercenary, a former Barbarian who hailed from one of the tribes they were being sent to annihilate.
“He has no honor to anyone but himself. He would betray his own people, his own Gods from those damn mountains for the Emperor’s gold and lands.” Selericus would complain, “I don’t trust him.” Selericus had a habit of placing little trust in anyone. The tall, handsome knight was always alone, sitting with his back against a tree between marches. His dark eyes seemed to observe the actions of every soldier who passed. The only reason Dentin like him was because he was more generous in his actions towards the young orphans than many of the other nobles who Dentin had encountered.
“Why do you distrust him?” Dentin asked, “Why do you distrust everyone?” Dentin had not been given the education or the wealth of Selericus’ family, and sometimes had trouble understanding him complex words.
“Because he’s one of them and because this army was raised in days. Emperor Tycerus decreed the raising of an Imperial Army to be recruited from the lowest and untrained men of Athos. None of them are prepared” There was contempt in his voice, but it was directed towards the Emperor, not Dentin. They continued marching towards the next campsite, where the scouts and head of the army had already arrived. “He believes he can defeat the Northern Rebellion, his own nephew’s rebellion, using an army of untrained peasants led by Mercenaries liked Belrik. The Northerners are hard men, from freezing in those mountains for centuries. They know how to fight, and wouldn’t be past slaughtering young boys like your brother.”
Dentin suddenly felt uneasy. Fear set in as the words repeated themselves in his head. He saw the scene in his head, a muscular, tall savage covered in blue war paint grabbing his brother’s pale, skinny body and slicing the head off with the sword in his other hand. Marcus’ dark green eyes were still open as the blood ran across his face, turning his brown hair a bright purple color.
Selericus must’ve seen the horror on Dentin’s face at his words, and his voice suddenly became much softer, no longer the bitter sneer it had been just moments before. “I didn’t mean that, boy. You and your brother will be safe, I promise you.” Selericus gave Dentin a lopsided smile, the first time Dentin had ever seen any expression on his face other than suspicion, contempt or anger.
Finally, after what seemed like years of marching, they reached the army’s new camp site. It was now their third week of marching, so Dentin already knew what had to be done. Night was falling, and there would be no rest. I hate setting up camp. I hate it almost as much as the marching, Dentin thought miserably. The aching pain in his legs and feet from the day’s march would have to wait to be attended to, in addition to the arch in his back from bearing the weight of his oversized leather chainmail. It didn’t matter, though, because he would soon have food in his body and a nice, warm place to sleep. His brother would not have to worry about starvation.
They were still hundreds of miles from where the lands of Northmen, according to reports their general, Denecio, had sent to his top lieutenants in his army. Selericus has read the report by the fire the previous night, as he was the only person there who could read the Athosian script. They were still in the South, but it was colder outside the newly-erect tent than it had been the previous several nights. They were going further North with each passing day, and the weather was catching up to their marches. Dentin was shivering as Belrik started the fire.
When the wood finally sparked and lit, Dentin joined the others around the fire. There were 8 of them at this one camp, and dozens at the surrounding camps. In total there were several thousand in the other camps that made up the army. At their campfire sat tiny Marcus, only 11 years, but looking more like 8, Belrik, and three other orphan boys whose names Dentin never remembered. Selericus sat further away, leaning against a tall Oak tree.
Dentin couldn’t help but stare at Belrik’s lined, scarred face, which always made him feel immense dread. It was not the claw marks across Belrik’s face or even his huge, muscular arms that scared Dentin, but his eyes. They were two huge black pupils now, burning in the fire’s light. They look like an animal’s eyes, Dentin thought.
Suddenly, a long, high pitched howl roared through the night. Dentin suddenly shivered in fear, only to notice all the other boys doing the same. It was cold and dark, and now deadly animals may descend on their camp. It was a frightening thought.
Dentin had heard of the Great Wolves that roamed outside of Athos from boys on the street, double the size of the dogs that roamed in Black Alley, howling to the moon before they descended upon travelers. Dentin tried to reassure himself that these tales were false, but he still could not convince himself.
“Do the wolves unnerve you, boy?” Belrik asked, ignoring all the others and staring directly at Dentin. His animal eyes felt like they were peering into Dentin’s mind, knowing he was afraid.
“No…” Dentin began to say, but the fear in his voice betrayed him. He was terrified.
