Kevin's Watch

I submitted a new story this year, and since this entry failed, I will publish it on this page.

If this year's entry fails, I'll put it in this thread next year.

Presenting Perisher Dog

Perisher Dog by S.D.B. Hawley


The smell was charred steel. This made my heart leap. Charred steel meant the weapon was being honed. When I smell charred steel I know there are enemies about.

Soon I heard soft boots and gentle tinkling of ring armor. The stride was relaxed. The stride was even and purposeful. I smelled him too. His smell was strong from his efforts at the grindstone.

DeGorzak soon came into my field of vision. I rose up to greet him. I scampered in place. I batted my tail in giddiness.

“Perisher,” said DeGorzak, “Cover me!”

I looked up into DeGorzak’s bronze eyes. I studied his pock marked face. There I saw the earnestness. I saw the importance of his words. One gruff bark told him he could count on me.

He put out his lamp. Only quiet moonlight illuminated the meadow now. It illuminated the freshly honed weapon he drew from his back harness.

We went uphill towards the ridgetop. the smell of nettles receded as we left the meadow behind.

About halfway up the ridge I smelled something fishy mixed with the cloying sweetness of lilac. This was Artaevr’s smell. Artaevr were always the enemy!

I dashed behind where the smell seemed stronger. I spotted the Artaevr crouching behind a juniper.

I barked and bounded for the Artaevr. the Artaevr drew its weapon against me. Beneath its cloak I saw the Artaevr’s semblance of a face. This was not as easy to read as a human’s face. The pale yellow flesh of the Artaevr was a quivering pudding. The eyes were small black dots.
They were impossible to read. The mouth showed more expression. It flashed contempt. The Artaevr hissed at me through spiny rows of teeth.

The Artaevr thrust his spear out to keep me at bay. I ran barking around the creature.
DeGorzak leapt in silent bounds. He sped from shadow to shadow and was soon almost upon the enemy. DeGorzak paused and waited for the Artaevr’s back to turn. The Artaevr feinted a stab at me from the best direction for DeGorzak’s attack and then whirled around to block the swiftly descending battle axe. A swift follow up from the Artaevr’s spear might have caught DeGorzak by surprise.

This was not to be. The cunning Artaevr had to train his weapon away from me now. I went for his ankles.

The Artaevr cried out in torment as my teeth found more substantial flesh beneath the pudding. That was enough to distract it fatally. In the next moment a spray of white ichor showered the mountainside from where DeGorzak’s war axe found its mark.

“Good boy, Perisher!” exclaimed DeGorzak. He smiled.

“That was a scout,” he said. With a subtle jerk of his head, he signaled a return to climbing.


Once atop the ridge, DeGorzak parked his broad haunches onto a rock. He took out his canteen and shared a drink with me.

Then DeGorzak took a canister of polish from the purse that hung from his broad belt.

“I should have done this earlier!” he muttered as he rubbed bootblack into the steel rings in his gambeson.

I lay in the grass and put my head down in my folded forelegs. DeGorzak stroked me behind the ears. I could see DeGorzak peering intently into the distance. A long time passed this way.

Later I felt his sinews flex as he drew a keen breath. He grew rigid on his rock and fixed his gaze more steadily in one place.

“They come,” he whispered to me.

I stood and looked down to the road below. Light came from the distance. I smelled the faint sickness of fish and lilac. Before DeGorzak had stood I saw the caravan resolve from darkness.

DeGorzak counted the footmen and the camels. He seemed pleased. He said, “a scab is with them drinking gilt-custard. I wish I had time to kill him too. The zaffre wearing sycophant!

“One camel bears a veiled lectica! My mark rides within! This particular Artaevr is important. They don’t seem to miss their scout yet either... good!”

DeGorzak looked at me as though haunted.

“I know you understand,” he said. Then he launched himself down into the shadows of brush and rock with quiet stealth. I stayed close. When we reached level ground DeGorzak hid in a shady spinney of elder.

The thumping of driven hoof and footsteps grew louder as the caravan neared. DeGorzak tensed his thighs into a ready crouch. He would spring soon. I waited only to hear his breath catch then threw myself ahead of him barking loudly.

All of them turned to me and drew their weapons. At once DeGorzak leapt from the elders and threw himself strait at the lectica.

He paused only to leapfrog up the camel’s side. The lectica tipped over hitting the ground with a great clamor.

The footmen turned from me as DeGorzak and his Artaevr target thrashed in the upturned mess. I saw to it that they could not afford to intervene. Again I threw myself at every undefended ankle. I went from footman to footman like a boar that dashed past spear points. I distracted them and hampered their attack on DeGorzak.

