The Knight Errant Scene IV

Petra tore away a bite of jerky with her molars, chewing for just a couple of seconds before continuing her story. “So the mammoth is ripping tents down, its massive, tree-trunk feet are literally flattening men, women, and children.”

Sam, sitting across the fire from her, watched her unblinking as she gesticulated toward the dawn sky.

“My father, Ymir, Father of Winter, approaches the beast and he roars at it to stop! The beast does not yield, and instead, turns its attention to my father. It trumpets through its trunk and begins to run! And that’s when my father noticed something.

“The mammoth had a massive, sharp and bloody stone lodged in its shoulder. How it got there, we’ll never know. But my father instantly knew the stone was the source of the beast’s rage. So he ran up to meet the beast, which was lowering its head to gore Ymir.

“Ymir gave his mighty axe a colossal swing! And CRACK! The stone was freed! The beast cried in pain at first, then fell to its side, breathing. Sweet relief!”

Petra paused a moment to swallow the jerky she had chewed between syllables in her story. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard that story.”

“I mean,” Sam began with a shrug. “It’s not that unique. Like, we have a story just like it in the March but with a dire bear and a druid. And Gavundar has a story about the avatar of the Jade Lion being cracked and enraged from it.”

“Excuse me?” Petra asked bitterly.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam said. “It is a common aesop, you know? Villains are just in pain, and not truly wicked? I’m sure your story is true, though. I mean, who am I to challenge what your dad did or did not do. “

“That’s right,” Petra said flatly. “Who are you to challenge me?”

Sam’s eyes met her stoic gaze for a moment before he chuckled. “Did I offend the goddess?”

“Nearly, Bleedingheart. Watch yourself,” she replied stiffly. But the tension finally cracked when she smiled. “Storytime is over. Are you ready to continue?”

Sam stood and stretched before reaching for his breastplate. “I am. We are not far off now. Maybe three days at the most?”

“Perfect.”

As the pair cleaned their camp, the stillness of the morning was shattered by nearby screams. Several male voices cried out with the fear of death just behind the tree line on the other side of the path from Sam and Petra.

The two simply glanced at one another before they grabbed their weapons and leapt over the road to see the source of the sound.

“Dammit,” was all Sam said when he noticed the crimson cloaks. But Petra threw up a hand.

“Wait, Sam,” she urged. Closer to the cacophony, the two heard more than just the screams of the Wrath Lich highwaymen. Growls, snarls, and barks had mixed with them. The three sorcerers were being attacked from all angles by a pack of eight wolves, their backs arched and fur bristling with bloodlust.

One of the liches swung around, liquid flame spilling from his bare hands to fend off the animals, but another wolf sunk its fangs into the man’s ankle. He collapsed, sending a fountain of flame around the clearing.

“These men are in danger,” Petra said, readying an axe.

“They are Wrath Liches,” Sam said. “They were likely going to attack us as soon as we left camp.”

“Dorvan’s followers? They’re still alive?”

“They’ve found a new foothold lately,” Sam replied, unsure of what to do. “Should we help?”

Another cultist swung a flaming sword at the largest of the wolves. The creature deftly leapt over the blade, and bit down on the man’s shoulder.

“I think we may be too late,” Petra remarked as the wolves approached the last of the three. The cloaked man, already muddied from the stakeout, sprinted for safety. Two wolves broke from the pack and chased him into the brush. His screams and cries went off into the distance as the other wolves stayed behind.

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Sam and Petra watched curiously as the wolves, satisfied that their prey was dead, stopped biting and gnawing, and instead began to press and prod with noses and paws. It was as though they were investigating the corpses.

The largest wolf pawed around the center of the camp, her ears twitching to and fro, ingesting every stimulus that came her way. She tilted her head skyward, her snout twitching curiously.

Even Petra gasped somewhat when her head suddenly swung in their direction. Her snout aimed first at Sam, then at Petra.

“Don’t move,” Petra urged. “She’ll chase if we run.”

“Then what do you want us to do? Stand here and wait?” Sam whispered.