“I know you are boy, so I’ll give you some advice. The Wolves are animals, just like you and me. They howl to their mother, Mora, daughter of the Creator who was sentenced to eternity in the sky. Their patronage to their mother is nothing you have to fear.”
Suddenly, Selericus interrupted, “They howl to their mother, a being who defied the Creator himself with the first Wolf’s birth. Only a true monster of a man would thing there is nothing to fear from Mora! There are gods no man bows to, and she is one.”
“You believe you know the ways of the world, Southernman, but you have much to learn. Mora is a god, like any other, and she created her children different from your villainous Silus and that Filik that is worshipped in The Pass. She did not try to take what us Northmen rightfully received from the Creator himself!”
“You defend the Mother of the Wolves, who created the animals that have preyed on you Northern people for years! Yet you dare speak ill of the Southern father, Silus, who was the favored son of the Creator?” Selericus’ voice echoed through the woods, his anger vibrating through the trees. It was the first time Dentin had seen him so full of range. Yet another first for Selericus today, Dentin thought.
“There are much worse things than wolves in these woods for you. Things you southerners would not dare defy.”
“Aye, there are. The same ill-bred mongrels you Northerners spent years cowering from in your Mountains.” Another howl roared through the silence as Selericus finished speaking. Only then did Qentin build up the courage to look out into the trees that surrounded their camp. He had never realized how dark the forest got at night; the potential for animals and Northerners to attack their camp was limitless. The thought made him turn towards Marcus, whose pale, thin face always seemed even weaker in the light of the fire.
“Are you alright, brother?” Dentin asked the sickly boy, softly. He could see that Marcus had just had the same thought he had. The sudden feeling of dread this night was different from previous nights on the march north. It was a deep, biting paranoia that had been spawned from Belrik’s threats.
“No.” Marcus responded, as he stood up from his spot near the fire and wandered towards their tent. Something was wrong, and Dentin was not the only person who felt it. He followed his little brother into the tent, just as Belrik resumed his verbal spar with Selericus. Dentin did not care for their religious differences, as the Southern Gods had done very little to help him and his brother in their short lives in the Black Alley, and he felt that his brother’s well-being was much more important at the moment.
“What is wrong?” He asked as he folded open their tent’s door, hoping he could reassure his brother that nothing was wrong. Even when I know my words will be lies.
“I don’t know, Dent, but I know something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.” For the first time in his life, Marcus looked older than his age, losing the naivety of a child.
“Everything’s fine, Marcus, because we are here together, like it’s always been. It’s just like the Black Alleys, but we’ll have food, and the Emperor promises Northern land for any man that fights for him against the Northerners. We’ll have land, food and we’ll never have to beg in the streets again.” Belrik’s voice grew louder outside the tent, nearly entering incomprehensible screams of hatred towards the Southern Gods.
“You’re right, Dent, if we’re together, we’ll be fine.” Marcus suddenly looked much more relaxed, as they reentered the camp.
“You will learn what pains truly is Southerner!” Belrik shouted just as they approached the fire. His black, animal eyes were burning in the fire’s light.
“Are you threatening me, savage?” Selericus said as he suddenly stood from his position against the tree, drawing his sword.
“Yes, because the game is over, and I can finally end this lie. I would never serve you disgusting Southerners.” Belrik screamed, as Dentin began to back away from the muscular Northerner. The howls of wolves erupted through the forest. “Not a single Son of the Mountain would ever truly betray our Gods for your Silus, Filik or Herak!”
Selericus charged Belrik, swinging his long sword in a wild rage, it’s steel gleaming in the fire’s light. His swing was countered by Belrik’s axe and a punch to the face. Selericus fell onto the tree where he had previously sat. His eyes were wide with fear, and blood was spewing from a gash that ran from his left eyebrow to his right cheek.
“You Northern bastard!” Selericus screamed as he leapt from his feet once more, slowly approaching the enormous brute that he had begrudgingly called his commander only minutes before. Dentin was paralyzed with fear, standing right between the two.
Dentin turned to where Belrik stood, only to see a monster forming before his own eyes. Belrik was shakng violently, with his eyes enlarging and his pupils dilating. His already monstrous arms were expanding, his legs were curving irregularly, and dark, thick hair was pouring out of his skin to cover the areas of his body that were not already covered. His teeth morphed into fangs, and his monstrous black eyes stared right at Dentin. The Werewolves were no myth, they were real.
