VI
She could see it bounding through the trees, snarling menacingly as it closed in on her. Frantically she tried to turn and run, forgetting her spells, but before she could try to escape it was upon her, dragging her to the ground even as the muscles and bones of her legs tore and snapped beneath its horrible fangs. Desperately she turned back to the monster, flailing away with her arms as she tried to beat the huge wolf away from her, but it simply leapt forward and tore at her throat…
Talia leapt up in horror, screaming as she tried to scramble away from her nightmare. She was halfway through a spell before she realized that the forest around her was dark and silent, except for a the quietly crackling fire set only a few feet away from her. The wolves were long gone, she had been wrapped up in her cloak as well as Crispin's, and a badly singed blanket had been roughly thrown over her. On the other side of the small fire, Crispin watched her slowly regain her composure, his shadowed face looking almost sinister in the light of the fire.
"What… happened?" the mage asked timidly, still glancing around for any signs of the winter wolves that had attacked them earlier. "Where are we?"
"We're right off the road," Crispin answered, a sharp edge to his voice.
"What about the wolves?" Talia asked, trying to pull herself into a sitting position. As soon as she tried, though, waves of pain shot through her legs and chest. "I… I didn't think…"
"That much was obvious," Crispin interrupted, growing openly angry. "I hope you're well enough to walk soon, because we don't have horses any more."
"The… the wolves killed… the horses?" Talia concluded, growing more and more hesitant.
"You killed them!" Crispin suddenly shouted. "You fried our horses with a lightning bolt! What in the Nine Hells were you thinking?"
"I…" Talia faltered, dumbfounded.
"Yes, you!" the ranger exclaimed, glaring across the fire at her. "What the hell were you doing? Haven't you ever cast a bolt before? By Pelor's sun shiny ass, I know enough to make sure there's nothing behind the target!"
"I haven't," Talia said quietly, looking down at her still badly damaged leg. The wounds to her chest were not as severe, but they still pained her as she shifted slightly beneath Crispin's cloak.
"And not only don't we have horses, but we don't…" Crispin stopped as Talia's quiet answer registered. "You haven't? Haven't what?"
"I've never… cast a lightning bolt before," Talia said meekly, unable to meet the ranger's furious gaze. "I… a couple of times, I cast a lightning bolt, but it was in a large field, and I was only practicing it before I started on the road with you."
"You've never cast a lightning bolt," Crispin repeated, his anger slowly ebbing into stunned disbelief. For a moment the ranger stared at his companion, but Talia simply kept her eyes on the bandages covering her legs. "Is there… is there anything else you'd like to share with me before we continue this little trip?"
"I've… never seen… real combat," Talia said, almost too quietly to be heard. "That… I never… God, I'm so sorry, Crispin."
"Not once," Crispin said, too surprised to be furious. "You've never cast a spell in combat."
"I… I'm a scholar," Talia said, finally looking up with tear rimmed eyes. Her voice began to crack as she continued, as humiliation and fear fought for control of her emotions. "I… I didn't think you, or the marquis, would take me at all seriously if I told you that. I… God, I wanted to go so badly. I… I wanted to… I wanted to be the hero, instead of reading about the hero. And then, when these storms started, I… I'm sorry."
Talia looked away again, holding back her tears as she stared off into the darkness. For a long moment Crispin remained on his side of the fire, torn between wanting to comfort the young mage and wanting to gut her on the spot for leading him into the forest on some wild goose chase. Finally, the ranger stood up, and slowly walked around the fire to her. Carefully he knelt just behind her, but the mage would not turn to meet his gaze.
"Look," Crispin said quietly. "I'm not going to lie. Dragging me out here was wrong, and it almost got both of us killed. I hope you learn a valuable lesson from this, if we survive."
"I… yes," Talia said quietly. She started to draw her knees up to her chest, but stopped with a wince of pain as she aggravated her injuries.
"That being said," Crispin continued, putting a hand on the mage's shoulder, "it's not all bad to want to get out and be a part of the action."
"Thanks," Talia said, turning back to the ranger. Crispin patted her shoulder, then stood up and started back to his side of the fire.
"Come morning, I'll see if I can heal a little more of the damage to your legs," the ranger said. "My healing spells aren't exactly like going to the archbishop in Montcalm, but it'll at least get you around to walking in a day or two."
"Thanks," Talia said, looking across the fire. Crispin waved the gratitude off without another thought, and went back to tending the fire. "Crispin?"
"Yeah," the ranger said.
"You're… not a bad guy," Talia said. Crispin nearly broke out into laughter, but managed to keep most of his mirth under control.
"Don't go spreading vicious rumors like that," Crispin said with a chuckle. Talia smiled at the predictable answer, and dropped back into her cloaks and blanket to listen to the fire and faintly creaking trees around them.
