I took off my cloak with one swift turn. It revealed the standard black livery the Order provides. This one is a new, the latest design from a wardrobe that I had picked. It was lighter than most but durable and workable with the linen fabrics weaved by the fine hands of Kivans - The royal seamstress of Ailech Kingdom, renowned for their adept skills in their crafts, especially of combat garbs. My chest is covered with a silver-plated corset that is used for protection. I had one too, a heavy iron-plated shoulder on the left of my shoulder where the largest wound still inflict its pain. I must have it protected as I can no longer afford it to be hindering me further. My leather belts wrap tightly on both of my legs where most of my throwing daggers await their use. On my waist, a leather pouch on both sides was strapped. One filled with ruchin powder. I had to remind myself not to use too much, otherwise, it could also affect me despite the cloths covering my nose and mouth.
Normally, I would use poleyn for my knees, but it would weigh me down more since stealth and speed are needed more than a defense. This is a raid, and equipments for combats will have no use. So, I left my bottoms with leather fitted pants suitable for quick and hefty movements. I wore boots that I had purchased long from Air, weary but still sturdy.
I hear their raucous shouts as I lunge for them. I grabbed a throwing knife from the straps and with such preciseness, I hit their critical parts. Two of the guards fell with a thud with their blood spilled on the ground.
"Piece of shit!" The trader I hold on choked managed to utter the words. He had tried to grab his khopesh, a sickle-shaped sword, but before he could make use of it, I cut his throat with my blade with a quick flick. Blood splurted out, coaxing my face wet and red. I let the body fall and moved on to the other trader not minding the filth and the stench of blood. The trader's black tunic with embroidery of Magh'ul was ragged, his woven-wool belt hung loosely on his torso to support his plump belly. I grabbed the extended part of the belt and yank him down with so much force I knew a bone cracked when he hit the ground.
He fell, but before I could snap his head, another guard spring on me. I quickly kicked the trader in the head to suppress him from standing and faced the guard, his tower-forged sword directed at me. It almost scraped me, or maybe he did as I felt a trickle of warm liquid running down the side of my torso, had I not redirected his arms he would likely kill me. The sword was thrown into the air when I twisted his limb. He gave such a whim at that.
The sword, heavy and tower-forged, fell onto my hands. I used that to stab the approaching trader from my back without taking a step. As though I felt the warm flesh rip through my hands, I pull it back. The trader, clothes similar to any other, drop to the ground. Not wasting a damn beat, I kicked the guard on my front with my unnatural strength. He flung a few meters, and with his own sword, I ended his life.
Had the man not grunted from under my boots, I would not know he was still breathing. I kicked him again, this time with much the same force, and I hear his neck crack.
That's five of them. Four more are still standing on their feet, guarding the damn crate, holding their weapons but the smell of their fear filled the air. The ruchin had made them dazed and slow, but few of Argilao's guards could resist it. Ruchin powder was a common trick to gain an advantage on a battlefield. It is likely they are trained to resist the effect similar to ours.
"Hand me the crates, and I shall grant you mercy," I declared, like a god.
The guards snickered. One of them spat, "Mercy my arse. I'll kill you with my bare hands, you wench!"
I draw a breath. I can't remember when a man yields to my condition, especially those who were trained to handle a sword. Sometimes spewing a promise like that only puts them at the sharp edge of my blade had I been too tempted. I took out a throwing dagger from my strapped scabbard, it's weight danced on my hand like a needle. "This needs not to go down that way," I uttered.
The man bellowed as he rush towards me, a common trait of the trained militants that will make the sister faint with laughter. I met him, a sword with my blade. I move very precisely, each stride was the cause of another's fall. They managed to land me a punch, or a scrap in my arms, or a kick to my sides, and that was all that. I was gasping for air when I was finished. The familiar churn of my stomach arises as I take my moment to observe the mess I've made.
By blade, all will end. My life, all will suffer. It whispers to me, like a chant.
