Chapter One - The Less Traveled Path
The wispy clouds circle overhead as he walks, their track long and lingering. He picks his way down the path, wandering in between the rows of trees on either side of the path. A cool breeze blows through the valley he is in, bringing the scent of mountain air to him. The long sword he wears strapped to his back rattles in it's sheath, and he tightens the strap over his shoulder.
Shaking his long blonde hair, he whistles lowly, an almost inaudible sound. A black cat wanders out onto the trail, responding to his summons. Sharing a knowing look with the small cat, he continues to walk, the cat following.
The afternoon sun is just passing it's apex in the sky when he stops to rest. Setting his body on a rock near the path, he opens his pouches to find some food. But before he can find anything a voice appears in his mind.
Master... one approaches...
One? He thinks back
Yes, very alone...
He looks down towards the cat and, smiling, says one word "Three."
Seconds later he hears the telltale rustle of leaves behind him, and the low hiss of a weapon being drawn.
A blade presses to his back.
"That was easy." A voice says from behind.
"Really? Was it easy because you're good? Or easy because I made it so?" The man on the rock replies.
"Dosen't matter, either way you're coming with me Tyrin. There's a fat bounty on your head." The voice seems confident.
"Interesting. How much? One maybe?" Tyrin asks inquisitively.
"No it's..." The confident voice begins.
"Oh I see, two then?" Tyrin interrupts him.
"Hey now!..." The voice tries again.
"Ah! It must be three then!" As Tyrin finishes his sentence the cat leaps onto the mans back, clinging on with his claws.
As the other man tries to shake the cat off, Tyrin leans forward, under the clumsy thrust directed at him, and draws his sword. The cat leaps off the mans back a second later, and he thrusts at Tyrin again with an impertinent sound.
However the first man knocks his blade aside and lays a blow across the side of his head with the flat of his sword, knocking him to the ground.
The cat comes up next to him, purring.
Good? The voice in his mind again.
"Very good Kazin. Imppecible timing." He replies aloud.
The equivelent of a laugh fills his mind.
The man on the ground rolls over clumsily and reaches for his sword, but Tyrin holds his long sword to the mans neck just he gets near his weapon.
"I wouldn't, friend." He says, and the man freezes.
"So how much am I really worth?" Tyrin asks curiously.
"500 Gold... dead only. Proof of death required of course." The man on the ground says hesitantly.
"Hmm... more than last time. They must know that I'm planning something." Tyrin mutters to himself.
"Well, I can't have you following me. So..." Tyrin says to the man as he sheathes his sword.
As the man begins to go for his sword again Tyrin traces an arcane symbol in the air, chanting words whose meaning was lost long ago. He spreads a handful of sand over the bounty hunter, just as he starts to rise to his feet, and the man slumps to the ground, asleep in the grip of Tyrins magic.
Sighing, he walks back onto the path and continues through the valley, his familiar wandering along beside him. It dosen't take long for darkness to overtake the small valley.
By the time Tyrin stops, the moon is already rising, and he lights a fire with a bundle of fallen branches. Boiling himself some stew, he studies his spellbook. The spell he cast earlier in the day didn't take up much of his energy, but it had to be memorized again, the constant
study that is the curse of the magi.
His familiar Kazin is curled up at his feet, sleeping deeply. He sets his spellbook down and leans forward to put more wood on his small fire, when he hears a faint sound. He keeps his motions slow and easy as he gets to his feet, as if to continue tending the fire. But instead he
draws his sword and turns around to face the darkness.
"I hear you..." Tyrin says.
A tall, rangy man seperates from the shadowy darkness, his stride long snd silent. His shaggy hair is dark, matching the color of his cloak. He makes hardly a sound as he comes even with Tyrin and stops.
"If I hadn't let you hear me, you might have tried to kill me." He says tiredly.
The man slumps to the ground next to the fire holding his arm gingerly. Tyrin sits back down as he sees the mans actions.
"Wiegraf, what happened? We were supposed to meet at the Cracked Mug Tavern in
Antei. You knew that, didn't you?" Tyrin asks him.
Wiegraf looks up at him, still clutching his arm.
"I found an agent up north, I was on the hunt, but it didn't need my immediate attention. So I followed him." Wiegraf says, a grimace of pain contorting his expression.
"What then?" Tyrin asks.
He looks up. "They led me to a local stronghold." He shakes his head as Tyrin begins to ask a question. "I didn't enter, I felt the risk was too high to attempt infilitration. But I waited anyways, as luck had it, a messenger came out the next day with only a small escort." He continues.
"And you followed them?" Tyrin guesses.
