The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

[Nimue]

They set off. Their shadows cut through the long, golden light of the sunset, and the shape of the wagon and the beginnings of their fire disappeared behind a copse. Einan and Addison kept a quick pace through the grass and heather--Farrun thought ruefully that they could both outpace him easily, bogged down by weight and chainmail as he was, were they not running at a hunter's cautious lope, trying not to startle anything. Nevertheless, a pheasant fluttered up in their wake, providing Ari with a moment of evident enjoyment. Then he settled back down to the hunt.

Farrun kept his arcane senses open to the stir of magic from either of his companions. The link between Addison and Ari created by the shared purpose was already nigh-imperceptible to him. Druid magic was much subtler than the battle-sorcery he was accustomed to sensing. But he sharpened his senses, nevertheless. Understanding the breadth of the others' magical powers could be essential to keeping everyone safe in the wilds.

Aside from that purpose, on this hunt he was little more than another bowman. The field was theirs. And for the first time in days, he felt true relaxation creeping over him. The chirping quiet of the moorlands as dusk approached sank into his bones. He breathed in the cool, wet air and felt the weight of his greatsword on his shoulders. This grey-green world, open to the deepening sky, was familiar to him. If it was not home, it was far closer to it than the streets of the Hintercrown.

They crested a ridge, and slowed. In the long, gentle slope of the dell below, a pair of juvenile bucks grazed by a thin, two-threaded creek. They weren't large animals, but they might make for a more tender meal than an old wood stag. Farrun fingered an arrow in his quiver, but kept quiet and looked towards the others, waiting to see what they thought.

--

The thunk of Bendalitz's ax echoed through the stand of old, gnarled trees. The evening breeze had picked up, soughing through the dry branches, shivering what few leaves grew there. Strange, but the birdsong had faded away before the sun had set. It was dim and quiet now.

In the shadow of a huge and twisted hickory, among the knotted roots, a black shape stirred. Eyes blinked, red and baleful as glowing embers.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

It was good to be on a hunt again. The fresh forest air, the sounds of the creatures, and the beauty of the two young bucks. Addison could only imagine the tenderness of the meat.

She put up a hand, hoping the men would take it as a sign not to shoot. Farrun wanted hunting magic, and the sight of the bucks planted an idea in Addison's head. She gave the bucks her idea.

To your herd.

Addison's thought was of a typical herd of deer. The image was vague enough, for a detailed mental image of an eight-pointer, a doe, fawns… that may be taken to be the wrong herd. She gave the bucks shapes of deer in the fog, and each had an image of his brother beside him as they walk toward the shadowy figures.

She reached for her arrow and silently brought it into position. Her intent was to kill an eight-pointer, but she'd settle for a young buck if they boys refused to move to their herd—which was a possibility if the bucks were lost or if their herd had fallen to the wolves.

Ciardha, may our arrows be true when it's time to shoot. And now that I know me magic, with me arrow I'll send a thought to me target to ensure he dies peacefully and painfully.

 

[Gryphos]

As he hacked away at a fallen branch, Bendalitz's mind walked familiar paths. The plight of the peasant class, the implications of naturalistic morality, the Gods themselves. And then dragons ... oh, dragons.

He chopped the branch in half and turned his eyes back to the camp, only somewhat visible now. In doing so, he wrenched his thoughts to his companions. Did they consider the right of the peasants? Well, almost all of them were peasants – at least, none of them were of noble birth. But Bendalitz found that nobility was more a state of mind and a philosophy. And that's a lot more difficult to read.

A twig snapped. Bendalitz snapped his head back around and saw nothing. There was a tree not far off, a hideous and tangled hickory. It looked dead, but who cared about a damned tree compared to a snapping twig? Or a breath.

"Person or beast?" said Bendalitz to the darkness.

