The Queen of the She-Wolves

"Many who have taken your path often perish young," Kyra reflected. "You have much skill."

"And luck."

"Skill begets luck, ranger. And what about a woman?"

"There have been many in my life."

"What about one you didn't have to pay with silver to keep you warm at night. One that wasn't gone with the morning light."

"Are those women worth the trouble?"

"Depends on the trouble you're willing to put up with."

"Fair point." Red handed her the whiskey, and she drank.

"To answer your question: I've thought long about settling down with a nice, plump townswoman in some peaceful country and raising little versions of myself. It is just that the Gods had always ensured such was never really an option for me."

"You're fooling yourself if you think that the Gods have that much sway in your pitiful life. They're not even interested."

"I hold no such conceit, witch. Merely a figure of speech. I know the truth -- I'm much too greedy to share my life with anyone else. I'd rather pay silver for a warm body for a night. Tell me, what downsides are there to whores? They are lovely creatures that are there when you need them to be, never complain as long as they get their coin, and they are as youthful and as beautiful as your wallet is deep. At least my relationship to a whore is an honest one."

Kyra nodded but held a look of amused skepticism on her face.

"You really do find me pitiful," he remarked.

"I cannot deny that."

Red shrugged. "Well, think what you may, witch. Many others find me pitiful. I do not let such things bother me."

She lifted the whiskey pouch over her mouth and shook out some drops from it.

"There's hardly any left. I was just getting to like the taste of it."

"Unfortunately, it's a hard whiskey to come by. As rare as a decent woman."

She scoffed at the quip and replied, "Well, I have a remedy for the whiskey situation at least."

She grabbed her wand, uncorked the pouch, then whispered a long, soft incantation into it in a language that was ancient and esoteric, then tapped the neck of it with her wand. The incantation was a pleasant song, and while she sang it, Red's eyes grew in amazement as the pouch grew fat with liquid. He snatched the pouch from her when she finished and drank from it.

"By the Gods, it appears I have found a decent woman."

"So this is what it takes to draw a compliment from you. It won't taste the same, I'm afraid. No amount of sorcery can produce the equal of the natural process."

"Nevertheless, it is more than an adequate whiskey. Just when I was beginning to doubt there would be any fun in this adventure. Speaking of which, now that I've told you my story, what is yours? Surely you have a more interesting yarn to spin."

"In fact, my story begins with a childhood as troublesome as yours. My parents abandoned me to the streets of Portoa long before I had a memory to know that they had. I was a 'Swallow Child,' as they say, for the entirety of my childhood. But I was a special Swallow. I knew I was special. I discovered from a young age that certain words, if I spoke them with the right intonation, could shift the world around me. It started with little things -- I could get packs of dogs to howl at night. Or cause a clay pot to break. Or a flower to wilt and come instantly back to life. Some of these skills I used to my advantage. Of course, at first, I only stole food. But as my skills grew, so did my brashness. Food turned into jewelry and coin purses. I became too brash for my skills, and I was eventually caught -- a witch disguised as a street beggar sniffed me out, set a trap for me, and had me arrested. She later took me from the jail and sent me to the Topaz Order Academy, where I learned sorcery formally."

"There's a part to this story where you return to thieving."

"That part of me never stopped. I often stole from the academy, not because I needed to, but because it was just a part of my nature, as a cat might pounce on a mouse that darts across its path."

"So, you graduated from the college and swore an oath to a life of thievery as opposed to a life of medicine, or academia, or to a royal court, or whatever else it is that sorceresses traditionally do."

"I never graduated. I was expelled."

"For stealing?"

Kyra sighed. Thought long about what she should say and took another swig of whiskey to help her thoughts. Finally, she said,

"For falling in love. Or what I thought was love."

"Pray tell."

Red was now lounging comfortably, laying sidewise along with the fire with his head propped up by an elbow. Kyra handed him the whiskey pouch, and he clutched it close to his chest.

"As you may know, the Topaz Order Academy is separated into cloisters for men and women. Love is strictly forbidden. Carnal pleasures are forbidden. Of course, once I reached a certain age, as was the case with every other young witch, I became curious. I was intrigued by this forbidden fruit."