When I smelled DeGorzak’s Artaevr victim bleed, I knew it was time to fly. I saw DeGorzak dash back into the brush up the ridge. His timing took full advantage of my distraction. I drew them away from him and went further across the road. Some of them followed me but none followed DeGorzak. When I lost them I made a broad circle back across the road and up the ridge to find my master.

I found him right as he reached his lean to. DeGorzak re-lit his lamp and hastily struck camp. When he was satisfied he called me to share a drink.

“Now it’s done,” he muttered as we sped into the foothills, “I’ll never be a free man in Artaevr lands again. They’ll mark me for a rebel and the suzerainty will put a price on my head. But no more vassalage for us, boy! By the gods I am glad we did it!”

His stride did not slack a single pace as we sorted through deer trails up and down countless ridges. The sun rose and kept climbing for a long time before we took rest or slackened our pace. Short rations were all we took time for. He needed little sleep and so I matched my stamina with his own and kept up with him in our steady ascent homeward.

It did not seem we slowed until well into the next night. The higher mountains stripped the air of any blanketing warmth. Not many hours later DeGorzak called a halt and began to construct a shelter for us.

Even without a fire to tend DeGorzak stayed awake long into the night. I stayed close to him for warmth and slept only when he slept.

At dawn DeGorzak briskly meted rations as he struck our camp. DeGorzak took a little effort to conceal signs of our passage, then we went steadily forward. By early afternoon we came to the village road. I was sure now that home was not far ahead.

Before dusk I began to smell food and fires. I began to hear the sounds of people in the village we came to. Then in twilight the inn soon came into view.

DeGorzak surveyed the village from off road before deciding it was safe. He called me to join him at the inn’s threshold.

Once inside, DeGorzak took a moment to study his surroundings. When he had satisfied himself as to his safety, he rang the bell in the foyer and took a seat at the broad wooden bench. I sat by his feet as he took out his canteen once again to share water with me.

At length, the grey haired innkeeper lumbered to his desk and called DeGorzak to him by name.

“Your pleasure, sir?” the innkeeper asked.

“A room for the night, supper, and more gold for you if you keep an eye out for scabs,” DeGorzak replied.

“You know, Master DeGorzak,” quipped the innkeeper, “we can’t have no dogs in here.”

“You know very well that Perisher is no ordinary dog, Tom Badminton! Must I cross your palm with more gold to keep him with me this night?”

The innkeeper held out his palm as DeGorzak sighed and fished for gold. When the innkeeper was satisfied, he leaned in and whispered to DeGorzak, “Tholomew Weaver is here. He would talk to you later tonight. Come down to the lounge after the last song has been sung and he’ll be there.”

DeGorzak’s expression became more excited now.

“Tholomew is here to meet me, eh? Things are getting very interesting now.”

“You’re in hot water, DeGorzak. Everyone knows it. Not every scab wears the zaffre livery of a suzerainty officer. Your friends will help you all they can, but beware of cloak and dagger. I would advise you take your meal in your room and not come out before the appointed time.”

DeGorzak nodded and gave the innkeeper an extra coin. A key changed hands, and we made for the indicated door.

DeGorzak removed his pack and the back harness that held his axe. At length he went to the window and pulled the drapes closed but for a gap to peer through. I sat next to him and he scratched my ears.

“Ah, Perisher!” he said, “get used to this now. We will not be safe again. Even in our own home. I only pray the old crone is true and can give me what she promised me for my services.”

Soon there came a knock on the door, and DeGorzak cautiously rose and opened it. A maid came in and set a platter of marrow stew and a lit candle on the table. This was followed by a bottle of ale. A pan of cold water was placed on the floor for me. DeGorzak thanked her and she departed.

As the night progressed, the muffled sound of song rose and fell. From time to time DeGorzak faintly hummed along to the lusty tunes that every mountaineer knew by heart. Still he kept close to the window to peer into the street below.

We passed many hours quietly until the merriment in the lodge died down. Then DeGorzak stood to leave the room and told me to keep watch. I huffed a fierce challenge to the dark room when he was gone. Not even a June bug would come in without my scrutiny. I took up my soup bone and chewed it pensively for over an hour.

Soon I heard the voice of DeGorzak and another person nearing the door. I got up and DeGorzak entered. He pet me fondly and smiled.

“Ah, Perisher! We’ll be home tomorrow. Tholomew Weaver will be with us. That is something greater than you can yet comprehend. By the gods your time will come. You’ll understand.”

I licked his face, and the big warrior laughed with ease and pleasure. DeGorzak soon washed,undressed, and settled down to bed. I made my bed at his feet.

When the night had passed DeGorzak put on his gear and shared a hasty breakfast from his pack with me. We went to the foyer where he sat again on the bench until his friend joined him.

“Good morning, Tholomew,” said DeGorzak.

“this is the dog, Perisher?” asked Tholomew.

