Draconic Shenanigans - Episode 44

 Chapter Forty Four: Shattered Walls

 

(Artwork Not mine, all rights to Michael Blackesley)

 "Sire," Sabal turned to Ulrich, "Permission to use your mount, the centipede, to return my kin to the Witch of the Mountains?"

"Permission granted," Ulrich nodded and then whistled. Peter swung his long length round and came scurrying over, legs rattling, tapping out the drumming rhythm of his passage on the leaf litter. Peter reared up to eye level with Ulrich, whistling sharply as Weatherall opened a pincer.

 "None of that," Ulrich tweaked an eyestalk and the crab turned his attention to picking pieces of busted werewolf up from the ground and feeding them into his grinding maw.

 "Peter, you help Sabal here take the wounded back to the walking hut," Ulrich instructed, "You let them ride your back until Quenril and Tasnar are safe, you understand?"

Peter whistled. Kaelin wasn't convinced the bug did understand Ulrich but it did hold still as Sabal looped his arms under Tasnar and hauled his twice wounded cousin over on to Peter's back.

"I'll help," Thorian stumped over and helped get Tasnar astride Peter's back.

"Wait for me," Estella called, having scampered over to the unconscious Quenril and lifting his torso. Kaelin didn't say anything as she helped lift Quenril's legs and carry him over to where the giant centipede waited. Estella was soon astride, one arm wrapped tight around Quenril's torso, the other hand holding on to the back of Sabal's armour.

"We didn't clear the whole pack," Kaelin warned, "The runaways might still be out there."

"Don't worry," Valodrael rumbled in his bubbling breath, "I'll keep guard for them."

"Ah, my good dragon," Jeremiah called from where he was admiring his new toys, "Are you sure you'll have time? As I recall, you don't usually have long before you're... condition forces you to retreat."

Valodrael narrowed his supernovic eyes.

"I have time enough for this," he said levelly, "Though I'd have more time if I had more to eat."

Jeremiah didn't look round and therefore didn't see the rippling look of speculation crossing Valodrael's face. The Void Dragon's tongue traced over his lips and he prowled one step towards Jeremiah's back but then Sabal was ceasing one of Peter's antennae with his free hand and the giant centipede was surging back along the trail of wreckage Nanny Tatter's had left in her wake and Valodrael span to follow them, his gait a fluid surge and roll, not quite solid and not quite liquid, the rushing surge of the tide.

After a moment Kaelin took a deep breath and shook out her pinions. Her chest ached, though it was not as bad as her first few days of flying. She breathed in the night time scents of the forest and then her nose wrinkled as the stench of the battlefield corrupted the smell of rich leaf loam.

"We done here?" Thorian asked, cleaning his blade and sliding it home in its scabbard.

"I guess so," Kaelin shrugged.

"Maybe not," Ulrich called, stepping down from Weatherall's back. The giant crab did not seem to miss him, busy feeding pieces of shredded werewolf into its mandibles.

"As much as my creature is totally uncouth for his method of doing it," Ulrich continued, "He does have a point, we need to tidy this lot up."

"Why?" Thorian sniffed, "Won't the forest take them back?"

"Potentially," Ulrich admitted, "But they'll most likely be breeding grounds for flies and that will spread disease. The top side predators are not as efficient as the kerveads at waste disposal."

"That and we don't want the Domilii coming back and playing monkey shins with the more complete ones," Kaelin muttered, giving one of the deceased a kick.

"Pile up the mostly whole ones with what's left of Nanny Tatters," Tikrumpdel suggested, "I can deal with them. The rest? Don't think any necromancer can do much with them that have no bones and it does smell like the colder weather is coming on. I seem to remember that there are predators on the top side that will scavenge easy meat before the long sleep of winter."

"Bears," Kaelin noted with a sniff, "They are usually alright if you don't stand between them and the food."

Ulrich frowned, something tickling in his hind brain but he shrugged it off as he bent to the task of helping shift the dead. It was not a pleasant job and thankfully Tikrumpdel provided light, sparking off a small fire so that they could see enough to get the job done. Once the remains of the werewolves who had suffered a terminal end to their evening after Jeremiah had made his new toys were stacked around the still smoking lower half of Nanny Tatters, Tikrumpdel sucked in breath after breath of deep air. His scales began to glow from the inside, giving him the lustre of a cut and polished ruby set in jet. The flame jetted into the night, not as bright and blue as the one he'd used to end Nanny Tatters existence but enough to catch in the skin of the werewolves and set fat to bubbling.

"Hot dogs!" Thorian grinned.

"You what?" Kaelin asked.

"Hot dogs," Thorian said, "Some folks told me about them. They said they are something to eat. I wondered what they looked like. I didn't think you humans ate werewolves."

"Oh my dear Thorian," Jeremiah smiled as he turned from admiring his creations, "Humans don't eat werewolves, the person who told you that was feeding you false information."

"Oh," Thorian's ears drooped.

Ulrich looked at Jeremiah's expression and knew that the fat priest was going to try and trample on Thorian some more just because. He also knew that he was looking down at Jeremiah's unpleasant expression. The fat priest had forgotten, or was ignoring, the fact that he was some what smaller than he should have been. Quietly Ulrich drifted over to stand behind Jeremiah, lifting his hands in an exaggerated echo of Jeremiah's gestures as the priest continued to speak.

"Indeed my good Thorian," Jeremiah's tone made it not a compliment, "A man that eats of a werewolf's flesh or wears its fur turns his back on the One True God because he willingly courts the curse of the werewolf, attempting to leave his god give duty behind to become a mere beast, a witless animal that shuffles through the dirt and ruts like a dog. Such a man is unworthy of the life that was gifted to him by the mercy of the One True God. Anyone who is not a completely unteachable bumpkin would understand this. I wonder why the person who told you that lie believed that you were such a mindless imbecile?" He paused to judge if the orc cross-breed was understanding just how witless and and useless it was. He frowned to see that neither the green lump nor the dog born female were upset by his words, almost as if they were ignoring him in favour for something else, something behind him.

Jeremiah spun round to see Ulrich pretending to lean up against the leg of one of the bone golems as if he hadn't been doing anything else for the last five minutes.

"I'm dreadfully sorry old boy," Ulrich noted, "But as fascinating as your speech is, it is really rather late now and we need to be moving on. I for one need to know how our companions are fairing and catching what sleep we can in what is left of the night would probably be a good idea."

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Ulrich's level and friendly suggestion but it did occur to him that it was rather late and the night's exertions were weighing some what heavily upon him.

"I suppose that you have a half way decent thought there," he admitted and flipped his wings open, "Half way decent." He flapped up to settle on the crown of one of the bone golems apparently unaware of his robes pooling around him.

"That way," he pointed back down the trail of destruction Nanny Tatters had left in her wake as she had crashed off to her doom. With ponderous steps, the bone golems turned and started marching off down the trail, each step as long as a horse and cart so despite their slowness they covered ground surprisingly fast.

"Is any one going to tell him?" Ulrich asked his two companions.

"Tell him what?" Thorian asked and then yawned hugely.

"That his robes are hanging heavily on him?" Kaelin shrugged, "I wasn't going to. After all, if he is so much more intelligent than we are then he ought to be able to notice that he's walking shorter than he has done for years."

"I do wonder if it would be a humbling experience," Ulrich mused.

"Probably not," Kaelin  noted.

"Tell him what?" Thorian yawned again, hugely.

"Come on old chum," Ulrich smiled, "Let's get you home."

"Home?" Thorian blinked owlishly, "Never had a home, not really. Not since..." He yawned again.

There was a shuffling rustle and Weatherall sidestepped up, Ulrich tapping his shell gently to guide him.

"Up you come old chum," Ulrich smiled, "Plenty of room for two. Three even, if our lady would like to join us."

"I'll fly," Kaelin matched action to words and spread her wings. She grunted and thought better of it. "Alright, if the offer of a lift is still open, I'll take it."

"Of course it is," Ulrich reached down a hand, "A gentleman should always help a lady if she asks for it."

Kaelin looked at him with narrowed eyes, his tone warning her that something was not forgiven. She had a pretty good idea of what but she wasn't about to ask and therefore confirm his suspicions. Kaelin had played this game before, it was all to do with who blinked first and she was very good at playing it. She sat in silence as Ulrich guided Weatherall back along the trail, Thorian snoring lustily behind them, sounding like a saw mill in full swing.

Then the crashing and the cracking rang out.

Ulrich brought Weatherall to a halt, Marmaduke hissing to a stop behind them. Ulrich looked back over his shoulder as Tikrumpdel clambered and galumphed awkwardly over the fallen timber Nanny Tatters had pushed down on her last journey.

"Go on ahead," the old dragon grunted, shoving aside a fallen trunk, "This is going to take some time."

"Ah you sure you're going to be alright?" Ulrich asked.

