Chapter Six
Previously:
Tyruc awakes in an unfamiliar farming town and struggles to overcome his lingering nature of cowardice. When the town comes under attack from a pack of jackals, the divine being Asena reminds Tyruc that he is now a servant of Som and instills a newfound courage in him.
As a pair of jackals loped past, Tyruc ducked behind an overturned wagon. Unnatural shadows cloaked the creatures, obscuring them from their prey even in broad daylight.
The festival booths lay in ruins. Produce and trinkets were strewn throughout the inner lane, and all savory goods had been devoured.
So far as Tyruc could tell, everyone had made it to safety before the pack arrived thanks to the alarm. Everyone except for a little girl he had promised to rescue.
I give my word.
That sentence remained on his tongue. In his old life, Tyruc gave promises freely and broke them without remorse. A promise was a means to an end, especially if that end was saving his own hide.
This, however, was the first promise of Tyruc, the Herald of Som. A foreign conviction burned in his chest. He would not break this promise. Not for his life.
Tyruc’s stealthy loop around the town produced no results in finding the Frostfolk child, but it did glean him some information.
Jackals were infamously vicious when on the hunt, but they were also lazy. Without prey in sight, a jackal became languid to the point of listless. While some still strode through the streets in search of food, most of the beasts lounged in the shaded alleyways or under the broken canopies of the booths.
This made Tyruc’s task of searching the town somewhat easier. But it also meant that the monsters were not leaving without some extreme motivation.
While he calculated his next move, a burst of cackling yips came from the outer lane of the town, followed by a scream. Tyruc’s body moved faster than his mind. He ran toward the noise, disregarding stealth, and scooped up a broken table leg on his way.
The sounds came from the town’s watchtower. The roofed platform rested on thin wooden stilts. An inky shadow leapt at the tower, scrambling for purchase on the ladder. The tower’s occupant, a Beastfolk boy with thin fur and blunted features, clung to the railing as the structure shook. The warning bell swung and clanged over the boy’s cries for help.
Asena, what do I do here? Tyruc cast the thought toward his guide as he charged.
She did not reply.
Tyruc gritted his teeth. As the enshrouded jackal landed back on the ground, Tyruc swung the improvised club. His blow connected, but the shadows clinging to the monster enwrapped his hands in a weakening aura. The enervating effect traveled up his limbs, loosing his grip on the weapon.
As Tyruc staggered back, the shadows around the creature dissipated. It resembled a large mongrel, but only in general form. Patchy fur dusted its hunched back. Its mouth stretched far too wide and held an excess of teeth. Long claws sprouted from its feet, and the creature’s tail terminated in wicked barbs.
The lethargy crawling across Tyruc’s arms reached his chest. He dropped the club. His senses slowed, as though the world were coated in molasses.
The jackal’s milky eyes locked onto Tyruc. Its mouth stretched wider as it tensed for a deadly leap.
It seems you have a predicament, Asena observed placidly.
Tyruc braced himself, using his last thoughts to respond, My first rescue mission, and I get myself killed. Sorry. I guess I wasn’t worth all this.
Tyruc, you succumb to despair far too easily. Do not doubt the worth of what Som values. Your mission has only just begun.
You mean I’m not about to die?
Did you think I would let that happen to you so soon?
The jackal hurled itself at Tyruc.
Tyruc’s fist, wreathed in blue flames, crashed against the side of the monster’s face and sent it spinning with a yelp. Fire clung to the monster as it scampered away.
“What in blazes…?”
Incoming.
A chattering jackal cloaked in shadows darted from a nearby alleyway straight at Tyruc.
Tyruc grabbed the table leg he had dropped at his feet. The flames from his hand caught onto the club as he swung with all his might.
The blue fire burned away the monster’s shadows as the wood splintered across its face. It fled even faster than the first, leaving a trail of azure flames in its wake.
Tyruc watched for a third jackal to appear, but instead, a whisper came from above him.
“Are you the Wolf Rider?” the wide-eyed boy in the tower asked. “What kind of magic was that?”
Tyruc considered his still-flaming hand and replied, “I don’t have a clue.” He shook his hand like he was flicking water from it, and the flames went out. The skin across his knuckles was abraded from its contact with the jackal’s teeth, but otherwise, he was unscathed.
“Do you think I can come down now?” the boy asked.
No more jackals charged at them, but Tyruc had counted at least a dozen of the creatures during his scouting. “You might be better off up there. In fact, I’m looking for a little Frostfolk girl. Have you seen her?”
“You mean Kinnio! I saw her running to the other side of town.” He pointed to the northwest. “Are you gonna save her, Mister Wolf Rider?”
Tyruc nodded gravely. “Can you tell which way is clearest?”
The boy scanned out from his vantage point. “The ones you chased off are heading to the east side of town. There’s a really big one that went that way, so maybe don’t go there.”
Good advice.