Tholomew stood a head shorter than DeGorzak, yet he seemed the stronger man. He was quite slender in build and advanced in age. His brows were thick and deep. His eyes were violet and radiated a certain virility and power. He was not entirely what he appeared to be, yet I felt at ease with him.

DeGorzak looked at me and nodded.

“You’ll know me better in a few days, I hope,” the clean shaven wayfarer said. He held out his palm. I sniffed it, and he stroked my head.

“A good war dog,” Tholomew commented.

“He was always good to have handy when things were tight,” replied DeGorzak, “that, at least, remains the same.”

With everything said and done, the three of us went out the door and soon found the footpath homeward. We spent the day in ease and comfort until the afternoon sun gilded the final ravine that was graced by our small cabin.

Inside the cabin DeGorzak filled my bowl with water and began to take off his gear. Tholomew put his belongings away in the closet and went to the wash basin to clean his face. After a time DeGorzak returned from the pantry with libations for his guest. Tholomew sighed in delight as he sipped strong wine.

“I am sorry for your misfortunes,” remarked Tholomew as he drank. Then he said, “yet perhaps one of them will be remedied tonight.”

“At midnight, my friend,” replied DeGorzak, “if the old crone comes as she said she would.”

The two sat at a table. They ate a little and enjoyed the day’s ease.

“It will be nice to have a little fire tonight,” Degorzak said. Then he excused himself.

I followed him outside and tended him as he gathered wood in the deepening dusk. We returned inside where he busied himself with pine needles and faggots as Tholomew took out a pipe and packed it with pleasant herbs.

Tholomew joined DeGorzak at the fireplace and before long both the fire and his pipe had been lit.

The two men sat and talked into the night and I took my place by the hearth and enjoyed the warmth and comfort of home. Before long the curious banter of the old warriors lulled me to a much needed sleep.

I had not been sleeping long before it was midnight, and I was awakened. The old crone was present just as DeGorzak had hoped.

He presented the crone with a foul smelling piece of flesh that dripped with slime as it decomposed. The pale yellow flesh DeGorzak offered her was the hand of the Artaevr he had killed.

The old crone took the hand and pulled at the finger.

“Ah,” she said, “here is that devil’s signet ring! Indeed, you have done well, DeGorzak!”

“I wished you had trusted me enough to have helped me before extracting your price,” moaned DeGorzak softy.

“Hush, sell-sword!” replied the crone, “For as long as the Artaevr have stolen our lands and terrorized our people you remained indifferent. The price I exacted was fair. You’re not indifferent now, are you?”

“No,” admitted DeGorzak, “like it or not, I am in with you now. I’d never forseen what the witch Idmeadon meant to do to me. How could I dare face her masters, when she could cause such ruin herself?”

“We will speak of these things in the morning,” she replied, “after I have rewarded your bravery. In the meantime, here is your drug.”

The crone gave DeGorzak a large vial full of blue liquid. When he uncorked it an unsettling odor filled the room. Thick fumes seethed from the effervescing liquid.

“Perisher,” DeGorzak called softly.

“No, you fool!” muttered the crone, “the dog will not drink that! Put it in his food!”

DeGorzak nodded and went to the counter. He stirred the contents of the vial into my bowl. He put it down before me and smiled. I smelled only bacon and thick porridge now. I licked the top of my food hesitantly.

“This will help you, boy!” uttered DeGorzak softly, “It will make you sleep very deeply. And then when you awaken... you will be as you were before!”

I looked up to the faces that surrounded me. They seemed gentle and full of compassion. Slowly I began to lap up my food. Before long I ate with great eagerness. Soon I had licked the bowl clean.

A sudden heaviness filled me, then the room seemed unsteady.

“Your drug works fast,” observed Tholomew.

“I know my craft,” replied the crone. She chuckled.

I reeled with a profound stupor and sagged to the floor.

“No, Perisher!” DeGorzak said with inexplicable tenderness, “not on the floor!”

DeGorzak knelt and lifted me into his arms. He carried me to a cot in a shadowed part of the room and laid me in it. Some deep emotion ran through him and made his eyes seem misty, but sleep kept me from pondering this. Then I remembered only a soft blanket being tucked around me.

There came colorful dreams and strange sensations. My body felt lighter, then heavier, then almost completely weightless. I felt like I was flying. I felt like I fell or swam. I saw colors and heard sounds. There came periods of only darkness. By the time I had awakened, my entire body felt as if it had been stretched and rung out all night.

I was sure that when I put my feet on the ground I would feel sore and stiff, yet when I got out of bed I felt wonderful and new.

Then I realized that I now stood on two legs. I held out my hands and stared at them. I had human hands! I felt suddenly alarmed and backed up to find a place to hide, only to trip over my cot and topple loudly.

