Lone Wolf: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It had taken Wolf the better part of an hour to prepare the bodies of the Houndwyrm brothers for transport. He helped himself to linens meant for the upstairs rooms, which served well as makeshift body bags. The village undertaker came to collect the body of Ormvarr Asgaldersen, glaring at Wolf as he carted the deceased tavern owner through the door. Unlike the ranger-turned-bounty-hunter, the Feathervane undertaker was not discreet in the least.
The City Watch captain had placed two of his men in front of the tavern to keep patrons from wandering in to the scene of death. This within itself caused an uproar, as loggers had freshly gained coin that seemed to be burning holes in their pouches. Wolf hoped that the snowstorm would keep the irritated townsfolk from swarming the entrance of The Braided Beard, and that he could retrieve the team of horses and wagon without incident.
As Wolf stepped out of the tavern, his hopes had been confirmed. Thick flakes of snow swirled all about the empty street illuminated by the glow of the torches carried by the stationed watch officers. He looked to the sky as he walked down the wooden stairs, watching the clouds roil and churn as they spat the frozen precipitation which accumulated over the town of Feathervane.

Wolf sensed the tension from the men, even as he made his way into the street. He knew that his deadly confrontation with the Houndwyrms had caused them much unwanted grief, and that they would despise him for the rest of their lives for it. What made their opinion worth more than his own? He had a job to do, just as they did. Sometimes the job was simple, other times it was far more complicated.
Even as Wolf walked through the town toward the livery, the foreboding sense of malice and hatred seemed to pepper him like the flakes of snow gathering on his shoulders. This was nothing unusual to him, especially in the northern country of Raven Caw. If malevolence and discontent were to have a geographical location to call home, it would be here.
He reached the livery and was greeted by the neighing of his solid black Chevalan stallion, Phantom. He sensed a high level of nervousness emanating from Phantom, to the point that the black steed was on the verge of rearing and kicking at his stall. Wolf moved across the livery floor with gentle strides, easing his hands up with palms opened while connecting with his horse’s mind and sending waves of peace to calm the fearful animal.
Wolf’s connection with Phantom’s mind clouded his vision in an instant. Bright red pulsated from the deepest black that swirled about with pure menace. The horse was rejecting the soothing energy Wolf was sending; the soft whispers of white and blue that most always quelled any fear that Phantom would experience. As Wolf reached for Phantom’s neck to increase his psychic power with physical connection, the horse reared and struck at the stall’s door.
And then Wolf himself sensed it. He spun on his heel and threw out his left hand, prepared to unleash a gout of flame into his approaching ambushers. However he was a second too late, as a heavy wooden board struck him in the face, and then only darkness.

Cold bit into his bare skin as Wolf opened his eyes. Shards of pain peppered his brain as he gingerly moved his head, instinctively starting to reach to his forehead and press his palm against the ache. Yet, when he went to move his hands, he felt the tight rope that bound his wrists. Behind his bare back, he felt the serrated texture of tree bark begin to tear at his skin. He tugged at the ropes that held him fast against the base of the tree, also feeling the thick cloth between his teeth. Wolf had thought the ache in his jaws was attributed to the blow to the head which he had received, but this proved that to be inaccurate.

