Chapter 2: A Night In The Woods
The sun had sunk low beneath the great ironwood pines of the Deepwoods, causing their shadows to stretch and swallow Edge Viper's ship and crew.
The woodale in the belly of each crewman gradually took effect. One by one the alcohol made their heads slip ever closer to their chests until all lay sprawled over the forest floor. The fire was burning low. Now and again someone would start in his sleep at the squeak or scamper of some small Deepwoods animal; but he would soon rest again with a murmur and a sigh. All was peaceful.
Well, it was until a great hairy lump burst through the foliage and crashed into the now dead remains of the camp fire. The charred logs splintered and cracked under the beast's immense weight. It lay still with a sigh. It moved no more.
The crew leapt to their feet; hands grasping and clutching for weapons and armoured greatcoats in the pitch darkness. The lack of motion after the previous crash was unnerving. A flame sprang from the darkness. Hentuck had fumbled together a bunch of dry twigs and hastily lit it with his tinderbox.
Using the light from this they each made a torch of their own from larger sticks, leaves and sap from an ironwood pinecone. Now their camp was lit with the warm glow of five torches. They then inspected the corpse of the beast, motionless in the centre of the camp.
It was a hammelhorn. Its fur was bristly with sweat; it must have run quite a way through the forest because none of them had seen a slaughterer camp nearby while they were airborne. It may have been wild, but it looked too well fed and strong to not have been cared for.
In the distance there was howling. Woodwolves. Well, they now knew what the hammelhorn was running from so fiercely. All of them ran for their armour and grabbed their weapons. If the hammelhorn was running, it meant the woodwolves were following.
They came fast. A few dozen blurred shapes bursting from the foliage mere moments after the crew heard them coming.
They burst from the foliage a mere minute after the crew had heard them in the distance. Most were the more common kind; brown or mottled grey, terrifying but not the worst of beasts.
A few, though, bore the pelts that marked them out as some of the Deepwoods' truest killers: pale grey fur with a silvery white collar. The whitecollar woodwolves were rightly feared throughout the Edge above all other breeds of woodwolf. They could bite a great chunk from a plank of ironwood and slice the thickest leather with their hooked claws. Rumour had it that they could blend with their surroundings, rendering themselves invisible; such was the stealth with which they moved; and that they were spawned from the same stock that had cursed the Edge with the Gloamglozer.
The crew had formed a tight circle in the middle of their camp, next to the camp fire, swords pointed out, challenging the woodwolves. Each had a lit torch behind his back; fire was an invaluable tool against wild beasts like these.
The woodwolves began to circle. Froth dripped from the gaping jaws, eager to tear into their new meal. The boldest of their number, a large grey, took a leap for the throat of Edge Viper. The pirate captain held up his blade and the beast skewered its own head, through the upper jaw and into the brain, on the scarred blade.
The creature died instantly.
Unfortunately the defensive action of Edge Viper had two consequences he had not considered. Firstly: the grisly killing of a member of their pack enraged the woodwolves, setting them howling in anger. Secondly: the body of the dead creature on the end of Edge Viper's sword weighed it down, rendering it useless until he could dislodge the bleeding carcass.
The woodwolves stopped their howling and began to advance. They surrounded the pirates, whose captain was furiously kicking at the furry, bloodstained mass on his blade, trying to rid his blade of the burden. The wolves began to close in on the beleaguered men, snarling with their ferocity and hunger.
Three brown ones pounced. One was slashed from the air by Hentuck and another took a flurry of gashes to its face from Sneevel Quex's daggers. The third landed on Mardin, its jaws tearing at the thick leather protecting his neck. One of the whitecollars would have finished him but this was a younger, brown, woodwolf, it was unable to kill him immediately giving him the chance to lash out, killing it with a swift upward stab to its exposed belly.
With that the scene exploded into absolute chaos. The circle of pirates split up as the rest of the wolves attacked. Each pirate fought for his life; slashing at the woodwolves and beating them with the flaming torches. Edge Viper saved the life of Sneevel Quex, pinned down by a slavering mass intent on devouring him. He took his sword and rammed it down between the animal's eyes and then slashing across its throat to ensure the job was done.
After what seemed like a lifetime the last of the wolves lay in a quivering heap, its last breath leaving it through the new opening in its throat that it had been given moments before by Buggin's short blade.
The pirates studied the mess around them. Hentuck and Sneevel were both bleeding from deep wounds granted them by the now dead wolves.
There was a rustle. Edge Viper spun on the spot to see the three whitecollar woodwolves he had seen before flying for him. They had slipped away as the fight started, so as to let the weaker wolves make the kill and take the spoils for themselves.
They truly were clever beasts. Edge Viper felt the combined weight of the three monstrosities crash into his chest, knocking him to the ground. Surely this was to be his gory demise.
It should have; but Edge Viper's time had not yet come. As the woodwolves prepared to tear his body into fleshy pieces three swift bolts flew from the depths of a bush and embedded themselves in the chest of each of the wild slavering creatures. They fell to the mossy ground with a thump and died. Edge Viper looked over to the source of his unlikely rescue, eyes searching the gloom for any clues as to his saviour.
A figure emerged from the bush, a bow and quiver-full of jet black arrows slung across his back and a long knife in his hand. His body an indistinct shape beneath the great, dark cloak that swirled around him, his face completely masked.
The figure approached Edge Viper and spoke.
To Be Continued…
Author's note: So sorry for the rubbish cliff-hanger but I'm in a hurry to get this done today. Merry Christmas to all. Many thanks to my great friend Anzer'ke for editing this for me; it would be a lot worse if he hadn't.