The sounds of displaced objects abated, and soon everyone was roused from sleep. While DeGorzak and Tholomew gawked at me, the crone was the first to do something practical. She threw open the drapes and let the sunlight in.

“There,” she said to DeGorzak, “I told you I would restore your son.”

DeGorzak ran to me. At his embrace, my body felt very alien to me. Everything was in the wrong place.

“Rublio!” cried DeGorzak, “speak to me boy! Do you recognize your name now?”

“I am called Perisher,” I said, wondering that words now came from my mouth, “but 'Rublio’ sounds somehow truer to my ears.”

“Perisher was what the witch Idmeadon made him hear whenever you spoke his name,” the crone said to DeGorzak, “just a little pinch of extra cruelty to make him feel unworthy and doomed.”

DeGorzak held me at arms length by the shoulders and looked deeply into my eyes.

“Don’t you recognize me, boy?”

I gaped at him and admitted my confusion with a bewildered sigh.

“Why is he like this?” demanded DeGorzak, unsettled by my reaction to him.

“Oh, his body has returned to human form,” explained the old crone, “but he still believes he is your dog. Explain all you like. It won’t sink in. Memories may not return for many years. The body may change swiftly, but there is no balm for the mind but time itself.”

“Very well, crone,” he said, “at least he speaks and knows his name now. But what of these?”

He produced two stout, black poignards and continued, “I trained him with these weapons for years. Will he still remember their use?”

“Of course he will,” replied the crone, “although if he must wield them he may believe he is using tooth and fang. It will take time, but my drug has removed the influence of Idmeadon’s spell for good and all.”

“Do you understand what is happening to you, Rublio?” DeGorzak asked, kneeling beside me.

“I do not,” I confessed, “you say you are my father?”

“He may not understand,” interjected the crone softly, “but he hears every word. Go on. Tell him.”

“I had been a sell-sword, a mountain fighter, and careful to remain uninvolved in the mad conditions of our times,” said DeGorzak, “I knew there would be conflict as power changed hands from the kings and nobles of olden days to the suzerains who served the Artaevr. In my lust for gold and adventure, I sold my might to the highest bidder. Others, like my old friend Tholomew Weaver, did what they could to rebel against these powers. I stayed out of it.

“I did my best for myself and my family, but sooner or later things will always travel the inevitable course towards involvement. The last battle I fought for gold pitted me and my men against the witch Idmeadon, who wore the zaffre livery of a scab.”

I stared blankly. Tears came to DeGorzak’s eyes.

“He does not understand!” he wailed.

In a steady voice the crone said, “It will come in time. He will remember every word. Keep explaining, DeGorzak. Your boy is very bright. Give it time.”

“Son,” said DeGorzak, “Rublio, listen. Idmeadon put a curse on me before I defeated her. She told me that when I returned home, the first of my family to greet me would be turned into a dog. At first I tried to avoid going home. I drank, brawled, and bullied my way across the land until, in my great bluster, I believed the curse was a bluff. Then, when I came home, it was you who came to greet me... you should know what happened next.”

“Things went badly for you after that, did they not my friend?” asked Tholomew.

“Indeed,” lamented DeGorzak, “as I told you last night. My infant daughter soon fell ill and died. My eldest son Pendegoran disappeared without a trace. My wife went slowly mad until she was taken away. The scabs took my wealth and my lands and left me only this cabin. I had learned too late what I should have been doing all along.”

DeGorzak sagged and wept. The crone continued for him.

“For years, Rublio, you became your father’s greatest helper, a fierce and cunning war dog. He helped the rebellion here and there, not taking any critical risks. But some of us watched him. When they felt he would be ready for it, they sent me in to make the bargain. He agreed to make a daring strike at the heart of our enemies in exchange for the drug that restored your body. It is now up to you, child, to restore your mind.”

“The rebellion is grateful for your service, DeGorzak,” said Tholomew, sitting on the floor by his friend, “and we will help you avoid the scabs, who are surely plotting vengeance against you. Now that you are involved, it is the time for you to hear my tale.”

“Who are you, Tholomew?” I asked, “you said that today I would know you better...”

Tholomew smiled, and the crone chuckled as she paced.

“Excellent question, young Rublio!” she cried, “Did I not tell you the boy was bright? Tell the boy who you are, Tholomew Weaver.”

“Well,” replied Tholomew, “I am a changeling. That is why I have lived over four hundred years but am still strong and powerful. I was here when the first Artaevr conquerors rose their hands against us and when there first appeared in this world the color they call zaffre, a color never before used as dye. I have lived long in this world and utterly oppose these devil Artaevr, who came here from another world that is all shadows and torment. If we do not stop them, our own world will soon become the same.”

“A changeling?” I asked slowly, “you changed from something else, as I did?”