"So, you found a wizard from the other cloister that would play with your female parts behind the stables. What's so terrible about that? Those damn prudes."

"Theyare prudes... but that's not quite how the story goes. You see, I wasn't interested in any of the wizards."

"Oh?"

"There was a witch... You see, they assign each younger witch with a higher-grade witch as a sort of mentor. She belonged to the School of Healers. She was beautiful beyond words and too much of a temptation, too easy a fruit to snatch. She wanted me too."

"They discovered your taste for each other's fruit."

"Out of fear of being caught, she betrayed me. She told them about our secret romance and claimed that I had cast a hex on her."

"Was she truthful?"

Kyra scowled. "Is that the sort of person you think I am?"

"Well..."

"I would never exploit someone for love."

"You are a truly honorable witch thief."

"It offends me that you would think I would have hexed her into falling in love with me. I'll have you know -- I do have honor. Not that they would ever spend an ounce of effort to believe me. I was already in hot water with the administration for many other things. So, they banished me from the academy, and I scurried back to that life with which I was most comfortable. Eventually, I've learned to be grateful to be cast out. I'm grateful that I'm not chained to their stodgy old ways."

"Have you ever loved another since?"

"Of everything I ever learned from that school, the most valuable is to trust no one. To love another is to trust them. So no, I have not."

Red raised the whiskey pouch as if to toast her, then squirted the whiskey skillfully into his mouth. Kyra tried the same technique with the pouch but missed her mouth almost entirely. The whiskey dribbled off her chin. She wiped it, and they laughed. By the bottom of the second pouch, she had picked up the skill well but still missed on account of the amount of alcohol she imbibed. They had a grand time telling each other drunken, debauched stories, each taking turns telling a tale more outrageous than the last.

For the first time in his life, Red felt like he had met a person with whom he could let down his guards. It was not a romance he felt but a sort of fancy that arose from a banter that one might have with a sibling and it was good.

After a long while, they turned in for sleep. Kyra retired to the tent. Red decided to stay out and sleep by the fire. He felt at home sleeping by a fire, and he felt more comfortable if someone were near it to stoke it from time to time to keep it alight. It was only after Kyra had fallen fast asleep, and he was lying on his back staring up at the blank, abyssal canopy of the dense spruce, imagining the stars beyond them, that it occurred to him that perhaps Kyra could have cast a spell on the fire to keep it going all night. It was only a lazy thought in his spinning drunk haze, and he decided he was too lazy to bother Kyra about it tonight. Perhaps tomorrow night.

***

A chilling howl woke Red with a start. He popped up and felt his body engulfed by a wet cold.

It was dark. The flames had gone down to nothing more than gentle ember -- not enough to illuminate anything. He rubbed his eyes to better his vision but found it impossible to see anything at that hour.

His head pounded from the whiskey, and he cursed himself for drinking so much that night and cursed Kyra for her ability to refill the whiskey at a snap.

He needed to make the fire again before going back to sleep. Otherwise, the nocturnal creatures might descend upon them while they were both fast asleep.

He fumbled in his pockets for his matchbox but couldn't find them. There were some loose coins, some odd bits, and some squishy things he remembered were the batberries he had picked earlier. The matchbox must be in his pack, inside the tent, where he could hear Kyra snoring soundly.

The wolf howled again. It was a distant enough howl to not be alarmed by, but then a nearby twig snapped, and several voices all around him hushed each other. That sent a lightning fright throughout his body. An ambush was upon them.

He needed to see. The batberries came immediately to mind. He popped one in his mouth and chewed silently, shifting his eyes right and left around him in pitch black. Vision trickled in as if the moon sailed out from behind a heavy cloud and bathed the forest in its light. He saw them -- a band of long-eared wood goblins around the camp, encroaching ever so slowly. Though their eyesight at night was just as poor as a human's, they had a keen sense of smell, which they used now to guide them towards the camp.

Their rusty blades were out, quivering with excitement. They foamed at their mouths, and they had their ugly heads up in the air, sniffing as they went, following the trail of human scent.