___________________________________________________
"Think you can walk?"
"Yeah, I'll be all right," Talia said, standing stiffly on her largely healed legs. Her knees still ached when she moved, but Crispin had told her to expect as much from the lingering effects of frostbite. Gingerly the mage stooped and picked up what few belongings she had left, which fortunately included her spellbook. Crispin watched her as she slowly stood up again, noting the pain and stiffness that accompanied her actions.
"We can wait a little longer," the ranger offered. "Without any snowshoes, it's going to be a tough walk."
"No, I'm fine," Talia repeated, trying to convince herself as much as her guide. "Once we get moving it'll be fine. I just slept wrong, is all."
"Okay," Crispin said, conceding the argument for the moment. The ranger kicked some snow and frozen dirt onto the remnants of the fire, then led the way back out to the road. The last flurries had stopped sometime just before dawn, but the carcasses of the horses and the winter wolf that Crispin had slain were buried beneath a fresh mantle of snow. As he reached the road, the ranger turned west, judging the road ahead and the heavy banks of clouds that still obscured the sun. "We should make Falloux in about a day and a half, if we move quickly and the weather doesn't slow us down any more than it already has."
"Falloux?" Talia repeated, confused. "Then, you're not going to take me back to Montcalm right away?"
"Mattin is well over two days away, and I know for a fact that Prejet and his family don't have any horses for trade or sale," Crispin explained. "I'm not walking a week back to Montcalm. At least in Falloux we can get warm beds, and most likely some horses. If not, well, I'll do my drinking in a logging settlement, and you can see what it's like outside your ivory tower."
"Thanks," Talia said, picking out the subtle jab at her inexperience. If he noticed her unhappiness with him, Crispin seemed not to care as he started southwest along the road, holding his longbow loosely in his hand and keeping his quiver clear of his cloak. Talia hurried to fall into step next to him, pushing through snow that had grown over a foot deep from the previous day's weather. Crispin stopped after taking only a half dozen steps, and turned to the mage.
"If you want to break trail that badly, I'll let you," Crispin said, leaning on his long bow. "But I think you'll find the trip a lot easier if you walk behind me, where I've already broken the snow."
"Oh," Talia said. "Anything else I should know?"
"Yeah," Crispin replied. "You tell me when to stop. Your legs aren't fully healed yet. You try to push yourself too hard, and we'll only end up losing more time while you try to recover."
"I'm just a little stiff," Talia protested. "I'll be fine, Crispin. Though I appreciate your concern."
"Concern?" Crispin repeated, acting surprised that she would think he was worried about her. "Talia, I want to get to the inn at Falloux. It'll only take me longer if I have to wait half a day, or try to carry you."
"You're too kind," Talia grumbled. Crispin flashed an amused smirk at the young woman, then turned and continued to make his way down the Timber Road. Talia kept pace three steps behind the ranger, realizing as she walked that her guide had been right about how much easier the road became just by following Crispin's trail.
All too soon, it became apparent to Talia why the ranger had told her not to be too eager to keep up. Within the space of an hour, the dull ache in her legs had turned into constant, shooting pain that multiplied with each step. The flaring agony in her legs shifted suddenly and painfully to an icy numbness in her feet, as the snow on her boots melted and began to soak through the thick leather. Stubbornly the mage continued to keep pace behind Crispin, who still seemed unaffected by the harsh conditions around him. Whether the ranger's seemingly supernatural resistance to the cold came from some kind of ranger magic or simple acclimation to the elements, Talia could not tell, but Crispin continued to push his way through the snow with the determination of a golem.
It felt like another hour had passed when Talia finally stopped in the middle of the road, her legs in far too much pain to continue. Crispin seemed to instantly sense her pause, and turned back to her as she dropped to one knee in the snow.
"I told you, don't push yourself," the ranger reminded her. Talia glared up at her guide, but kept her comments to herself. "Come on. Let's get you off the road and in under the trees, where there's a little less snow."
"I just need a minute or two," Talia said, trying to massage a little bit of the pain from her shins. Crispin shouldered his bow and came back to her.
"Better that you're out of the heavy snow," the ranger said. Without another word he scooped her up out of the snow, easily cradling her in his arms as he carried her off of the road.
"Crispin, come on, put me down!" Talia protested. "I can walk on my own!"