For a split moment, he could have sworn he saw something red flicker. Then suddenly a piercing scream-like sound tortured his ears. So harsh and sudden it made him drop his axe and clasp his palms to his ears. But only for a moment, then it stopped. Now the red flicker was gone, and Bendalitz could have sworn it was a bit mistier than it was.

He stooped down to grab his axe, that sound still ringing in his ears. "By the Gods... Person or beast?"

Another sound, but not a high-pitched scream this time, but a low rumble. Obscured partially by the dark and the mist, a great silhouette loomed over the trees, stepping closer, until Bendalitz had to crane his neck to look at what might have been its head, its horned head.

Queen's Dagger, I have meant to speak with you in private. The giant looming thing spoke directly to Bendalitz's mind, in Thoros' voice.

Bendalitz sighed and rested on his axe. "Was it you who made that screeching noise?"

No. Ominous magics dwell in the moor. I cannot tell you what made the sound, but in my presence you are safe.

"Good to know," said Bendalitz. "Now, what was it you wished to speak to me about?"

We dragons have senses for things your kind does not. We can read hearts and judge souls.

"And you've what, judged mine?"

Yes. Thoros lowered his head out of the mist, until his great head was level with Bendalitz's body. I am sorry to tell you, but you would not be worthy for a dragon.

Bendalitz's grip clenched tight on the butt of the axe, but he made no change to his expression. "Why not?" he asked simply.

A dragon will only bond with someone good of heart, with compassionate soul. But you, Queen's Dagger, you are cruel, and volatile, and ... dangerously ambitious.

Bendalitz nodded, a sour expression on his face. "Damn you, beast."

You would kill Farrun if he stood in your way.

"Depends how planted his feet were. I would never want to kill Farrun, or any of them."

Thoros growled a growl that Bendalitz felt in his chest. His jaws opened ajar, showing his savage teeth.

Die.

Bendalitz wasted no time dropping the axe and fleeing into the mist. He heard the dragon's jaws snap behind him, and the thud of its feet, and while he sprinted through the trees Bendalitz cursed that vile creature.

 

[DMThaane]

Loke slowly fed sticks into the fire, chewing on a piece of salted beef to try and distract his wandering thoughts. Something about the nature of the moor, it set him on edge, turning his mind to darker thoughts. Thoughts of loss, of friends he'd seen cut down. Thoughts of a time they'd marched straight into a sorcerer's trap. That day had been dear in its cost, their survival only purchased with the blood of many friends.

So many decisions he had made at so high a cost. Was that why he was now so content to follow, after what seemed a lifetime of leading? Was that why he had refused Aster when the Wolf Queen's order reached them and she'd suggested fleeing east to fight on? Or was there another reason, darker, more private.

He glanced up and saw a face looming from behind a tor. A face he recognised.

He leapt to his feet, freeing his axe from the thongs on his shield, but the face seemed to vanish as quickly as it had appeared. There was nothing. Nothing but the worm coiled around his gut and a looming sense of dread. It was only then he noticed the heavy mist that had descended. Mists were not uncommon, especially given the land, but this one hung in the air like a heavy curtain, almost suffocating in its nature.

'Is that him?'

He spun around, looking for the source of the voice, looking for… for a creature that should be dead.

His horse whinnied but he ignored him, focused only on the voice, on the words.

The glint of golden eyes, a blur of movement.

He had just enough presence of mind to shout at Troia to remain in camp before he sprinted after it, leaping over some brambles only to find that his quarry had disappeared into the mists.

A crack of a branch. He sprinted towards it, moving further and further from the camp.

'Is that him? The human?'

The voice seemed to come from everywhere. Words plucked from his deepest past, from a time that should be dead. They were supposed to be dead!

'My, he is young, isn't he.'

"Where are you?" he shouted, slamming the side of his axe blade against the boss of his shield. The mists seemed to part slightly and he saw a flash of red eyes before it closed back in around him.

'I'll let you watch.'

"Don't just watch, come and face me! I killed you once already and I'll gladly return you to your grave."