He put his hands on the handles of his two dirks, but he didn't unsheathe them as he feared the sound of drawing blades would drive the goblins into a frenzy. He counted the heads of the raiding party and found there to be a dozen among them. This was at least twice the number he had ever dealt with. If he were armored and had a longsword, he might have a chance, but there was nothing now that could save him except perhaps the witch. He prayed that she had experience in combat. Silently he stole into the tent and shook Kyra awake. She snorted her last snore.

"Wha- whassamatter? It wasn't me, I swear!" She croaked in a slurred voice. Then her eyes went wide when she remembered where she was, and she recognized an overwhelming sense of danger.

"I'm going to need your spells, witch. Because we're in trouble."

"What happened? What's out there?" She smacked, still shaking off her sleep.

"Goblins. At least a dozen of them. They have us surrounded."

"That's very bad, right?"

"That is very bad. Unless you can think of something quick."

Torches went ablaze all around them, and the silhouettes of the goblins, with their gnarled pointed ears and their long-crooked noses, danced against the tent walls in the flickering light. The shadows grew larger as the goblins drew closer.

"Very well... Grab your bow, ranger. I have a plan."

His bow lay nearby. He picked it up and grabbed every arrow he had from his quiver, which was four. He nocked one and held the other three in his bow hand.

"I hope you're not relying on my bow to save us."

"Do you trust me?" Kyra asked.

"I have no choice," he replied and drew the arrow back.

She whispered an incantation, then drew her wand upwards. A great gust blew out from the tip of her wand and sent the tent shooting up into the darkness with a brilliant fireball. A second later, a shower of white-hot phosphorescent balls rained down, flooding the forest with daylight. The goblins cheered when Red and Kyra appeared before them. There was more than a dozen. There seemed to be at least twice that many, perhaps thirty.

Immediately, Red loosed an arrow into the chest of the nearest illuminated goblin, but this did not seem to deter the jubilant mood among the rest of them. They raised their knives and swords like butchers and menaced their newly illuminated prey. He nocked another arrow.

"You got another brilliant idea?!" he growled. He pulled back and aimed at the next closest goblin.

"Loose your arrows as fast as you have them on your string," she yelled.

"Brilliant. I've only three, so... nice knowing you."

He pulled back on his bowstring. It felt different. The draw was light, like a child's bow, yet the string reverberated with tremendous power. He released the string, and not one arrow flew, but three, and each became engulfed in screaming flames as they flew in fast arcs towards their targets. Each arrow struck a goblin straight in the heart, and each goblin flew backward as if struck point-blank by an arrow from a heavy war bow. He didn't pause to think about it. After nocking another arrow, he drew again with just as much ease, and he loosed it. Again, it separated into three, and each whistled in quick arcs towards a goblin. The others rushed in. Time slowed. He spun to find a goblin leaping through the air with a double ax raised high above his head. Red kneeled and fired into the leaping goblin. The arrow flew right into the head of that goblin. The other two arrows that manifested flew in a sharp arc towards the two goblins behind.

He spun again and loosed another volley of three. The arrows flew past Kyra, and three goblins behind her were downed. Each body burst into flames as they hit the ground.

He did this repeatedly, and only after several more volleys did, he realize that the arrows did not deplete. Kyra was summoning them into being, just as she had summoned the whiskey earlier. Red laughed incredulously as he fired. But still, they were far from danger. The goblins threatened to overwhelm them with their numbers.

Kyra ran up to Red, drew a dirk from its sheath on his thigh, and, just as a goblin came close enough to thrust a spear at Red, she parried the spear, then lunged at the goblin to drive the dagger into his chest. The goblin wore metal armor, but it was so rusted that the dirk punched through easily and went into its hilts. She pulled the blade out, found another incoming goblin, and flung it into the goblin's skull. She uttered a short incantation and flicked her wand, and the dagger flew back into her hand. The remaining goblins took cover behind trees, flinging arrows with their short bows wildly in their direction. Red ran out to flank them, making short order of them.

When the battle ended, Red let out a cheer and said to Kyra as he walked back to her,

"Well done! You may be right. You may very well be the most dangerous thing in these woods."

He hadn't noticed the arrow sticking out from her stomach as he spoke. He only saw her buckle, cough out blood, and fall to her knees. He ran to her, laid her softly down on the ground. She heaved and gasped with every laborious breath. Her hands were around the shaft of the arrow. Dark red blood gushed out from where it entered.

