The Wolvenrych - Foot of Wyrmfell Mountains

Silas walked through the forest. Dry leaves and branches littered the snow, liberated from their resting place by the violent winds of the snowstorm. The winds still threatened a return of the fury but not now.

Muddy snow crunched beneath his black boots. He stalked through the forest like a specter of death with his black cloak and pale features. All the denizens of the forest had wisely avoided him, warned by the scent of blood, and death surrounding him.

He seemed to be surveying the forest, searching as he walked through the bare pines. A wicked smile lit up his pale face as he noticed a cleft in a rock face. He walked towards it when suddenly with a streak of grey, a snarling direwolf appeared in front of him. It was a magnificent specimen, the size of a small pony with bristling gray fur and sharp white teeth. It watched Silas with a low growl in its throat warning him from stepping further.

Silas’ menacing smile grew wider; he kept walking forward disregarding the direwolf’s warning. The dire wolf pounced, aiming for his throat with its wicked fangs. Silas’ hands were a blur as he slashed at the direwolf with his twin daggers. The direwolf never stood a chance. It lay on its side whimpering, crimson blood from the gaping wounds in its flank staining the snow. Silas retrieved the medallion from within his shirt. It was still a disturbing sight with black smoke being emitted from it. He channeled some of the shadowy substance into the dying direwolf. The smoke coalesced into a cocoon and sounds of cracking bones, and savage roars echoed in the silent forest.

Silas kept walking to the opening in the rock wall. He bent to fit inside the opening. As he entered the den wrinkling his nose in distaste at the smell. A slightly smaller direwolf stood in front of him guarding the two pups that were currently sleeping behind it. It had heard the growling of its mate and so pounced without warning. It suffered a similar fate. The commotion had woken up the pups who started mewling, licking the wounds of their mother. The direwolf tried to warn them, pushing them to run but they persisted. Silas approached the dying direwolf and repeated the ritual.

Tucking the medallion beneath his shirt he turned his attention to the pups who were currently trying to break through the cocoon of black smoke. He picked them up by the scruff of their necks. Pleased at hearing their pathetic growls; their feeble attempts at clawing him, the manic smile returned. With a tightening of his grip, he broke their necks and tossed them aside.

Whistling, he waited for the transformation to complete.

***

Road to Ingoldtshold

Fast-moving black streaks moving against the dawn sky caught Beorn's attention. Birds. They circled in the sky before swooping and flapping their wings, soaring away.

Beorn narrowed his eyes at the sight of birds circling in that particular direction. Something had disturbed them. He had not met with any obstacles, besides the Wolvenrych itself, so far into the journey. But that had only served to heighten the tension he felt between his shoulder blades. He did not believe for a minute Silas had given up on obtaining the Dragonstone. The chances of there being an ambush waiting for him at the throat of the valley were pretty high. It was an excellent location, easily defended and there were no ways around it.

At the very least he wasn't facing anyone else with a Blessing. All he had to do was find a way to get past the Fangs and the Blood-Mage and reach Ingoldtshold. With the secrecy Silas had observed in Banehallow with regards to his mission, he did not believe he would try anything in a major city guarded by the Peacekeepers. Besides he had Nathaniel to fall back upon. The old Captain should have already reached the city with Warren's caravan.

He observed the lay of the land, the density of the forest, the depth and course of the valley and tried to estimate how long it would take him to reach the location of the birds. Looking at the position of the sun in the sky he decided to wait until nightfall.

He wasn't keen on walking into a trap and decided to begin his assault in the middle of the night when the twin moons were at their peak and his enemies were at their laziest. Beorn was used to stalking prey in the dark, the bandits certainly weren't. The darkness would hinder their vision and help him stay unnoticed, especially when combined with his new cloak.

Beorn took out some deer jerky from his pack and started chewing. He checked on the Dragonstone and brooch and wondered what drove Silas to such lengths to obtain it.

***

A man holding a torch seemed to be nodding off below a tree, his companion was already in a deep sleep.

A whisper of cloth brushing leaves was the only warning Beorn gave before he struck. He snuck behind the torch holder, clamped his left hand onto his mouth, and wrapped his neck with his right arm. As he felt the struggling weaken, he held the torch with his left to prevent it from falling and waking his companion. Sticking the torch into the ground he checked on the other Fang.

Still snoring.