He saw a flash of movement, the sheen of silver hair, and once more leapt to the chase, charging deeper into the moor.

 

[Tom]

Troia froze as Loke shouted, telling her to stay where she was. A rush of fear shot through her veins, sending her heart racing. What was it? What was out there?

As he charged off, his shouts drifted after him, and Troia listened in confusion. What was he talking about? What could he be talking to?

She stood shakily, reaching down to rest her hand on Ari's back for fortitude. With a jolt she realized that he wasn't there. He'd gone out with the hunting party. She bit her lip--without him she felt so alone. So vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, she drew her short sword. She still wasn't adept with it, but at least she could use it. It offered some protection from whatever dangers lurked out there on the moor, in the gathering dusk.

"Troia!" a familiar voice called.

"Da?" A shiver ran through her as she craned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of her father through the mist. Funny, there hadn't been any just a few minutes ago. It was thickening quickly, swirling around her arms and legs like the hands of spirits.

There he was--his stocky frame and bright clothes. His warm brown skin and long, curly black hair, pulled into a horsetail much like Farrun's. It was him.

"Da!" She dropped the sword and sprinted toward him, tossing Loke's command out of her mind. They met, and he pulled her into a rough hug. She pressed her face into his shoulder, and breathed in the scent of fresh-tilled earth and doggish musk that clung to his tunic. The smell of home. She wasn't sure how he could be real, but he was. His arms were strong and warm around her, and her heart leaped with happiness.

Finally, she pulled back, and stared up at him. "Da, why are you here?"

The crows' feet around his hazel eyes deepened. "We were journeying to the Hintercrown to sell some of last year's pups--Luka's, remember? The white female and the dun male with yellow eyes?"

"Usha and Kiri," she answered, nodding. "What happened? Did you get lost?"

He shook his head. "No. We were ambushed by bandits."

"Where's--where's mum?" She sucked in a shaky breath, her heartbeat surging. "They didn't--she's not---"

"No, not dead," her father said, gripping her shoulders. "But badly wounded. Thank the gods I found you, Troia! You can help me tend to her. Come with me!"

With that, he turned and ran back the way he had come--out onto the foggy moor. Troia hesitated, casting one last glance back at the camp. Loke had told her to stay. But her mum--injured! She could die if Troia didn't help.

So she followed her father.

 

[Ireth]

The others' voices rang in Rikhard's ears as he climbed up out of the finished trench. He gripped the shovel by the haft, holding it before him like a short, broad-headed spear. What was going on? Silhouettes darted past him, footsteps pounding on the earth, heading out of the camp.

And one set came toward him, heavy, slow and deliberate. A hulking shadow loomed in the darkness, two blue eyes leering at him in the midst of it. A voice from Rikhard's worst memories and nightmares grated at his ears.

"Thought you could run, didn't you, rabbit? You're still mine, you know. Every part of you is mine."

Rikhard's hands shook on the shovel's haft. "You don't own me. You won't take me back." But his voice faltered even as it left him. He stepped back toward the trees between him and the camp, and something grabbed him by the arm -- the arm that bore the tally of his years under the Captain's lash. He twisted away, whirling to look, and fell sprawling across the trench -- he was too tall to fall in widthwise. The Captain stood above him, hands outstretched like claws.

Rikhard lashed out with the shovel, but it slipped from his too-loose grip and landed yards away. He scrambled back like a crab, trying to find his feet on solid ground.

The Captain crossed the trench in one great stride, still leering. "We have a lot of catching up to do, rabbit. Making up for lost time..."

Rikhard found his feet and bolted, fleeing pell-mell over the moor. "I won't go back! You can't take me back!"

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

The deer did not move. Addison considered their reason for not as she took aim, but to her surprise, a black and white image obscured her view…

The bucks' memories?

