The Order of Events: The Red Wolf (17 page)

The time had come to take camp. Samana had made a good day’s progress, and decided it would be wise to take a rest.
              Having built a good, calm fire out of tree limbs that she had cut down, Samana sat taking an apple from her food sack, then setting the sack in a pile next to her, along with her other sack, and canteens of water.
              Chewing the fruit softly, the taste was sweet and refreshing, but Samana paid little attention as the wild sounds of beasts were heard in the forestation about her. She did not feel completely safe, and was to be wary of her surroundings.
              Thinking that the fire would do a good cause, burning brightly, to keep any tempted beasts away, Samana decided it would be good to get a little rest. For extra assurance of safety, she slept with her short blade in grasp, while her long blade lay next to her, as she tried for sleep next to the fire, ready if anything was to come during the night and attack her, or so she thought.
              A branch broke loudly, and Samana arose wielding her short blade, looking about for danger, but nothing was to be seen.
              Lowering her weapon to her side, Samana yawned and looked up into the tree canopy. There was a hill peaking high above the tree tops, not far from her.
              The moon was casting reflection down through the trees, beams of graceful moonlight mingling with the swaying tree limbs, as a breeze began to pick up.
              The peak of the hill seemed to glow eerily in the moonlight. There was some sort of structure built atop it.
              Curious of the glowing sight, Samana got up from her place at the fire, and taking her weapons with her, made progress to the hill amongst the trees.

Having reached the hill top, having pushed through many trees, Samana came to an opening and was upon the hill’s tip.
              Upon it was built a righteous sight. Encircling pillars were built on a silver platter of flooring, wide and shining bright in the moonlight.
              Samana walked to it, and put her hand to a pillar. It was rough and aged from many years, not soft and smooth like the stone of the Order.
              Pressing on to the center of the encirclement, Samana stood and spun around, investigating the structure, as the ground beneath her glowed royally.
              Samana stepped back in amazement. It was a glorious sight, and then something hard hit her from behind.
              Samana turned wildly and was faced by an armored being. Freeing her long blade from her sheath, Samana took a fighting stance against the tall one, and stood ready to take it on, but then noticed something about  the figure, it did not move.
 

              Sheathing her blade, Samana found that the figure in armor was still and was as a statue, but not of stone, but that of a real living being at one point, long ago.
              The features of the horned, armor bearing figure, were skeletal and dead. The flesh had left it long ago, and it was now dry of any soul, with moss growing on it.
              Now calmed, Samana looked about, around her, and saw that there were actually six of these figures around the encirclement, and all were dressed in a similar fashion; armor that was stained with blood. All were stuck in statuesque form, all life gone from their dead forms.
              Having seen enough for the moment, Samana was tired, and decided to head back to her camp and rest.
 

Samana had reached her camp, after a much easier trudge down the hill than the one up, and went to the fireside to warm her cold body. The fire danced in the light breeze and then fell still. There was cracking in the trees behind Samana, but she was too late to react.
              She was jumped from behind by several small beasts, and was tangled in a net, as she slashed out at the small things, only catching two with a light nip of her blade tip, before dropping her weapon and becoming too entangled in the net to respond in the way she wanted too; with no words, but with her deadly blade.

Samana was beaten by the small beasts and was trying desperately to get a good look at them. They went through her sacks of food and medicine, spilling them, and chewing them with pointy, crooked, and messy teeth.
              The beasts stood upright, and were like men, but with shriveled, green skin, along with many bone, and wood piercings on their bodies, the only clothing amongst them being loin clothes, ragged and torn.
              The beasts made a mess of all of Samana’s travel supplies, and started sniffing her, gesturing to the fire, as their tall, curved ears stood high up above their numbers. Their eyes glowed like fireflies in the night, as they grumbled unspeakable words and impossible dialects, to which Samana held no understanding. It was all gibberish, amongst their numbers. Their manner of speech continued, while they were gesturing from her to the fire, tugging the rope net, and playing with her sword which she had dropped, licking the blade and cutting their tongues, leading to blood from the foolish and then maniacal laughter from those who did not receive the pain.
              Samana tried to shift in the net, and every time she did, was given a good blow to the head, adding bruises to her pale and beautiful face.
              The beasts seemed to have made a decision as to what they were to do to Samana and all surrounded her, licking their lips and teeth, brandishing sharp sticks, short blades, and growing ever closer to what was seemingly to be their next meal.
 

