Chapter 9 - "Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?"
-
It was, at first glance, a thoroughly ordinary seeming homestead. There was a large farmhouse, a larger barn and a pair of sheds, all enclosed by a sturdy stone fence. It was nothing Willow, Xander and Giles hadn't run across a half dozen times on their way south through the borders of Mirkwood.
But, unlike all the other farms they'd seen, this one bore unmistakable signs of violence. The main gate was smashed and lying in pieces, and there were arrows scattered here and there in the clearing cut all around the farm.
"No bodies... maybe it was just a bear or something?" Willow speculated as they cautiously approached the fence.
"Where's the bear, then? Or the people?" Xander pointed out.
"Oh."
"Please, be quiet, both of you," Giles whispered. They'd come out of the trees with their weapons sheathed, to avoid giving offense or, more likely, receiving attack, but now he drew his sword and stepped over what was left of the gate. After a few paces, he turned back towards the others. "Willow, come with me. Xander, stay here, please, and watch the trees."
"What? They're not - oh." Xander nodded and leaned back against the fence, sword drawn and ready.
It was a short distance from the gate to the farmhouse, and Willow spent every step worrying about suddenly being riddled with arrows. Finally, though, they reached the front door. It too had been smashed, but was still mostly intact. There were, however, long claw marks all over the top half.
"Wolves?" Willow asked in a whisper.
Giles shook his head. "Too high for wolves, unless they reared up..."
"Orcs, then?"
"Orcs don't have that sort of claws," Giles pointed out. He motioned for her to be quiet, then quickly kicked the door in and jumped back lest anybody hidden inside attack.
There was no one inside, and very nearly nothing. The furniture had been smashed to bits and lay in a great arc all around the door.
"A barricade," Giles noted, kicking aside the broken remains of a wooden table. It was stained red with blood. He paused, listened, and then relaxed slightly. "I don't think whoever did this is still here. Not during the day."
"Who could have...?" Willow asked as she looked around what had once been a tidy and prosperous home. There was a broken sword, its blade snapped in three pieces, near the doorway to the kitchen, but no other sign of what had happened to the occupants.
"Ah!"
Willow jumped, and then realized it was Giles' 'eureka!' tone. "What?" she asked, trying to sound calm.
"Here..." Giles pulled back the tattered remnants of a bearskin rug, revealing a leather-bound book. It had a few droplets of dry blood on it, and a long scratch mark down the cover. "The woodsmen in these parts often keep family journals... It *would* be in the old tongue, of course," he muttered in annoyance. "I think I can make out most of it, though. It may shed some light on who was responsible for all this." Giles promptly kicked himself a clear space on the floor and began to flip through the battered text.
While Giles pored over the journal, Willow took advantage of his distraction to slip into the kitchen. It was in just as bad shape as the main room. Willow guessed that the attackers had broken in through the front door first, then forced their way here. And then down into the cellar, she realized, noticing an open trap door near the fireplace.
She glanced back over her shoulder, confirmed that Giles was still engrossed in his translation, and then climbed down through the trap door and down the staircase.
Something was drawing her down there, something more than just curiosity. Willow was afraid of what she would find, but the need to see, to know, overpowered her fear. That made it all the more terrifying, if she had had the time to think about it.
The cellar was cool and dark. A murmured incantation dispelled the darkness, and Willow promptly became sick. A moment later, she rose back to her feet and cast a fearful glance up the stairs, but Giles was nowhere to be seen.
Willow breathed a sigh of relief and turned back towards the cellar. This time, the carnage didn't make her nauseous, but only barely. Refusing to admit what she saw had once been human made it easier to bear, but only ever so little. She picked her way through the remains, working towards the wooden door at the back of the room, then froze and listened. There! The faintest of footsteps. Mentally preparing a fire spell, Willow turned on her heels and flung both her hands out, ready to fry whatever was creeping up behind her.
But the incantation froze in her mouth and all she could croak out was "Oz?"
Then she squeaked as she realized that the beast before her was definitely *not* Oz. Its fur was darker and thicker, and it looked much more like a real wolf than Oz ever had. It was also nearly eight feet tall, and with fangs and claws to match.
She opened her mouth to scream, but, swift as lightning, it covered her mouth and most of her face with a single paw. Willow tried to break free, but its grip was too strong.
