Into the Wild Read online

  “Well, my lady.” His eyes followed her wandering hand. “It is a nice night for a walk alone in a haunted forest.”

  She moved close enough that he could smell her. There were no delicate perfumes here but instead sweat, earth, and grass. She placed one fingertip against his lips to silence him. “You talk too much.” She had a dusky whisper of a voice that reminded him of predator’s growl. “But I like you.”

  Well, this is obviously trouble, Acosta thought.

  The strange woman gave him an appraising look and a seductive, almost hungry smile, as if she approved in a feral way of what she saw. Then she gestured for him to follow and moved away. She must have practiced that walk because she was very good at it. Acosta laughed. She stopped at the edge of the path and looked back to where he hadn’t moved to follow yet.

  “Where I’m from, when a mysterious and beautiful woman beckons you to follow her into the shadows, it means you’re about to be clubbed over the head. Then you wake up press-ganged aboard a ship.”

  Apparently the wild forest woman wasn’t accustomed to rejection; she lifted her spear and snarled, “Stupid outsider.”

  Acosta shrugged his shoulders and twisted quickly, a practiced move that shifted the armored pauldrons enough to free the straps. He moved both arms in a second motion, and his two storm glaives slid free of their straps and dropped into his waiting palms. “Is now the part where your associates lurking in the trees attack me? Because if I am mistaken and your people are just extremely friendly, I will have to apologize for my rudeness.”

  Blue flashed through the trees ahead—someone had fired a storm glaive. It was followed a split second later by another discharge and the howl of a large animal. He estimated the blast had been about two hundred yards away. Curious.

  The woman used the momentary distraction to hurl her spear at Acosta’s chest. He dodged to the side, and the spear stuck into a tree behind him.

  By the time he turned back, she was already gone. The only sign of her passing was a few shaking bushes. She was inhumanly fast. Then he saw how deeply embedded into the tree the spearhead was; it looked as if the trunk had swallowed it entirely. So, the seductress was far stronger than she looked. Acosta grinned. He’d been right. This was turning out to be a fantastic night for a walk.

  The lantern dropped to the dirt as Rains stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the claws of the charging beast. The horror kicked the lantern and sent it spinning wildly across the path. It cracked against a rock, and the spilling oil ignited into orange flames.

  The hairy thing bounded past the rock and was illuminated briefly, revealing something bigger than a man, something coated entirely in dark hair. It slid past the Storm Knights on all fours, snapping at Rains with its massive, wolf-like jaws. He barely got out of the way as its fangs scratched the paint off his helmet. The beast spun, turning back, and pressed its attack. Rains pulled his shield around and shoved his gauntlet through the straps, preparing to meet it.

  Thorny fired his glaive first. An instantaneous arc of brilliant lightning formed between the knight and creature, and for a second, all Rains could see was the afterimage of the glowing line. Then he saw that the beast had been sent rolling away, blasted and smoking. Rains flipped down his visor, trapping the stink of burning fur inside his helmet, and fired his own charged glaive.

  The bolt blasted into the fallen creature’s side, danced through its guts, down its legs, and arced into the ground with enough remaining energy to throw up a cloud of dirt and pebbles. The beast let out a wail—part pain, part fury—as it violently kicked and spasmed. Rains stepped forward, glaive raised to finish it off before its wildly twitching muscles could recover from the voltage.

  He spotted a second creature leaping from the tree line and loping toward Thorny. “Behind you!”

  Thorny turned to meet it, but the thing was far too fast. It lowered its shoulder and slammed into him, launching him across the path and straight into a tree. His metal armor struck the bark with a terrible clang, and Thorny bounced off, rolling through the dirt and pine needles before coming to a stop at an awkward, twisted angle. He didn’t move again.

  The second creature jerked its long head around, glowing eyes taking in the downed Thornbury—no longer a threat of any kind—before turning its malignant gaze toward the still-dangerous Rains.

  The last thing Rains wanted was to fight two of them at once, so he hurriedly turned back to the first, ready to land the killing blow.