"Of course. They were clumsy. However, they lead me into the series of ravines north of here two days ago. As I rounded a bend during the earlt evening, they ambushed me, the 'messenger' and his companions were actually Black Hand assassins." Wiegraf explains as he takes out a tunic to use as a bandage.
"How bad was it?" Tyrin looks suprised.
"Not as bad as it could have been. I shot one as he tried to jump me from a clump of bushes, had to empty both pistols into him to put him down. It didn't last long, because I knew I couldn't fight them, I was outnumbered too badly to make a stand. So I ran for it. It was half a days hard ride here." Wiegraf answers as he begins to bind his wounds.
"Where...?" Tyrin looks at him questioningly.
"Not far, about a fifty yards south." Wiegraf responds.
Tyrin nods silently, thinking.
"This isn't good. This area is relatively remote." Tyrin says distractedly.
"It was an excellent place for an ambush. That may be the only reason they came anywhere near here." Wiegraf says, looking up from binding the wound on his arm.
Tyrin stands up and paces back and forth, still thinking.
"But we can't have them finding our new hideout." He turns and looks at him with a sudden thought.
"Were you followed?" Tyrin asks.
"Yes... but I lost them in the last ravine before this valley." Wiegraf says, finally finishing his bandage.
Tyrin nods in aknowledgment and sits back down again. A second later, Kazin rustles at his feet and gets up, stretching luxuriously.
Wiegraf takes a pistol from his belt and starts cleaning it with a small rag. "How far is Antei from here?" He asks.
"Not far. It's a day or so, but we can't use the road. They're probably going to search the valley, and we can't give them any indication of our presence." Tyrin explains.
Wiegraf starts on his other pistol, having finished the first one, and Kazin wanders around the campfire, over to where Wiegraf appeared. He raises his head as if listening to something, and slinks off into the woods.
I go hunting master. The cats voice reveals to him.
Several minutes later, Wiegraf puts away his second pistol and looks over at Tyrin, who has picked up his discarded spellbook and started studying it again.
"Wake me for second watch." He says.
Wiegraf rolls himself up in his cloak and goes to sleep, leaving Tyrin alone in the flickering light of the fire.
Time passes quickly in the dark of the night, with Tyrin studying, and occasionly tossing another branch into the hungry flames of the fire. The dim moon has almost reached the top of the sky and when a familiar thought enters Tyrins head.
Master! Kazin dashes back into the clearing.
Tyrin looks up at the cat from his book.
What is it? Did you find good prey little one?
No master! Something coming! The cats mental voice seems urgent.
Tyrin leaps to his feet and rushes over to Wiegraf ready to nudge him awake, but as he gets close to him he rolls over and comes up with a pistol in his hand.
"You're lucky, I've been pretty jumpy lately..." Wiegraf blinks, still half asleep.
"Hurry! Somethings coming!" Tyrin dosen't even spare him a second glance as he begins kicking dirt on their fire.
As Tyrin extinguishes their small fire, Wiegraf gathers what little belongings he has with him and stows them in his belt pouches. Seconds later, Tyrin vanishes into the woods with Wiegraf leading the way.
They slip through the moonlit foilage, making as little noise as possible in the dense forest, Kazin darting after them with grace only a cat could exude.
Wiegraf's horse snorts as they get near it, and Wiegraf calms it quietly as he saddles it. At the same time, Tyrin coaxes his familiar into the large saddlebag on the horses flank. Wiegraf finishes securing the saddle and harness a minute or two later and turns to Tyrin.
"We'll have to double up, but I think he can handle it for awhile." Wiegraf explains quietly.
However, in the middle of Wiegraf's sentence, a strange sound draws Tyrins attention. As he starts to turn around and look, but Wiegraf mounts up, urging him to get up behind him.
Tyrin pulls himself up behind him on the saddle, securing himself in the saddle, but before the horse can move, a strange sound emants from the forest. The symphony of sound that filled the air only minutes before has stopped, leaving a dead silence in the air. Wiegraf shifts in the saddle, pausing his commands to the horse, and perhaps sensing something amiss.
Tyrin opens his mind to Kazins, linking them.
Little one, give me your sight so I may see as you do. He thinks.
Yes master... Tyrins eyesight suddenly goes white, and he shakes his head trying to clear it.
His vision clears. Everything is brighter and sharper, easy to discern. A movement catches his eye, ahead and to the left. A furred body, crouched low to the ground, long and sinuous, the body of a silent and deadly hunter, tensed, ready to spring. Eyes, yellow eyes, glowing from the darkness like a small blaze.
"Tyrin...?" Wiegrafs harsh whisper breaks the silence, but barely.
The body begins to move.
"Look out! On the left!" Tyrin shouts as the shape leaps through the air.
