Send a spelling or grammar correction to: Tracy Johnson
This is a first draft of a story set in the world of Greyhawk.
It is based on a home campaign so some of the people, places and things
may be different. Any helpful comments or suggestions are very welcome.
Thanks
Jason Zavoda
A dozen worgs answered the call of the silver wolf. They came
streaming past the horses, past Gentian's blade, though she cut them as
they went by and past Welf. He slew one with his halbard, splitting its
skull and killing it instantly.
The worgs ignored the cutting steel and the stamping hooves. They
threw themselves at Kassar. The old nomad, changed into the spirit-beast
of his people, was an enemy of their blood, hated beyond any sense of
life, death or reason. He moved with speed greater than the eye could
clearly see as the worgs attacked. His claws blurred as he met their
charge.
Blood, flesh and fur were sent spraying from the melee. Growls and
high pitched shrieks pierced the night air, drowning out the growing
murmur from the camp. Kassar rose up on his hind legs dragging a pair of
worgs with him that clung to either arm.
With a grip of razors he sunk his hands into the necks of the
worgs and tore them away, their fangs leaving long ragged cuts in
his flesh. Kassar threw them at the others, but was brought down
beneath a tide of shaggy bodies.
Welf and Gentian came running after the worgs and joined the fray.
The halberd swept down and Welf raised it back to his shoulder before the
hairy monsters knew that they were being attacked from behind.
Their blood was up and the pack was centered on Kassar. A lust to
slay this primal foe took over them. Their malign intellect and evil
cunning were forgotten. The worgs became no more than a savage snarling
pack of beasts. Heedless of danger, no sense of pain or fear of death,
they ignored the humans who attacked them. All that mattered was the
chance to sink their teeth into the tiger-flesh before they died.
Gentian's magic blade took first one then another of the worgs. The
point lancing in to split a heart, then out. Then in at the base of a neck
through bone to brain.
"Ne! Zodec! Thief!" a woman shouted. A sword, long and black with
a curved edge, knocked Gentian's next thrust aside.
A woman held the sword. White haired with skin black as midnight
and a face as beautiful as any elven queen, but cold and chilling as an
icestorm, and touched with evil. She wore a closefitting shirt of chain
made from links of crystal, and a chain skirt of the same shimmering
stuff. Her cloak was thrown back, and the hood pulled down. The band of
copper that circled her brow glowed green, but was half-lost among the
snowy waves of her hair.
"Dete... you will die." she laughed at Gentian and brought her
sword down and across, the edge seeking the mercenaries neck.
"Dark cousin," Gentian spat out as if the words were foul on her
lips, "no child am I."
Sword met sword. The silver blade sparked against the black.
"Hah!" the woman laughed again. She struck quick as a serpent. Her
blade cut the steel armor that covered Gentian's shoulder and left a
groove in the metal. Before Gentian could block the strike, the woman
slashed again. The curved blade opened a cut down Gentian's leg from thigh
to knee.
Around them the worgs had torn Kassar into ribbons, but the
tiger-spirit fought on beyond the strength of flesh. Welf had turned to
face the dark woman who fought his partner, but a black wolf blocked his
way. Under the guardwagon Dinet backed further into the shadows and
wondered if he could make it safely into the camp before the wolves had
finished with the others.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)