"Aye," Tikrumpdel grunted, galumphing forward and nosing aside another fallen trunk, "I'll just be some time at this but if I stick to the edge I should be able to manage well enough."

"Can you not shrink yourself back down again?" Ulrich asked, guiding Weatherall slowly forward to keep pace with the big dragon.

"Unfortunately not," Tikrumpdel grunted, "I know the Universal Cut Off spell but not the spell that was used on me in the first place."

"Ah, that's a shame," Ulrich observed, "I was considering the fact that Lady Zilvra would have appriecated a cat sized dragon sleeping on the end of the bed. Women have a thing for cats and Ash Elves have a thing for unusual dragons so it would have been a match made in heaven."

Tikrumpdel grunted as he came across a tree still too firmly attached to its roots to move easily. He clambered over it and Ulrich wondered if he'd insulted the elder dragon. That was not known for being a sensible idea.

"I have to admit, that I was beginning to see the advantage of being that size," Tikrumpdel admitted and Ulrich breathed a quiet puff of relief, "If nothing else I was enjoying the belly scratches but I will have to do some searching and some asking before I'll be able to learn to do it myself. Yes, I think I would enjoy that. Unfortunately," he heaved another clot of timber aside, "It doesn't help me tonight."

Ulrich did not that Tikrumpdel was making a lot more noise now than he had been when he was small but not as much as he had been when he was full sized. At least, the ground wasn't shaking under his passage. Behind Ulrich, Kaelin snored softly, exhaustion claiming her.

"Go on a head," Tikrumpdel repeated, "I'll catch you up."

"Well, if you are sure you won't have trouble if the werewolves come back," Ulrich said.

"Pargh," Tikrumpdel snorted, "If they come back I'll eat them! Things that are stupid enough to attack a dragon twice in one night deserve to be eaten." He shouldered his way under a fallen tree and toppled it aside. "Get on with yea. I'll catch you up and then I'll head on over to this Nether Wallop, see if I can get ahead of you a way so I'm not holding you up tomorrow."

"Thank you very much then," Ulrich smiled, "We will look forward to seeing you there."

"Good," Tikrumpdel nodded, "Now get on with you, go get some rest before you start me yawning."

"As you wish," Ulrich saluted, "Good speed to you sir. We'll see you some time tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Tikrumpdel agreed.

Ulrich tapped Weatherall's shell and they scuttled off ahead of the labouring dragon, climbing the long, low rise up to the road. Ulrich had to admit that he was also beginning to nod as the walking hut finally came into view, flanked by Jeremiah's new toys.

"Whoop?" it asked, "Whoop?"

"It's us," Ulrich called, "We are known to your mistress and we should be known to you after we've slept under your wings for so many nights."

The walking hut looked over its shoulder at someone and then it settled carefully to the ground. Jeremiah grunted and rolled over on his lounger at the top of the walking huts garden.

Alina greeted them at the top of the steps formed by the walking hut's wooden wing vanes. Kaelin was just awake enough to stumble up and find her bedroll on the walkway. Thorian was comatosed, absolutely out cold, his snores shaking Weatherall's shell. Ulrich found Thorian's sleeping bag and carried it down to him, spreading it out over the sleeping orc coss-breed.

Alina gave him a nod as he climbed back up to the walkway.

"How are my friends?" Ulrich asked quietly, grabbing the railing as the walking hut rose to its feet again.

"Grandmother and Mother are tending them," she whispered back, "They were in a bad way."

"What you get for taking on several packs of werewolves," Ulrich admitted, "Without prior warnings or preparation." She looked at him for a moment and then led the way inside as he followed her round to the door.

Altan was stocking more wood into the fire box while Milena washed her hands. She nodded to one of the doorways where no doorway should be, seeing as in a non-magical building it would have let out on to a straight fifteen foot drop. In this building however, it lead into a small bed where Yaga Tuf worked on Quenril, winding bandages round and round his chest to hold the poultice laden dressing in place. Behind her on the bed Tasnar lay, his skin pale grey even for an Ash Elf, the bandages round his chest peeping just over the blanket and his head a mass of cloth that left only one eye visible. Sabal was helping him sip something through a reed, his jaw having been bound shut in the mass of bandages swathing his head.

"How are you?" Ulrich asked quietly, trying to not distract Yaga Tuf as she hummed what sounded like a blessing as she worked. Tasnar lifted a hand in a pattern of gestures that were a lot more complicated than the thumbs up a human would have used.

"My cousin says that he is no longer in pain but he is very tired," Sabal translated.

"Best you get some rest then," Ulrich smiled and plumped the pillow.

"When he has finished his medicine," Sabal helped pock the reed back in between Tasnar's lips. As the cup was drained Ulrich noticed Tasnar's eye developing a distinctive glaze, a glassy eyed expression of the ill, the exhausted and the drugged. He helped lay Tasnar flat then turned to where Quenril was carefully pulling on a borrowed shirt, Yaga Tuf shuffling into the main room.

"You did well tonight,"  Ulrich said, "We were definitely on the back foot there for a while. I think your sister will be impressed that you managed to bring all of us through that mess alive."

"Thank you Sir," Quenril muttered but he wasn't really paying Ulrich attention, frowning and twitching his head as if listening to something in the distant, like voice in another room.

"What's the matter?" Ulrich asked, glancing at the window, wondering if Thorian was in danger.

"The howling," Quenril muttered, rubbing his ears, "They won't shut up but they are no coming closer either."

Ulrich's hand dropped to his sword hilt but then he saw Sabal's concerned expression.

"Can you hear it?" Ulrich mouthed. Sabal shook his head, looking at his other cousin with concern.

"One moment," Ulrich mouthed back, holding up a finger to emphasis the point.

"I'll go and check on that," he gave Quenril's shoulder a firm but gentle squeeze and then ducked out into the main room.

"Mistress Tuf," he said quietly as he crossed the room to her side, "I don't mean to alarm you but I think that one of my companions contracted the werewolf curse tonight."

"If you mean the older one," Yaga Tuf sniffed as she stirred the pot Milena was adding chopped ingredients to, "You'd be right."

Ulrich thought as he watched Mother and daughter work, Alina, the granddaughter of the family having already retreated to another room to rest.

"I know that it is irregular," Ulrich began, "And I know that there has never been any irrefutable proof that any of them work... but thinking of it, if there had ever been any rock solid proof that they worked Kaelin's grandfather would have murdered the creators'. That aside I have heard rumours that there are, if not cures for the werewolf curse, then at least treatments that can help control the bouts of madness that come with it. I don't suppose you have ever heard of such things and if you have, would you be willing to create at least one to try?"

"Yes I have and yes I would," Yaga Tuf sniffed, "I'm not a complete moron you know, some parts are still missing." She tapped the spoon on the side of the pot and laid it aside.

"There," she sniffed, "That will have to bubble for an hour and then cool for the rest of the night. Now let's see if we can't see about sending your friend off for a good night's sleep while he's waiting for his medicine." She rooted through a cupboard and pulled out a jar full of what appeared to be dark brown lumps coated in sugar. Milena put a small saucepan on the stove top beside the larger pan and poured a measure of small ale into it.

"Where can we lay him out to sleep?" she asked as she watched it to make sure it was not boiling over, "It would be foolish to make him sleep out in the chill of the night. There is no point in saving him only to allow him to catch his death of cold."

"Find his bedroll and lay it out on the floor beside my bed," Yaga Tuf grunted, "I'm not going to be sleeping in there any way tonight as his brother has it for the moment and if I am any judge where we are going they are going to need some of my special jollops before the end. I'll see that they are brewed while the house is standing till and then have my bed tomorrow once it can be changed."

"Are you sure Mother?" Milena asked as she swirled the pan of small ale.

"Of course I'm not sure," Yaga Tuf was sarcasm embodied as she picked through the brown lumps, "That's why I offered. Now, what do you reckon, half an ounce?"

"He's lost a fair amount of blood," Milena observed, "I'll go for a quarter as it will reach his system faster than the fluid does. Better he wakes up early than not at all."

"Good point," Yaga Tuf nodded and carefully cut a small piece from one of the lumps and flicked it into the pot Milena was now stirring, "Don't want to waste all our efforts."

Milena nodded as she stirred and began humming a song as she worked. Altan leaned on a counter and started singing in time to her music, his voice low and mellow.

"Some things just don't last

But some things keep coming back, now..." 

Ulrich yawned, the warmth beginning to sink into his bones.

"That doesn't sound much like a spell," he smiled, half asleep.

"That's because it's not," Milena smiled, "What you people call spells very rarely have any magic in them at all. The only reason we sing them is because they work as good timers for the work we do. Those fancy things made of iron cogs and wheels? They do not keep time the way the songs do and all they do is count time. A song brings a family together."

She poured the contents of the pan into an extra large mug and cooled it by adding a drop more small ale.