Years of instinct on his deadly hunt work to Wiegraf's advantage, as he frees both pistols from his belt and fires them as one into the beasts shape. A thunderous explosion and a black cloud of smoke compete for attention in the space of a few seconds, as Wiegraf kicks his heels into the horses flanks, and the shape crashes to the ground, growling horribly.
Wiegraf juggles his pistols back into his belt as he guides the horse with his kness through the last bit of forest and onto the road. At the same time Tyrin allows the extraordinary vision to slip away, returning his sight to normal.
Wiegraf curses repeatedly as the horse gallops along the road at full speed. continually looking over his shoulder.
"What the hell was that Wiegraf!?" Tyrin asks him.
"My prey! I can't believe it! The bastard followed me! It was waiting for me to return to my horse to kill me! Damn!" He curses again.
"Wait! What exactly do you hunt? I've heard stories and rumors but..." Tyrin trails off.
Wiegraf looks back at him with a haunted expression, his face has a ghostly expression.
"Werewolves. The fabled creature of the moon. One of them killed my entire family, and I have hunted the one who did it, and all of their kind from that day. Through the arctic cold of my home to the forests north of here I have hunted, my life but a tool for that day. The day when I find the one who did it, and rip the life from his body!" Wiegraf's eyes are like great flames, the fuel of revenge causing them to burn bright.
Tyrin is taken aback at the sudden outburst from Wiegraf.
Wiegraf slumps in the saddle, and the light seems to go out of him momentarily, but seconds later it is back, controlled and distant.
"We have to be ready, it is probably stalking us right now." Wiegraf says matter of factly, reaching back to an oiled leather pouch almost as long as the horse.
He pulls out a large musket, bulky and heavy, worked by a monsterous snaplock. He checks the gun to see if it is loaded and smiles.
"When he comes back, he'll find that I have a new trick." Wiegraf says, holding the musket carefully as he double checks the powder.
Only seconds after his statement a form breaks out of the woods behind them, loping along at incredible speed. Seeing it, Tyrin focuses himself, saying a single arcane word and making a simple gesture. The area around theWerewolf glows with an eerie, dim, blue light, emitted by a small ball of energy, making the the werewolf clearly visible.
Wiegraf shouts with glee as he aims th gun carefully, waiting. The form increases it's speed, rippling fur outlining muscles and shimmering in the faint moonlight. Suddenly, another two shapes come up behind the werewolf, riders in black on dark horses. They are behind the werewolf by a substaintial amount, but begin to gain on him.
Tyrin shouts his curses at the riders, as the werewolf comes up alongside their horse. Wiegraf aims the musket at the sinuous werewolf, a scant twenty feet away.
"What are you doing!? Shoot!" Tyrin shouts at him.
The wolfs tongue lolls out of his wouth as he turns towards them, his body moving quickly from crouch to lunge, going for the horses legs. It slashes and bites the horse visciously, blood flowing freely from the wounds in a spray of gore. In the same instant, the musket roars, and the werewolf howls horribly as he is slammed to the ground, his chest glowing white.
Wiegraf barely manages to keep control of the horse as the frightened and mortally wounded animal tries to buck it's two riders. The sound of horses closing in reminds both of them of the seriousness of the situation.
Tyrin vaults out of the saddle as the horse begins to roll over in the throes of death. Wiegraf isn't as lucky, he tries to push himself off, but the weight of the musket puts him off balance, and he flies off the path and crashes against an ancient pine, falling to rest in a clump of bushes.
Before Tyrin can check on Wiegraf, the riders arive, reigning in, they dismount quickly. Tyrin draws his sword and faces them, nursing a twisted ankle from his jump off the dying horse's back.
The two assassins are shrouded in dark cloth, wearing long flowing clothes and hoods that keep their faces hidden in shadow. Both carry broad swords, but one is shorter than the other.
The three face off, Tyrin with his long sword clutched loosly on his right hand, the assassins with broad swords in theirs. A gentle breeze blows down the moonlit road, bringing the fresh scent of the forest with it. Seconds pass, minutes, and still they stand, watching each other.
Tyrin forms a thought in his mind, Kazin?
I live master, unhurt. The familiar returns.
"You will die here." The taller assassin finally breaks the silence, and Tyrins thoughts.
Tyrin looks at him, his glance filled with contempt.
"Say what you will, it makes no difference to me." He says.
The assassins say nothing further, but split to circle Tyrin. Before the short one can get behind him, Tyrin charges the other, whirling his sword in front of him. The assassin falls back before his attack, dodging easily.
They continue to circle.
Tyrin charges again, and feints, but the short assassin is faster than the tall one, and he rolls past the thrust and cuts Tyrin's arm. Tyrin falls back and the assassins watch him carefully.