I heard a stomp of feet from behind. I knew who it was, so I did not bother to glance and spoke, "Did Sudan say three crates?" I asked the lads, staring at the wooden cart. The horses had run off earlier when I tear the lead.
"That is what I remember, yes," he uttered.
I reached for the rear. There are four chests, wooden trunks with iron, and brass-plated sheets for support. It was sealed with a drop fork lock. "Search the men for the keys," I ordered. They obliged and began rummaging through the dead bodies.
I crouched to observe the lid closely. The smell of essence is very evident. Even humans could smell the foul and stingy scent if they are trained. I am certain their essence is from a corrupted source, the reason why it emits a horrible smell. I touched the surface of the wood. The cold air fluttered under my fingers. It should not be this cold, less it was conjured with tainted power.
With a force, I knocked on one of the locks. The sound broke the silence of the forest. The lads glanced at me for a moment, shocked and ready to run. The metal crushed easily. The shattered pieces fell onto my feet. I knew I could not, but I attempted to open it with brute force. I tried once more, this time it moved a bit inciting my enthusiasm, but like rubber, it snapped back to a close.
"They sealed the chests with corrupted essence. If you made it to Sudan, tell him to fetch for a local warlock." I ordered again.
They nodded silently and continued searching for the keys among the corpses. I settled for a giant boulder and rested for a bit. The wind blew calmly, soothingly, as though it caressed me. I had always been particular in listening to its whispers. Something in the air foresees and brings me a sense of knowing.
My body ached as I embrace the feeling of ease. It didn't bother me earlier as my adrenaline surged. My wound stung but it was manageable, though I feel like it would wane me down if I keep it working this long.
I reached for the leather pouch and took out a kerchief as I observe the boys continue their rummaging through the pockets. I always had it with me when I was on the field. A mess like this takes place often, and I unknowingly pack my belongings with a peace of cotton weaved kerchief. It saves me a great deal. The smell of blood is intoxicating and though a part of me revels in it, the act was such a distaste. The merit of the deed was pride, though, but I could never find to rejoice in it. I do not feel pity, at least for those who deserve to taste the end of my blade, but when innocent lives were put under the weight of my duty, it was always a blink of an eye.
It blew again, and when I had expected it to be more relieving as I wipe the blood off my face, it was different. A lot different. It carries a scent. The familiar stench, yet distinct, musky, and the smell of damp dirt of deep forest. My blood stirred, and an overwhelming drive made me awake and alerted on my feet. Suddenly, my senses were heightened as I felt my beast take control. The once-dark forest shadowed by the trees is clear and vivid, as though I was seeing through a magnified lens. I tried to resist, but I could not. She is unwavering. Lethal, even. She felt a direct threat to her life.
Shifters. Not wolves. I knew their distinct smell among others. Unlike my first encounter, a group of sickly beasts, these are entirely different. They smell intact, healthy, and feral.
I feel like I could almost spit out my throbbing heart. I took control, a failed attempt to escape and not be distracted from my mission, but to no avail. She surge forward, and already my fingernails elongated into sharp claws. Fur started to grow on my nape. Bones breaking, I grunted loudly, causing one of the lads to glance at me. I turn away quickly and hide behind the tree line where they could not take a peek.
The wind blew, and for once I wished it did not. The smell was stronger, almost twenty feet from us. The constant battle for dominance was exhausting me to the limits, and it continued until I heard a howl. It was long, almost mournful.
"Quick! Wolves. Get the crates out of here," I told the lads. They must've concluded it when they heard the howl. They scurried toward the crates and pulled them, but because it was too heavy for their small body, they did not move an inch. Even the big Akar could not move it. They look at me as they trembled in fear. Rightly so. You're as good as dead if you become a prey to pack of wolves.
I went for the back and unloaded one crate, quite a heavy one. Surely, Sudan does not need all of it. Three of these would be sufficient for his venture, added one would be excessive. "Hurry now!" and so they did, all five of them on one wagon. They will journey to the wet market, where Sudan awaits his feat.