The Huntress saw a doe standing before her fawn in vain. Black figures quickly converged and brought her down. Then one of the figures—a wolf—pounced on the fawn. The smaller buck fled and the vision followed it. I'm seeing the memories o' me target. The point of view swiveled back to glance at a wounded eight-pointer. Then all the Huntress saw were grey leaves whipping toward her.

She released her arrow, instantly killing the buck. She gave the smaller buck a vision of Ciardha's paradise, where he would be united with his family in a place where no predators would trouble his kind. Addison wasn't sure where the souls of beasts went, but it would be a peaceful thought for the young buck to dwell on until Einan's arrow could—

"End him quick."

 

[Tom]

Einan pulled the bowstring back to the corner of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his aim. Then with a slow breath out, he let the arrow fly.

The arrow found its mark, and the deer staggered, then bounded off. Einan lowered the bow and sighed, already thinking with dismay of the time it would take to follow the blood trail. Hopefully the deer wouldn't make it far.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison focused on the deer. I can end your pain. The deer received her message, but the promise of peace terrified him. He ran.

She decided not to follow, and suggested the men do the same.

"The wolves'll finish him," she said to Einan. Turning to Farrun, she added, "I seen 'em with me own eyes! I saw what me kill'd seen. His memories are shades o' grey, and I saw his family being torn at by the wolves. As much as I'd like to put the smaller one out of his misery, I think we best settle take our one kill and get to camp." She had a thought of leaving her kill and heading back immediately, but a pack of wolves wasn't about to scare Addison Lane, wyvern-slayer, away from her kill. "We'll eat well tonight."

Addison's link with the runaway was not broken. She saw another vision—blackness with jaws leaping straight at her—then her link was broken by a snap.

She readied her arrow, turning sharply. Nothing.

"The buck is dead."

 

[Tom]

Einan closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the sudden drop in his stomach, and the cold fingers that ran up and down his spine. Wolves. He could almost hear their snarls, and feel their teeth tear into his skin. Old memories fluttered at the edges of his mind, seeming only half-real.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison's eyes were wide open. She heard a rustle. Surely it was the sound of a wolf, but what she saw confirmed her suspicion: what killed the deer were no ordinary wolves.

The armored Yvhalyn emerging from the path was proof that the shadowy wolves were under the control of druids.

She shuddered at the thought of killing a man—an elf—a person.​

She hesitated, but then heard the rustle of one of his wolves. She fired her arrow, and a whimper confirmed a hit. She wasted no time nocking a second arrow, which she immediately aimed and fired at the Yvhalyn's head—and Addison could've sworn she hit him, yet the man dashed behind the nearest tree. He was fast—already five yards closer to Addy by the time she readied her third arrow, sword in hand. I won't let me allies die o' hesitation! Her arrow penetrated the elf's gut, and he crumpled to the ground.

 

[Tom]

A dark shadow emerged from the trees ahead, its head held low, fangs bared in a snarl. Einan nocked another arrow, drew, and sighted. The arrow, once loosed, would find the wolf's heart.

But he couldn't shoot.

His muscles froze in fear, and he stood there, shaking. The heavy draw weight of the bow pulled at his shoulders. It grew harder to hold it at full draw every second. The wolf was drawing nearer, and he could see by the tensing in its shoulders that it was readying to pounce. Yet he couldn't shoot. The foggy shades of his earliest memories held him captive, and all he could see were his true parents' bloodstains, piercingly red against the white of new-fallen snow. He could feel the wolves' teeth tearing gashes across his chest.

Get a grip. He forced himself to breath, willing his wildly beating heart to calm. This is now. Not then. Shoot it.

And he loosed the arrow.

It flew true, and buried itself in the wolf's shaggy chest, nearly up to the fletching. With a howl of anguish, the beast fell to the ground, thrashing out its life. Relief rushed through Einan's bloodstream as he lowered the bow and nocked a new arrow. He'd done it. He'd done it!

But there was no time to contemplate his victory over his childhood fears.