Then it happens, both assassins come at him at once, their blades carving silver streaks through the air. Tyrin mumbles a few words and brings his hands up in a complicated gesture. As he finishes, the tall assassin gets close enough to deliver a fatal cut to Tyrin's neck, but a small glowing streak of light issues forth from Tyrin's hands and knocks him to the ground, burning his shoulder.
With only a second to react to the shorter assassin behind him, Tyrin ducks low, but the assassin manages to cut him anyway, opening a ragged gash on his back.
Tyrin dances away, rolling past him and to his feet.
The burned assassin gets to his feet, only slightly hurt, the other joins him, not at all winded. Tyrin breathes heavily, trying to stay conscious. The blood loss from his wounds makes it nearly impossible, and he sighs heavily.
I'm sorry Kazin. This is probably the end. He thinks, but dosen't send his familiar the message.
The wounded assassin hangs back, but the shorter one moves slowly in on him.
"Come get some!" Tyrin shouts at the assassin, lunging his body forward at him with a desperate burst of seed.
The assassin didn't seem to expect him to attack, his responding parry is just as fast, but his grip is loose on his blades hilt. The blade spins to the ground, but Tyrin's sword follows it. The man immediatly moves forward, attempting to grab Tyrin, who fall over backwards trying to dodge him. The assassin continues his attack, drawing a dagger as he comes, and meaning to leap on Tyrin.
But Tyrin reacts quickly with a last burst of energy, ramming his feet up into the air and catapulting the rushing form into the air behind him.
Tyrin struggles to rise as the man crashes heavily to the earth next to the paths edge. The assassin seems dazed, and also starts to get up.
Tyrin is on his feet first, and so he sees the dark shape rise up out of the woods edge like an avenging angel rising from the grave. And as the assassin gets to his knees, the shape lashes forward, slamming the man violently back to the ground. The assassin tries to retrieve his dagger from the ground next to him, but as he starts to move a sword slams down between his shoulder blades, and pins him face down to the ground. He dosen't make a sound as he dies in a spreading pool of blood.
Wiegraf pulls himself to his feet, unsteadily, shaking, and looking like he will pass out soon.
Tyrin spins, searching for the other assassin, and he is just in time to dodge to the side as the assassin slices at him. The man is holding his dead companions sword in his left hand in addition to his weapon, and advances again, driving Tyrin back.
Wiegraf catches Tyrins attention and tosses him a dagger. But before Tyrin can do anything, someone rushes in between Tyrin and Wiegraf, a black cloak flying behind him.
It is a man, also wearing black, and with a blue bandana. He is taller than the assassin by at least two inches, and carries a bastard sword, swinging it in a complicated pattern in front of his body.
The assassin steps under the first attack and parrys the second, but as he attempts to thrust under the mans now open defenses, he finds the man gone, and a cut on the chest sends him sprawling.
The assassin battles the man for a scant handfull of seconds before he decides to run, and vaults onto his horse. The man dashes after him, but before he can reach the horse, the assassin has already taken off, dragging the other horse behind him.
Silence takes over the night, interrupted only by the heavy breathing of Tyrin and Wiegraf, and the fading sound of the running horse.
The man turns to face them, glancing at the dead horse, and taking in the sight of the path and the remains of the battle.
"Darius, what are you doing here?" Tyrin approaches the man, still limping painfully.
Darius turns to him with a mysterious smile "Shouldn't you just be content that I was here?" He says, in his familiar whispery voice.
As the two talk, Wiegraf cleans his short sword on a scrap of cloth, and tries to shake the diziness that still clouds his vision. A minute later, he vanishes off the trail to hunt for his musket.
"They'll come across the new hideout pretty soon, now that they've found us down here." Tyrin muses out loud.
Darius sheathes his bastard sword and looks at Tyrin.
"What do you suggest we do?" He says.
Tyrin shakes his head. "I don't know." He replies.
"We could call all of them together, and fortify the place." Wiegraf steps out of the woods, carrying his musket, dirty, but apparently unharmed by it's flight.
"All of them?" Tyrin turns to look at him.
"Of course. That would be enough to hold off whatever small force they could get together." Wiegraf says.
Darius cleans his sword as they talk. looking up and down the blade, treating it like a family heirloom or a precious valuable.
"I will take my leave." Darius turns to leave, sheathing his sword quietly.
"What for? We'll need you when they come." Tyrin says, his conversation with Wiegraf forgotten momentarily.
"You wanted the others here didn't you?" He asks quietly, and walks back off the way he came, vanishing from view in the dark of the forests emprace.
The moon continues it's glide across the night sky as Tyrin and Wiegraf set out to the small town of Antei, two stars in a greater night that has no visible end.
