Jovan's Gaze. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
violence, readying his mind and body for the struggle.
I slowly drew my sword, careful not to allow the blade to scrape against the metal parts of my belt. Erik's massive sword was already in his hands, though I had not seen him draw it. I watched as he tightened the straps on his pack, as did I on mine. This would be a running fight, and anything dropped would be shredded by the angry beasts.
Erik looked toward the path ahead, and he shook his head. I saw the creature's eyes, first. Cruel and glowing with a terrible red that reminded those unlucky enough to see them that terrible magic plagued the souls of these creatures. This was not a wolf, not really. Once, it had been a man, but now it was a man no more. Not a man, not really. The creature was something in between, and as my eyes traced the outline of its form, that became all too clear. The fur was a mottled black and red, giving it the look of having been splashed with blood. The arching back of the monster was far more pronounced than in a normal wolf, as though the magic had twisted its form. The shoulders were muscular, and half-covered by armor which I recognized from my time in Skyreach Keep. The front legs seeming half-way between proper wolf's legs, and those of a man. The paws were more like hands, each finger ending in a sharp claw.
I looked toward Erik, nodding my understanding. He returned the nod. I whispered what we both knew, as if saying it aloud made it more believable. "Kronan wolves."
This simple truth was that these beasts did not leave their forest cover in Meekwood, not ever. Not in all the years since the Kronan army had marched into Meekwood forest, had a single beast been seen beyond those trees. Yet here they were. They would have had to cover the open fields between those woods and these, which was a day's walk, even for these beasts. They could run it in far less, but what would drive them to dash the distance? The Kronan wolves never stepped onto open ground. What were they doing here?
The eyes. I was pulled back to its eyes. They glowed red, and I saw the anger of a man behind them. Though this was certainly not the time to have such musings, I wondered to myself if these beasts were truly as mindless as the locals thought. I knew the glare of a hungry wolf, a stare that, while fierce, was devoid of any real anger. A real wolf was aggressive and fierce because it had to be. This creature, with its red eyes, was full of hate. I could see it. I could smell it. I could taste its bitterness on the wind. It was poisonous, and I felt nauseous at its touch.
Erik's shaken head told me that he did not want to advance forward. Wolves, even normal wolves, knew well how to trap prey. Give chase, drive the prey forward, exhaust it, and then force it into the jaws of the waiting pack. I knew this, as did Erik. Most of the pack would be ahead of us and to our flanks, well out of reach of our ears. Only a few would be at our rear, intended, not to catch us, but to push us forward. They would make enough noise to seem like many more than a few. Why did this one Kronan wolf stand in our way? It would only make us less tempted to go that way. I could hear the growls, and my mind's eye placed them upon the war-table in my head.
I looked back toward those red eyes, staring into them, trying to discern their will. I felt something crawling on the back of my neck, though nothing was there. I could feel the Kronan wolf using the angry magic in his red eyes to whisper doom to me. I could sense its hate, its desires, and…
In an instant, I knew what was happening. I looked to Erik. He was looking around, seeking a route for escape. He did not realize what I did. He did not see it. I clucked my tongue ever so slightly, just enough to get his attention. As soon as his eyes locked upon mine, I nodded sharply. Erik's eyes narrowed, and I could read his words, even though he said not a word.
'No, Jovan. Bad idea,' his eyes seemed to say. Perhaps it was, but I had no time to explain what had become obvious to me.
I dashed forward, my legs driving me onward as though I were mounted on a powerful war-steed. My feet found good footing on the dry earth, and I did not have to waste energy or concentration on slogging across wet ground. A fallen tree before me became a tool in my hurry, as I planted my foot upon it and launched myself forward, hitting the ground at a run. I leaned forward, running as though in a race. A race it was indeed, with my life and Erik's as the prize.
I could hear Erik following me, growling at what he no doubt thought was foolishness. Was I mad, he surely wondered, to race into the waiting jaws of the pack? His footfalls were heavy, and the fallen tree groaned under his weight. He hit the ground with a thud, but did not falter. I could hear his heavy breathing. His age was an enemy now, as much as the Kronan wolves. He was slower than I, less agile. I was careful not to push too far ahead of him, though my plan relied on putting some distance between the two of us, if just for a moment. The sun cast his shadow ahead of me, and I could see that his sword was held mid-way between point and hilt. His type of sword was not particularly sharp, relying mostly on the brute force driven by the muscles of men as big as Erik. Held as it was, it was only useful to fend off attacks. Erik was not on the attack, confused as he was by my actions. That was fine, since my plan required only a moment of violence, and all of it from my hand. If I failed, or my instincts were simply wrong, the prowess of this old warrior would not matter at all. We would both be food for the cursed soldier-wolves of old Krona.
I hurried forward, readying my sword. The Kronan wolf to my front snarled aloud, bearing his fangs. They were long and sharp, and I had seen such jaws and fangs rend deer in two bloodied pieces with one violent motion. I would not survive those jaws. The creature snarled and barked, and then howled to the sky. The sound was answered with many such howls, most of them behind us. I was right. They were almost all behind us.
I gritted my teeth, my own fierceness coming to the fore. I felt the slackness of many months without bloodshed melt away, and the old training return. As the wolf began its headlong charge toward me, it raised itself on its back legs and came at me like a man. The eyes burned all the brighter, and its fangs were ready for me. Its claws reached out, and its muscular legs moved it forward. It snarled, and so did I.
The beast shifted to its left, and so I took my sword in my right hand, positioning it to make just the right stroke. I focused on the footing and movement needed to make the kill. The forest seemed to hush, and even Erik's heavy breathing grew quiet. I only caught some of his words, demanding to know what I was doing. I did not answer. My own breathing grew more quiet, and then I heard it no more.
We galloped toward each other, the man-beast and I. I had a sword, and it had claws. I had training, it had the rage of years roaming as a beast of the forest. I felt our fight begin even before we met, as our wills met in the middle, doing battle over the ever-shrinking distance between us. It snarled and I growled, as if our voices were fierce enough to bat away the others' strength.
The beast's feet hit the ground lightly, gracefully. My own feet seemed so much heavier as I paid close attention to each step, each shift of my muscles. Balance and timing were everything. Between us was a small patch of rocky ground, and I could see the dried remnants of algae upon the rocks. This had been a river, recently dried. The rocks would be slippery with the dusty remnants of the river bottom. I adjusted my plan.
Closer and closer we came, until at the last moment I shifted my weight backward, allowing my feet to thrust ahead. I slid across the water-smoothed, dry, algae-covered rocks, using my left hand to balance myself. I felt the dry, smooth rocks glide beneath my palm. The Kronan wolf swiped at me with its right claw, but it was too late. My sword drove into its stomach. My momentum carried me forward and past the beast, but I held onto my blade. As our bodies passed each other, the momentum of our movement pushed the edge of the blade toward the beast's flank, tearing the creature's innards as it sliced. I tore out the blade, and felt the blood spatter upon my face. The motion spun me around, and I came to a stop facing the cursed creature.
The beast staggered for a moment, grasping its sides, trying to stem the flow of blood, organs, and filth. It made a half-hearted growl, and then collapsed into a pile atop its own spilled parts. The light in its eyes seemed to dim, and then suddenly, shockingly, the eyes were as a man's! They were pale blue, and they were filled with tears. It, no, he looked at me from his ruined form, and for the briefest moment it seemed as though he were thanking me. I shook off the very idea that