More wolves were coming.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison wanted to warn the others of the druidry and how many wolves she saw in her vision—which may not be all of them!—but she appreciated Einan's silence. She needed her ears desperately. The pack was spreading, surrounding. Me shockers'll come in handy when they close in. She would prevent or delay that as long as there were arrows in her quiver.

A wolf made the fatal mistake of brushing his tail against a bush. Addison's aim was off, but her arrow skewered the beast's hindquarters. He would whimper and crawl and bleed for the remaining minutes of his life.

An elf somehow managed to get close—he was pouncing at Addison with a knife in each hand. "Die," he growled. Addison sidestepped the elf, drawing her carving knife as the elf landed on all fours snarling. The Huntress plunged her blade into the man's back. She put all her weight into her attack. To her surprise, blood sprayed from the tear through his wolfskin cloak.

She let her bloody knife fall to her feet, wasting no time to nock another arrow. At this point, she didn't care if the arrow was meant for man or beast. Killing elves who mean to kill me ain't so hard. She decided her fear of killing Yvhalyn was over. Unless…

A dreadful thought in her mind instantly became a reality. Another elf emerged from the brush, but this one was not a grown man. She was pretty, sixteen if that, her silver blonde curls finer and tamer than Addison's frizzy knots. The kid's weapon of choice was a bow, but her heart wasn't into firing it at a person. Her eyes were welling with tears.

The Huntress listened. The wolves stopped advancing. It was safe to speak.

"Just drop the bow, li'l girl. Ain't no need to kill ye."

The elf girl's lips quivered. She stammered, "You killed my father and my brother, and you expect me to stand here and watch? You're a monster!"

Addison realized she was the first to draw blood. But he meant to kill me. Didn't he? "I expect ye to know you're beaten, kid. Look. I'm putting me arrow back in its quiver." She did so, then let her hand fall to her purse. Her fingers caressed a shocker.

The elf girl drew back her bow string.

Addison's trap rolled as the elf's arrow took flight.

There was a spectacular display of lighting darting through the elf girl. Startled birds fluttered from surrounding treetops. A dry bush burst into flames. There were buzzes, cracks, flashes, and among the chaos, the young elf girl just stood and stared blankly. Fire and lightning did nothing to her.

Likewise, Addison was unharmed by the girl's arrow, despite its being lodged in the Huntress' left shoulder. At least it was harmless at first. But then several more arrows appeared—side by side, the first only inches from the last. A foamy liquid oozed from the arrowheads. The feather ends bent back, then tugged wildly in several directions.

Addison cried out in pain as the pointy sticks tore muscle from bone.

 

[DMThaane]

'Is that him? The human? My, he is young isn't he. It's okay, you can come out.'

Loke tried to follow the voices, the movement, but it seemed to be all around him. Golden eyes and silver hair looming out from the mist only to vanish the moment he neared it.

'I'd heard about your… proclivities but this? Really, my dear, it disgraces all of us.'

What was it? It wasn't a lumbering corpse, of that Loke was sure. Was it a spirit seeking vengeance? If so, why wait so long to claim it?

'I suppose I shouldn't find it so surprising. A Yvalhyn of your rank choosing to live so far south. Truly the result of a degenerate mind.'

"Face me!" he roared. He could fight anything put in front of him but it had to be in front of him.

'Shh, it's okay, I won't hurt you.'

He kept turning, following the moving forms, desperate to track it, whatever it was. In the back of his mind he sensed that he was losing his balance but he didn't care. He had to find this thing. He had to kill it.

'You're safe now. We're here to free you; to kill this degenerate.'

Loke's foot caught on something but he hacked it away. He had to find the voice, he had to find the source of it.

'In fact,' the elf's lips twisted into a cruel smile. 'I'll let you watch.'

Something latched onto his leg, biting down onto his splinted bracers. He turned, smashing it with the side of his shield then hacking at with his axe. The beast whined and skidded back. He hurled himself at it, pinning it with his shield and bringing the axe down again and again until it finally caught in some bone.