I looked at the crate. This must be buried or hidden somewhere a farmer would not suspect to dig. I schlep the crate towards the big trunk of a tree, but I was stopped in my tracks as I heard a growl. Oh, fuck me. I hissed and put down the crate. I tried to maintain my calmness, but a yank from my inside shook the herd-earned patience. She is very persistent more than ever but I needed to maintain my composure. Wolves are naturally wild, but mine was a mad bitch when provoked. She would wreak havoc, especially now that her bloodthirst was rigid from her last battle. She has yet to satisfy her thirst. A big mess like that is hard to clean.
A wolf appeared. His brown coat and size resemble a bear. Each stride of his feet was careful and calculating. This is the one who smelled musky from a distance. Another appeared from the line of trees and I noticed how enormous they were. Years of avoiding them only put me in a span of days to die at their mercy. I cursed the gods.
Eventually, the vicinity was filled with a similar smell. Like the night sky adorned with glittering stars, I stood to bear witness to the dark woodland bedeck with piercing golden slits. All male, heart throbbing with a desire to taste their prey. They lingered and stalked me from the front, on the back, and on each of my sides, baring their sharp teeth. I can't seem to take my mind off their pungent smell. Something about it is making my skin itch.
I remained in my position, not making erratic movements despite the inner turmoil. Wildings were truly a pain in the ass, but healthy and dominant male wolves are a force to reckon with. They were capable of reading my movements, and though animalistic instinct drives them to fight, they can predict their enemy like any other master swordsman.
The five city gates were a hundred feet tall, I lost count of the exact numbers, but surely they can't climb past that height. The only entrance they could penetrate was the dock. Using ships to sail was too noticeable so I assume they used a skiff to cross the Isles.
The wolves were very particular about who journeyed their sacred lands. Any unsought visits could be your last. Black traders, for instance, like to tempt that fire. Some renowned clans are farming the monkshood on the slopes of Anquoiar unsanctioned. These are used for medicinal purposes vastly, but a few small covens of witches are currently testing wolfsbane as a possible effective weapon against shifters. Earning a dime with these herbs was the easiest way to riches, but to weaponize it is beyond the talks of riches. Werewolves hardly walk outside their lands to hunt the invaders even with the rumor circulating the Continent. I doubt they even knew of that. They built such a wall from the civilized world that it may eventually be their downfall. They either die there or return to risk their lives once again to collect the herbs. But a faction from a tribe to retrieve wolfsbane was unheard of.
"I mean no harm," I said, raising my hand to show I was not to do something reckless. Yet still, they snarled. "I'm not one of them. I was only here to steal the crates to cure my people."
I clenched my jaw. That does not sound convincing at all.
The brown wolf turns its head away from my gaze. He used his long snout to signal for another wolf. They locked gaze, seemingly understanding each other. I observe them. The brown hound gnar at one wolf, ears flat against his skull. Their scent told me they were five of them. They say shifters could mind-link. A form of unspoken communication using only their thoughts. But the process, I know not of. I was amazed for a moment when I snarl snapped me out of my reverie.
The gray wolf, spots of black standing out from his fur, began shifting back to his human skin. Bones crack as his body emit a smoke from the heat of the transition. Soon enough, he stands on his feet, naked under the glint of the moon. The color of his eyes reverts back to its true color: warm brown. Yet, he still holds the same intensity as before. Finally, some conversation would likely save me more than using brute strength.
I was not bothered at all. Modesty was not a practiced value in the Order. We were taught to use our body as a tool, and not keep it for value. It is harder that way. Preserving virtue as the pinnacle of living only puts you at a disadvantage.
"Surrender." was his first word. His tone was that of ice, biting and cold. "And by Abuwa's mercy, we shall kill you dignified,"
Absolutely not.
"The crates are being delivered to my lord, as of the moment. He is a healer. It will be used to cure the Rot." I told them. "Well, it would not be needed had you taken control of your kind."