“No,” laughed Tholomew, “that isn’t what a changeling is at all. There are special magical folk deep beneath the earth that some call Gnomms. Sometimes the Gnomms will steal a human child and replace it with one of their own. What becomes of the human child is a mystery, but to the changeling comes wisdom and power.”

“You were switched at birth?” I asked.

DeGorzak seemed eager to continue his friend’s tale, so Tholomew yielded to him with a gracious gesture.

“Not exactly, my boy,” DeGorzak explained, “the Gnomms are strange in their ways. Sometimes they seem cruel and heartless. At other times they display more compassion to mankind than we show to ourselves. Sometimes a changeling is given to a human couple who can not have children. This is an act of compassion, particularly when that human couple is scorned and reviled by their own people. Such was the case with Tholomew’s parents. Tholomew’s parents could not have children because both of them were women. Tholomew’s parents were what are called queer folk.”

“Queer folk?” I asked, “two women?”

“Sometimes it can not be helped that a man will fall in love with a man or a woman will fall in love with a woman. Those who are not born this way do not understand this, and it frightens them. So the cruel hearts of men turn hateful to the queer folk. Unfair though it be, we make them suffer. The Gnomms sometimes take pity on queer folk and will bless them with children. Tholomew was such a child.”

Tholomew stood and poured himself more drink.

“So you see who I am, now,” he said, “and you see why I hate the Artaevr. They show even more cruelty to queer folk than does their own kind. Now you should understand why I choose to serve the earth. I am Gnommish by nature. We work wonders with gold and magic, so it is commonplace to us. More precious than gold is hillside and sunshine, peace and the contented changing of seasons. Unless a Gnomm be a changeling, none of us may venture from deep earth for very long. For a Gnomm, I am wealthy. Mine is the wealth that can never be stolen.

“Now we come to my tale,” he continued.

The crone nodded and gestured for us to take seats around the table. It felt strange to walk to a table and sit in a chair. In time I would have to further test this mad idea that I was not a dog.

“What,” began Tholomew, “do the scabs want most? What is it that drives them to serve the Artaevr? The Artaevr are relatively weak. Their numbers are less than anyone would ever believe, and they can only venture outdoors at night. Why then are men so tempted to serve them that they betray and murder their own kind?”

“Power? Wealth?” DeGorzak guessed.

“Surely yes, but there was enough of this to go around before our two worlds made contact,” replied Tholomew, “no. The answer is gilt-custard. This drink is payment for a scab’s loyalty. For gilt-custard is a drug so powerful that it makes them think only of pleasure. Those who drink of it can never be happy without it. Take away their gilt-custard and they become sick and unable to do the slightest thing. The sickness makes invalids of them and visits their minds with fevers of overpowering delirium. Even should they recover some health with the passage of time, they become obsessed with regaining their drug and do nothing more with their lives but pursue it.

“the secret armies of the rebellion know this. We know that without their loyal suzerainty, the Artaevrs could be easily crushed and sent back to the dark world they came from. We have since discovered that only a single sorcerer among their kind knows how to make this drug. Take him out of the picture, and the stage will be set for us to route them. More to the point, I am in contact with our generals. We have never been more prepared to take back our world.”

“It takes them much time and power to travel between worlds,” remarked the crone, “Perhaps a single route would deter them forever.”

“So there is my mission,” explained Tholomew, “to staunch the flow of gilt-custard so that we may uprise against the Artaevr for once and for all! This sorcerer is not powerful but is well guarded. Do you know of Direwolf and the fortress of Fellbarb?”

DeGorzak nodded, and the crone closed her eyes in agonized understanding. I spoke up.

“I have not heard of these things. At least, I do not remember ever hearing of them.”

“He has been a thorn in my side for a long time, this Direwolf,” muttered DeGorzak, “He leads a legion of scabs at dark Fellbarb, from a valley deeper than the sea. Though this werewolf dwells in far Mothafivra, it seems he has made special effort to vex me. Through the years I never fought him directly. I knew one day it would come to that. The day is now. I go with you, Tholomew.”

Tholomew nodded. He said, “and your ‘war dog?’”

DeGorzak gestured towards the poignards on the floor.

“How about it, son?”

“I am with you... father,” I said. It seemed strange to call DeGorzak that.

“You will need great help to accomplish what you seek,” sighed the crone, “I am too old, but I have a young apprentice of about Rublio’s age. She is called Cinnabar, and she has been trained to use a number of powerful charms. I will tell her to meet you halfway to your destination, in the town called Bradenforge. With her help, your small band will have the power of an army. Only then would I dare allow you to make this assault on Fellbarb.”

DeGorzak peered deeply into my eyes.

“You understand all this, my boy?”

I could not answer him.

“He understands enough,” replied the crone, “Once again you fight. That is all he has ever known.”