He heard a scratching sound and turned, smashing the new attacker away with his shield, then drawing a throwing axe. The beast scampered off and he hurled the axe after it, hearing a yelp for his trouble.

He turned back to the dead creature at his feet and wrenched his axe from its side. It was just a wolf. No… not a wolf. Some mangy dog.

Realisation struck him with the force of a hammer. A black dog. He'd been chasing illusions. A hunting trick employed by the creatures, the black dogs that frequented moors and fens. Even the fog was receding, giving way to a natural mist. All of it a lie. Yet the knowledge did nothing to stop the pounding in his ears, the stone in his throat, or the worm coiled around his gut.

He slumped against a rock, his shield falling to his side. Desperately, he wrenched the glove off his left hand and pulled out the elven locket, gripping it as tight as he could.

It was all just an illusion.

 

[Tom]

Troia followed her da across the moor, tripping over rocks and clumps of heather in her haste to catch up with him.

"Slow down!" she shouted, as he faded into the mist ahead. Slacking off her speed, she scanned the empty space that surrounded her, narrowing her eyes to see through the heavy mist. White and thick it was, like a cloud fallen from the sky. She could see nothing, hear nothing.

"Da!" she screamed, feeling panic rising to choke her. Turning wildly, she searched the mist for his figure. "Where are you?"

A snarl emanated from the mist at her back. Whirling, she turned to see a huge dog, black as coal, slinking towards her. Its lips curled back over its teeth as it stared at her with eyes of fire. Shadows seemed to flit around it.

"Black dog," she breathed.

Her heart pounded a wild drum beat in her chest as she backed away. She reached for her sword, but remembered with a pang of fear that she had dropped it when she ran from the camp. All the defense she had was her belt knife. It was better than nothing, though, so she drew it and held it out before her. The short blade looked so puny when faced with the snarling, shadowy bulk of the black dog.

If only she could get back to camp! Rikhard was there. He had his spear; perhaps the two of them could hold the creature off, as well as its fellows. She was certain there were more--the legends she'd heard said that the gyrtrash never hunted alone. Einan! she thought suddenly. Oh gods, the hunting party! What if the black dogs are attacking them, too?

All this raced through her mind in a matter of seconds, as the black dog drew ever-nearer. The tensed muscles in Troia's legs quivered as she made her decision. Then she was sprinting, full-out, dodging past the monster. She felt its air as it whipped around, and heard the snap of its teeth as it failed to catch her heel as she ran.

Then she was dashing for the camp, across the moor, stumbling, praying she wouldn't fall.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard ran on, blinded by terror and the mist that wrapped around him like a blanket. The moor flew away beneath his feet. He'd always been fast, but never quite fast enough to truly escape from the Captain. Even now he could hear the pirate's breath, heavy with running, and with twisted thoughts Rikhard wished he couldn't guess. Every sinew seemed to scream at him as he forced himself onward, lungs burning, eyes streaming with tears.

He tripped and fell sprawling, a shadow leaping over him, right where his head had been. As Rikhard scrambled to find his feet, he looked into two eyes that burned like coals, in a four-legged shape made of shadows. Was that a wolf? It was worse than he'd imagined. He fumbled for the dagger at his hip, wishing he hadn't lost his shovel, or left his spear behind in the camp.

The camp... where was it? How far had he run? Could he make it back?