"Have you found his bed roll?" she asked Ulrich. He smacked his forehead and stepped outside to fetch it. He came back with both Quenril's sleeping roll and Tasnar's. Altan nodded in approval from were he was fetching down more ingredients for Yaga Tuf.

"Here we are," Ulrich managed to smile even though he was beginning to sway with exhaustion. He spread out the double layer of bedding on the floor beside the bed where Tasnar snored, breath whistling through the mass of bandages, "Time for you to get to bed, Quenril."

"Are you sure, my lord?" Quenril frowned, still rubbing at an ear and shaking his head a little as if trying to shake out a fly, "Do we not need to drive the pack away?"

"The only thing you will be driving is the contents of this mug down your throat," Milena stated, "Healers orders. Now into your bedding first."

"Let me help," Sabal moved to help his cousin get down to the floor without falling on to it, Milena only pressing the drink into his hands once he was already sat in his bedding, ready to lie down and sleep.

He flinched at the smell but it was apparent that Ash Elves believed that medicine needed to taste nasty because he took a gulp.

"It's not too bad," he admitted cautiously.

"No it is not," Milena agreed, "And it will taste better the closer you get to the bottom of the mug." He took another couple of mouthfuls and nodded in agreement to her statement, finishing it at  gulp as if he couldn't get enough.

"Can I..."

Milena caught the mug as it dropped from Quenril's hand and Sabal caught Quenril with Ulrich's help and laid him down flat. He was snoring already.

"That was some knock out draft," Ulrich smiled.

"Poppy extract,"Milena explained, "Now get yourself to your bedroll, I'm not carrying you."

"If you are sure," Ulrich yawned again and headed outside.

"Shame," he mumbled as he curled up in his bedroll, "I rather enjoyed having the scaly foot warmer." But he was fast asleep before anyone could answer.

The following morning was still mostly dark when Yaga Tuf started waking them up.

"Your dragon friend went past half a dozen hours ago," she stated, "We need to start following him."

As they rolled up their bedrolls and prepared to have breakfast while the house walked Ulrich approached Kaelin, compensating his gait as the house lurched to allow Thorian on and then stood again.

"I think we need to keep an eye on Quenril," he said quietly. Kaelin grunted but said nothing else so Ulrich continued, "I'm fairly sure he contracted the werewolf curse last night and I'm not sure when the full moon is next. Yaga Tuf is working on a medicine but I'm not sure how long we have for her to perfect the recipe."

"It will be fine," Kaelin brushed it off, "Just make sure he gets his flea treatment once a month and it will work out."

"I'm not sure he'd appreciate being part dog," Ulrich rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't see why, I have to," Kaelin noted and then went in search of hot brown morning potion.

Tasnar came out of the door of the walking ht as she reached it. He was leaning heavily on Sabal but the number of bandages had been decreased, a diagonal one now holding a pad over his eyes but the other eye was bright in the mess of yellow bruising and stitched up scars. His face was to say the least a swollen mess but he managed a smile as the house lurched as it set off, followed by the long strides of Jeremiah's bone golems.

"Good morning my lord," he greeted Ulrich, "A fine day to be alive."

"You're surprisingly chipper," Ulrich smiled back.

"Yaga Tuf gave him something to drink to take the pain away," Sabal grunted, "It seems to have affected him head."

"Ah," Ulrich agreed.

Quenril, when he emerged from the walking house, was not so buoyant, walking with his head down and frowning and for the first time since he and his kin had arrived on the surface world, he was not watching the sunrise but instead staring off into the forest as the road rose towards the pass, as if expecting an attack.

"Are you not feeling better this morning?" Ulrich asked.

"I can still hear them," Quenril grimaced, "I don't know how I slept through the noise they are making last night. It sounds like they are calling in  all the packs at once but I can't narrow down where to, the echoes are over lapping."

"That's... not good," Ulrich muttered, wondering if he should ask Thorian to be ready to deliver the final mercy. Milena stepped out on to the walkway, holding a mug.

"Mother told me, before she went to bed, that this would be ready now," she held it up, "She said to try and swallow as much as possible in one go as you can manage."

"As the lady of the houses wishes," Quenril took the mug, tipped his head back and tried to follow the instructions. Milena very nearly had to catch the mug again.

Quenril leaned over the railing gulping and shuddering, the tremors racing the whole length of his body. He was gasping noises that were not words, not even prot words, just sounds of distress that ripped from his throat.

Milena hurried back out with the mug refilled with water.

"What was that?" Quenril gasped, pushing his hair out of his face once he'd down the water.

"More to the point, has the howling stopped?" Ulrich asked. Quenril blinked and tilted his head slightly, listening.

"It... seems to have done," he admitted after a moment. Ulrich and Milena exchanged a look and Ulrich nodded.

"I'll brew up some more," Milena stated and headed back inside. Quenril frowned after her.

"What does the lady mean?" he asked, the pattern of blue shifting over his skin.

"You know those beasts we faced down last night?" Ulrich braced himself. There really was no easy way of breaking this news.

"Yes?" Quenril frowned even more, the shifting pattern of blue deepening and a speckling of green drifting across it.

"I'm afraid the condition is known for being contagious," Ulrich picked his words with care.

"Ah," Quenril's complexion settled back into its usual blue grey, "I've contracted it." It was said with the stoic acceptance of the inevitable. Ulrich thought that perhaps Quenril had suspected it and the Ash Elf's next words did much to confirm it.

"That would explain the howling; the pack trying to bring the new member to heel." He sighed and leaned back into the green life growing from the wall behind him. "How long?"

It was Ulrich's turn to frown as he didn't understand the question.

"How long do I have before it claims me?" Quenril expanded.

"In truth I have no idea," Ulrich stated, "I think the one we'd have to ask is Kaelin." The person in question stepped out of the walking house at that moment, swaying with its footsteps.

"My ears are burning," she stated, "Who's talking about me?"

"I'm afraid we are," Ulrich admitted, "We were discussing Quenril's new condition and wondering whether you cold shed some light on it."

She sniffed and leaned on the railing while behind her, Milena directed Alina and Estella to help her brew and bottle more of the tonic she had just fed to Quenril.

"My advice?" she stated, "Wear clothes you don't care about around the time of the full moon and keep tabs on the lunar cycle. If you don't want to run amuck like my grandfather then you can have Sabal and Tasnar lock you in or chain you some where away from people. The longer you live with it, the more control you'll have. The first few changes are always the worse; you, the real you, your mind, gets washed away in the pain and the frenzy. If you manage to last a decade you usually start developing some self control."

"Hang on," Ulrich rubbed his chin, "If it takes decades for control to develop, how can your grandfather be controlling all the new members of his pack?"

"I did say self control," Kaelin corrected, "Prior to that well, if they are on their own they run amuck. The mutt don't tend to last long, they don't know when to run so they are the ones the humans usually manage to pick off. The ones in the packs? Werewolf form or original form, they'll be dominated by the pack alpha."

"Your grandfather," Ulrich stated grimly.

"In my case," Kaelin agreed, "However, that potion they are brewing up in there might shake things up a little."

"How so?" Quenril asked.

"From what I understand, listening to Estella grilling them about the potion," Kaelin explained, "This potion might not give you much control over whether or not you physically change, what it should do is make sure your mind stays pretty much intact when you change. Basically bump start you through the first ten years of the change all at once so you get to keep your awareness of self right from the get go."

"That... that would be good," Quenril agreed. He thought about it and then asked, "How long before it is put to the test? How long before I... change?"

"Depends," Kaelin shrugged, "I've seen ones that changed within two nights of being bitten and I've seen others who thought they were safe because they made it through the first full moon without going wolf only for their second full moon to take them by surprising. Constitution, will power, divine blessing?" She shrugged again. "I've no idea what makes the difference or it it is just dumb luck and chance." She looked round at Quenril's concerned face and rolled her eyes at just how much of a push over she'd become. "Come on. Let's find a place we can sit and I'll talk you thought it," she led him round the back of the walking hut and sat with him, describing in graphic detail just what the first change felt like and the things Quenril could do to keep his mind his pwn as he went through it.

Ulrich left them too it, figuring that this was rather like the discussions between mothers and daughters about the facts of life, best left to the midwives that had to deal with the complications. He stayed leaning on the rail, a little to one side of the walking hut's neck, keeping an eye out for Tikrumpdel on the road ahead, waiting to see how far the old dragon had made it. As he watched he realised that the susurration he could hear wasn't just the sound of the light mountain wind in the trees but also the ripple of water.

"Ah," he said, "That explains it."

"Explains what?" Jeremiah grumped from his lounger at the top of the walking hut's back.

"How come Tik's managed to get so far ahead of us," Ulrich explained, "He's found a water course. I just hope it's the one that runs to the lake past Nether Wallop."

"Hardly matters if it does not," Jeremiah smiled, "If he's lost and we have his hoard we can trade it for gold and then just make sure that we have already taken out our cut of the gold before he catches up with us. We don't have to tell him the size of his percent, do we?"