***

I sat in the dirt and lapped water from my bowl. Cinnabar sat on a nearby rock. She pulled thorns from DeGorzak’s boots. Bootless, DeGorzak stood some distance away in the black sand and studied the lay of the land. Tholomew had been gone all day, trying to find gold to make Gnommish “breadstone” for our supper.

Cinnabar usually avoided waxing sentimental, but here, in the Mothafivran rift, our hardship had softened her heart. She sighed as she worked on DeGorzak’s punctured boots.

“After all we have been through, you still eat and drink from bowls on the ground, like a dog,” she said, “even as you did the day we met.”

“It helped you find us,” I replied, “you have to admit that. On that day, Bradenforge crawled with scabs. There was no way two known rebels were going to set foot in there together. So they sent me. It was my first time by myself in a large town. Half of the time I still believed I was a dog.”

“It was dangerous, but needful, I suppose,” Cinnabar replied, “law is strict in Bradenforge, and you might have been put in prison, or to some torture, for your behavior. I knew who you were right away.”

I forced some sort of laugh. I forced that gesture to remind her how it did my heart good to think of our first meeting, or to see her youthful, beautiful face obscured by her cowl. I ached to remind her how looking into her eyes of cornflower sent my heart skipping. How I had trembled,to see an errant lock of auburn, pulled from its confines by the wind, dancing in the sunlight.

“Oh, Cinnabar,” I said, “seeing you changed everything. Being with you did more to make me forget my life as a dog than anything else. I had never felt more like a youthful man than when I gazed at the soft parting of your sweet red lips and dreamed of the day I might kiss them.”

“brutally honest, as always.” Cinnabar muttered, “but truthfully, I too was astonished by your beauty. Never had I felt so hasty and misinformed in my choice to be a crone’s apprentice. Even then, my love, did I regret the vow of celibacy I had taken.”

I sighed almost mournfully.

Pensively, I murmured, “How long was it before we sought thick bushes to hide in and to make love in, sweet Cinnabar?”

My question remained unanswered for a few moments as a breeze stirred the tiny strands of black sand from the ground. Her reply brought sad memories.

“That was the time for which we were caught and nearly punished,” she said with a small shudder, “the time I decided to quit before we went too far. On that same day a party of soldiers caught us. They called us ‘fern-r-caters’ and took us to the hamlet by the river, to the ducking stool. They were going to drown us. But for my “choking-dust charm” and the surprise attack from DeGorzak and Tholomew, they may have succeeded.

“I don’t suppose it helps for me to tell you that I had already meant to break it off that day. I suppose you’ll always think our capture had something to do with it. I swear to you, my love, had I known you before I took that vow, you’d not have cause for sorrow. It was not meant to be, Rublio.”

“In any event,” I said, “DeGorzak ordered we keep from the roads and make our way through wilderness. From that day on, you brought me tears instead of kisses. I truly wish I understood.”

I closed my eyes and tried to remember that day. So many in that small hamlet wore the un-natural color of the suzerainty. Officials wore zaffre liripipes, and even the ropes on the ducking stool had been dyed that color. Even those who did not wear the garments of scabs could be seen holding flasks of gilt-custard to their mouths. A feverish red-gold glow lit up their faces from the luminescent drug. It was thick stuff too. Smudges set an infernal glow on their hateful lips and blazoned the dark pools of their eyes.

The closer we had drawn to the fortress of Fellbarb the more profuse scabs had become, both in number and in audacity. That day had been the first we had seen of the silver morse clasps on some of those zaffre garments. It was the first time we saw the shapes, wrought in silver, of wolf’s heads with garnet eyes.

The suzerainty had seemed willing to heap the cruelest punishment against the slightest insinuation of impiety. They persecuted us with unreasonable numbers. Everyone wanted to join the scourging of those who were deemed enemies. The proceedings were like some grim carnival.

That was also the day I took my poignards up and fought. It seemed as though, from the moment I spilled human blood, I had become unworthy to love Cinnabar. I had killed men and kept it up. The deeper we went into the enemy’s country, the more we fought. My father had indeed trained me well with those weapons, and I had not forgotten their use. The more I killed, the more it seemed I had lost the love of Cinnabar.

She was right. I knew her heart still pined for me. I knew it was only her vow that kept her kisses from my lips. In spite of what I knew, she was right. I did feel that it was the events of that terrible day which had separated our hearts from the love that had been blooming on this journey.

Cinnabar bent her face to the task of pulling thorns from DeGorzak’s boots. The lids of her eyes quivered as though fighting back tears.

“These brambles seem to be the only thing that grows here in this valley,” she lamented, “ so thick and impassable! If it weren’t enough that they cut the flesh, it seems injuring them is like cutting onions. They make me cry.”

“They make me cry too,” I said softly. They didn’t. I just wanted to share the lie.