"Ah, it’s awake,” a voice said from behind the glow of a torch. “Have a good sleep, you raking clod?!” the voice shouted, striking the side of Wolf’s face with a punch.
“Don’t be knockin’ him out again, Dooley,” an authoritive voice said, the crunch of snow coming closer to the tree.
Wolf’s vision cleared from the blow, and he could see the bearded face of what he mistook for Ormvarr Asgaldersen, minus the braiding. Wolf lifted an eyebrow in confusion.
“We wants him awake for the WHOLE thing,” the doppelganger added, and his left hand shot forward and passed the blade of his dagger across Wolf’s abdomen. The cut was deep, however due to the exposure of the freezing temperature, Wolf’s skin was numb. The pain came a second later as his warm blood began oozing from the wound and awakened the nerve endings from their hibernation.
Another quick pass from the opposite side carved through his left pectoral, equally as deep, equally as excruciating once the blood began to flow.
“So, ye be thinkin’ ye can just come into me town, destroy me brother’s tavern, kill him and steal one o’ his girls, and WE wouldn’t be havin’ a say in it?” the red bearded daggerman said. “I don’t be givin’ two slogs or a rake what ye be doin’ to me four men. They were good workers, aye, but more of a pain in the spheres than they were profitable.” He lifted Wolf’s chin with the flat of the bloody dagger and leaned closer to his face. “Ye shoulda left well enough alone, eh?” he finished, and dragged the tip of the dagger through Wolf’s skin down his sternum, Wolf growling through his gag.
“You might be wondering why Andrjolf is not gutting you and field dressing you like an elk,” a third voice said to Wolf’s right, as the angry daggerman stepped back.
Another hard fist struck Wolf’s face, this one infinitely heavier than the torch wielder’s punch. He felt the skin of his cheek open; near scalding hot, then turning to freezing cold as the flow of blood rolled down his face from his exposed cheekbone.
“See, we in Raven Caw do things much different than you southerners,” the man said, holding his right hand up and casually looking over the metal studded gauntlet that covered it. “Whenever we have an issue with someone, be they local or a foreigner like yourself, we don’t take that problem to the city watch. No, that’s much too easy. We prefer to administer justice ourselves, the northern way. No arrests…no trials…no languishing in a prison cell for the rest of your days,” he continued, halting only to throw a cutting jab into Wolf’s ribs.
“My turn,” said a fourth man, approaching with a spiked club already drawn back to swing into Wolf’s chest.
The gauntleted man scowled at Spiked Club and stood in his way. “Not with that, you raking idiot,” he scolded. “You’ll rake around and puncture one of his lungs. Surely you can’t be that stupid, can you?”
“He’ll be livin’ through it all,” Andrjolf snarled at Spiked Club, and then stepped in to carve another painful gash into Wolf’s lower abdomen. The large bearded man turned back to Spiked Club. “Only gashes and bruises, else YOU’LL be the one wrapped around a tree next,” he warned.
Gauntlet turned back to the bloodied former ranger, just as Andrjolf reached forward and grabbed the fang hanging from Wolf’s neck and pulled it free with a jerk. Gauntlet looked to him puzzled.
“Souvenir,” Andrjolf replied to the silent question.
“Right,” Gauntlet said, turning his attention to their glaring captive. “As I was saying. We here in the north prefer dealing with things our way. Once we’ve done our part, the scent of your freely flowing blood will attract predators, which will feast upon your flesh until they have had their fill, while we are sitting beside a warm hearth enjoying a mug of mead. So, we are quite literally throwing you to the wolves,” he finished.
“And don’t ye be worryin’ none about yer little blonde whore,” Andrjolf added. “I’ll be takin’ care of her meself.”
Wolf began to chuckle beneath his blood-soaked gag, leaning his head back and laughing harder as he gazed up into the branches of the pine to which he was bound. Gauntlet looked at him, puzzled again.
“I’m sorry, was something I said amusing to you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child. “What part of ‘throwing you to the wolves’ was funny? Do tell,” Gauntlet finished, reaching up and removing the gag from Wolf’s mouth.
Wolf’s head lowered, his chin almost touching his chest as he spat blood onto the snowy forest floor. He slowly lifted his head, his piercing eyes meeting Gauntlet’s with a ravenous glare. “You can’t throw me to the wolves,” he answered, his voice low and gravelly.
“No?” Gauntlet asked. “And why is that?”
Behind the four men, a deep chorus of growls emerged.
“Slog!” exclaimed the torch bearer. “They picked up the scent quicker than we expected!”
Gauntlet and Andrjolf turned to see two pair of yellow eyes seem to materialize from the darkness, followed by the pair of wolves in which they belonged to. Their teeth were bared, and their hackles raised as they stalked forward, halting just a few paces away from the quartet of torturous townsfolk. Between them, a massive white wolf moved closer, its eyes glowing red as it appeared to stare into the very souls of the men.
“Devissius’ horns!” Spiked Club said as he saw the dire wolf. “That thing’s bigger than a horse!”
“You can’t throw me to the wolves,” Wolf said again, drawing Gauntlet’s attention back to his stare. “Because they come when I call them,” he finished.
With Wolf’s declaration, the dire wolf and the pair of smaller timber wolves leaped forward. One of the smaller wolves caught the torch bearer in the chest with its heavy paws, knocking him to the ground with a scream. The second timber wolf saw the grievous weapon in which Spiked Club held in a defensive stance about his head and torso. Instead of lunging for his throat, the timber wolf elected to wrap its teeth around Spiked Club’s thigh, rending his muscles and piercing to the bone as it snarled.
Wolf opened his palms and summoned forth his magical fire, surrounding his hands with flame that burned through the rope bindings and freed him. Andrjolf was focused on the white dire wolf that had clamped onto his left arm and had dragged him to the ground, ripping at muscle, tendon and bone as it crushed.
Gauntlet had pulled his sword from his hip and was beginning to make a dash to assist his fellow townsmen, when Wolf caught him by the ankle and tripped him. Unable to stand from the weakness of his recent condition, the enraged former ranger held fast to Gauntlet’s thick breeches and pulled himself up the man’s scrambling body.
Wolf buried an elbow into Gauntlet’s lower back, hitting one of his kidneys with the strike. Gauntlet screamed out, however his exclamation of agony only added to the cacophony of the men contending with the fanged attacking trio. Wolf dragged himself to Gauntlet’s head, taking a handful of greasy hair and slamming his face into the snow. With his free hand, Wolf loosed a stream of flame inches from Gauntlet’s head, engulfing the shrieking human in fire from the neck up.
The torch bearer struck the timber wolf in the left shoulder in a desperate attempt to fight off the fatal bite that he knew was coming. Although the wolf yelped, it still tore at the man’s throat and elicited a fountain of blood that gushed onto the forest floor. Near the twitching torch holder, Spiked Club brought his weapon across in a short swipe that caught his attacker in the side of the face, gashing through the fur and tearing its maw. The timber wolf yelped as it reeled from the strike, and as Spiked Club attempted to scramble to his feet, he fell back to the ground in agony from his destroyed leg.
Andrjolf shouted with a snarl as the white dire wolf tore his left arm, and he was honestly surprised that the beast hadn’t ripped it from his body. The pack leader bounded off the large human, setting his sights on Spiked Club as he made a second attempt to rise from the ground. In the chaos of the attack, Andrjolf didn’t see the singed timber wolf charging at him in a full run, and before he could bring his blade to bear, the wolf had lunged and caught his right bicep between its teeth.
The impact of the pounce knocked the bearded man further back toward the pine that had held his captive. He slid along his back as the timber wolf released its bite and continued its path beyond him, now unable to use either of his arms due to the massive damage done to them.
And then he saw the bloodied face of the former ranger over him. In Wolf’s right hand was the fang in which Andrjolf had taken from him.
“I am guessing a tough man like yourself never thought the way his life would end would be at the hands of a naked man in a forest,” Wolf said, taking a firm grip on Andrjolf’s beard and jerking his head back.
Before the large human could spout another word, Wolf jammed the fang into Andrjolf’s throat. He pulled back and stabbed again, perforating the man’s jugular before stabbing a third time just above the collar bone. As Andrjolf began choking on his own blood, Wolf stared into his eyes and released a wave of roiling black tendrils into the dying man’s mind, ensuring that the last emotion Andrjolf would ever experience would be that of being hated.
A few feet away, the dire wolf had silenced Spiked Club’s cries of fear and agony, and now turned its attention to the former ranger. Its maw and coat stained with blood, it slowly moved forward, the red eyes glowing as its snarl began to fade. It stood inches from Wolf’s face, staring down at him with hackles still raised.
Instead of finishing the wounded man with a snap at his exposed neck, the dire wolf licked him from his chin to his forehead.