"He may actually have a point," Sabal mused.

"Oh not you as well," Ulrich exclaimed and then went quiet. The lumber camp had come into view. The piles of cut and stripped timber lay undisturbed but there was the evidence of the fighting that had driven the governor's order to evacuate the out lying settlements. The cabins that had provide shelter for the lumberjacks and woodsmen had been savaged, windows broken, doors smashed off their hinges, a couple had even been buried to the ground. Here and there sun bleached bones of the unburied pocked through the clinging weeds that had writhed up and over them in the long days of summer.

"Whoop?" the walking house clucked nervously, "Whoop?"

Milena stepped outside and looked at the desolation.

"Of course we don't know the true reason why it was abandoned," Ulrich tried to reassure her, "There was some economic troubles going on as well as the werewolves."

Without saying a thing Milena pointed to were the domed, long muzzled skull laying on what was left of the steps of one cabin.

"Ah," Ulrich admitted, "There's not much I can say to that, is there?" She shook her head and tapped the railing.

"Whoop," the walking hut picked up its pace, apparently as eager as the rest of them to leave the wind scoured huts behind it. The only good thing about that place was that it confirmed that Tikrumpdel had passed through this way, if the pushed over logs of the stockade on either side of the mountain side gate way were anything to go by. However, the downhill exit bore no such damage which lent credence to Ulrich's theory that the old lava dragon had taken to the water course that frothed and frolicked beside the camp, ready to carry the cut logs down hill to the river where they could be lashed together and floated down to the trade yards of Nether Wallop at a fraction of the effort that it would take to cart them over land. Only the logs currently laying in the lumber camp would not be moving for a long time, not until they had put pay to the werewolf menace and people could come back up here to repair and rebuild in safety.

"Do you suppose that this town of Nether Wallop is like this now?" Sabal asked.

"I hope not," Ulrich replied as the walking hut strode out of the lumber camp, its footsteps providing the melody to the base rhythm set by the slow deliberate strides of the bone golems. Ulrich didn't like looking at those things, the still yellowish brown bone gleaming through ragged red and glistening cartilage but the sound of their plodding footsteps was difficult to block out. Ulrich peered ahead for a while, focussing on what they were approaching to help him ignore what was following behind them.

"Is there any chance we can do a detour?" he pocked his head inside the hut.

"There is but why?" Milena asked, looking up from bottling yet another batch of the medicine.

"Because I've spotted the side track that leads to the home of Black Randle, a friend of ours and I'd like to know one way or the other how he's fared in the weeks we have been away," Ulrich stated. He smiled to himself as he realised why Kaelin's comment about bears had been rattling around in his brain.

"Just a moment," Milena tapped off her spoon, nodding to Alina as her daughter collected the pot for washing and then stepped outside to give the walking hut its instructions. It turned aside into the leafy green of Black Randles track.

"Where we going?" Kaelin demanded as she came walking back round the hut, trailed by the thoughtful looking Quenril.

"Going to see whether Black Randle can give us any new information about what has been happening topside on this side of the mountains," Ulrich explained as he watched the branches of green being pushed aside by the walking huts ceramic neck as it passed forward. It was not unlike sailing upon a sea, a sea of green that stretched for miles in every direction.

"Who?" Kaelin asked.

"Black Randle?" Ulrich blinked unable to believe Kaelin had such a short memory, "The bear puca who has all the beehives?"

"Oh him," Kaelin seemed to have regressed to the disinterested manner she'd had when she was first travelling with them. Ulrich wondered if it was a by product of having to go into such depths and therefore dredge up such private memories to help Quenril prepare for his first change but it still irked him that she could apparently dismiss her friends so easily.

"Him?" he demanded, "He happens to have a name and he fed you, if you'd like to remember."

"I've slept since then," Kaelin folded her arms on the railing and shrugged again.

Ulrich pinched his lips shut, very tempted, very, very tempted, to spill his suspicions about who she'd been sleeping with, suspicions he'd entertained all the way back at the Wizard's Tower. He didn't, just, but he didn't. It was a very close run thing but he managed, just, to not cast those aspersions. It would certainly not have been the act of a gentleman to say such things, almost unmannerly in fact and also, in terms of having his vengeance for the offal stuffed in his sleeping bag, it would have been a very low brow uncouth sort of vengeance. He wanted something much more classy for his riposte.

He turned his gaze out over the trees in the effort of not being a bore and after a minute he reached over the railing and plucked a leaf from the canopy. He turned it in his fingers, noting that Yaga Tuf had been correct, the year was turning once again.

"What is it, my lord?" Tasnar lisped slightly, his still swollen face making his lips stiff.

"Just that Yaga Tuf was right," Ulrich admitted, "The year is turning once more."

"My Lord?" Tasnar questioned. Ulrich silently chided himself. Of course Tasnar didn't understand, his whole life had been lived underground where the seasons were measured in eons.

"The temperature and day light hours of the world without a ceiling changes on a measurable cycle," Ulrich explained, "When the days start becoming shorter and colder the plants start to change their leave from green to yellows and reds. After that they will shed the leaves and sleep away the coldest part of the year, appearing to be dead until the warm days of spring return to the world and they wake again."

"This world has so many wonders," Quenril observed, plucking a leaf, "So many wonders."

It was almost fun to watch the three Ash Elves discovering the glory of the autumn colours but then the walking hut pushed its way into Black Randles clearing and there was no more time for wonder.

After a moment Ulrich fetched a coil of rope and let it drop over the edge of the walkway, knotting it tight to the railing.

"Marmaduke?" he called softly, "Are you there?" The automatron creaked and ground back.

"Sabal? With me," Ulrich instructed and then let himself down the rope.

"I'm coming too," Thorian stated. Sabal looked at him for a moment and then nodded, taking hold of the rope and lowering himself down it hand over hand. Thorian followed.

Oh the ground they found Marmaduke and Weatherall already searching the under brush for signs of the perpetrators.

Kaelin thumped to the clearing's floor, rattling her pinions away, her face a pasty colour as she stared at the cabin gapping back at them. The door had been smashed off its hinges and the thick glass that had been cross leaded in the windows lay scattered across the ground in sparkling shards, already sinking into the soil. Gouge marks criss-crossed the walls and the chinking had been ripped from between the logs, the railings splintered and split. The hum of bees working at full capacity had been replace by ominous hush, even having been ripped open and the combs smashed. Not that the attackers had ruled the fight completely.

Sabal nudged the bones scattered across the forest floor with a toe, turning over the skull of a very deceased werewolf. A bee, darker and unstriped, buzzed out of its eye socket and flew away fizzing with ire.

"Masonry bee," Ulrich noted, "My guess would be that the honey bees fought back when they smashed up the hives. Blackguards."

The porch creaked as Kaelin forced herself up the steps towards the door. She pushed passed the tatters of the front door. The inside of the cabin was worse. The highbar from the fire place was embedded through the table, which lay cracked down the centre. Every chair had been smashed to kindling, the feathers from the mattresses and pillow had made drifts in the corners of the room, blown there by the wind now given free access through the broken windows. Wooden, plates, bowls and eating irons were scattered in pieces across the floor. There were bones beneath the windows but she could tell at a glance that they were werewolf. Looking at how they had fallen, the beast had died draped over the window sill and she hoped that it had run afoul of Black Randle's strength. There were stains on the floor that told her that something had bleed in this places but it was too old for her to tell if it was werewolf or bear. She heard Thorian's shout and turned away from the smashed wreckage of the life Black Randle had built out here in the wilderness. She rubbed her arms but the child in her gut didn't leave.

Thorian stood in the broken doorway of the barn.

"What sort of creature is that?" Sabal asked, "It has a long muzzle  but the teeth are wrong for a thing such as the beasts we have been facing."

"It is a horse," Ulrich lowered his swords, "A beast of burden, haulage and fast travel. They are also loyal to those they consider part of their herd. This one was the only companion of Black Randle. His name was Winky."

Sabal frowned at the sorrow in Ulrich's voice and then Kaelin swore behind them. She was gazing at the exposed skull laying there in the tattered dapple grey hide that had once been the friend Black Randle had raised from foalhood. She remembered the steady presence of Winky as he had breathed in her scent and had not flinched away, had gazed at her with trust and acceptance. She swore and swore again, a stream of vitriol that didn't do anything to hide the tears cutting down her face.

Ulrich slid his swords away and held his hands out to her. The look she gave him was fit to shred meat off the bone with lava hot blades. Ulrich closed his eyes and let her hatred wash over and around him. He was not her target, not really, he was just foolish enough to be the closest and at least she had refrained from either trying to rip him up the middle or saying things that would wound the soul.

He opened his eyes to see her stalk across the clearing, grab one of the werewolf long bones and use the ball end to smash apart a werewolf skull into fragment. Another skull shattered against the wall of the cabin then she lifted the long bone in both hands and bit it in half.