DeGorzak began padding gently back, avoiding brambles. When he had drawn close enough, he gave us his summary.

“I still can’t see any sign of the fortress ahead,” he said, “but I know we’re close. With this many rocks and hills, it could loom up from nowhere. The brambles are getting impossible to pass, though. That means we may be forced to use the road. I can’t see how we’re going to do it. Surely, from here on, the road will be hotly patrolled. You’d better have some magic to help us avoid detection, apprentice, or this little expedition may have all been for naught.”

“I have yet a few more resources,” she replied, “but I think we need to save them all for the fortress itself, at this point. We could very well have hit an insurmountable obstacle.”

The thick atmosphere of this deep country had become oppressive to our very souls. There were no words of encouragement and nothing left to do or say as we waited for Tholomew to return. Hope, like our food and water, was in short supply.

It was not long after dark that we heard Tholomew signal his approach. We stood to greet him as he returned.

Tholomew drew near, gaunt with exertion and darkened from his long passage underground. He bore the strange stuff we had been eating since our arrival in Mothafivra. Our water skins had been replenished too.

We ate quickly and wordlessly. I could see very plainly that some change had come over Tholomew. His eyes were alight with strength and knowledge. He wore the mien of a man with good tidings.

Only when we had finished eating did he speak. There was an odd loftiness in his voice. Wonder and ceremony colored his words.

“This day we live to see history,” he uttered solemnly, “for this rift in the earth is closer to the kingdom of the Gnomms, and I have visited them in their caves and deep places. Today, for only the third time in all of human history, Gnomms have risen from the abyss to bear the standard of war on behalf of mankind. To the south of Fellbarb their forces have engaged those of Direwolf. They draw the greater part of his legions away from us so that we may find the stealth to make our strike. We have been given a fresh chance to complete our mission!”

The effect of this announcement was clear to see on my father’s soothed face and in Cinnabar’s grateful eyes. We did not repose long after this. DeGorzak stood and beckoned us.

“I have not seen sign of the fortress yet,” he said, “but it can’t be far. We march into the night. Be ready to end this!”

As we proceeded to the road, each of us readied ourselves to face the remaining opposition. Cinnabar whispered that her enchantments were ready to use. Tholomew hefted his broadsword. I crouched with my poignards held firm. DeGrozark blazed our trail with swings of his axe that flung away whatever brambles choked the disused road ahead.

Before the moon rose to bathe the unearthly Mothafivran landscape in its eerie light, we beheld the distant fortress. It rose from the mists, on the banks of the great inland sea called Admonzfel.

DeGorzak’s eyes lit up like lanterns at the sight of our goal. Tholomew seemed grimly satisfied at the absence of patrols or defenders. Cinnabar quietly lit up a censer that emitted thin wisps of spicy smoke.

“To our eyes there are only thin streamers of this smoke,” she said, “to their’s we are obscured in a thick bank of fog.”

We went forward grimly, in our protective shroud. The smell of brackish water grew strong. The thick brambles parted to admit us to the threshold of a cleared field that stretched before the terrible fortress.

The forces left to watch Fellbarb were many and formidable. From the battlements stood a force of archers. Soldiers stood ready with gleaming halberds and wolf’s head insignia.

Cinnabar drew us into the shadows of the last of the brambles and placed amulets on each of our necks.

“These will keep your senses from error,” she explained, “when I let forth the teeth of the dragon.”

She showed us a large earthen container.

“When I break this we must hasten our assault and strike with all that we have,” she said, “It will send them into alarm, but it will dazzle and confuse them. We can not turn back once this charm has been invoked. You must follow me with stealth and speed. Go where I lead. Do as I say, without question, and we will breach this impregnable keep.”

We nodded our consent, indicating our readiness with silent gestures.

“There is another thing,” she said, with a sadder tone in her voice, “I was told to do this when the time was ripe.”

Suddenly Cinnabar’s hand plunged toward my heart. I felt my flesh part as though I were no more than a ghost. A grasp from icy fingers clutched my heart as a rain of incantations flowed from Cinnabar’s lips.

Bewildered, DeGorzak turned to stop her. Tholomew grasped my father by the shoulders and restrained him.

“Let her!” came Tholomew’s terse whisper.

A feeling of overwhelming sickness filled me, and I fell gasping to my knees. A stream of fluid spilled from my quietly vomiting mouth. For the second time I tasted the potion I had been given.

“What have you done to me?” I gasped.

“You will know when the time comes,” she said, “Forgive me, Rublio.”

Before another finger could be lifted or any protest made, Cinnabar hurled the earthen container into the air, where it burst. Shards of light lit up the night. Mad noises shrieked from the fireworks.

The enemy sounded their alarms. Our opposition sprang instantly to their battle stations.

“Now follow!” Cinnabar cried.