The wispy clouds circle overhead as he walks, their track long and lingering. He picks his way down the path, wandering in between the rows of trees on either side of the path. A cool breeze blows through the valley he is in, bringing the scent of mountain air to him. The long sword he wears strapped to his back rattles in it's sheath, and he tightens the strap over his shoulder.
Shaking his long blonde hair, he whistles lowly, an almost inaudible sound. A black cat wanders out onto the trail, responding to his summons. Sharing a knowing look with the small cat, he continues to walk, the cat following.
The afternoon sun is just passing it's apex in the sky when he stops to rest. Setting his body on a rock near the path, he opens his pouches to find some food. But before he can find anything a voice appears in his mind.
Master... one approaches...
One? He thinks back
Yes, very alone...
He looks down towards the cat and, smiling, says one word "Three."
Seconds later he hears the telltale rustle of leaves behind him, and the low hiss of a weapon being drawn.
A blade presses to his back.
"That was easy." A voice says from behind.
"Really? Was it easy because you're good? Or easy because I made it so?" The man on the rock replies.
"Dosen't matter, either way you're coming with me Tyrin. There's a fat bounty on your head." The voice seems confident.
"Interesting. How much? One maybe?" Tyrin asks inquisitively.
"No it's..." The confident voice begins.
"Oh I see, two then?" Tyrin interrupts him.
"Hey now!..." The voice tries again.
"Ah! It must be three then!" As Tyrin finishes his sentence the cat leaps onto the mans back, clinging on with his claws.
As the other man tries to shake the cat off, Tyrin leans forward, under the clumsy thrust directed at him, and draws his sword. The cat leaps off the mans back a second later, and he thrusts at Tyrin again with an impertinent sound.
However the first man knocks his blade aside and lays a blow across the side of his head with the flat of his sword, knocking him to the ground.
The cat comes up next to him, purring.
Good? The voice in his mind again.
"Very good Kazin. Imppecible timing." He replies aloud.
The equivelent of a laugh fills his mind.
The man on the ground rolls over clumsily and reaches for his sword, but Tyrin holds his long sword to the mans neck just he gets near his weapon.
"I wouldn't, friend." He says, and the man freezes.
"So how much am I really worth?" Tyrin asks curiously.
"500 Gold... dead only. Proof of death required of course." The man on the ground says hesitantly.
"Hmm... more than last time. They must know that I'm planning something." Tyrin mutters to himself.
"Well, I can't have you following me. So..." Tyrin says to the man as he sheathes his sword.
As the man begins to go for his sword again Tyrin traces an arcane symbol in the air, chanting words whose meaning was lost long ago. He spreads a handful of sand over the bounty hunter, just as he starts to rise to his feet, and the man slumps to the ground, asleep in the grip of Tyrins magic.
Sighing, he walks back onto the path and continues through the valley, his familiar wandering along beside him. It dosen't take long for darkness to overtake the small valley.
By the time Tyrin stops, the moon is already rising, and he lights a fire with a bundle of fallen branches. Boiling himself some stew, he studies his spellbook. The spell he cast earlier in the day didn't take up much of his energy, but it had to be memorized again, the constant
study that is the curse of the magi.
His familiar Kazin is curled up at his feet, sleeping deeply. He sets his spellbook down and leans forward to put more wood on his small fire, when he hears a faint sound. He keeps his motions slow and easy as he gets to his feet, as if to continue tending the fire. But instead he
draws his sword and turns around to face the darkness.
"I hear you..." Tyrin says.
A tall, rangy man seperates from the shadowy darkness, his stride long snd silent. His shaggy hair is dark, matching the color of his cloak. He makes hardly a sound as he comes even with Tyrin and stops.
"If I hadn't let you hear me, you might have tried to kill me." He says tiredly.
The man slumps to the ground next to the fire holding his arm gingerly. Tyrin sits back down as he sees the mans actions.
"Wiegraf, what happened? We were supposed to meet at the Cracked Mug Tavern in
Antei. You knew that, didn't you?" Tyrin asks him.
Wiegraf looks up at him, still clutching his arm.
"I found an agent up north, I was on the hunt, but it didn't need my immediate attention. So I followed him." Wiegraf says, a grimace of pain contorting his expression.
"What then?" Tyrin asks.
He looks up. "They led me to a local stronghold." He shakes his head as Tyrin begins to ask a question. "I didn't enter, I felt the risk was too high to attempt infilitration. But I waited anyways, as luck had it, a messenger came out the next day with only a small escort." He continues.
"And you followed them?" Tyrin guesses.
