Tales of the Wolf: Book 01 - The Coming of the Wolf (26 page)

Standing up slowly, he undid the straps and let his leather pants fall to the floor. Suddenly, he noticed that her blue eyes were appraising him. Flashing him a crooked smile, she pulled off the rest of her gown. Hawkeye felt his breath being taken from him by the sight of her naked body. The flickering firelight both revealed and hid the beauty of her firm body.  They stared at each other for a moment before she grabbed his manliness and gently pulled him into her. As he mounted her, she whispered, “Please, be gentle.”

Kissing her briefly, he whispered back. “I will my love, I will.” 

He could tell she was frightened but her desire for him overcame that fear. His mind raced with the memory of her rape. She had confided in him once that she had never been with a man before her rape. He wanted her badly but he told himself to be patient. Slowly and ever so gently, he entered her. Arching her back, she moaned loudly as her hands raked across his back. With a gentle and unhurried rhythm, he moved back and forth inside her. Her little purrs told him not to stop.  He murmured her name softly as he told her how wonderful it was to feel her velvet-soft flesh against him.

Tatianna was aching with the pleasure he was giving her. Slowly, their passion began to build until it overwhelmed the two of them. What had started out slow like a spark soon became a roaring fire. The intensity of their lovemaking continued to grow until neither of them could control it any longer. With a loud grunt from Hawkeye and a soft moan from Tatianna, they reached their climax together.

Their passion spent, they lay panting and sweating. Tatianna was the first to break the silence. “That was incredible. It was nothing like I thought. Thank you.”

Rolling over so he could look into her eyes he said, “It was indeed great. I love you more than I have loved anyone in the whole world.”

Tears filled her eyes again, as she looked at the man lying next to her. “Oh Hawkeye, you are the sweetest man I have ever met. I love you with all my heart and soul. I am yours, now and forever.”

Pulling her close, she laid her head on his chest as she returned his embrace. With his free arm, Hawkeye pulled some of the furs over them as they watched the firelight dance off the wooden beams of his lodge until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The captives heard the steady footsteps of the gnomish guards long before they could see the light of their torches and heard the tell-tale tinkling of the chains they carried as it echoed through the darkness heralding their approach.

Mortharona grinned in the darkness. His friends couldn’t see it but they could hear the excitement in his voice as he said, “Well my friends…it’s show time.”

Snorting at the elf’s tone, Rjurik moved to the back of his cell and grumbled. “You sound awful happy to be going to the Pit.” 

“I am! It sure beats the hell out of sitting around this smelly cell.” 

Mortharona and Khlekluëllin also moved to the back wall as the gnomish guards reached their cells. Without a word to the captives the nine guards broke up into three groups. Two of each group took up flanking positions on both sides of each door while the third gnome opened the cell doors. Once the door was open, two of the gnomes entered the cell carrying gnomish pain sticks and the other shackles.

Pain sticks were cruel weapons capable of inflicting intense pain with just a touch. Each stick was about three feet long and made of some unknown black metal. The ends were capped in silver and set with large gemstones; one was a brilliant ruby, the other a shining diamond. The three captives had learned firsthand how effective a weapon the pain sticks were the first time they had been taken to the Pit when they had resisted. Rjurik had even managed to make a break for his freedom. That was until they felt the magic of the Pain Sticks. The twins had been touched with the ruby side of the sticks and immediately it felt as if their blood was on fire. Heat raced through their veins causing intense pain that still lingered in their memories. Rjurik had not been so lucky. During his break for freedom, he was hit with the full force of the diamond side of the pain sticks. A whitish-blue glow had surrounded his body, slowing him. Immediately his body became numb and his extremities turned blue. His body felt as if he was stuck in a raging blizzard; his cheeks became covered in icicles and a layer of frost encased his body. The intense cold was bad enough to give him a severe case of frostbite, causing the loss of two toes.   

The gnomish guards waited patiently but alertly while their companion placed the chains on the three captives. Roughly leading them from their cells, they started the long trip to the arena.

Rjurik grunted loudly. “Mortharona I see you’re still pleased about going to the Pit?”

The dark haired twin winked at the old dwarf. “Yes I am. Sitting in this dark cave is depressing. Besides, I get a chance to kill these little buggers and that defiantly makes me happy.” 