              There was a rustling from the bushes, and the gathered beasts all turned their heads in attention, as they were bowled over by one of their own, who had been flung from the foliage, and spread out in a heap.
              The beasts rose and rubbed their sore bodies, one pushing the thrown one from him, as they had landed on his spear and were slain.
              The beasts regained their stance on the solid ground, and stood with the fire at their back, as more rustling was heard from the bush, but this time it was wilder than before.
              Something rather sturdy and tall had broken the foliage, sending leaves drifting wildly, as it charged the small beasts. Scattering them like willing autumn leaves in a wild wind, the tall figure knocked the beasts two and fro, each landing either in bush, against a tree, or into the flaming pile of wood to roast their flesh and then soon to dismount, rolling on the ground in pain and suffering.
              The tall one was seen by Samana, and was an awesome sight. The fire light gleamed off the huge one, as they stood armored fully. Fighting the beasts madly, they continued kicking, punching, and tossing them about without effort.
              The tall one was growing tired of the small nuisances, as the beasts drew horns made of bone and called for reinforcements.
              The tall figure put their hands to their waist and drew two blades, from sheathes built into each armored hip.
              Slashing through and cutting down any beast in sight, the armored savior to Samana turned, dodged, and slayed those who stood in their way.
              Samana struggled against the net, trying to reach her sword, as it was in the hands of one of the dead beasts.
              The beasts had scattered and left the scene, another horn sounding out, one of retreat as the armored figure put their swords back into their proper places at their side.
              Samana was near reaching the sword through the net, but before she could, it left the ground in the grasp of another, as she was soon freed by the other. The armored one had cut the net, sharply with the young warrior’s sword, and upon her release, handed it to her.
              Samana watched the armored one, and stood up. Putting the blade back into place, while questioning the moving statue, for it was one of the statues she had seen at the hill top.               “What are you?”
              The armored warrior stood a foot above Samana’s height, and seemed to look at her, through a visor with many slits covering their face. To Samana’s surprise, they spoke with an echoing and calm voice. “I am Kurlank, a warrior of the once great kingdom of Krelesh.”
              Samana stepped back and was amazed at the warrior that stood before her. They had saved her from the beasts, and for that she was thankful. “Thank you, Kurlank. You saved my life.”
              The metal voice boomed out, as the armored one stood before the young warrior.               “Khaggeys are a dangerous breed. They have roamed this forest for many eras, and shall continue to do so for many more, Samana.”
              Samana was taken aback, speaking in wonder. “How did you know my name?”
              The metal warrior bowed before Samana, his armor shifting upon his body to creak, as he did so. “I know, for you are who I have come to serve.”

-Chapter 6-
Past

Back at the camp of the Ernai, the wind was howling madly. The day had come to an end and a bloodied figure staggered into camp, and then into the lead tent of Grede.
              Grede leapt from his throne and was upon Haten, who was covered with blood, bruises and cuts from his fight with Sofius. Grede shook Haten madly, his voice terrifying as he spoke questioningly. “What happened to you, Haten? Where’s Prend? Answer me!”
              Haten stood up from the ground and removed the grip of Grede from him, spitting blood as he tried to keep his eyes off of his leader. “Grede, Sofius followed us. He stopped us from attacking the new hunting grounds…and he killed Prend, and almost killed me, but…”
              Grede spoke before Haten could finish, and grabbed him by the neck tightly.
              “Tell me exactly what happened!”

Moira awoke from her sleep. The wind was blowing softly upon her tent, carrying with it voices, loud and demanding. She had fallen asleep hours ago, and was worried. Sofius was not yet back.
              Worried about her husband and curious of the rousing noise, Moira left her tent and wandered the camp. The noise seemed to be coming from the tent of Grede. Moving quietly, Moira got beside the tent and listened in on the conversation at hand.
              Grede was still holding Haten by the neck, roughly, and shook him, speaking in a maddened tone. “So, you have no food and nothing to show for your trouble, but one dead, and you near dead as well?!”
              Haten gripped Grede’s arm as he felt himself choking, and the leader let loose his grip and looked down upon the gagging Haten. “You’ve screwed things up pretty badly, Haten. But at least you did one thing right, you got Sofius out of the way, and he won’t be bothering us anymore!”
              Haten got up, and felt a feeling of fear instill him as he rubbed his sore neck. He had told his leader that Sofius was dead, but was he? What would happen if Sofius was alive and came back? He didn’t kill Haten, but Grede surely would, out of punishment for his failure. If he didn’t say Sofius was dead, he would surely have been killed upon his arrival back to camp.