“Your best bet is to cut to the inner road, follow it around to the left, and then take the alley between Gilli’s Forge and the general store. That was where I saw Kinnio.”
“Thanks, kid. About you, though…”
The child will be safest in the tower. Jackals will not return to a place they associate with pain if given the choice.
“My friend tells me you’ll be alright if you stay up there. Do me a favor?”
“Me? Do a favor for the Wolf Rider?” he asked excitedly.
“Make a bunch of noise if you see something dangerous coming that way. Can you do that?”
The boy grinned. “I’m real good at being noisy!”
With no more time to waste, Tyruc gave the boy a salute and ran in the direction he had indicated.
Why was he calling me ‘Wolf Rider?’
I took control of you for a brief time after you entered into your pact with Som. That incident has granted you a certain reputation. For now, focus on your mission.
‘Took control?’ What does that mean?
Stop here.
Tyruc skidded to a halt, smarting the heels of his bare feet. He had gone around the inner lane as directed and had stopped in front of the town blacksmith.
The building lacked any signage, but the open-air storefront’s large furnace made its specialty obvious. Horseshoes and farming tools adorned the main workspace, but Asena directed Tyruc’s attention to a table to the rear.
Drawings of strange devices decorated the wall above the table. An array of materials covered the workbench: metals, gears of all sizes, pipes, tubes, and more. A bit of dyed leather peaked out from beneath the clutter.
Tyruc parted the items to unbury an ornate scabbard and belt. He wordlessly drew the short sword from within, marveling at the craftsmanship. He had wielded blades throughout his life, mostly daggers and cutlasses, but never before had he held a weapon that he would have called beautiful.
An iridescent sheen traveled the length of the silver blade. Delicate designs scrawled across the cross-guard, and though the orb serving as the pommel was made of metal, it appeared to be translucent.
Your coming trials will require that you be appropriately armed.
Tyruc nodded, belting the scabbard to his waist and sheathing the sword. He moved to leave but stopped short.
Hang on, isn’t this stealing?
Be assured, that blade was made for you; the maker just did not know it.
If you say so. Too bad there aren’t any boots lying around.
Now that would be stealing.
Tyruc’s wry smile was interrupted by a yowl piercing the air followed by a throaty scream.
Here we go again.
Blue flames erupted from Tyruc’s hands as he emerged from the forge. His sword, once drawn, received the flames along its length, and the pommel glowed bright red.
In the road at the front of the inn’s hill, the Frostfolk teenager Volok scrambled back on the ground from an approaching jackal. A pitchfork lay on the ground next to him, blood on its tines.
The jackal noticed Tyruc running toward it. It turned to snarl, but a searing slash across its face cut it short. It swung its barbed tail at him. The blazing sword sheared through the tip as easy as a blade through water.
The jackal fled while chattering out a series of yelps.
After flicking the flames away and sheathing his sword, Tyruc helped the teenager to his feet. “I thought I told you to stay at the inn?”
“Yessir,” he replied with a downward cast. “But she’s my sister. It’s my job to watch after her, and my older siblings wouldn’t rest until they found her if they were here.” He picked up the pitchfork again, gripping it to his chest.
Tyruc clapped the brave young man on the shoulder.
The alarm bell clanged wildly. An approaching chorus of howls rose to drown it out.
Tyruc wheeled around, drawing his sword once again. “Stay back, kid, and let us handle this.”
“‘Us?’” the boy questioned.
Asena, what do we do now?
We fight.
Isn’t that what I’ve been doing? Then Tyruc considered how well he had been fighting. He moved at something higher than instinct, faster than thought. You’ve been pulling my strings, haven’t you?
Yes, but that arrangement was always destined to be temporary.
“What do you mean ‘temporary?’” Tyruc demanded aloud.
I will fight alongside you in your coming battles, in a manner, but my full presence is required by Som in other tasks. Thus have you been given the gift of summoning.
“Summoning?” Tyruc repeated.
The enclosing howls pulled on his attention.
Asena growled in his mind, Focus on me, Tyruc. Imagine my fur, my claws, my flames. Secure them in your mind.
Tyruc screwed his eyes shut, picturing the sky-blue wolf in as much detail as he could muster. He remembered the gold and scarlet markings on her forehead and along her limbs, the flickering tails impossible to count, her cool and impassive eyes.
Yes! Now hold out your hand and concentrate on that image.
Tyruc put his hand out in front of him and opened his eyes. His entire forearm was alight in azure fire.
Jackals darted back and forth across the alleyways, closing in on them in a feral game.
A rushing sound filled Tyruc’s ears, building into a roar like a river bursting through a dam, and the blaze engulfing his arm leapt forward into the form of Asena, The Great Mother of Wolves.
The Asena before him bore all the majesty of the one from his dreamy encounter, but she only stood a few measures larger than a standard wolf. She barked, turned in a circle, and took a defensive position out in front of him.