No time to run. No time to think. Even thoughts of the Captain fled his mind. The wolf-thing lunged, and Rikhard barely dodged in time, darting over the heather like a hare. The beast's teeth caught the leg of his trousers, and they tore away in its grip. It circled, snarling, and Rikhard jumped away again. He feinted and zigzagged, trying to confuse it, to let it lose him in the mist. Maybe then he could have a chance of surviving if he fled outright.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun listened to Addison, marking how much she’d understood of the deer’s thoughts. That link had been much brighter than her brief connection with Ari, and from much farther away. She was coming by leaps and bounds in the mere two days since she’d discovered her druidry. But then, she must have been honing it for a long time in the wild, without intent or a name to put to it…

Wolves, so close? Well, they would share their dinner with the beasts, for now. A downed deer would keep the pack occupied, but they had best retrieve Addison’s kill before the wolves caught wind of it. He was about to say as much when a strange, unpleasant feeling rolled over him. Like a dark cloud between him and the sun. Like a premonition.

Addison was turning towards him, her freckled face thoughtful and serious. As she squinted at the sun, an arrow whirred past his head and buried itself in Addison’s left eye.

Her throat worked, but no sound came out. In a reflexive spasm, her hand flew up and gripped the arrow shaft, then loosened. She dropped.

His magic, rising too late, felt the spark leave her. He was turning, slow as though mired, to see who had loosed that bolt. Einan stood there, horror-stricken. Three arrows pierced the young elf, then a fourth to the throat. He choked, his eyes rolling up towards the sky. Farrun could not move, not reach to heal him before his light, too, guttered out.

The earth had dropped away beneath his feet. Darkness roared through the sky, through his eyes. They were both dead, entrusted to him, and dead…

Farrun turned now, and saw them. Glittering in the last light of the sun, a Yvalhyn battalion marched towards him. Their armor was bright, cold, and jeweled--a score of adept sorcerers formed the front line. They were like a river pouring over the moor, swarming towards him. So far south. The border was breached. He was outnumbered, alone, and without Thoros.

His power rushed up through him, gathering into one shining ward after another. A shield against elf-bolts, too late--too late, damn you. His greatsword was suddenly in his hand, and the blade burned like a white-hot brand. Ice and fire coursed through him, despair and fury in waves. Thoros! he cried out, across the distance, not certain yet whether he wanted him to fight or to flee far from here. He knew what the Yvalhyn would do with him, that they would use him to get to Thoros…

I come.

NO!

The Yvalhyn captain rode forward on a black-furred alkvarra, glowing with sorcery. But he did not attack. Instead he spoke, in a cold, harsh voice.

“Surrender, dragonrider.” It was spoken like an insult. “The rest of the dragon-filth is dead.”

Farrun. Your mind is disturbed.

Somehow, in the midst of his roaring, deepening terror, part of his mind was distantly irritated at Thoros. How in hell could he be calm? They are here, Thoros, they have killed--!

I can hear the elf and the wildcat, a little. They are distressed, but alive.

Thoros’s words took a long time to reach him, to trickle through the icy numbness of his mind. He stared at the strange, cruel face of the Yvalhyn captain.

“We will chain you up, dragonrider, and we will skin you piece by piece until the dragon comes to you, and then we will take him…”

Break the illusion. The others are in danger. Thoros’s urgent voice cut through the fog at last. He lifted his left hand and pulled power into a rune of dispelling. Suddenly, his mind cleared. He could breathe. The battalion wavered--the world rippled and brightened as though the sun was spinning back in its course. Farrun grasped that glimpse of sanity and strengthened the spell, until the bleak vision faded and vanished, leaving the empty moor before him.

In that dizzy moment of overwhelming relief, black shapes lunged for him, eyes and maws glowing with red phosphorescence. Gytrashes--and he was a fool! His shields had faltered, but his magic was still raging in his veins, and he struck them with it like a powerful backhand.

The air around them exploded into a magnificent fireball. It roared like an furnace around him, but, in his grim iron control, did not touch him. As the light billowed away, three smoking shapes toppled to the scorched ground.

His mind was blessedly clear, and full of rising anger. He whirled around, magic sparking and sizzling from him, and saw Einan standing, Addison--a snarling gytrash had sunk its teeth in her shoulder. I won’t see it come to pass. With a shout, he slammed his burning sword into the beast’s side, ripping it bodily from its grip on Addison and cleaving it through, fur, muscle, and bone.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison saw the head and what pieces of its body were still attached. It ain't a wolf. In the buck's vision, the creatures were interpreted as black wolves, but Addison knew a monster from an ordinary beast. "Gytrash," she said.