“If she attacks, we fight. If she leaves, then we dodged a bite.”

In the distance, the gurgling death cries of the third lich rang out, but the dominant wolf did not react. She continued sniffing in Petra’s direction. She began to tremble and shake, her lips pulling back over her teeth, and her eyes twitching with unnatural focus. The wolf began to hack and growl.

Petra and Sam looked at each other in shock as the wolf spoke.

“Avatar.” Her words were made of growls and coughs. It seemed it was taking every muscle in the animal to make the sounds. “Where. Son.”

“Is she talking?” Petra asked.

“Did your dad ever handle a talking wolf?” Sam joked.

“Not the time, Bleedingheart.”

“Where. Son. Of. Chief.” The wolf twitched and gasped between words as though it was vomiting.

Petra and Sam did not respond. They had no idea how to. Obviously disatisfied, the wolf threw her head back and howled. The five remaining hounds dropped what they were doing around the camp and began sprinting at the two.

“Get ready!” Sam shouted, raising his shield and silently praying for strength.

“I always am,” Petra replied.

The first wolf to arrive was closest to her, and she reached for her second axe as she sunk the previously readied weapon into the wolf's flank. The creature’s death cry was met with a second as Sam battered another with his shield.

The alpha’s howl undulated in tone until it became the word “where!” Sam and Petra threatened the three final wolves as they joined the alpha in howls. Tensions were rising dangerously until an orange blur broke the stand off.

“Enough!” another voice joined the clamor. A young man’s. More snarls and barks filled the air, as did woody cracks and pops. Petra and Sam could not believe their eyes as the forest came to life around them.

That orange blur revealed itself to be a fox, leaping and bouncing in front of the wolves, holding them in place just long enough for a shrub to encase them. In just a few short moments, every wolf but the alpha was imprisoned in tangles of vines and roots. The fox squared off against the wolf with a growl.

“Are you two okay?” the young man asked as he stepped up behind Sam and Petra. He was small and skinny. He was taller than Sam, but half as prominent in presence.

“Um, yes,” Sam replied.

“And I think we were going to be able to take care of some mean dogs,” Petra said with a chuckle.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Winter’s Daughter,” the man replied, straightening his cap. “But I need to ask this wolf some questions. If you don’t mind, of course.”

Sam and Petra glanced at one another. “No, please,” Sam said. “It’s all yours.”

“Great, one moment,” the boy said. He walked up to the wolf, which followed him with her eyes with focus that seemed far beyond anything an animal should be capable of.

The young man approached the creature, which began to snarl. He was undeterred. Sam and Petra watched as he stopped and a strange silence fell on the camp. The imprisoned wolves stood, enraptured by the interrogation of their alpha. The fox was sitting patiently beside the man.

The pair watched, waiting for this questioning to begin. But nothing was changing.

“What is he doing?” Sam whispered.

“He’s a druid, right?” Petra asked.

“I assume so. I’ve never seen one like him. Only ever worked with the druids that keep the parks at the Throne. Did you not see any gods… up there?”

“There are no druid gods, Sam. Only Talnorel, and her avatar is always channeled to the mortal plane.”

“Excuse me, guys?” the man said over his shoulder. “Just give us one moment of silence. Your curiosity is kind of clouding things up.”

Sam and Petra looked at each other again, and went silent while they watched literally nothing happen between the man and the wolf.

After an awkward moment, the wolf snarled ferociously and went to lunge at the man, who simply waved his hand. Vines dropped from the trees above and snagged the wolf by her back legs and yanked her into the sky. She yelped and barked while dangling over the ground. With a deep breath, the man turned back to Petra and Sam.

“Sorry about that. She had very little to offer other than that I am still very much in danger.”

“Uh,” Sam said, still taken aback by the turn the event had taken. “No problem. I am Samson Bleedingheart. And this is-”

“Petra Ymirstottir,” the man interjected. “I know. I am Wesley Maplegrove, the son of Talnorel’s Mortal Chief, and I need your help.”