"You weren't moving fast enough," the ranger said, ducking under the wide branches of the nearest trees and gently setting her back on her feet. Talia nearly collapsed under her own weight, but Crispin eased her to the ground against a huge pine tree that had kept most of the snow from reaching the ground. "Now just relax," Crispin said. "I can get a little fire going, and…"
The ranger stopped in mid sentence, halted by Talia's suddenly stunned and horrified expression. Crispin whirled even as he pulled his bow from his shoulder, but as he saw what had caught the mage's attention he slowly started to relax. Behind him, Talia gasped in fear and revulsion, already preparing a spell should an immediate threat arise. Cautiously Crispin edged his way closer to a large, wide spreading spruce tree, keeping an arrow nocked in case an enemy should arise from the dark woods.
The thing that had caught Talia's attention lay beneath the dead lower branches of the spruce. Two goblins and a huge, black wolf equipped with a riding saddle were frozen and half buried in the snow, their faces twisted into permanent masks of terror. One of the goblins still clutched its short bow, a broken arrow still set on its bowstring. As Crispin knelt next to the unfortunate goblins, he could easily see the huge bite marks that had slain them, ripping out internal organs and splattering them against the trunk of the tree. The ranger glanced around for tracks, but the only evidence he saw of a trail were traces of blood, partially erased by new snow.
"Who… were they?" Talia asked, sickened by the torn bodies.
"Raiders," Crispin answered, his attention still fixed on the grim scene. Carefully he made his way past the frozen bodies to the trail of blood, ducking under the heavy, dead branches of the spruce to what looked like it had been a campsite only hours before. Strewn across a tiny opening in the forest where a monstrous fir had splintered and fallen years before, four more goblins lay dead in the snow around a makeshift fire ring. The five worg mounts with them had been torn to shreds, their mangled corpses grotesquely frozen to the ground by their own blood. The blood trail led still further, another ten yards from the encampment to a final worg that had been literally ripped into quarters in a tangle of underbrush beneath the dense trees. For a long moment Crispin scanned the dim forest around him, looking for anyone or anything in the trees. There had been seven worgs, but only six goblins.
A faint bit of snow fell from one of the trees. Crispin turned, raising his long bow and taking aim almost twenty feet up an enormous pine. Above him, balancing on the branches as he drew an arrow to his own cheek, a fur clad goblin watched the ranger warily. For a long moment the two archers remained still, ready to let their shaft fly should the other try to fire.
"Got no quarrel with you," the goblin finally said, speaking in his own guttural language. For one of his kind, the goblin remained remarkably composed, unflinching in the face of the ranger below him. "Let me be."
"Who are you?" Crispin asked, remaining on guard.
"Who are you?" the goblin asked in reply, unwilling to divulge any information about himself. Again the two fell into silence, keeping aim on each other as Crispin tried to decide how to deal with the goblin above him. Many of his kind would have panicked and fired already, but this goblin's flat, almost simian face betrayed no sign of fear as his yellow eyes remained focused on the ranger. Only a faint twitch of his large, pointed ears through his long, coarse black hair gave any indication of the goblin's tense nerves.
"This is stupid," Crispin finally said, switching back to the language of Tourant. Slowly the ranger began to lower his bow, taking the chance that his opposite would do likewise. The goblin tensed visibly, then watched in confusion as Crispin removed the arrow and pushed it back into his quiver.
"You mean peace?" the goblin asked, his voice shaky and uncertain in Tourant.
"I mean peace," Crispin confirmed. "Come out of the tree. Today, we are not enemies."
The goblin hesitated a moment further, but finally lowered his short bow and tucked his arrow away. After another few seconds of consideration the raider finally shouldered the bow and worked his way down the tree, landing and turning on the ranger with his hand on the short sword belted to his waist. Again the two squared off, taking each other's measure in preparation for an attack. The rust hued goblin stood only four feet tall, fairly well built for one of his kind, but again, the thing that struck Crispin about the goblin was his apparent confidence and self discipline. Only the goblins of Trzebin or Przasnysz possessed the restraint and discipline that this raider displayed.
"What happened here?" Crispin asked, his own hands close enough to his weapons to draw them should it come to combat.
"What would human care?" the goblin replied curtly.
"Because whatever slaughtered your friends is probably still out here," Crispin replied. "And something that can kill six raiders and seven worgs worries me."
"Winter wolves," the goblin answered. "Come in night, kill guards, kill worgs. I escape."
"How many?" Crispin asked, growing faintly concerned. For the first time he began to give Talia's theory some thought; already he had seen evidence of at least two, and most likely three, winter wolves. Although a handful might follow storms, they were becoming far too common.
"Six," the goblin answered. "They ambush us."
"Six?" Crispin repeated. Eight or nine winter wolves in Tourant, especially so late in the season, was not normal…
"They come with snow," the goblin said. He glanced around the forest, then turned to walk to the road. "I go now."
Crispin watched for a moment as the goblin slowly pushed through the snow and the branches toward the road. Much as he hated goblins, Crispin realized that he was extremely short of allies in an increasingly hostile area.