DeGorzak muttered a brief curse. We lit across the field to one of the fortress’ mighty bulwarks.

Under the dazzling lights of Cinnabar’s magic, mayhem and confusion prevailed. Arrows flew, but not towards us. Instead they pepped the ground before the gates. Guards lashed out at phantom attackers. We flew, as though invisible, strait to a solid wall in the shadow of the fortress.

As the confused defense reached a fevered pitch, Cinnabar threw a fuming liquid against the solid rampart. She began smearing it into the unyielding stone until she had created a wet, black area roughly the size and shape of a doorway.

“Through the wall!” she cried, “quickly! My portal will not last for long!”

We did what we were told without question, as she had explained we must do. To my astonishment, each of us drew into the dark outline she had created and walked through solid stone into the halls of Fellbarb.

Cinnabar now held a polished orb in her hand. Her face was lit by eerie light as she peered into its depths.

“We make for those stairs,” she said, gesturing towards a disused, gloomy staircase, “the Artaevr we seek is somewhere above.”

DeGorzak looked unsettled by the weirdness of her magic but led the charge up the steps. Halfway to the top, a band of soldiers sprang out at us. The suddenness of the attack did not phase us. We met them blow for blow with merciless steel. They could not match three seasoned fighters.

DeGorzak snarled with fury and pressed with long honed skills. Tholomew’s sword carved a swath of mayhem that could only have come from a man who had lived four centuries on battlefields. My own training proved just as deadly. I knew very well how to combine my own attacks with my father’s. I seemed just as much a protege of the haggard warrior as I had been his war dog.

The melee drew to bloody and decisive conclusion. In moments we stood outside on a wide battlement. There stood a smaller tower that could be nothing less than the sorcerer’s sanctum. From it came the sounds of panicked incantations and hurried defenses.

Before any of us could reach the threshold of the sanctum, a terrible figure rose from the far shadows. The looming creature seemed to be composed of shaggy darkness. In the continuing eruption of Cinnabar’s fireworks, not a single light penetrated the creature’s blackness. Nothing stood revealed but slavering fangs. Angry eyes blazed like hellish lanterns.

We all saw Direwolf before us, but I could see more than this. My eyes were somehow privy to a vision beyond the monster who stood before us. I saw the person within the monster. He had lanky black hair much like my own. He had the same stark features. He appeared older. His eyes were the same color as my own and the hatred in them was more personal in nature than I could ever have expected.

“Pendegoran!” I cried out.

“My brother, my father, a changeling, and some young hag,” replied Direwolf.

The ears of my father heard none of these words. They were unable to hear anything but eerie howls.

I wanted to tell them who we faced, but I could speak no more. I had no voice, nor a human face. I still stood on two legs but now they were the legs of a dog. My mouth had no words now. My mouth had only sharp fangs.

“Watch me, Perisher!” roared Direwolf, “as I kill you all!”

My brother sneered in contempt. I was beneath him. He was a magnificent wolf. I was a lowly dog. He sprang strait towards DeGorzak as though I were a mere annoyance to be dealt with later. His speed and fury seemed too much for even DeGorzak.

But I had become different now. His attack was not too much for me.

We clashed in mid air. His claws flew out inches from my father’s face. The jaws lunged but met only with my own body, as I hurled him down. We rolled on the floor, lashing out in a cacophony of murderous, enraged snarls.

I saw DeGorzak and Tholomew come forward to help me. I saw Cinnabar bar them and point grimly at the sorcerer’s sanctum. The ornately garbed Artaevr stood on the rooftop. The sorcerer began to assemble some machine to make his escape in.

The snapping jaws bit me. My own fangs drew blood in equal volumes. With a glance from the corner of my eye, I saw resignation on my father’s face. There no longer was time for them to help me. The three of them ran to the sanctum and made short work of the door with axe and broadsword.

They disappeared into the open corridor. Nothing remained to my senses but the tooth and claw conflict of brother against brother.

The blood now came in torrents. Each of us had begun to rip deep, fatal furrows into the flesh of the other. Neither of us yielded. Nothing could have stopped either of us.

With the fury came a pain that only visits those locked in a course for death. In my brother’s hellish eyes I now recognized doom. Surely, such doom etched its mark on my visage too.

Even as we recognized death coming upon us, our combat only quickened. Our bodies thrashed in blood with such savagery that I was glad my father could not witness it.

It seemed not to matter anymore what my dying body saw or felt. I caught glances of things I could not have possibly seen. Perhaps I saw them with the eyes of a ghost.

I saw my father kill the sorcerer. I saw Tholomew set fire to books and scrolls so that no drug could be brewed again.

Cinnabar glanced down at me. Regret marred her features and would do so forever.

I saw my brother’s last drop of blood grow cold.

Only then did I finally perish.