"This..." Ulrich said gravely, "This was not needed."

"My lord?" Sabal asked.

"This killing," Ulrich clarified, "This wasn't needed. I'm not adverse to killing, ha, I've done enough of it. I've been a soldier, I've hunted for food, I've killed because if I didn't the other guy was going to kill me first and I've killed because it was the easiest way to settle the argument. I have not and I am not planning to kill someone who is no threat to me and neither do I plan on killing someone who I count as a comrad in arms, even if they are an annoying egotist. These... These blackguards are killing things just because they can. They are killing people who can't fight back because they enjoy hurting things that can't hurt them back. They are bullies, bullies and black guards and ruffians."

He suddenly smashed his fist on the barn door, a hopeless, boiling frustration filling him as he watched Kaelin systematically break every werewolf bone she could find.

"They are hurting things just to hurt them, just because they can," he repeated, "Oh their leader might snarl about the superiority of the wild, that his kind are the true and the pure but they are just hunting that which can't fight back. Women, children, animals that have neither fang or claw to defend themselves with."

"They are covardes," Sabal agreed, "Ones without strength. They that lurk without strength or patience, taking no risks. They are ones you think you are safe with, ones you think too quiet to be a risk and then the blade is in your back and the doors to the Citadel are open and the enemies are within. They use words to hide their faults and trick you into seeing enemies everywhere but around them. They are a sickness, a growth that must be carved out by the roots least it spreads and disrupts the rest of the body."

"Coward is the word we humans use," Ulrich explained, "Coward but you sound like you have history with these... covardes."

"Not personally," Sabal said, "But there were reasons the Bat Clan was driven out. Shall we press on, my Lord? It occurs to me that Lady Zilvra will be eager to see you again."

Ulrich looked to where Kaelin was stamping another werewolf skull into the floor.

"Let's," he agreed. Thorian was already climbing the rope, hauling himself up by main strength, nearly falling several times so Ulrich and Sabal stood outside of the possible drop zone. Once he was up he had no problem hauling Sabal and Ulrich up as if they were fish on a line.

"Your friend?" Milena asked.

Ulrich just shook his head.

"And Kaelin Sans Name?" Milena frowned.

"She'll catch us up," Ulrich nodded, "Once she has calmed down enough to notice we've pressed on." Milena nodded and tapped the railing to start the hut turning.

"And what, my dear Ulrich, gives you the idea that Kaelin will be able to follow us?" Jeremiah called down from his seat, "I will admit that she has proved almost proficient at tracking but we are not walking on the ground now to leave a scent trail and terracotta is not known for leaving a distinctive smell behind. Could it be that you are trying to leave our Lady Kaelin behind?"

Ulrich maintained his bland expression as Jeremiah smiled down at him. Jeremiah smiled broader, stroking his black beard as he congratulated himself that he had silenced the proud Ulrich with that question. Then the bone cracked... just outside his ear. With a yelp he started and found himself in a sudden fight to not flip the lounger. He was gasping as his seat settled.

"You were saying?" Kaelin asked politely, her lupin muzzle grinning down at him and then she chewed on the bone again.

"My dear Kaelin," Jeremiah smiled bitterly, "I was merely trying to make sure that you were not left behind by these inconsiderate yahoos."

"Very considerate of you I'm sure," Kaelin smiled, "After, if I disappeared you'd have one less to torment and that would hardly be enough for you."

Jeremiah grimaced at her and turned his face away. He frowned as he saw that Milena was no longer on the walk way. He sat up slightly, hearing the rhythm of movement inside the hut change as the walking house pushed its way back through the canopy to refind the road that led to Nether Wallop. He didn't stop frowning as Milena, that witch, stepped out on the walkway again.

"If Sir wishes to remain out here may I suggest that he ties down his chair," she called up to him, "We will be picking up speed soon."

"And just how do you suggest I do such a thing?" Jeremiah asked, "I do not see any anchor points." She put the tip of her finger on the end of her nose as she thought and then leant forward and whispered something to the garden. Jeremiah frowned more deeply and then his eyes opened wide as the vines creaked, wrapping around the legs of his lounger, anchoring it most firmly to its current location. A bunch of blackberries tickled at his nose.

"I suppose I have to thank you for that," he said tightly.

"Only if you wish to," she smiled and then stepped back into the house to help make sure that all cupboards where locked and everything was tidied away.

The sun was creeping towards midday when they reached the gravel road and Milena gave the signal for the house to pick up the pace.

"Oh," Thorian groaned as the rocking stride of the house increased, the sides if it rising and falling as its clawed feet thumped on the stones below.

Milena looked at him, then gently took hold of his arm and guided him around to the walkway just above the base of the walking hut's neck. After a few minutes Thorian's colour started to improve.

"Budge over," Alina grunted, her face taking on a strange yellow green colour.

"Er," Thorian frowned, "You sick?"

"Yes," Alina grimaced, "Fine time for it to start."

"Can't you have some of that sick be gone stuff?" Thorian asked, "That worked real good for me."

"Already have," she closed her eyes, leaning on the railing, "What I'm sick with I'm not going to recover from until seven and a half months from now, thought the sickness should ease up in about another six weeks. Should do. Hopefully." She closed her eyes again and pressed her lips together. Estella came out of the house and rubbed Alina's back, eyes full of sympathy.

"This stage is no fun," she remarked with a knowing nod. Alina just grunted in agreement as the walking hut ran on, wooden wing vanes flapping.

It was pushing into the late afternoon before the forest fell back and they sighted the walls of Nether Wallop and beyond them the surface of the Great Lake, shining with the dull grey gleam of steel stretching to the horizon. Altan stood beside his wife and daughter as they gazed in awe at that vast expanse of water. Even Yaga Tuf, crabby and closed mouthed, nodded with respect as she tapped her staff to slow the walking hut's pace.

That was a wise decision because, as they drew closer to Nether Wallop they could see that it was not the same town they had left. A great rent had been torn in the outer wall near to the east gate and Ash Elves stood, bright white scarfs round their necks, crossbows pointing outward in a defensive half ring near the rubble at the base of the wall as townsfolk loaded the small pieces into baskets and secured ropes to the larger pieces. Even as the walking hut paced closer a windlass at the top of the wall took up the stack on one of the ropes and started hauling the lump of wall back up to its place.

Ulrich stared at the thing waiting at the lowest point of the breach to receive the chunk of stone.

Ceann Mor, the Spider Dragon infant they had witnessed hatching was now the size of a small horse, having out grown the size of cat, dog and pony in the time they had been away. Clinging with its eight legs spread wide on the wall it clicked and hissed in the strange language of spiders as its hands guided the chunks of stone into the gap it wanted to plug, then its arched forward and started dabbing around the lump of masonry. It took Ulrich a moment to understand what he was seeing. The massive bulb on the end of Ceann Mor's tail was not a doube barbed stinger, it was a huge set of spinnerets and the Spider Dragon was using them to bind the chunks of broken wall back into place.

"Halt! Who goes there?" an Ash Elf barked, stepping forward slightly and sighting along his crossbow.

"Sir Ulrich and the King's Special!" Ulrich cupped his hands around his mouth to shout back, "We bring allies."

The Ash Elf lowered his crossbow, mouth repeating the words at a volume they couldn't hear, then he span and started yelling.

"The Matriarch's Favourite! The Matriarch's Favourite has returned!"

The cheer that rose from the workers was ragged and uneven but Thorian swore some of the townsfolk were on their knees weeping even as they cheered.

As Yaga Tuf's walking hut reached them and settled down so that they could put their feet back on terra firma the Ash Elf sergeant stepped forward waving the others back to work and yelling at the townsfolk that they needed to get back to work if the breach was going to be sealed by the time the sun went down.

"Favoured of the Matrarch, we feared you were lost," he reported to Ulrich.

"Well we did get lost for a time," Ulrich admitted, "But we've made it back."

"By the will of the One True God," Jeremiah intoned. The Ash Elf's eyes went wide as he took in the altered appearance of the King's Special.

"So what's been going on since we left?" Ulrich enquired.

"They have been pressing us hard," the Ash Elf reported, straightening his spine, "There have been a few nights where they have not attacked but they have been few and far between. There were many of the Bat Clan in the first, how you say, weeks but their numbers have been disappearing to be replaced with more and more of the strange beasts that are not true werewolves. They have also been decreasing the number of spiders as Ceann Mor grows and his command of their kind increases."

"So how long have we been away?" Kaelin asked bluntly.

"The Matriarch's brother says that from here it has been seven of these weeks." The Ash Elf reported. The King's Special stared at him.