"Be still," the gigantic werewolf hissed in a surprisingly soft whisper. "Do not make me tear you open."
Willow nodded frantically and the black wolf slowly relaxed its hold on her face.
"Who are you?" it asked her, peering curiously into her eyes. "You are not one of the farmers."
"No, I - " she stopped when the werewolf thrust its muzzle up against her face and sniffed, once, twice, three times, before drawing back and snarling for a second. Then its fur seemed to shimmer, like a heat mirage, and melted away as the werewolf shrank to a more human size. And in seconds, that was what was left, an ordinary, if cruel-looking, man.
"You have the stink of the Necromancer on you!" he snarled, a mixture of dread and rage upon his face. Then he regained his composure and sneered at Willow. "Did he send you, little girl? Are you all he could spare?"
"He - who - no!" Willow stammered in confusion. He thought that she was one of Sauron's minions? But then what was he?
The werewolf regarded her with unmistakable skepticism. "You lie. I can smell him on your soul. If you are not one of his hunters, are you a slave? How could one such as you escape Dol Guldur? Ten in my pack, and only I remain..." He let out a short, mournful groan.
"I didn't - I don't have anything to do with him!" Willow vehemently protested.
"You lie again. I sat at his feet long enough to know his scent!" Suddenly, a look of horror came over the werewolf's face. "He has his claws in you! Can he see through your eyes? He can... he did..."
He shifted form again, faster than even before, and charged at her in his wolfman guise.
"Ghâshûl!" Willow shrieked as the werewolf leapt at her, fangs bore, and the room suddenly lit up as red fire exploded from her hands. The werewolf howled in agony and clumsily jumped to the side. There was a huge scorch mark on his shoulder and chest where the fire had touched him, and even now it still smoldered.
Then, to Willow's astonishment, he shifted form again, this time becoming a pure wolf, and darted away from her, disappearing into the inky shadows at the edge of the cellar.
When she was sure he had gone, apparently down a tunnel leading to another building, Willow sank down to her and let out a gasping sob just as Giles appeared above.
End Chapter Nine
-
It was, at first glance, a thoroughly ordinary seeming homestead. There was a large farmhouse, a larger barn and a pair of sheds, all enclosed by a sturdy stone fence. It was nothing Willow, Xander and Giles hadn't run across a half dozen times on their way south through the borders of Mirkwood.
But, unlike all the other farms they'd seen, this one bore unmistakable signs of violence. The main gate was smashed and lying in pieces, and there were arrows scattered here and there in the clearing cut all around the farm.
"No bodies... maybe it was just a bear or something?" Willow speculated as they cautiously approached the fence.
"Where's the bear, then? Or the people?" Xander pointed out.
"Oh."
"Please, be quiet, both of you," Giles whispered. They'd come out of the trees with their weapons sheathed, to avoid giving offense or, more likely, receiving attack, but now he drew his sword and stepped over what was left of the gate. After a few paces, he turned back towards the others. "Willow, come with me. Xander, stay here, please, and watch the trees."
"What? They're not - oh." Xander nodded and leaned back against the fence, sword drawn and ready.
It was a short distance from the gate to the farmhouse, and Willow spent every step worrying about suddenly being riddled with arrows. Finally, though, they reached the front door. It too had been smashed, but was still mostly intact. There were, however, long claw marks all over the top half.
"Wolves?" Willow asked in a whisper.
Giles shook his head. "Too high for wolves, unless they reared up..."
"Orcs, then?"
"Orcs don't have that sort of claws," Giles pointed out. He motioned for her to be quiet, then quickly kicked the door in and jumped back lest anybody hidden inside attack.
There was no one inside, and very nearly nothing. The furniture had been smashed to bits and lay in a great arc all around the door.
"A barricade," Giles noted, kicking aside the broken remains of a wooden table. It was stained red with blood. He paused, listened, and then relaxed slightly. "I don't think whoever did this is still here. Not during the day."
"Who could have...?" Willow asked as she looked around what had once been a tidy and prosperous home. There was a broken sword, its blade snapped in three pieces, near the doorway to the kitchen, but no other sign of what had happened to the occupants.
"Ah!"