  Yet somehow, the smoking creature had already recovered from two galvanic blasts and had stood up. On two feet like a man, the thing towered a foot over Rains’ head. It stared down at him, furious. Its thick mane of hair was still glowing with burning red embers and dripping ash.

  The beast swatted at him, claws flashing back and forth so fast, they whistled through the air. Rains desperately lifted his shield. It was like being pummeled by a warjack. Wilkins had always sworn this shield contained a holy relic of Ascendant Markus; Rains had no idea if that was true, but the shield saved his life once again as it absorbed the violent impacts. Each furious strike sent his boots sliding backward across the ground. The impact of each paw was so hard he knew that, without the blessed shield, the beast would have torn his arms clean off. Or worse.

  Calm and focused, Rains kept his shield up to hold off the wounded beast but kept his glaive pointed toward the other. That monster was circling, looking for an angle to strike. It seemed hesitant to charge and risk catching a few feet of electrically charged steel on the way in. But if Rains struck at one, the other would be on him before he could recover.

  Morrow preserve us.

  He couldn’t keep this up. The standing monster kept striking and snapping at him, lurching back and forth, side to side, trying to get around the shield. Gobs of spittle splattered over the shield and across Rains’ visor. The monstrosity kept trying to rip the shield away, but its claws slipped from the polished steel as Rains pushed and twisted against it. The other beast was watching, glowing eyes narrowed, trying to find a way around the glaive. It licked its lips with a long red tongue, probably imagining how it would crack open his armor and eat his guts.

  Rains was biding his time. Just a few more seconds.

  The blue glow of the storm glaive was increasing as the storm chamber charged. It began to hum with gathered energy. Close enough.

  It was already difficult enough to aim such an awkward weapon, let alone while being shoved around by a monster, but Rains didn’t have any other choice; he extended his arm and pushed the firing stud. Energy instantly leapt from the glaive, burning a hole through the night and piercing the circling beast’s chest. For a moment, he imagined he could see its rib cage through its glowing skin, but then the monster was flung aside on a wave of thunder.

  The other beast used the opportunity to force Rains’ shield down. One thickly muscled arm swept across his face. Claws tore into his helmet, ripping it off his head and flinging it far out into the forest. With a roar of his own, Rains slammed his weight back against the shield, creating just enough distance to work his sword. He had to kill this one before the other returned. Raising the glaive, he thrust—and felt the steel bite deep into flesh.

  The wounded monster let out a terrible roar. Its breath stank of blood, hot against his face. It kept tearing at him, pushing him across the clearing, but Rains kept striking at it until the beast shoved him back one step too far—he stumbled over a root and went crashing through soft pine branches before slamming into the hard trunk of a tree. Damn! His sword arm was trapped. The beast’s jaws snapped so close to his face that some of his hair was caught in its teeth.

  Rains knew he was going to die, but he was too preoccupied to be scared. All he had was a grim determination to figure out how to take this thing with him to the grave. He wasn’t strong enough to hold back its jaws. The shield was slick with the beast’s blood, but the monster still sought to crawl over the top of the steel. Rains couldn’t maneuver his glaive, so he dropped it
and began punching the thing in the snout with his gauntlet.

  But his movements were far too slow, and its jaws locked onto his armored hand. Pressure ground the bones together as the beast shook the gauntlet like a dog with a rat, but when its teeth couldn’t bite through the steel, it gave up and went back to trying to rip his face off.

  Its savage stare bore into Rains’, and, in that split second between life and death, he realized that these weren’t the eyes of an animal at all. There was something else in there, something cunning. Intelligent. Then those eyes widened in shock and pain. There was a terrible blue flash as electricity danced through the beast and across Rains’ insulated armor. The beast fell away, its claws dragging down the length of the shield until it let go.

  Rains stumbled out of the branches just in time to see the wounded creature lurch to the side, drop down onto all fours, and bound away. There was a blackened, gaping wound in its back—the fur around it had caught fire. With only two mighty leaps, it disappeared into the brush.