This is an aspect of me. The voice still echoed in his mind. Consider this avatar an extension of yourself, filled with my power and born by the blessing of Som. With this final boon, you have all the tools you need.
“That’s real pretty, but what does it mean?”
A jackal sprinted at them from the left. Tyruc turned to confront it, and his hand swung of its own accord in an upward raking motion.
Like he had pulled the strings on a marionette, the lesser form of Asena charged the jackal. Her flames flared against the jackal’s hide. The scorched monster retreated, and the form of Asena padded up to Tyruc with wagging tails.
That is the power of a Heraldic Summoner, Asena howled triumphantly. She is part of you, tied to your lifeforce. Command her like a soldier, care for her like a child, and love her as yourself. Now fight, Tyruc, with all the resources gifted to you. Fight and win in the name of Som!
“I think you enjoy throwing these things at me,” Tyruc said to the air.
The Asena avatar barked, her myriad tales fanning back and forth.
“Volok, back to the inn.”
Volok, eyes wide as saucers, did not argue and bolted up the hill.
“Guess it’s you and me against a horde of monsters,” Tyruc said to the wolf. “Ready?”
Two more barks, which Tyruc took as an affirmative.
The jackals came all at once in a coordinated strike, two from Tyruc’s left, four from the right, and a large brute from directly in front of him.
“Asena, the big one!” he commanded. He darted to the left as Asena’s avatar charged at the center jackal.
Two monsters came for Tyruc’s legs. He kicked one with a fiery punt and stabbed downward into the other’s ribs. The stench of singed fur wafted noxiously from his strikes. With more jackals on his flank, he wrenched his sword free to swing around in an arc. The fire licking outward from his blade warded the four of them away.
Asena harried the large jackal as it jabbered its high-pitched cry at her. They each pounced toward each other, dodging away and diving back again in turns. But the large jackal moved a fraction slower than Asena. It pulled away too late once, and Asena clamped her flaming jaws around its throat.
The beast’s cackles turned to shrieks. It twisted frantically. With each wrenching shake, Asena bit harder. When the jackal swung its barbed tail around, Asena released to evade the attack.
The large jackal gave a howling command, and the wounded pack withdrew.
Asena padded back to Tyruc’s side, her tongue lolling out the side of her fiery muzzle. The two of them prepared for another strike.
Instead of growls or monstrous cackles, they heard a gasp. Volok, armed with his pitchfork, stood at the base of the hill next to a young woman gaping at Tyruc.
The woman bore the characteristics of the Beastfolk: thin fur covering her skin and sharp facial features reminiscent of an animal. A mass of brown hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a blouse, vest, and belted skirt, which were stylish if somewhat out of place for a farming town. Most out of place, however, was her flowing scholar’s robe.
“Y-you,” she stammered. “It’s really you.” Her hand rose to cover her mouth as either a laugh or a sob escaped her. She composed herself, straightening her clothes and lifting her chin.
The young woman approached Tyruc. “Sir Wolf Rider,” she said with a reverent dip of her head, “I am Sareit Honeywillow. My family and I have been honored to care for you since your victory at the Final Battle.”
When Tyruc did not reply (due to being thoroughly flabbergasted), Sareit continued. “I have so many questions to ask, if you’ll humor them, but this obviously isn’t the time. Please allow me to assist you in executing your plan to rescue Bodra.”
What is she talking about? Tyruc looked to the avatar of Asena for help.
The flaming blue canine tilted her head back at him.
Some help you are. “Miss Sareit, was it?”
The young woman nodded enthusiastically. A trusting smile spread across her face.
Tyruc cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t have a plan here, I’m just trying to help. Who’s Bodra?”
Sareit’s smile wavered as her brows inched closer to each other. “Bodra is the name of this town and the whole province around it, Sir Wolf Rider.”
“You can just call me Tyruc.”
Her expression froze. “I wouldn’t wish to be disrespectful. You are the revered hero.”
“Hero?!” Tyruc blurted with a laugh. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve never been a hero in my life.”
Oh, Tyruc.
“Volok,” Sareit said with authority, “go back to the inn and stay put this time.”
Volok shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Sareit. Not ‘til we find my sister.”
Sareit folded her arms and stared at the Heraldic duo, her face morphing into something inscrutable. “All right,” she said over her shoulder. “Stay with us and do as I tell you to.”
“Shouldn’t you seek safety?” Tyruc asked. “I can look after the kid, but, I mean, an unarmed young lady shouldn’t be roaming the streets with monsters about.”
“I am hardly defenseless,” Sareit replied. “I am the only member of the Bodra militia in town, and you just said you don’t have a plan.” She strode away. “Follow me.”
Tyruc and Asena shared a look.
Was it something I said?
Coming up in Chapter Seven:
The search for the Frostfolk child continues. Meanwhile, Tyruc struggles to understand Sareit’s increasingly sour disposition toward him.