"We really did lose track of time," Ulrich muttered, "Right, old chap, we need to get into town to see Lady Zilvra and Governor Risgath and see to co-ordinating our defences. The Allies we bring are Yaga Tuf the Lady of the Mountains and Mistress of this wonderful house." The Ash Elf took one look and knelt on one knee, eyes down cast. Yaga Tuf raised an eyebrow at the gestures of respect.

"Ah yes," Ulrich muttered, thrown off for a second by the display of diffidence, "May I introduce the Lady Milena, daughter of Yaga Tuf and a skilful healer." Even as he introduced her Milena was handing a small battle to Quenril. Quenril did not look happy but he swallowed the stuff anyway, shuddering slightly even as the patterns on his skin stabilised.

"This is Altan, husband of Lady Milena and an outstanding blacksmith," Ulrich continued.

"Thank the gods!" the Ash Elf exclaimed, "The blacksmith was killed over a week ago, we are running out of everything!"

"Right!" Altan nodded, rolling up his sleeves, "Thorian? If you could help me carry my tools."

"Okay dokey," Thorian nodded and they headed back inside to fetch the stuff.

"Last of the family is Lady Altan," Ulrich gestured to her, "Granddaughter of Yaga Tuf and student of her Mother."

"Lady," the Ash Elf bowed, "We have need of people of your talents."

"Have there been infections?" Alina asked then clarified as he frowned, "People who have turned into werewolves after being bitten by them."

"They are being kept captive in the crypts of the cathedral," the Ash Elf confirmed.

"Then if we can have some aid in carrying the cases, we have medicine that can help control it," Alina informed him. The Ash Elf immediately turned and yelled for two of the basket fillers, informing them that the King's Special had brought medicine. As they came hurrying over, he turned back.

"And last but by no means least, Lady Estella Blackstar, host of the Void Dragon Valodrael," Ulrich rounded off. The Ash Elf frowned as Estella inclined her head, her talisman haloing her head and then her left eye turned completely black. He bowed immediately and didn't straighten until after she had gone passed.

"So when do the gates open?" Ulrich frowned at the mass of battered timber standing in the gate way.

"I'm afraid they don't, Favourite of the Matriarch," the Ash Elf explained diffidently, "To hold them closed the Matriarch's brother had sand and soil piled behind them. The only way in or out is over the walls now."

"Ah," Ulrich nodded in understanding and the Ash Elf relaxed, "Well that makes sense. No need for you to come over with us, we know our way around town and I'm sure you are busy here."

"Thank you, Lord," the Ash Elf bowed.

"I'll be staying on this side of the wall as well," Yaga Tuf stated, "If nothing else my sister will wish to inspect her new home and prepare her own welcome for our unwanted visitors." She grinned and held up a jar full of water that swirled black as a midnight sky. Ulrich looked away quickly before he could see something he didn't want to. Yaga Tuf cackled and turned away to stiffly pace to the river.

With all of them to go up the walls the second set of windlassed, positioned on the southern wall of Nether Wallop, were used to haul up the make shift works platform. Kaelin and Jeremiah took one look at the thing that looked like it had been cobbled together out of a ships long boat and a couple of doors to hold it together where it had been damaged and decided to make their own way up, their wing beats some how sounding different from each other.

"You go ahead," Altan said, "I'll go up with my tools and the second load of the medicine. I'll find someone to carry the stuff."

Milena nodded and gave him a kiss.

"I'm sure we can find some runners within the walls willing to help," Ulrich nodded as he, Thorian, the three young women, Quenril and his kin climbed in to the boat, "Marmaduke? Stay with him." His automaton ground in reply.

"Be careful father," Alina said looking towards the forest edge, "We don't know if they'll come back in the day."

"I'll keep an eye out," Altan nodded and picked out a long handled apprentice hammer from among his tools. He stood in front of the crates of medicine and gazed at the forest, "Tell them at the top to start laying a fire in the forge and get the bellows limbered up. I'll want to start as soon as possible."

"Okay dokey," Thorian waved and then the ropes creaked and the boat shifted, grinding slightly as its keel lifted from the soil. It was a rather amazing sensation, the slow rising as the land fell away below them and the view was spectacular.

 "You know," Ulrich observed, "I bet people would pay money to do this."

"Live in the middle of a war zone?" Milena raised an eyebrow.

"No, this going up high in a boat," Ulrich smiled, This seeing the world from a dragon's point of view, "Speaking of which..."

Ceann Mor pocked his head around the corner of the curtain wall, his multitude of eyes watching them. Ulrich looked away only to see Yaga Tuf hold out the jar of black water and the contents arch up and out, the flash of a pale, waxy face sending a shudder up his spine. At once an area of the river took on a deeper, darker colour as if a huge hand had scooped out a massive lump of the river bed.

Suppressing another shudder, Ulrich looked the other way at the wall of Nether Wallop. Frowning he reached out his fingers and let the tips run over the stone as they slide up it.

"What is it my Lord?" Sabal asked.

"Smooth," Ulrich noted, "It's so smooth and there are no joint between the stones. It's like... it's like they have been hot wielded together." 

"Guess we know for sure that Tikrumpdel came through here," Estella nodded, "Because you're right, that's dragon fire work."

"How do you know that?" Thorian asked.

"I do have a passenger, remember?" Estella smiled, even as the blackness sloshed in the bottom of her left eye.

"Ah, you are right," Ulrich nodded, "That was a little rude of Thorian." He gave Thorian a nudge with his toe.

"Oh, yeah, right," Thorian started, "I, um, sorry."

The boat creaked to a halt.

"Help the ladies first," Ulrich instructed the soldier that peered at them, "They are carrying medicine and there is more below. The man guarding it is a blacksmith and has his tools including the anvil. He's asked that a runner be sent to start the fire in the forge so he can start work as soon as possible."

"Understood," the Corporal nodded and turned to yell down to the street below, "Skinny Ben? Up on your feet! Find squad three and tell them we have medicine coming over the wall, we need runners and tell them to send Sam McGuggin over to the forge, start it up and get it blowing hot. Double time lad!"

"Yes sir!" a boy of maybe nine shouted back and took off, his bare feet slapping over the mud as he bolted.

"Good work Corporal," Ulrich congratulated, "What's our status?"

"Bad," the Corporal stated, "These things seem to be able to sniff out our chain of command. We have one sergeant left but he's trying to grab some rest, two corporals beside myself and Lieutenant Winters. He's commanding from the Governor's palace as the healers still won't let him out of bed, seeing as the fever only broke a week ago and he's still as weak as a new born kitten. Thankfully no sign that he's going to go wolf on us but it was a near run thing. Healer said something about there being Muli blood somewhere back in his family tree and that it will probably have an effect in the future but for the moment he's holding it together."

"And Sam McGuggin?" Ulrich asked.

"Private but he's taken over logistics since one of those things sheered his leg off," the Corporal reported, "Again, no sign so far of him going wolf and he's getting around alright. If anyone can get a cold forge going it will be him."

"Thank you Corporal, carry on," Ulrich nodded.

"Sir," the Corporal saluted and Ulrich saluted back, turning to follow the others down the wall stairs to the street below.

"Enjoying being back in command?" Jeremiah's smile was snide as he landed.

"First time actually," Ulrich smiled, "It's rather good. Now let's get that medicine to where it needs to go." He stepped out with a smart pace towards the Governor's Palace. Jeremiah rolled his eyes and stumped off after him somehow, not noticing that his robes were trailing in the mud.

"Do you think we'll have to call him his Little Lardship?" Kaelin whispered to Estella as they walked along the street.

"Diet Jerry," she whispered back and snorted with a suppressed giggle.

Next second Ulrich yelled as a scaly blur smashed into him. Bartholemew, the giant lizard he'd left behind as rear guard had smelt him coming and was no doing a brilliant happy dog impression to greet him.

"Yes, yes," Ulrich's hand doled out pets as he struggled to stop Bartholemew slobbering on him, "I've missed you to. Let me up." A hissing squeal of outrage rang out. Peter the centipede, having followed them up the wall was reared up, shrilling his displeasure at finding out that Ulrich had yet another distraction for his attention.

"Oh bother," Ulrich scrambled up, putting himself between the pair of them as Bartholemew swelled his throat out, a low hiss beginning to form, "Now stop it you two. Peter, I'm going to need you tonight when the werewolves come. You are going to be the best mount I have. Bartholemew, I need you to look after Lady Zilvra. She is important to me and I need you to protect her, okay?"

Bartholemew flicked his tongue, confusion in his eyes but he turned and followed Ulrich without biting at Peter and Peter trundled along side him without hissing like a bubbling kettle.

Alina raised her eyebrows. Ulrich had his own gifts. It was a bother that he was already spoken for. As for who he was spoken for, Alina took one look and decided that it was a competition she wouldn't even try.

"Remember your training," Lady Zilvra instructed as she walked up and down behind the line of women and older girls, watching how steady they held their crossbows, "Keep the left hand steady, sight down the bolt and smoothly squeeze back on the trigger. Do not jerk the trigger."

