Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
One moment, Gmork's eldest was standing behind the tanner's two
apprentices as they moved before him into the armory. He delighted in
the wails of frustration he heard from the Resistance at seeing their
own precede the lupine mage. His jowls creased in a ravenous grin.
And then he remembered who he was. His name was Cabalan. Born in
Marigund, his magical talents had opened the doors of the vaunted
mage guild and there he'd studied from the time of his youth until
shortly past his majority. His instructor, a curiously eccentric
young man named Massenet had taught him many simple tricks, but
nothing of any consequence. For ten years he labored in vain, begging
to be taught the more powerful incantations and for ten years Cabalan
had been stymied by a wizard who preferred puffing on a pipe and
amusing himself with assigning dreary and uninteresting work far
beneath his talent.
It all ended the night Cabalan broke into one of the vaults and stole
a quartet of magical scrolls. He had been planning to steal even
more, but a horrid premonition warned him that in another moment he
would be discovered. So he took his prizes and fled Marigund, riding
hard along the ancient roads north and west. He couldn't rest for
more than a few hours because agents of the guild were hunting him
down. The budding mage couldn't even take the time to master the
incantations contained in his precious scrolls.
But fortune favored him and he heard news of a wizard far to the
north who prized power and crushed all those who would oppose him.
Cabalan knew that this wizard would see his talent and instruct him
in the arts as the fools in Marigund ought to have done. Already this
powerful wizard had conquered a vast region of the Giantdowns. Soon
his reach might even encompass his home city. How Cabalan would have
enjoyed being able to show Master Massenet just what he was truly capable of.
He had made it to Nasoj's realm, and there he was able to master all
four of the scrolls, including one of his favorite incantations, that
of summoning a giant ball of fire to consume his enemies. But there
were so many wizards surrounding Nasoj that Cabalan was not able to
study under him as he had hoped.
Instead he'd been sent to help Baron Calephas crush the people of
Arabarb, and it was there he had remained. There was magical lore to
study in that land, but after nine years languishing in that frozen
wasteland filled with barbarous ruffians, contenting himself only in
that he could take what women he desired when he desired them, the
offer that the wolf mage Gmork made to him, the offer of true power,
was simply irresistible.
He had fed well and tasted true dominion over men. But until that
moment he had not remembered his name or truly who he was. He blinked
and twitched his naked tail as all of that came rushing back to him,
followed closely by a font of power from his father. It was not just
the knowledge his father had attained, but the very mantle of
fatherhood itself. Cabalan felt it settle into his spirit like an
elegant cloak over his shoulders and a brilliant breastplate
resplendent with the moon's light over his chest. He would be the father now.
But, Cabalan was aware in that infinitesimal moment, that to use the
knowledge pouring into him, he needed to accept as a mere act of will
all of that power and the mantle of fatherhood. He needed to accept
and surrender to it if it were to be fully manifested within him.
Cabalan's choice was an easy one. After a lifetime spent seeking more
power, he would never turn the power of his father away. He accepted it.
And that was Cabalan's final act of will.
Gmork blinked through what had a moment before been the eyes of his
eldest pup. The transition to a new body was always awkward for a
moment and it was especially so wen he found himself face to face
with a mob of fiendish men and Lutins intent on killing him. He
flexed his power, changing the color of his eyes to gold once again,
and sprouting fur along his tail. He would not tolerate such
affectations that his previous eldest had favored for himself.
But he knew now what his eldest had known of these Resistance in the
armory. The Lutins had let them in and the alchemist was the scrawny
one reaching into his knapsack. The air spell was clearly the proper
choice to keep the explosive powders at bay. Gmork would have to make
sure they could never make more of it.
He pushed the two apprentices who had only moments before been his
loyal pets but now were their own masters again into the armory ahead
of him and then summoned a small ball of flame. While the humans
nearest him struggled to help the suddenly coherent apprentices to
their feet, he guided that ball through the air until it was directly
over the knapsack. His jowls lifted in bitter rage as he drove the
fire straight down into the sack of shattered jars. The detonation
and plume of flame engulfed the center of the room, including the
alchemist's face.
That would have to be enough.
Gmork spun on his paws and bolted down the corridor. The body still
felt a little strange, but that would pass in a few minutes. He
stretched his jaws and spread wide his fingers as he ran on his hind
legs, getting the feel for them both. At least his eldest had been a
hearty and strong man, and a prodigious hunter as a wolf. What little
adjustments he always made to his homes would be sufficient for this one.
But it should not have come to this! Gmork snarled at the air as he
ran, furious with the traitorous Yajgaj, and even more furious with
himself. He should have been more careful around the Lutins; Calephas
had been a fool thrice over to have entrusted them with so much of
their defense.
And now not only were they taking the castle, but they took it on
behalf of the Resistance! What should have been the end for those few
humans who dared to oppose Gmork's will was now their ascendancy.
With the death of his old body, every one of his pets had been
released from his mastery. Gmork had no allies left in Arabarb but
his surviving pups. Each of them would have felt the moment of death
like a knife in their belly. He could only hope that they were all
able to make their escape from Fjellvidden.
But before Gmork could leave, he had one last thing he needed to do.
He vaulted up the steps and through the empty, decaying halls in the
northern wing of the castle until he came to the sealed door of his
Listening Room. A quick swipe of a claw undid his magical lock, and
another opened the door to reveal stack and stacks of dull brass
baubles, all their fire extinguished, and a boy cowering in the
corner with wide eyes and trembling arms.
Gmork lowered to a crouch and held hs hands out toward the boy. His
voice was gentle but firm. "It is I, your father. We must leave this
place, my little one. It is not safe for us here anymore."
The boy shook his head and pressed against the corner of the wall.
"You.. you are... you are not my father!"