Beorn decided to make sure he wouldn't wake suddenly. He placed one hand on his mouth and proceeded to quickly clench the sides of his neck. The man's eyes shot upon and his arms scratched at Beorn's hands before finally going slack. Satisfied, Beorn decided to tie them up with their own rope.

Two down about a dozen more to go.

The next duo was a few meters away. Beorn observed his target. One of them was asleep but he wasn't as lucky this time around. The other was wide awake and shuffling around shivering while muttering under his breath. He seemed miserable trying to stay awake and on watch in the cold. Beorn was about to make his night a whole lot worse.

He crept up behind him wary of fallen branches and dry leaves. He waited behind a large bush, blending into the shadows. Beorn debated his options. Sneaking up and killing an unsuspecting man didn't sit right with him, even if they were scum and nobody would miss them. He decided to try and disable the bandit first. Picking up a rock he threw it.

The Fang sprang up and waved his torch in the direction of the sound. He freed his sword from the sheath and pointed it ahead of himself.

"Who's there? Come out."

Beorn took the chance, gliding on the snow he came up behind the man, and put him in a chokehold, covering his nose and mouth. The Fang tried to thrust the torch into Beorn's face but a shove caused him to lose his grip on the torch. It fell into the snow sizzling, the flame put out. Remembering his sword too late, he tried poking behind him blindly only to lose consciousness.

Letting him fall into the snow, Beorn looked back to ensure his companion was still asleep. Tired of choking people he simply hit him hard on the head with the back of his hatchet and watched him slump to the ground. Replacing it on his belt he followed the tracks to the third group.

It seemed like everything was going smoothly. Just ten more idiots and their leader Roderik to take care of and he was scot-free. Not counting Silas of course, but he'd cross that bridge when he got there.

Which was exactly when things started to go wrong.

Getting rid of the lookout was easy enough with a bonk on the head with his trusty hatchet, but the bastard let out a small scream when he went down, waking up his partner.

Who immediately proceeded to shout at the top of his lungs and run away. Beorn ran him down and knocked him out but not before the rest of the Fangs were alerted and on his trail. He heard the sound of hounds barking.

'Why go through all this trouble, can't you just kill them?', questioned Wilhelmina.

'I can't just kill people because it's more convenient. That'd make me no different than Silas, speaking of…'

Wilhelmina understood him immediately, 'There are no essence users in the group. Get rid of the ones chasing you quickly before that disgusting man decides to show himself.'

'I'm on it'

He dragged the unconscious thug into a clearing. Spotting a pine nearby he scrambled onto the lowest branch and himself behind the leaves. Perched securely he strung his bow, took out an arrow, and waited.

It wasn't long before a group of five emerged into the clearing. The leader carried a torch in his hands and the others were fanned out behind him, weapons at the ready. Beorn was careful not to look directly into the torchlight to preserve his night vision. The flickering light cast moving shadows on the trees, the four following looked nervous and jumped at every one of them. Which suited Beorn perfectly.

He waited until the one with the torch bent down to examine his unconscious comrade before smoothly aiming and releasing the arrow. It pierced the lead thug's hand making him yelp in pain and drop the torch casting the clearing into darkness. He released three more in quick succession aiming at the hands that held their weapons. Three more cries of pain confirmed the hits.

The Fangs were a mess, with their eyes not used to the darkness they stumbled into one another in panic.

"My fucking hand. FUCK!!!"

"I can't see."

"It's the fucking ranger"

Beorn decided to not risk another arrow lest he hit something vital by mistake. He unstrung his bow and attached it to his backpack. He memorized the position of each man.

The leader of the group called out, "He's just one man, group up, and wait for Roderik."

Beorn decided to take him down first.

A litany of curses erupted from the group as Beorn leapt down and punched the leader upside the chin. He followed up by disarming the one behind him with an elbow lock and finished him off with a knee in the face. Beorn wasn't even out of breath yet.

Only one more with a sword.

Recalling their positions he looked to see the last uninjured bandit swiping blindly through the air. Beorn slid on the ice and twirled to dodge the blade; catching its wielder with a spinning kick to the back of his legs. Forced on his hands and knees a swift boot to the head knocked him senseless.

Surveying the chaos he knocked the rest out with quick punches.

'How many does that make?'

'Eleven'

Where is Roderik, wondered Beorn before a whistling sound interrupted his thoughts. Beorn covered his head with his arms just in time for an arrow to glance off his shoulder. He rolled behind the trunk of a tree. He heard another arrow bounce off the trunk.