"You'll never get back to Przasnysz on your own," the ranger said, switching back to the goblin tongue. The raider stopped in his tracks, turning slowly back to the human. "There is safety in numbers."
"You… mean to ally with me?" the goblin asked in his own language, thoroughly stunned by the offer. Crispin nodded once. "You will not trick me?"
"No tricks," the ranger confirmed. "I have but one… ally," Crispin started, trying to find the closest word to friend that the goblins had in their language, "and am in need of more. I am Crispin."
For a long moment the goblin stared at Crispin, trying to judge the human's motives. Crispin remained emotionless where he stood, wondering himself if he should trust a goblin as a traveling companion. For the ranger, however, there was no other option; Talia was too inexperienced in combat to provide him with any real help, while the goblin had at least seen battle on a handful of occasions. Finally, the goblin took a step back to the human.
"I am Rachwal, of the Cold Tooth," the raider finally said. Crispin knew the clan name well enough; the Cold Tooth clan of goblins held much of the power in Przasnysz, and were reviled by the traders that traveled the Timber Road for their bloody, successful raids on caravans all along the merchant routes to the heart of Tourant. "You camp here?"
"Only for the moment," Crispin replied. "My companion is wounded, and needs rest."
"Rest quickly," Rachwal said in halting Tourant. "Wolves come back, finish job."
"I don't doubt it," Crispin said, leading his new ally back to Talia.
___________________________________________________
"Two days now, and we ain't seen a trace of this thing. I say it ain't even around."
"If there was a winter wolf around here, it's probably still around," Emeri said, leaning forward in his saddle as he carefully scanned a large, snow covered field only three hours southwest of Mattin. Just behind him, sitting at the edge of a narrow trail that led out of the thick, rocky forest to this huge field, Gaston folded his arms across his barrel chest, far less interested in a hunt for a winter wolf than his squad leader. "A winter wolf isn't just going to sneak down here to kill a stray sheep or two."
"We should be down on the Timber Road," Gaston huffed, looking around at the frosted trees edging the meadow impatiently. "Trading season'll be here in no time. There's goblins to kill and protection money to collect."
"Not with all this snow, there isn't," Emeri corrected, finally convinced that there was nothing of interest in the field ahead. The Lancer turned back to his second in command, a scowl set on his face. "Maybe, if you'd put a little less effort into complaining and a little more into finding this damn dog, we'd be able to get this over with and get down to the Timber Road to pick out some good spots."
"I think Crispin was just trying to scare us," Bayard said, stretching slightly as he leaned back in his own saddle. "I think that was just a wolf, or maybe a worg."
"What have we told you about thinking, boy?" Fleury said from the rear of the group. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that."
"Well, there's nothing around here, anyway," Giraume said, shaking his head as he looked to Emeri. The squad leader glanced over to Giraume, opening his mouth to speak, but the young Lancer was suddenly torn out of his saddle in a cloud of frost and white fur.
"There it is!" Bayard exclaimed, fumbling to bring his lance in line with the huge, snow white wolf that had suddenly appeared in their midst. Giraume let out a final scream as the winter wolf ripped his throat open, spilling blood across the snow, but Bayard was already spurring his horse onward to kill the monstrous canine before it could turn on the rest of the Lancers.
The forest just north of the trail suddenly burst into action as three more winter wolves charged forward, taking Bayard and Gaston completely by surprise as they tried to react their first attacker. Both Bayard and his horse were frozen by two of the wolves' icy breath just as his lance hit Giraume's attacker, killing them instantly. Gaston whirled on the newcomers, slamming through one of the wolves with his lance, but by that time the first wolf had recovered and tore into his mount's throat. Fleury and Emeri both hit that wolf at the same moment, driving their lances into the monster's flank, but Gaston had already fallen from his slain horse into the waiting jaws of the other three.
"Emeri, get out of here!" Fleury shouted, yanking his lance free of the fallen wolf in time to ward off another of the attackers.
"Not without you!" Emeri shouted back, fending off his own attackers. They had managed to kill one of the winter wolves, but the other three were rapidly closing in on the two survivors.
"We don't have a prayer!" Fleury shouted. "Get out of here and circle east! I'll meet you back in Mattin!"
Emeri opened his mouth to argue, but his attacker refused to give him any more time. The winter wolf charged headlong at his mount, avoiding the Lancer's weapon but only barely missing the horse's throat in its wild attack. Fleury was already backing out of the fight, holding off two of the winter wolves as he tried to turn around on the narrow path and head back to Mattin. Finally, without any other option and hard pressed by the winter wolf attacking him, Emeri turned his mount and spurred the horse to a gallop, taking off across the field with all the speed he could muster.