"Of course. They were clumsy. However, they lead me into the series of ravines north of here two days ago. As I rounded a bend during the earlt evening, they ambushed me, the 'messenger' and his companions were actually Black Hand assassins." Wiegraf explains as he takes out a tunic to use as a bandage.
"How bad was it?" Tyrin looks suprised.
"Not as bad as it could have been. I shot one as he tried to jump me from a clump of bushes, had to empty both pistols into him to put him down. It didn't last long, because I knew I couldn't fight them, I was outnumbered too badly to make a stand. So I ran for it. It was half a days hard ride here." Wiegraf answers as he begins to bind his wounds.
"Where...?" Tyrin looks at him questioningly.
"Not far, about a fifty yards south." Wiegraf responds.
Tyrin nods silently, thinking.
"This isn't good. This area is relatively remote." Tyrin says distractedly.
"It was an excellent place for an ambush. That may be the only reason they came anywhere near here." Wiegraf says, looking up from binding the wound on his arm.
Tyrin stands up and paces back and forth, still thinking.
"But we can't have them finding our new hideout." He turns and looks at him with a sudden thought.
"Were you followed?" Tyrin asks.
"Yes... but I lost them in the last ravine before this valley." Wiegraf says, finally finishing his bandage.
Tyrin nods in aknowledgment and sits back down again. A second later, Kazin rustles at his feet and gets up, stretching luxuriously.
Wiegraf takes a pistol from his belt and starts cleaning it with a small rag. "How far is Antei from here?" He asks.
"Not far. It's a day or so, but we can't use the road. They're probably going to search the valley, and we can't give them any indication of our presence." Tyrin explains.
Wiegraf starts on his other pistol, having finished the first one, and Kazin wanders around the campfire, over to where Wiegraf appeared. He raises his head as if listening to something, and slinks off into the woods.
I go hunting master. The cats voice reveals to him.
Several minutes later, Wiegraf puts away his second pistol and looks over at Tyrin, who has picked up his discarded spellbook and started studying it again.
"Wake me for second watch." He says.
Wiegraf rolls himself up in his cloak and goes to sleep, leaving Tyrin alone in the flickering light of the fire.
Time passes quickly in the dark of the night, with Tyrin studying, and occasionly tossing another branch into the hungry flames of the fire. The dim moon has almost reached the top of the sky and when a familiar thought enters Tyrins head.
Master! Kazin dashes back into the clearing.
Tyrin looks up at the cat from his book.
What is it? Did you find good prey little one?
No master! Something coming! The cats mental voice seems urgent.
Tyrin leaps to his feet and rushes over to Wiegraf ready to nudge him awake, but as he gets close to him he rolls over and comes up with a pistol in his hand.
"You're lucky, I've been pretty jumpy lately..." Wiegraf blinks, still half asleep.
"Hurry! Somethings coming!" Tyrin dosen't even spare him a second glance as he begins kicking dirt on their fire.
As Tyrin extinguishes their small fire, Wiegraf gathers what little belongings he has with him and stows them in his belt pouches. Seconds later, Tyrin vanishes into the woods with Wiegraf leading the way.
They slip through the moonlit foilage, making as little noise as possible in the dense forest, Kazin darting after them with grace only a cat could exude.
Wiegraf's horse snorts as they get near it, and Wiegraf calms it quietly as he saddles it. At the same time, Tyrin coaxes his familiar into the large saddlebag on the horses flank. Wiegraf finishes securing the saddle and harness a minute or two later and turns to Tyrin.
"We'll have to double up, but I think he can handle it for awhile." Wiegraf explains quietly.
However, in the middle of Wiegraf's sentence, a strange sound draws Tyrins attention. As he starts to turn around and look, but Wiegraf mounts up, urging him to get up behind him.
Tyrin pulls himself up behind him on the saddle, securing himself in the saddle, but before the horse can move, a strange sound emants from the forest. The symphony of sound that filled the air only minutes before has stopped, leaving a dead silence in the air. Wiegraf shifts in the saddle, pausing his commands to the horse, and perhaps sensing something amiss.
Tyrin opens his mind to Kazins, linking them.
Little one, give me your sight so I may see as you do. He thinks.
Yes master... Tyrins eyesight suddenly goes white, and he shakes his head trying to clear it.
His vision clears. Everything is brighter and sharper, easy to discern. A movement catches his eye, ahead and to the left. A furred body, crouched low to the ground, long and sinuous, the body of a silent and deadly hunter, tensed, ready to spring. Eyes, yellow eyes, glowing from the darkness like a small blaze.
"Tyrin...?" Wiegrafs harsh whisper breaks the silence, but barely.
The body begins to move.
"Look out! On the left!" Tyrin shouts as the shape leaps through the air.