Gmork frowned and made a quick gesture with one paw. The boy gasped
for breath, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell
forward. The wolf mage caught him in his arms and very carefully laid
him down on the hay. What little hold he'd started to build in this
boy had been shattered by his previous body's death. It would not
take long to reclaim this child for his own, but it would take more
time than he could spare here.
Beneath the rumpled bundles of hay and hides, he produced a small
leather knapsack that he could sling over his shoulder and carry with
him even as a full wolf. He swept the baubles from their shelves with
his left arm, pouring them into the sack which he held open with his
right. They clinked and clanked with a faint tintinnabulation as they
swelled the sack with their weight.
He did not let a single bauble escape, making sure that every one of
them was secure in his sack before sealing it tight and drawing runes
along the edge sot make sure that none of them would fall out during
his run. He scanned the shelves one last time to make sure that he
hadn't missed any of them, then he slung the sack over his head and
shoulders, letting them bounce against his thigh. In his other arm he
scooped the boy, and hoisted him up high. He turned his head and
gently licked the boy's face, a fluttering growl echoing in his belly
as he thought of that other wizard who he would not be able to bring
into his family.
Gmork closed the door behind him, and then moved swiftly down the
hall to where the dragon had destroyed the wall in his escape. The
shimmering field of energy still protected that section of wall, and
through it Gmork could see to the eastern sward and the forest beyond.
He waved his paw and the field disappeared; the stone above him
groaned in protest but held. The wolf mage bent into a crouch and
leaped into the open air, gliding swiftly with his magic to the
ground. He began to run even before his paws touched the hard earth.
To his left beyond the bridge the dragon was finishing off the last
of the Lutins. He snorted, nostrils clenching in distaste. He would
never spare one of those filthy creatures again. At least the dragon
was doing something useful.
Gmork barked in surprise as from out of the woods three man-shaped
hunting dogs bounded, brandishing stones and makeshift wooden clubs.
His surprise turned to a laugh. While clutching the boy with his left
hand, he swept out the right and bowled all of them over with a burst
of wind. "You don't want to become my pets again do you?"
But he did not linger to hear their answer. While the Keeper dogs
picked themselves up, Gmork dashed into the safety of the forest and
kept running, bounding on three paws between trees, over hillocks,
and through the brush, putting as much distance between himself and
the castle as he could. Out of the corner of his golden eyes he noted
the unconscious bobbing head of the boy. He sighed and growled
between bounds, "It will be safe soon, my pup. You are with your father."
----------
It was clear from the condition of the laboratory that Calephas had
already attempted his escape. Yajgaj cursed his ill-fortune all the
way down to the secret dock beneath the castle, where he felt a surge
of relief on seeing the smashed iron door and the yawl still tied to
the stone wharf. The Lutin gingerly climbed onto the deck, Gmork's
severed head bouncing lightly against his back.
He was drawn immediately to the smear of blood on the deck and the
smoldering hole burned through the wood near the fo'c'sle. Standing
upright, he jabbed the point of his knife with his long arm at the
edge of the hole and chipped more of the ruined wood free. He wasn't
sure what made this hole but, judging by the number of layers below
it before reaching the ull, there was no danger of the yawl sinking
anytime soon.
The Lutin turned to the smear of blood, bent over slightly and tasted
it. Somewhat human he noted. His yellow eyes lifted to the gunwale
and the anchor chain wrapped about it. That was certainly odd. He
sheathed his knife and, bracing his thick feet and stout legs against
the gunwale, heaved the chain up link by link. The muscles in his
back and arms tensed with each link that clanked as it settled at his
feet, while the finger bones around his neck rattled against each other.
After a minute of exertion, he could see there were two bodies
tangled in the chain and his thick lips spread into a grid around his
tusks. Another half minute of heaving and he could see Calephas's
head bobbing on his neck, while the tiger Weaker's fangs were buried
in his neck. Yajgaj grabbed the dead Baron's belt and hauled them
over the gunwale. He then hefted the anchor and nearly toppled over
from its weight. He set it down far from the hole and then took a
moment to catch his breath, eyes never leaving the Baron's body,
already showing pock marks where the fish had chosen to feast.
How many long years had he hoped to see this vile man dead? His first
attempt had over a year past had sought to deliver him to justice.
That had failed. Since becoming Blood Harrow, he'd sought to find an
opportunity to kill the Baron any way he could. In a way, he was glad
that it had been one of the Baron's slaves that had finally brought
an end to the odious pederast. He just wished he could have seen it happen.
Yajgaj pried the tiger's jaws out of the man's neck, and then sawed
Calephas's head off. It only took a few strokes before the pallid
head rolled free, eyes wide open in shock as death had surprised him.
He grabbed the man's hair and lifted the head up so e could stare
into his face for a moment. Yajgaj pressed his fingers against
Calephas's face, pressing the cheeks into a hideous smile, then
shifting them down into a grotesque frown. He snorted a laugh and
then shoved the head into the sack next to Gmork's.
The Lutin finally, after nearly a year masquerading as one of
Calephas's loyal Lutin foot-soldiers, had what he came for. He opened
one of the pouches at his side and carefully removed a folded and
slightly crumpled bit of parchment. He'd worked on it for two months
now and was grateful that he was finally able to leave it behind.
Taking the hides draping his mottled, green legs, he dried one of
Calephas's hands and then pressed the fingers about the sealed letter
until they were firm and tight.
There was nothing left for him to do. Yajgaj moved quickly and
carefully back across the deck, hopped over the gunwale, and rushed
back into the castle for one last time. Once Calephas's soldiers were
dead and the castle belonged to the Resistance, his fellow Blood
Harrow would gather at the eastern gate. He smiled around his tusks.
It would be good for him to leave the company of humans behind again.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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