Willow jumped, and then realized it was Giles' 'eureka!' tone. "What?" she asked, trying to sound calm.
"Here..." Giles pulled back the tattered remnants of a bearskin rug, revealing a leather-bound book. It had a few droplets of dry blood on it, and a long scratch mark down the cover. "The woodsmen in these parts often keep family journals... It *would* be in the old tongue, of course," he muttered in annoyance. "I think I can make out most of it, though. It may shed some light on who was responsible for all this." Giles promptly kicked himself a clear space on the floor and began to flip through the battered text.
While Giles pored over the journal, Willow took advantage of his distraction to slip into the kitchen. It was in just as bad shape as the main room. Willow guessed that the attackers had broken in through the front door first, then forced their way here. And then down into the cellar, she realized, noticing an open trap door near the fireplace.
She glanced back over her shoulder, confirmed that Giles was still engrossed in his translation, and then climbed down through the trap door and down the staircase.
Something was drawing her down there, something more than just curiosity. Willow was afraid of what she would find, but the need to see, to know, overpowered her fear. That made it all the more terrifying, if she had had the time to think about it.
The cellar was cool and dark. A murmured incantation dispelled the darkness, and Willow promptly became sick. A moment later, she rose back to her feet and cast a fearful glance up the stairs, but Giles was nowhere to be seen.
Willow breathed a sigh of relief and turned back towards the cellar. This time, the carnage didn't make her nauseous, but only barely. Refusing to admit what she saw had once been human made it easier to bear, but only ever so little. She picked her way through the remains, working towards the wooden door at the back of the room, then froze and listened. There! The faintest of footsteps. Mentally preparing a fire spell, Willow turned on her heels and flung both her hands out, ready to fry whatever was creeping up behind her.
But the incantation froze in her mouth and all she could croak out was "Oz?"
Then she squeaked as she realized that the beast before her was definitely *not* Oz. Its fur was darker and thicker, and it looked much more like a real wolf than Oz ever had. It was also nearly eight feet tall, and with fangs and claws to match.
She opened her mouth to scream, but, swift as lightning, it covered her mouth and most of her face with a single paw. Willow tried to break free, but its grip was too strong.
"Be still," the gigantic werewolf hissed in a surprisingly soft whisper. "Do not make me tear you open."
Willow nodded frantically and the black wolf slowly relaxed its hold on her face.
"Who are you?" it asked her, peering curiously into her eyes. "You are not one of the farmers."
"No, I - " she stopped when the werewolf thrust its muzzle up against her face and sniffed, once, twice, three times, before drawing back and snarling for a second. Then its fur seemed to shimmer, like a heat mirage, and melted away as the werewolf shrank to a more human size. And in seconds, that was what was left, an ordinary, if cruel-looking, man.
"You have the stink of the Necromancer on you!" he snarled, a mixture of dread and rage upon his face. Then he regained his composure and sneered at Willow. "Did he send you, little girl? Are you all he could spare?"
"He - who - no!" Willow stammered in confusion. He thought that she was one of Sauron's minions? But then what was he?
The werewolf regarded her with unmistakable skepticism. "You lie. I can smell him on your soul. If you are not one of his hunters, are you a slave? How could one such as you escape Dol Guldur? Ten in my pack, and only I remain..." He let out a short, mournful groan.
"I didn't - I don't have anything to do with him!" Willow vehemently protested.
"You lie again. I sat at his feet long enough to know his scent!" Suddenly, a look of horror came over the werewolf's face. "He has his claws in you! Can he see through your eyes? He can... he did..."
He shifted form again, faster than even before, and charged at her in his wolfman guise.
"Ghâshûl!" Willow shrieked as the werewolf leapt at her, fangs bore, and the room suddenly lit up as red fire exploded from her hands. The werewolf howled in agony and clumsily jumped to the side. There was a huge scorch mark on his shoulder and chest where the fire had touched him, and even now it still smoldered.
Then, to Willow's astonishment, he shifted form again, this time becoming a pure wolf, and darted away from her, disappearing into the inky shadows at the edge of the cellar.
When she was sure he had gone, apparently down a tunnel leading to another building, Willow sank down to her and let out a gasping sob just as Giles appeared above.
End Chapter Nine