Years of instinct on his deadly hunt work to Wiegraf's advantage, as he frees both pistols from his belt and fires them as one into the beasts shape. A thunderous explosion and a black cloud of smoke compete for attention in the space of a few seconds, as Wiegraf kicks his heels into the horses flanks, and the shape crashes to the ground, growling horribly.
Wiegraf juggles his pistols back into his belt as he guides the horse with his kness through the last bit of forest and onto the road. At the same time Tyrin allows the extraordinary vision to slip away, returning his sight to normal.
Wiegraf curses repeatedly as the horse gallops along the road at full speed. continually looking over his shoulder.
"What the hell was that Wiegraf!?" Tyrin asks him.
"My prey! I can't believe it! The bastard followed me! It was waiting for me to return to my horse to kill me! Damn!" He curses again.
"Wait! What exactly do you hunt? I've heard stories and rumors but..." Tyrin trails off.
Wiegraf looks back at him with a haunted expression, his face has a ghostly expression.
"Werewolves. The fabled creature of the moon. One of them killed my entire family, and I have hunted the one who did it, and all of their kind from that day. Through the arctic cold of my home to the forests north of here I have hunted, my life but a tool for that day. The day when I find the one who did it, and rip the life from his body!" Wiegraf's eyes are like great flames, the fuel of revenge causing them to burn bright.
Tyrin is taken aback at the sudden outburst from Wiegraf.
Wiegraf slumps in the saddle, and the light seems to go out of him momentarily, but seconds later it is back, controlled and distant.
"We have to be ready, it is probably stalking us right now." Wiegraf says matter of factly, reaching back to an oiled leather pouch almost as long as the horse.
He pulls out a large musket, bulky and heavy, worked by a monsterous snaplock. He checks the gun to see if it is loaded and smiles.
"When he comes back, he'll find that I have a new trick." Wiegraf says, holding the musket carefully as he double checks the powder.
Only seconds after his statement a form breaks out of the woods behind them, loping along at incredible speed. Seeing it, Tyrin focuses himself, saying a single arcane word and making a simple gesture. The area around theWerewolf glows with an eerie, dim, blue light, emitted by a small ball of energy, making the the werewolf clearly visible.
Wiegraf shouts with glee as he aims th gun carefully, waiting. The form increases it's speed, rippling fur outlining muscles and shimmering in the faint moonlight. Suddenly, another two shapes come up behind the werewolf, riders in black on dark horses. They are behind the werewolf by a substaintial amount, but begin to gain on him.
Tyrin shouts his curses at the riders, as the werewolf comes up alongside their horse. Wiegraf aims the musket at the sinuous werewolf, a scant twenty feet away.
"What are you doing!? Shoot!" Tyrin shouts at him.
The wolfs tongue lolls out of his wouth as he turns towards them, his body moving quickly from crouch to lunge, going for the horses legs. It slashes and bites the horse visciously, blood flowing freely from the wounds in a spray of gore. In the same instant, the musket roars, and the werewolf howls horribly as he is slammed to the ground, his chest glowing white.
Wiegraf barely manages to keep control of the horse as the frightened and mortally wounded animal tries to buck it's two riders. The sound of horses closing in reminds both of them of the seriousness of the situation.
Tyrin vaults out of the saddle as the horse begins to roll over in the throes of death. Wiegraf isn't as lucky, he tries to push himself off, but the weight of the musket puts him off balance, and he flies off the path and crashes against an ancient pine, falling to rest in a clump of bushes.
Before Tyrin can check on Wiegraf, the riders arive, reigning in, they dismount quickly. Tyrin draws his sword and faces them, nursing a twisted ankle from his jump off the dying horse's back.
The two assassins are shrouded in dark cloth, wearing long flowing clothes and hoods that keep their faces hidden in shadow. Both carry broad swords, but one is shorter than the other.
The three face off, Tyrin with his long sword clutched loosly on his right hand, the assassins with broad swords in theirs. A gentle breeze blows down the moonlit road, bringing the fresh scent of the forest with it. Seconds pass, minutes, and still they stand, watching each other.
Tyrin forms a thought in his mind, Kazin?
I live master, unhurt. The familiar returns.
"You will die here." The taller assassin finally breaks the silence, and Tyrins thoughts.
Tyrin looks at him, his glance filled with contempt.
"Say what you will, it makes no difference to me." He says.
The assassins say nothing further, but split to circle Tyrin. Before the short one can get behind him, Tyrin charges the other, whirling his sword in front of him. The assassin falls back before his attack, dodging easily.
They continue to circle.
Tyrin charges again, and feints, but the short assassin is faster than the tall one, and he rolls past the thrust and cuts Tyrin's arm. Tyrin falls back and the assassins watch him carefully.