She glared at the elf girl as she straightened herself, ignoring the throbbing pain in her torn up shoulder. Her left hand had the strength enough to carry her bow, but her arm wouldn't be able to aim it. Her right hand fished for her second shocker as she spoke to the illusion.

"I like your hair..."

Do not speak to me of hair, elf killer.

Addison followed the thought. The gytrash didn't think the elf girl's words, but he projected hate and fear. The Huntress understood that. She also understood that the beast would not know her words, but she spoke them anyway.

"...it will make a fine pelt."

Addison then saw herself through the gytrash's eyes, with Farrun and Einan at her back. Farrun was aware of the gytrash flanking him. Was Einan aware of the ones attacking him? How many were there? Addison chanced she was linked to the alpha. She gave him a mental image to fear.

She was seeing through her own eyes now. The alpha stood before her with three gytrashes at his sides and rear. She imagined an army of Loke's charging from the trees, their mighty axes halving gytrashes and even the trees themselves. She wasn't sure how long her illusion would fool such creatures, but she only needed a couple of seconds--the time it took for her shocker to roll underneath the alpha.

A web of lightning lit the ground beneath the gytrashes. All four were stunned from the initial shock, but it was the alpha Addison wanted. She fixed her gaze on the starmetal ball and focused the dancing jagged light in one direction--straight up through the alpha. There was a sky-splitting flash, a crash of thunder, and a pained howl cut short.

Addison dropped to one knee, as if hit by a thunderbolt herself. Her vision doubled momentarily, but as the blurred images came together, she saw before her three stunned gytrashes, and one dead with a smoldering fist-sized hole through his back.

The Huntress' carving knife was on the ground. She grasped its hilt.

 

[Gryphos]

Bendalitz kept running from Thoros, cursing aloud with seemingly every stride. But while he ran and cursed his mind worked desperate to find something for him to do. He couldn't outrun the dragon for long, and the moment he reached open ground the beast would set to wing and swoop down like a bird of prey.

Sadly, open ground reached him all too soon, obscured by the mist until it was too late. Bendalitz couldn't stop himself, and his boots sunk into something sludgy and thick.

"Shit," he said, trying to turn around, but his feet were already too deep, and any move he made was like walking through a lake of butter.

He twisted his body and neck around to see the bronze beast looming over him again, having stopped at the border of the bog.

Oh dear.

Bendalitz drew his dagger. "Why do you want me dead?"

The dragon cocked its head to the side. No idea.

"What?"

I've no idea why the dragon would want you dead.

Bendalitz's face became a portrait of puzzlement, even more so when the dragon dissolved into thin air along with most of the mist, to be replaced with a snarling, red-eyed black hound.

"Bugger," said Bendalitz, trying again to move his feet. All he succeeded in doing was pivoting his body slightly more towards the shore. "I'm a gods-damned idiot. Gytrashes, of course."

The dog almost seemed to smirk, and sat its hind down, waiting.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun felt the tick of Addison's shocker just before it went off, and threw up a loose three-way shield around himself, Einan, and Addison. He shouldn't have bothered with the last, it turned out, because she channeled the lightning easily away from herself and up in a sizzling bolt through the biggest gytrash. The others were stunned, unable to cast their psychic poison.

He wasted no time, and lashed out with a thundering burst of golden flame that seized the beasts and charred them through in a moment. But the third dog, farthest from him and from the shocker, evaded the bolt with unnatural speed and leaped for Einan instead, fangs bared.

He couldn't blast it, at this distance and with his focus so rattled, and be certain he wouldn't hit Einan. He shouted and ran towards them instead--if it went for the throat, he'd have to strike.