Grede paced his tent madly before Haten, and began discussing the next step of his plan with him. “Now we start the next step of the plan. Tomorrow we’ll have a gathering of the clan. Everyone will listen and listen well, as I tell them the only way there will be a future for our clan!”
              Haten was rubbing his bruises with sharp claws, cutting them open as he listened and spoke. “You think they’ll listen, Grede? What happens if they’re like Sofius and don’t want to kill?”
              Grede sat in his aged, wooden chair, and gritted his teeth, and scratched his claws on the arms as he spoke. “They’ll kill, don’t be worried. Sofius was right. The taste of blood is making everyone wild and hungry for more. When we tell them that the food supply is gone and that the only remaining choice is to die out or kill, I have no doubt that they’ll choose the latter and charge into the frenzy. Once we have them where we want them, we then bring in my final part of the plan.”
              Grede got up from his seating, and lifted the mat from the floor of his tent, and revealed a large map that was hidden beneath it, stretched out and pinned down into the ground by stakes at each corner. Highly detailed and drawn, each location was marked with corresponding names.
              Haten looked upon the glorious map, and spoke questioningly. “What do you have in mind?”
              Grede was at Haten’s side, and cast his arm over the map, speaking his reasons.                       “I’m getting tired of living in this waste of land and pain. We’re going to move on and live somewhere better, somewhere with food, and plenty of it!”
              Haten searched the map curiously and spoke. “Where are you planning on going?”
              Grede kneeled before the massive map, well-detailed and marked, and ran his finger from the Sharp Sands to the Khergy Mountains. “There! That is where we are going, the Khergy Mountains!”
              Haten looked at the depiction of snow and mountainous region. “What’s there that you think is worth traveling through the cold and rough mountainside for? That’s a harsh climb, Grede. You think you’d be followed there?”
              Grede threw the mat back over the map, and took Haten outside, with his arm around his shoulder and pointed into the far distance. Although not visible, for the wind and sand made it hard to see any great distance, Grede pointed outwards, north to the mountains and spoke.
              “I know they will. Out there, beyond the sand and heat, is a great fortress we can make our own, with pools of fish flowing within. We’ll have the protection of the fortress, and the food of the waters. I assure you, they will follow, as my face will bear no more scars of this cursed land!”
              Haten nodded agreeably and spoke. “Sounds like a good plan to me. I can hear the blood trickling, now!”
              Grede turned to his follower and spoke with a tone, cold and scathing. “If this goes as planned, you can be my right hand, but heed my words. If you fail me, I’ll do to you what I did to Sahfs, understand?”
              Haten bowed to his leader, and backed away, speaking in an uneasy tone. “Anything you say, I won’t fail you, Grede!”
              The leader patted his follower on the back as they reentered the tent, Haten asking his leader in a curious voice once more. “You seemed to have everything planned out, just right, Grede. Tell me, what do we do with Moira?”
              Grede turned to his follower and poked a sharp claw on the figure of question’s chest, answering with a plotting tone. “Tomorrow we’ll tell her that Sofius died out on the hunt. He asked if he could help one more time and you let him…Prend died with him, too. We’ll string Moira along until her child is born and then kill her!”
              Haten was not against killing for he found it rather enjoyable, but he found question in Grede’s word, but not a question of opposition. “Her child, what could you possibly need it for?”
              Grede grinned sharply and went to seat himself at his wooden throne, speaking to his curiously structured follower. “You remember the prophecy, do you not?” Haten nodded and gestured for his leader to continue. “Then heed my words, that child will be of use!”
              As the two spoke of their plans of murder and conspiracy, Moira was outside the tent in darkness…hidden, and had heard every word spoken from the two.