"Fuck, that hurts," Kyra groaned.

Red moved her hands for a better look at the wound. It was hard to tell how deep the broadhead had penetrated because there was so much blood, but he knew, from his experience with arrow wounds, that it needed to come back out the way it went in if she were to have a chance to survive.

"This will hurt, even more, I'm afraid," he muttered. He slipped off his leather belt and shoved it into her mouth.

"Bite down," he instructed.

Kyra clenched her teeth on the belt and closed her eyes in anticipation of the coming pain.

Red grabbed the shaft at its entry point and pulled carefully to bring the serrated and barbed edges of the broadhead (a ruthless style of arrow tips the goblins favored) out the way it went in, trying his best to minimize the damage to her flesh.

Kyra screamed into the belt as he pulled. Her body quivered. The jagged barbs kept snagging on flesh, slowing the process. Still, Red persisted, staying focused and pulling out as gingerly as possible until the tip was finally free.

Kyra's body went limp, the belt slid out of her mouth.

He grabbed the whiskey pouch, drank some of it, then squirted it on the gushing wound. Kyra winced from the sting of it, but the pain was incomparable to what she had just experienced.

He put the mouth of the pouch to her lips, and she sucked on it to take some whiskey before he poured more of it onto the wound. It didn't look too bad, nothing a poultice and a few stitches couldn't take care of. But Kyra offered him some bad news.

"The arrowhead was poisoned," she said. "I can feel it spreading."

Another ruthless device of the forest goblins. He grabbed the arrow and inspected it closely. A sticky black tar coated the tip.

"Death Shade," he replied. "It grows well in this forest. I have the antidote in my pack -- the siren nightshade."

Kyra nodded. Her face was already pale. Her eyes were heavily dilated. Her heart beat weaker with every passing second.

Before he went for the antidote, he tore off his shirt and bunched it up, and put it in her hands. "Press it against your wound. The bleeding must stop."

She did as he instructed. He ran to his pouch and emptied it onto the ground, and found the blue flowers tied in a bunch at the stems. He grabbed it and went back to her.

He stuffed the flowers into his mouth and chewed them into a poultice. The taste was rather pleasant, much like how they smelled, and he wondered in amazement how anyone could have ever figured out that this thing could work as an antidote to Death Shade poison. Through much experimentation, it would be. Thank the Gods for the hapless experimenters and the one that finally figured it out.

He took the moist wad out of his mouth and pressed it into the deep arrow wound. Kyra moaned as it went in. It was not enough. A wound must be completely filled to neutralize all the toxins.

"Shit."

"Oh, that is not a thing one likes to hear from their healer."

"It's not nearly enough."

"You don't have anymore?"

"Oops."

Red stood, ran over to the jetsam from his pack on the floor, and searched frantically for more of the flower in case he missed some. But there were none, so he ran back to her and said,

"I need to go find more."

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Red mopped gently at it with his sleeve.

"Ok. Don't let me stop you," she croaked.

She tried a smile of assurance. But her eyes, already glazed, flickered with death.

"Stay with me just a little bit longer. I'll be back soon. I promise."

He had no idea where a creek might be. None of his skills as a ranger were helpful in this regard. So, he ran off in a random direction.

The mist quickly descended around him, making it quite hard to see where he was going. He looked back towards Kyra, but his vision could not penetrate the thick mist enough to see her. He had to remember the direction from where he came as Kyra's life depended on it.

The farther he ran, the thicker the mist became until it became difficult to breathe.

"How hard can a goddamn creek be to find?" He shouted in vain.

He used his ears. Listened for the tell-tale sound of trickling. But none could be heard. There were only the crickets, and the occasional night bird's song, and an owl, sitting in a branch nearby hooting in pleasure at his plight. Then a sudden piercing howl of a wolf so loud that it hurt his ears. The wolf was nearby.

"Great. That's just what I needed right now," he cursed. He reached for his dirks only to find that they were not in their sheaths. "Just what I needed."

Of all the creatures of Leinyere, wolves most elicit a visceral instinct within Red. A superior intelligence is suggested by the way they study the world around them. A restraint of tremendous, raw power is suggested by their calm curiosity and their poise in their posture.