He grunted. A huff of smoke appeared from his breath. "You go with us. Bring us the crate," he repeated on a monotone.
I hissed. How impertinent. "Get it yourself." I spat with a click of my head.
His lips formed a thin line. His eyes pierce me like a dagger, like the rich soil, brown in color. "Surrender yourself, woman. Abuwa will hear your pleas herself,"
Crimes? I almost laugh at that. Though what I have done is truly a crime by the law of the Free cities, they don't have the authority to impose their law on me. Not that I would surrender myself to the tower guards anyway. I'd put up a real fight before I get chained. They are the invaders. For what is worth, they should be the ones to lock up.
And what in the world is Abuwa?
"What crimes, pray tell? I only steal what was stolen from you in the beginning. I did not commit it myself." I made sure my words held determination.
I stared at him. His sharp gaze fixed on me like the sharp edge of a sword but I did not yield. As I begin to be nettled by his murderous eyes, his stares faltered like he was focusing on something else. The rich brown color of his orb began to glint a sliver of golden streaks.
"Nu'k aveiz, Hirad." I hear him say but did not understand. He spoke with such vigor and intensity, like a gutteral of an animal, the reason why I concluded it to be their native tongue.
I know nothing of their kind. Even the largest library both in human kingdoms and the free cities do not have many records in their keep about shifters, albeit near their borders. Their language has not been studied. Only a few masters could discern the structures of their language with the help of the deserters, but it was only some words. The deserter would've to die eventually when they go mad. It has been said that they were the only race unable to speak the common tongue.
The largest brown wolf snarled at him, exerting clear dominance. He turns to me once again, now with a hint of irritation in his stern eyes. "You die tonight, then."
He leaped forward and transformed mid-air, landing on his four limbs and gray coat. He snapped at me, eager and feral. I step back a little as I felt her surge forward to meet with the same rage, not impressed by his assertion of challenge.
Not again!
Two from my back pounced on me, and I would've fallen on my back had I not been quick to leap in the opposite direction. I partly shifted, letting her strength drive us both to escape. I am not a mad fool to dance with these humongous beasts, despite my beast clawing to wrestle. Of course, losing was not my option, and neither to die! If they need back their crates, they shall have them, but not my head.
I started to run, dodging drooling teeth sharp enough to snap me in half. The woods will be an hour from the house. With wolves on my tail and their great sense of smell, it will not be an easy way out even if I have the upper hand of knowing the routes and way. If the gods blessed me tonight, there will be no guards scouting the forest. I prayed hard despite my broken faith. The Moon loves his subjects, and I'm still one of them. Surely, she had not relinquished me just yet.
My muscle ached on running. The beast is clawing to the surface, begging me to save us both. Indeed, it will be faster with four legs but wolves will smell her the moment we turn and that makes us easy prey. And besides, my body is still recovering. Shifting will drain what's left of my strength. Both legs, wounded and weary, simultaneously leap forward passing trunks of trees along the dark and frigid night. The moon shone above, showing its dominance over the land as this one hopes for her mercy to outlive this night.
I slowly sense a trail behind me, so near, followed by numerous stomps of feet. I looked at my back and saw hungry eyes, the color of a blinding golden orb, darting toward me - ready to devour me. My heart is pulsed with a rush. I jumped, leaped, and ran like a rabid dog.
But they were fast that it may seem unbelievable. One of them blocked my path. I turn to my right, but the awaiting gray wolf growled at me. I tried to take the left, leading to the west Tower Guard's keep, but two wolves were already holding the way.
I heard a low rumble from my back. At this moment, they have likely considered me rogue. I knew they can smell me, and probably my fear. I was not part of any tribe, or have been grouped with any of the shifters or whatnot that lies beyond that frigid mountain. Nonetheless, I was a stray to them. Rogues are to be put down under any circumstances by humans or by their own kin.
I tap in my wolf, seeing as there was no escaping them, and encourage her to surface. I cannot defend us, not with this state. She will have to do that.