Then it happens, both assassins come at him at once, their blades carving silver streaks through the air. Tyrin mumbles a few words and brings his hands up in a complicated gesture. As he finishes, the tall assassin gets close enough to deliver a fatal cut to Tyrin's neck, but a small glowing streak of light issues forth from Tyrin's hands and knocks him to the ground, burning his shoulder.
With only a second to react to the shorter assassin behind him, Tyrin ducks low, but the assassin manages to cut him anyway, opening a ragged gash on his back.
Tyrin dances away, rolling past him and to his feet.
The burned assassin gets to his feet, only slightly hurt, the other joins him, not at all winded. Tyrin breathes heavily, trying to stay conscious. The blood loss from his wounds makes it nearly impossible, and he sighs heavily.
I'm sorry Kazin. This is probably the end. He thinks, but dosen't send his familiar the message.
The wounded assassin hangs back, but the shorter one moves slowly in on him.
"Come get some!" Tyrin shouts at the assassin, lunging his body forward at him with a desperate burst of seed.
The assassin didn't seem to expect him to attack, his responding parry is just as fast, but his grip is loose on his blades hilt. The blade spins to the ground, but Tyrin's sword follows it. The man immediatly moves forward, attempting to grab Tyrin, who fall over backwards trying to dodge him. The assassin continues his attack, drawing a dagger as he comes, and meaning to leap on Tyrin.
But Tyrin reacts quickly with a last burst of energy, ramming his feet up into the air and catapulting the rushing form into the air behind him.
Tyrin struggles to rise as the man crashes heavily to the earth next to the paths edge. The assassin seems dazed, and also starts to get up.
Tyrin is on his feet first, and so he sees the dark shape rise up out of the woods edge like an avenging angel rising from the grave. And as the assassin gets to his knees, the shape lashes forward, slamming the man violently back to the ground. The assassin tries to retrieve his dagger from the ground next to him, but as he starts to move a sword slams down between his shoulder blades, and pins him face down to the ground. He dosen't make a sound as he dies in a spreading pool of blood.
Wiegraf pulls himself to his feet, unsteadily, shaking, and looking like he will pass out soon.
Tyrin spins, searching for the other assassin, and he is just in time to dodge to the side as the assassin slices at him. The man is holding his dead companions sword in his left hand in addition to his weapon, and advances again, driving Tyrin back.
Wiegraf catches Tyrins attention and tosses him a dagger. But before Tyrin can do anything, someone rushes in between Tyrin and Wiegraf, a black cloak flying behind him.
It is a man, also wearing black, and with a blue bandana. He is taller than the assassin by at least two inches, and carries a bastard sword, swinging it in a complicated pattern in front of his body.
The assassin steps under the first attack and parrys the second, but as he attempts to thrust under the mans now open defenses, he finds the man gone, and a cut on the chest sends him sprawling.
The assassin battles the man for a scant handfull of seconds before he decides to run, and vaults onto his horse. The man dashes after him, but before he can reach the horse, the assassin has already taken off, dragging the other horse behind him.
Silence takes over the night, interrupted only by the heavy breathing of Tyrin and Wiegraf, and the fading sound of the running horse.
The man turns to face them, glancing at the dead horse, and taking in the sight of the path and the remains of the battle.
"Darius, what are you doing here?" Tyrin approaches the man, still limping painfully.
Darius turns to him with a mysterious smile "Shouldn't you just be content that I was here?" He says, in his familiar whispery voice.
As the two talk, Wiegraf cleans his short sword on a scrap of cloth, and tries to shake the diziness that still clouds his vision. A minute later, he vanishes off the trail to hunt for his musket.
"They'll come across the new hideout pretty soon, now that they've found us down here." Tyrin muses out loud.
Darius sheathes his bastard sword and looks at Tyrin.
"What do you suggest we do?" He says.
Tyrin shakes his head. "I don't know." He replies.
"We could call all of them together, and fortify the place." Wiegraf steps out of the woods, carrying his musket, dirty, but apparently unharmed by it's flight.
"All of them?" Tyrin turns to look at him.
"Of course. That would be enough to hold off whatever small force they could get together." Wiegraf says.
Darius cleans his sword as they talk. looking up and down the blade, treating it like a family heirloom or a precious valuable.
"I will take my leave." Darius turns to leave, sheathing his sword quietly.
"What for? We'll need you when they come." Tyrin says, his conversation with Wiegraf forgotten momentarily.
"You wanted the others here didn't you?" He asks quietly, and walks back off the way he came, vanishing from view in the dark of the forests emprace.
The moon continues it's glide across the night sky as Tyrin and Wiegraf set out to the small town of Antei, two stars in a greater night that has no visible end.