"Come out you bastard. We've got you surrounded."

Beorn scoffed, "With two people? Roderik isn't here so he's probably with the hounds. I counted fifteen of you in the forest and I took out eleven already."

He peeked from behind the tree to position the archer. He was about twenty paces right in front of Beorn with the rustle of leaves somewhere to his right indicated his partner trying to flank him.

"Give up. The Northern Fangs are over. You've got no chance."

"No way, all that treasure is still waiting for us."

Not bothering to talk further, he leapt from cover with the speed of a snow leopard and ran straight at the archer with his arms covering his head.

The archer only managed one shot, which glanced on his vambraces, before Beorn reached him.

He ran full tilt into him knocking him into the snow. The archer tried to draw a knife from his belt but Beorn held his hands and head-butted him. Too dazed to think straight, he tried punching Beorn off him only to receive a punch to the temple for his troubles.

Beorn picked up the fallen bow and in one fluid motion retrieved an arrow from his quiver and shot the Fang that was trying to sneak up on him in the foot.

Screaming in pain the man rolled on the ground trying to pluck the arrow out. He gave up after a while and looked up to see Beorn approaching.

"Fuck you, Ranger. Lord Silas will take care of you."

Beorn shook his head at his stupidity

"You think he was going to let you live after all this was over? Forget it. Run away as far as possible and don't look back," a punch to the temple, "once you manage to wake up that is."

Beorn stood up and prepared to greet Roderik.

The whinnying of horses and the barking of hounds announced Roderik. He emerged from the undergrowth astride a horse. It was compact but with strong muscles and a glistening coat of long gray fur. Behind him were five more riderless horses that looked like they had seen better days and the skinny Fang being pulled along by two hounds on a leash.

Roderik stopped at the sight of Beorn, the two hounds started growling, tugging, trying to reach Beorn.

"Leif get those slobbering animals under control."

The skinny man, Leif, took out a slab of raw meat from underneath his cloak and tossed it to them.

"Here boys, settle down."

The two hounds started biting at the piece of meat, all thoughts of attacking Beorn forgotten.

Roderik, dismounted from his horse and walked towards Beorn. He stopped a distance away put his hands on his twin axes. Beorn narrowed his eyes and reached for the hilt above his right shoulder. The air was rife with tension when suddenly, Roderik drew the axes and tossed them at Beorn's feet.

"I surrender."

Beorn was so shocked he forgot to respond for a moment and just looked at Roderik. He echoed,"You surrender?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I know I've got no chance of beating you. Besides Lord Silas," he spat as if the name dirtied his mouth, "is going to kill me and the Fangs the moment he's done with us. I'm going to get as far away from here as possible and I suggest you do the same."

Beorn nodded, "You're not as dumb as you look. What about your friends I killed in the Manor?"

Roderik ridiculed the idea, "Friends, they weren't any friends of mine. Murderers and rapists the lot of them, running from the Peacekeepers. I kept the scum under control for this long. I saw the ones you left in the jungle, you should have killed them. Would have done everyone a favour."

Beorn frowned, "Why lead them? Why agree to work for Silas?"

Roderik grew agitated at the question, "You think it's easy for a southerner to live this far up north? And all you barbarians looking down on me all thinking you're better than I am." Beorn clenched the hilt of his dagger but Roderik didn't notice, he was completely riled up, "I made the best of what I had. Gathered the scum, made a group. What do you think I gathered collecting 'protection fees' from the three merchants that bother driving all the way up here? Not even enough to feed them. And I still managed to keep them on a leash. For two whole years!"

"The gold was a chance to get out. Start something new, of course, I was going to take it. I was getting tired of being a bandit, I didn't trust anyone except Grom and Leif, and now Grom's dead. Killed by that snake."

Panting he finished his rant and looked at Beorn, "So, are you going to kill me?"

Beorn let go of his dagger unsure of what to say. He didn't really sympathise with Roderik but he had to admit he'd not given the merchants or the townspeople much trouble. Yet…

"How can I trust you won't run back and go tell Silas?

Roderik held out his arms and slowly reached into his pocket. He took out a blood-red marble.

"Silas told me to break this if I found you. I'll give it to you along with my horse."

He moved to give Beorn the marble when suddenly it cracked and shattered.