Wolf released a heavy sigh. “It probably looks worse than what it is, Myst,” Wolf said, reaching up and running his fingers through the white fur on the beast’s neck. “They were amateurs. I’ve had worse done by roughhousing with you and the girls,” he chuckled. “But, you saved my backside again,” he added.
Myst chuffed, and then issued a low whine, still staring into Wolf’s eyes. Another blood soaked furry head buried itself under Wolf’s right arm as one of the timber wolves issued a duo of soft licks to his cheek.
“I’m all right, Jynx,” Wolf said as he stroked the timber wolf’s head and scratched her ears. “Come on girl, help me up,” he finished, and Jynx dug her paws into the bloody snow to support Wolf’s weight as he pulled himself to his feet. His legs ached from the exposure to the cold, and with only sheer force of will was he able to get them to respond to his command.
Myst led him several feet away from the sight of his bondage and torture, Jynx assisting him as he trudged to where the quartet of men had stashed the gear in which they had stripped him. Wolf dropped to his knees by his pack and opened it, withdrawing one of the syrupy vials held within. He pulled the cork free with his teeth, and then downed the potion in one draught.
Within a minute’s time, the fresh wounds on his face and his torso had closed and were fading into scars. Circulation returned to his legs and his feet as energy coursed through his body, allowing him to stand on his own and don his armor. As he was dressing himself, Jynx padded over to her injured sister, nuzzling her and whining softly.
“Ohh, Luna…they got you good didn’t they,” Wolf said as he knelt beside the timber wolf and gently reached for her maw, assessing the damage done. He released her, and then opened his pack once again. Instead of a potion of health, Wolf retrieved a vial of bluish powder and a small mortar and pestle.
He poured a quarter of the powder into the mortar bowl and retrieved a water skin, opening it and adding a meager amount. He mixed the concoction with the pestle until it had a doughy consistency, and then reached in with his fingers to pull out half of it.
Luna growled softly as Wolf held her maw with his free hand, and she yelped as he applied the remedy to her injury. She only jerked slightly, until the medicinal properties began its work and numbed the pain. Wolf coated her wound with the whole mortar full, and soon Luna was back on her feet.
“Don’t lick that off,” Wolf instructed her. “You know better,” he finished, petting Luna along her back and ending with a pat against her haunch. He stood and turned to the silently observing Myst. “I need to get back to the town. Can you help me out, boy?” Wolf asked as he approached the dire wolf.
Myst answered with a yawn, but then lowered himself to the ground in a crouch. Wolf ran his fingers through Myst’s pink stained fur with a grin. He then climbed onto his back, taking a handful of hair to hold on as Myst began dashing through the forest toward Feathervane.

End of Chapter 2

Apologies to all for taking this long to bring you the second chapter of Lone Wolf. After having written it, I had it edited and waited for it to be returned, and I've also busied myself with other projects, so this installment was delayed. Many thanks to you all for reading the chapter, and I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and are further intrigued. What is Wolf going to find when he gets back to town? Further adventure awaits in the next chapter of this Steemit exclusive Lone Wolf...

Screenshots taken from Skyrim: Legendary Edition (modded, PC)