  Thornbury was standing there, breathing hard, glaive lifted. The blood coating his blade sizzled from the heat. Their aristocrat had just saved his life.

  “Where’s the other one?” Rains gasped.

  “It ran off.” Thorny gestured with his glaive toward the forest. “That way.”

  They moved back to the path, now pitch black. The spilled oil had been consumed, and they couldn’t see far from just the glow of their blades. But the things were quick, too quick to be allowed to close on them in the dark. Rains retrieved his glaive, and the two Storm Knights stood back to back and watched the forest as they caught their breath, twitching at every leaf that moved in the breeze. Rains couldn’t hear anything, but it could be a trick. The woods hadn’t seemed this dark before. Now it felt like death could be lurking behind every shadow. “Don’t let your guard down.”

  It had all been so sudden, so violent, that he’d had no time for fear. Rains was flushed and scared. But a good soldier didn’t let dying get in the way of getting the job done. They needed to get back to the fort.

  “How badly are you hurt?” he asked Thorny.

  “Roughed up, but I’m fine.” Thorny suddenly aimed his weapon up the trail. “There!”

  Rains saw something moving toward them, but before the two of them could attack, he caught the glow of two galvanic blades. “Wait. Hold your fire.”

  “Good evening, my friends,” Acosta called as he made his way down the path. He didn’t seem alarmed to see the two Storm Knights ready to fight. “From the noise, I assume that you have also been accosted by hill folk.”

  “Hill folk?” The exasperated Thornbury shouted back. “They must grow their hill folk extra big and hairy in Ord.”

  “The supposed hairiness of Ordic women is a vulgar lie. Did Clamorgan not attack you? I have found that if you rebuke their advances, they toss spears at you. Unromantic savages.”

  “Clamorgan?” Thorny’s armored back banged against Rains’ as he turned, still nervously trying to watch as much forest as possible. “Careful. There are two bloody gigantic animals out here.”

  “What manner of animals?”

  “Since you were out here consorting with them, why don’t you tell us?” Rains demanded.

  “Consorting?” Acosta looked around the dark forest. “Ah, you were following because you do not trust me. Good. It is always wise to question an ambitious man’s motives, but honestly, Rains, why would I consort with animals? I do not intend to open a zoo.”

  “What do you really know of these things, Acosta?” Rains’ limbs had begun to shake as he came down from the rush of battle, but his anger was about to thrust him into another one. “No more lies.”

  “You think you know me? You don’t even know yourself.” Acosta studied the bloody, scratched up state of Rains’ armor and shook his head. “I wonder, when you thought you were about to perish, who did you finally call out for? Your old god or your new one?”

  “All right. That’s it.” Rains was too angry to put together a more coherent response. He shook the blood and saliva from his shield and started toward Acosta. It didn’t matter that he was likely to lose; he just wanted to wipe the smug look off the Ordsman’s face.

  “Hold on,” Thorny snapped as he nervously turned in a circle. “I don’t want to get eaten by a wolf monster because you two are distracted carving each other up.”

  Thorny was right. The squad came first. Rains took a deep breath and lowered his glaive.

  “That is wise,” Acosta said, unclear whether he was speaking about Thorny’s words or Rains calming down enough to avoid getting himself killed. “I can admire wisdom, even if it is born of mere self-preservation.”

  As the sun rose over the Wyrmwalls, the Hauls returned to the village. The scent of dried blood and burnt flesh preceded them, warning Caradoc that their scouting mission had not gone well. From the howls of rage echoing throughout the village, he knew it was Betrys who had carried her brother back. She was screaming at the other warriors to assist her. From Ivor came only incoherent moans of pain.

  Caradoc smiled as he continued sharpening his axe. His dwelling was humble. As chief, he could have demanded better, but he simply didn’t care. All he needed was a place to make fire out of the rain. Too much comfort made a warrior soft, and Caradoc had no patience for frivolity. One advantage of having a small hut was that the walls were thin enough for him to hear every anguished cry and outraged demand, as Betrys threw her fit just outside his place. Thin walls kept a chief in touch with his people.