Some of the girls looked terrified as they sighted down the bolts. The werewolf chained to the stake in the square snarled and strained to get at them.

"Have a good long look," Zilvra instructed, "Tonight it won't be tied down. Tonight it will be free and running wild. Tonight it will want to rip you down the middle and taste your blood around its teeth. Tonight it will be coming for your daughters, for your sister, for your little brothers and it won't just want to kill you. It will rip and it will tear. It will want to see the shape of your lungs and look upon your still beating heart and that is if you are lucky. If you are not, it will want you as a new member of its pack, as its mate, as the mother of its pups and it will NOT be taking no for an answer."

She reached the end of the line and turned to look down the row of her pupils. They waited. The werewolf snarled.

"Level!" Lady Zilvra barked. The crossbows adjusted slightly.

"Sight!" Several women squinted an eye near shut.

"Loose!" The thud of strings snapping forward was nearly drowned out by the whine of bolts in flight. The werewolf arched its head back but its scream was nearly silent, its chest a mass of fletching. Its head flopped forward and it went slack in its chains. An Ash Elf paced cautiously forward and stepped behind it. With quick hands he reached his arms round the stake, snapped its head back and opened its throat up. The blood flow was sluggish.

"Collect your bolts," Zilvra instructed, "And make sure you have a full quiver for tonight. If you have a hand weapon make sure you keep it within reach. Remember, these things want you dead or want you forced, so make sure you make every blow count for the sake of your daughters. For the nursery!"

She turned away as the women of Nether Wallop stepped forward to wrench their bolts  from the werewolf's carcass and make sure their quivers were full. She stopped dead as she saw the King's Special, her eyes going wide. Ulrich smiled.

"Yooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu!" Zilvra yelled and threw herself forward. Ulrich just had time to worry she was attacking him and then was flying tackled by an Ash Elf Matriarch who didn't seem to know whether she wanted to kiss him or kill him. Thankfully Peter was right behind him so he didn't go over on his butt.

"Thank you Peter," Ulrich muttered as he tried to juggle the quivering mess that was Lady Zilvra.

Kaelin rolled her eyes and sidled over to where the bolts were being handed out. She picked up a crossbow that had been left alone.

"I wouldn't trust that one," the sailor double checking the number of bolts in each quiver, "It always shoots a hand span to the left. Even her ladyship out there can't get the damn thing to shoot straight."

"I don't need it to shoot straight," Kaelin hefted it, "I just need to add to the number of bolts in the air."

"You reckon its going to be bad?" the sailor asked.

"We put pay to a big plan of the wolves last night on our way here," Kaelin told him, "They'll want vengeance."

"How big a plan?" the sailor asked.

"Let's put it this way," Kaelin picked up a quiver, "The alpha's right hand man is now laying in the mud over a day's travel from here and he won't ever be getting back up. I made sure of that myself and we burned his rotten corpse to boot to make sure no idiot would be bringing him back."

She turned and walked away, only half listening to the whispers and speculation that followed. Stepping out of sight she reached into the neck of the armour the dwergs had made for her and pulled out the golden locket.

"Where have you been?" Charlotte asked the moment the locket clicked open, "No, never mind that. Where are you now?"

"We're back in Nether Wallop," Kaelin said, "We've just arrived to find soldiers here but they look like they've been through hell. Do you know where they came from?"

"Not really no," Charlotte's expression said Kaelin still wasn't forgiven for not talking to her for so long but Charlotte was pushing that aside because of the fact that there were more important things to worry about, "But I do know they are all you are getting. It's not just Nether Wallop. The whole of the southern border has gone up in flames. The attacks are becoming worse, with the wounded turning into werewolves at an unholy rate. Even injuries that should not carry the infection are charging people."

"Yes," Kaelin said, "We've had one of those as well."

"Oh good Lords," Charlotte pinched the spell between her eyebrows, "Well make sure you keep them isolated. What is worse is that these things are targetting their attacks. Men are being slaughtered, women and children are vanishing and I don't think I have to tell you what that is about."

"No, you don't," Kaelin agreed, feeling sick to her stomach. It looked like she was going to have some aunts and uncles soon. She caged the scream behind her teeth.

"All I can report form the Capitol is hold on," Charlotte advised, "Just hold on. Hold the line and we'll try to get help through to you as soon as we can. That clear?"

"As crystal," Kaelin snapped the locket shut and went to rejoin the rest of the King's Special. Lady Zilrva had calmed down, just when she arrived.

"They have been coming nearly nightly," Lady Zilrva was saying, her head leaning against Ulrich's chest, fingers curled in the front of his jacket, holding on like someone drowning, her eyes half closed, "At first it was just the ones they tell me are 'real' werewolves and the renegades of the Bat Clan. The Disgraced with them..." She shuddered. Ulrich kept his arms wrapped around her. She was thinner, even for an elf she was thinner and dark half circles marked under her eyes. She was holding it together by sheer force of will but tshe was running thin. Even while she spoke Ulrich was having a real look at the people of Nether Wallop. They had all lost weight and on every face was the pinched, sagging look of exhaustion. People moved in the deliberate way of trying to conserve as much energy as possible, even while they knew the jobs had to be done.

"But then the ones with five limbs turned up. They can climb, they can climb too well and it is hard to lean out far enough to target them with the bows," Lady Zilrva continued, Our only saving grace is that they haven't had any, how you say, siege weapons?"

Ulrich nodded, not interrupting, his silence an invitation to continue. Lady Zilrva laid her head against his chest again.

"We thought we were winning, we thought we were thinning their numbers," she closed her eyes, "The Bat Clan started disappearing. We thought we had them on the run, that they were abandoning their allies."

"Oh and how were you proved wrong, my dear?" Jeremiah leaned forward, full of an unctuous smile and false sympathy.

"They came back," Lady Zilrva tucked her head under Ulrich's chin, "They came back as the werewolves only... some of them... They were huge. Little brother called them siege beasts. They clawed lumps out of the walls and there were others on the ground, like man and wolf and big dogs all rolled up into one huge horror. They bit the people pulled off the walls by the winged ones and those they bit... didn't get up again. Blood... blood in the dirt. Blood on the ground." She fell silent and shuddered, tears pushing under her eyelids. "We are dying." It was a little whisper, a child's terror at the nightmares closing in.

"You are not dead yet," Ulrich held her harder a moment, "And we are here now and this isn't ending how they want it to. There are still wild places in the world and that is where these ones belong and we'll show them that they should have stayed there."

She managed a shaky laugh and wiped her face.

"Come, I'll take you to see the Bishop Man and my brother," she managed a smile and tugged him towards the small cathedral of Nether Wallop, Ulrich surreptitiously checking that Alina and Milena were following along with the rest of the King's Special.

The outside of the cathedral didn't look much different, though Ulrich frowned at the sight of some broken windows and he told Peter as well as Bartholemew to wait at the door. Their entry brought looks but not many. The priests, verger and servers were too busy tending to the wounded. Every pew seemed to bare its load of damaged and broken and those able and willing to tend to them had their hands full, some near of the wounded near the doorway still wearing field dressings, which meant they hadn't been seen to yet.

"Dat," Thorian stated, "Dat is not good."

"I wouldn't say so," Jeremiah smiled and rubbed his hands. "They are still alive so there is still time for my talents to work." He went to step forward only to find his way barred by Kaelin, her wings spread wide.

"Take your filthy god near any of them and I'll tell the Bishop exactly what Ulrich and I have been seeing since you 'healed' us," her eyes were tawny with the wolf rising.

"And you really think he'll believe someone like you, my dear?" Jeremiah smiled down at her.

"Do you think he won't believe it of you?" Kaelin said flatly back.

Ulrich left them to their bickering, guiding Zilrva into aside chapel. She was almost ungraceful as she sat down on a pew.

"What was it you didn't want to tell me in front of the others?" he whispered.

"We've lost more of the Snake Clan," she replied in a low voice, "I found an out post intact. They came with us but we've had so many... go wolf as the humans call it. We're dying and I can't stop it. I must be the worst Matriarch in history." It was said as a flat statement of fact.

"No you're not," Ulrich hugged her hard, "There are still some of you left. If the Spider Clan can be over run then you are doing better than many."

"The Spider Clan?" her eyes were wide.

"We found them on the way out," Ulrich told her, "It wasn't pretty and they haven't traded with the dwergs for weeks so they were out of the picture before you even knew what was coming." He pressed his finger tips to her lips as she went to ask another question, "You are doing better than most but now I need you to stop here and have a look through this." He held up Risgath's book about Ash Elves, "I need to know it he missed anything about Trakanhini. I think she might be the answer to the thing that Jeremiah has been worshipping but I need to know I haven't missed any details."

"What about the Bishop man?" she asked.

"I'll find him," Ulrich smiled, "He can't be too far away. You take five minutes out to read that for me. We might need her help tonight."