Dentin ran in fear towards the tents as the werewolves descended upon the camp. He saw the orphan boy Vilicus getting torn to pieces by three of the black and grey monsters, but none were as large as Belrik, who was toying with Selericus.
“You are a monster. You are a godless monster!” Selericus screamed once again as he charged towards the 10 foot tall beast. He swung his longsword once again, only for Belrik to grab him by the throat. The werewolf was squeezing so tightly that it’s claws were penetrating Selericus’ skin, and blood was pouring from his neck. Selericus continued to swing his sword while he gasped for air, giving Belrik a few minor cuts, but doing little to ease the grip around his neck.
“You will lose this war….” Selericus gasped, while the grip around his throat tightened. His eyes suddenly turned from Belrik to Dentin, who was cowering behind the tent. He mouthed one word with his last moments of life, “Run.”
There was a sickening crunch as the werewolf ripped Selericus’ throat from his body. Selericus’ lifeless body slumped to the ground as Belrik joined the other wolves in dining on Vilicus’ corpse. It took all the strength that Dentin had to avoid crying out in horror. He fell to the ground in a silent cry, only to remember his brother.
He slid into the tent, finding his brother crying in the corner. “They’re all going to die Dent,” the little boy cried, “the whole army. We are going to die.”
“Be quiet.” Dentin whispered angrily. “We’ll be fine, you just have to trust me and follow what I do. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” Dentin slid out of the tent followed by his brother. He heard the commotion from the surrounding camps. Men were dying in this forest tonight. There had to be hundreds of werewolves descending upon the entire army this very night. If Dentin could get to the horses, he and his brother might live.
They silently slid behind the feast on their comrade’s corpses towards the fleeing horses of likely dead Commanders. Dentin managed to silently leap onto the furthest horse, but his brother slipped off the side of the other, making a loud squeal as he fell. Three wolves immediately ran towards them, being led by Belrik himself.
Belrik ran forward on all four legs, leaping teeth-first into Dentin’s horse. Dentin fell to the ground, his head slamming against hard roots of a tree. He felt dazed as he stood facing Belrik, slowly lifting his rusted sword from his leather belt. He motioned for his brother to get behind him, feeling a new-found strength as he lifted the weapon behind his head. He was ready to fight.
Belrik used a clawed hand to motion for the other wolves to stand back as he slowly approached Dentin, standing on two feet. Belrik ran towards Dentin, with his clawed hands attempting to grab Dentin in the same matter they had grabbed Selericus.
Dentin was ready for it, quickly evading Belrik’s grasp and sliding under his legs, slashing the rusted metal between Belrik’s legs. The enormous beast howled in pain, but still turned towards Dentin for another attack. This time Belrik weakly attempted to claw Dentin as he ran backwards, but only managed to brush his face. Dentin wildly swung the sword, slicing Belrik’s arms.
Now is the time to press the attack, Dentin thought as he leapt forward, kicking the wolf in the knee while slicing its face. Blood was seeping from all the cuts on Belrik’s body as his legs collapsed under him from the force of Dentin’s furious blows. With one last slash, he ended Belrik’s life, with the black blood of the monster searing out of its throat.
Pain shot through Dentin’s deep cuts on his face and back, but he prepared to face the other wolves, knowing it would likely be the last action of his life. The wolves, surprisingly, backed away from him, and sprang at where Marcus stood.
“No!” Dentin screamed as the largest of the remaining werewolves took a chunk of meat from Marcus’ neck. Dentin began to swing the sword, only to get knocked to the forest’s hard ground by the other werewolf, which began biting and clawing his left arm. The pain was terrible as the creature bit deep into his flesh.
He quickly stabbed the sword directly into the wolf’s eye, opening the beast’s jaws from his bloody arm. He quickly sliced at the beast’s throat, killing it. He turned to where his brother had been, but he saw neither his brother, nor the remaining wolf. They were gone. The sounds of men dying echoed through the forest as he leapt onto the horse that had been his brother’s. All he thought of was his vision earlier that day, where he had seen his brother die by a Northerner’s sword, and he knew Marcus was gone.
He was bleeding profusely, and his arm had been gnawed to the bone. He didn’t know if he would survive this trek, or if he would even escape the forest unseen by the werewolves, but he had to try. He turned the horse southwards, his vision fading as he guided the horse out of the forest.
I have to make it, to warn the Emperor of the Wolves. Or else the sacrifice of Selericus and Marcus was worthless. Or else the war is lost before it has even begun.
Tales of Terros
POSTER AKAR
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