  The elder Guto rushed in. “The Hauls have returned. Ivor is hurt.”

  If the elder expected him to leap up and see to his people, he was about to be disappointed; Caradoc remained seated on his pile of furs. “I figured as much from that incessant wailing. Betrys pleases the eye but hurts the ears. Have the shaman tend to Ivor. I’m busy.”

  His lack of concern obviously made Guto uncomfortable. The elder began to leave, but then turned back, torn, believing his chief was making a mistake. “Why don’t you go to them? They burned him with their false lightning.”

  “If their lightning burns, then it is real enough, isn’t it?” Caradoc laughed. If Ivor had lived this long, he’d more than likely survive. Skinwalkers were hard to kill and healed rapidly. For his kind, it was kill them fast—or not at all. “It serves the pup right. Pain is the best teacher. Maybe now the twins won’t be so quick to question their chief’s caution. Stuff Ivor with enough flesh, and he’ll be ready to fight again tonight. Let the warriors who have just arrived see his wounds and hear his cries so they know not to underestimate the blue soldiers. Let them be angry at this insult, angry until their mouths water for blood. It will motivate them for tonight’s slaughter.”

  “I see. That is wise, my chief.”

  Caradoc thrust his axe toward the fire, shifting it so the polished steel could catch the light. The weapon was far too big for these hands, but tonight it would fit perfectly in his other hands. He stared into its metal, waiting for Guto to depart.

  But Guto was old among their kind; his hair was even white. It was rare for one who wore the skins to live long enough truly age, but he’d not done so by failing to notice the obvious. He did not leave; instead, he asked, “What’s troubling you, Caradoc?”

  “Our future. Maybe the past as well.”

  “We may not like it, but the druid spoke the truth. To the Cygnar, the old temple is nothing but a curiosity. They’ll dig it up, grow bored, leave, and everything will go back to the way it has always been.”

  “That sounds like wishful thinking,” Caradoc scoffed. “My old chief once told me if you are not willing to protect what is sacred, then it is no longer sacred.”

  “Things were different then.” Guto didn’t like having his own lessons used against him. “I led many. Now we’re few.”

  “Because the Circle used us up,” Caradoc growled. In the land where the sun rose, he had watered the sand with skorne blood, and in the land wh
ere the sun set, he’d fought undead monstrosities patched together from metal and flesh. In the frozen north, he’d killed the spawn of blight, and in the blistering south, he’d fought men who’d put their souls into machines. Caradoc had stepped through the stones so many times that the battles on the other side were nothing but blurs.

  “The mountain will remain, Caradoc. Don’t doom our tribe for something that’s been lost since long before you were born.”

  “It is special. We are special. The druid is wrong—we’re not like the others. The Circle didn’t breed us. They chose our tribe to be the first skinwalkers because of the rites we already had. They changed us, but only because we were prepared to accept the power.”

  Guto had taught Caradoc their history when the latter had been a boy. The elder knew the stories better than anyone. Now he recited from memory. “In those days the Tharn were not the only tribe to find ways to draw power from the Wurm. Their bodies transformed, but ours didn’t. Our people hunted mighty beasts and then wore their skins, claiming their strength, channeling their spirits in battle. Our warriors would enter a state that made us unstoppable. We were mighty and feared by all.”

  Caradoc laughed bitterly. “Which is why, when the blackclads offered our ancestors a chance to not just channel the spirit of beasts but to actually become them, they gladly accepted. And the druids have used us ever since.”

  “All the tribes give warriors to the druids, my chief.”

  “And we’ve given too damned many.”

  Concerned, Guto squatted next to him. “If our true nature is exposed to the world, our people will have to flee these lands. The Circle will hide us in some other wilderness, but we’ll be no better than the rest. Please, Caradoc,” he begged. “Let this go.”