She nodded after a moment and then leaned in. The kiss was a slow burner but held the promise of much later on. Ulrich had to fight not to grin like an idiot as he walked back up the aisle to the main cathedral. He took his time though and when he looked back he could tell from the angle of her head that Zilvra had gone to sleep on the pew. He'd rather hoped that would happen.

He returned to the rest of the King's Special to discover that Jeremiah had at least shut up, distracted by the appearance of his drake, the hideous blue eyed beast filling the main aisle of the cathedral as it purred at his feet.

"And who has managed to grow then?" Jeremiah was asking, scratching its head. Kaelin and Thorian were trying not to laugh, then Bishop Peter appeared and the merriment died. Ulrich had to remind himself that it was ill mannered to stare.

Bishop Peter hadn't so much lost weight as deflated. When they had left Nether Wallop he had been a five foot round man. Now he was portly if that. He had lost weight dangerously fast and it showed, his skin yellowish and hanging in loose folds, even round his wrists. His eyes also had a yellowish cast to the whites and the shadows under his eyes were no o much bags as the entire luggage wrack.

"You're back, oh praise the Light, you're back," he said, nearly falling as he reached to shake Ulrich's hand with both of his, "The Lava Dragon said that youd sent him but we didn't dare hope."

"That's a point, where is Tikrumpdel?" Ulrich asked with a grin, hiding his wish to wince at how bony the Bishop's hand felt under the loose skin.

"He said something about hiding in the lake," Bishop Peter dismissed it, "We were just glad he kept them from forcing a breach last night."

"How bad have the attacks been?" Ulrich asked with concern. The Bishop appeared to be shaking slightly and the worry of disease during a siege flashed across Ulrich's mind.

"Bad," the Bishop almost laughed, a horrible half hysteric sound, "What else? Thank the Light you convinced Black Randle to bring us a warning or the first one could have had us."

"They killed his horse," Kaelin said thin lipped. Bishop Peter frowned at her, as if trying to remember where else he had seen her before but he gave it up and nodded.

"We know," he agreed, "Governor Risgath has promised him the pick of the foals and help rebuilding if we come through this alive. He and Hartseer are out there right now, protecting a foraging party. If we don't get supplies soon..." He trailed off.

"Has anything new appeared on the battlefield?" Ulrich asked.

"Winged ones!" Bishop Peter confirmed, "They appeared about a week ago. We had thought we were winning again as the variety and numbers started dropping once more but then the winged ones arrived. They've been scouring the walls every night and the results..." He held his arms wide, indicating the wounded and groaning. "Just on their own, the winged ones are causing havoc."

 "Where's the pointy eared fellow Risk-graft?" Thorian asked with a frown.

"He's in the presbytery," Bishop Peter informed them, "He collapsed yesterday. I told him nobody can go without sleep but with everything to take care of..." He leaned against a pillar himself, wilting like a flower in an over hot sun.

"What about the soldiers?" Ulrich asked, "You seem to have a company here. Are there not others coming?"

Bishop Peter shook his head.

"We had the one relief ship through but we are not looking for more. Thankfully they brought the birds with them so I've been able to communicate with the outside world but the news is not good. The attacks are pretty much across the whole of the southern boarder and they are finding new packs every night. They've hit the Capital about a week ago. Thankfully Dragonkin are immune to the infection but they can be wounded by these things so everyone is stretched thin. And to cap it all we have goblins out in the woods. We haven't seen the little toe rags yet but we can hear them out in the woods so we know they are there. Last thing we need..."

He stared at Ulrich's grin.

"Goblins, you say?" Ulrich smiled, "That might actually be the help that we need, if the Goddess of the Thunder Voice is willing to rally them."

Bishop Peter blinked, blinked again and wiggled a finger in his ear.

"What?" he asked, still blinking.

"It is a delusion some of the goblins had," Kaelin rolled her eyes, downplaying, "They seemed to have developed their own pantheon and made a mistake of identity. Not helped by others feeding their delusions." She glared at her comrades.

"Am I dreaming?" Bishop Peter sounded faint.

"Yes," Kaelin stated.

"No," Ulrich grinned.

"Surely, your Eminence can see the resemblance between the Lady Kaelin's long ears and complexion with her diminutive worshippers." Jeremiah grinned.

"As much as I wouldn't draw conclusions from her appearance," Ulrich smiled, "I will report that Kaelin's sonorous ability with her bagpipes is able to draw the very birds out of the trees and tame the creatures of the wild." Revenge really was best served cold and unexpected but Kaelin just smiled, a tad sour but she just smiled in reply.

"Excuse me for interrupting," Milena stepped forward, "But if this strain of werewolves are as contagious as we have been told then what are you doing with the injured at night?"

"We've had to put them in the crypts," Bishop Peter's face crumpled, haggard with the decisions he'd been forced to make, "We tired keeping them in the sky cages by themselves but with the numbers... We had no choice. We have to put them in the crypt and pray that some of them come out in the morning. It used to be that we only had to worry about the ones who had been bitten but after the children..."

He couldn't finish.

"The children?" Alina demanded.

"Some of the children Hartseer rescued from the Ash Elf raiding party were infected," Bishop Peter explained, "We thought they were just scratched but then they changed and..." the tears were the silent flow of pain that had been carried long and without relief.

The sailors arrived carrying the crates between them.

 "Where's the medicine needed?" one yelled as the bell in the tower started ringing.

"The sun is setting," Bishop Peter paled.

"This way with the medicine," Milena called, striding forward to where two of the servers were already carrying a stretcher case down the steps towards the crypt, pulling a bottle out of her pack as she went. "Stop right there!" She commanded and the servers obeyed, the voice of their Mother cracking through the air. Milena lifted the wounded man's head and tipped the contents of the bottle between his lips, washing it down with a draft of water from her canteen as he coughed weakly.

"Two lines," Alina instructed, reaching into the crate as she stepped to the other side of the crypt doors, "All the wounded are to have a dose before they go down. It is foul and it burns so water is allowed, as is coughing and shuddering. Do your best to not throw it back up, it only works inside of you, not on the floor."

"What?" Bishop Peter gapped.

"It works," Quenril reassured, reaching for a dose himself and shuddering as it went down, "It keeps the howling quiet so you can think around the pack's call."

The bell kept clanging as the wounded were lifted, carried and supported towards the crypt.

"Great Spiders, what did you dose me with Peter!?!" a voice roared.

Governor Risgath was, to put it none too bluntly, a mess. He looked like he'd worn the same clothes and armour for a week and then slept in them for at least a day. He came reeling down the side of the alter, eyes blood shot and his hair a mess. Kaelin wrinkled her nose. She never thought she'd meet an elf that smelt anything but sweet but Risgath was rank, old sweat and blood and the wet dog smell of someone who had been too close to werewolves for too long.

"Only your healer's orders!" Bishop Peter rounded on Risgath, though he himself did not look, or smell, much better, "And you shouldn't be out of bed yet."

"I don't have time to be in bed yet!" Risgath snapped, "Not with those beasts at our walls and we are running out of men, we have no re-enforcements coming and..."

He trailed off, blinking owlishly at the King's Special.

"Re-enforcements all present and correct," Ulrich saluted smartly.

"What? When?" Risgath shook his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You are going to have to listen to me on this one," Bishop Peter took hold of his arm and tired to turn him around, "You go out there now and you'll just wind up getting infected. You are going to have to let Lieutenant Winters handle this one."

 "Wait, since when was he recovered enough to lead again?" Risgath resisted. Kaelin almost turned as she heard Jeremiah mutter a hasty prayer but then he stopped and Risgath swayed as if someone had just knocked him over the head.

"Wait?" he muttered, squinting at Bishop Peter, "I was mad at you about something. What was I mad at you about?"

"We'll talk it over in my rooms, I promise," Bishop Peter soothed as he lead the Governor away.

"Know I was mad at you about something," Risgath muttered as he went, "What was I mad at you about?"

The King's Special turned away to see Lady Zilvra astride Bartholemew.

"Come," she said simply, "We need you on the walls."

"Right you are, my Lady," Ulrich smiled and whistled for Peter.

"Onward, my brave fellows," Jeremiah boomed, striding forward, "On to..." He tripped and stumbled on the folds of his robes, only just staying on his feet. He glared down at his loose robes and then snorted.

"Just why are these too big all of a sudden?" he demanded.

"Rather you shrunk," Thorian beamed, "Lickle Jerry shrank in the wash."

"Took you long enough to notice, short aft," Kaelin sniggered as she strode towards the door. Jeremiah drew himself up as they left him behind and then dug in his memory for the shrink spell. If he could remember the shape of the words as he spoke them, if he remembered the feel of them as they worked. He just had to remember all the times he used them and then pile the memories up...

His bones felt itchy as they grew but then he was the right size again. Smiling he brushed himself down and followed the others out of the cathedral.