Listening to his brother’s eagerness to kill their enemies, Khlekluëllin’s heart felt sad. His thoughts kept returning to the strange images his saw in his twin’s mind through their shared link and thought,
‘Something is wrong with my twin, I know it! But what? Mortharona had always been headstrong and unforgiving in battle but never malicious or sadistic. Now it seems that he was slowly becoming as evil as Blackfang. Maybe Mortharona’s hatred for Blackfang was poisoning him? Yes, that was probably it. If I am going to save my brother then we need to escape soon!’

After about a hundred feet or so down the passageway, the captives met up with another group of gnomes which were carrying their clothes and weapons. This was something the three captives hadn’t yet figure out. Every time the twins fought, they were outfitted in their own clothes and given their own weapons but not Rjurik. He was always left to fend for himself in gaining a weapon. Why Blackfang did this was a mystery to them? They just figured that it proved a greater challenge or thrill to the crowd. That was something Blackfang was very aware of, the crowd. He played to them, giving them just what they wanted but at the same time making sure it was the same thing he wanted.

After traveling for about thirty minutes through the winding tunnels, they felt a cool breeze on their face and knew they were approaching their destination, the Pit. Coming out of the dark tunnel they were once again faced with an awesome sight. They were high on one of the walls which overlooked an immense cavern that was located somewhere to the east of the fortress. Below them was the arena for the night’s games. It was roughly fifty feet deep and probably two hundred feet across. Crude bleachers had been erected around the edges of the Pit for the spectators. These were filled to capacity and even overflowing with warriors. The three captives could see gnomes, cyclops, highlanders, shadow elves and several hundred trolls. Glancing up, they could see the night sky overhead. The stars blinked and twinkled in the cold winter sky. Just seeing them and feeling the cool breeze on their faces refreshed and invigorated them.

Winding their way down the side of the cavern, the captives noticed that tonight’s games had already begun.

The games consisted of throwing combatants into the Pit and letting them fight to the death, all the while the armies of the Dark Alliance cheered or booed their pleasure or displeasure. When a combatant won, he would seek the crowd approval for a kill or a pardon. In the three weeks the captives had been forced to fight in the games, no one had ever been pardoned. Every fight was to the death.

After they reached the holding pens, one by one their chains were taken off and they were given their clothes but not their weapons… not yet.

Dressing in silence, Khlekluëllin studied the crowd seemed larger and more bloodthirsty than normal. The pens were full of combatants. Most were gnome, goblin or highland warriors who had somehow received this as punishment. Khlekluëllin had found in the past that most were here because of a dereliction of duty; sleeping on guard duty, disobeying a superior or something like that. Victory would absolve them of their crimes while failure meant death.

The holding pens also housed several animals. There was a large grizzly bear, two sabre-tooth tigers, a dozen wolves and something extremely large in the furthest most pen. Khlekluëllin couldn’t make out what it was due to a large tarp covering most of the pen but when it moved the whole pen shook. The blue-haired elf had a bad feeling about tonight’s games.

Glancing at his friends, he noticed that Rjurik was studying his brother with an intense look. Mortharona was staring off into the distance at something or someone on one of the balconies. Casting a quick glance that way, Khlekluëllin could not see what his brother was looking at.

Letting it go for the moment, he broke the silence. “I think tonight is the night for our escape.”

Rjurik’s head snapped over to look at him. “I agree! We will be armed, let’s cut our way to the surface!”

Mortharona snickered. “You foolish old dwarf! We wouldn’t get a hundred yards down one of those tunnels before they overwhelmed us.”

Rjurik bowed up to his full height of four feet. “Now listen here, you snot-nosed, pansy loving, bark eating elf! I, for one, don’t plan on just waiting around until Blackfang gets tired of us and has us taken to the kitchens like your father. If I’m gonna die, then I’m gonna take a few with me!”

Mortharona’s face turned red with anger and he was about to fire back another insult, when Khlekluëllin’s voice broke in. “Calm yourselves my friends. We have enough enemies surrounding us right now! We don’t need to argue amongst ourselves.”

Mortharona glanced at his brother with a pained look plastered on his face. “But he said…”

Khlekluëllin held up his hands. “I don’t care! You started it by insulting him first. Of course he’s going to insult you. It was only fair but you are both even right now and that’s the way it’s going to stay! Besides, something feels different about tonight’s games. The crowd seems more bloodthirsty.”

Rjurik scratched the week old growth of whiskers on his chin. “You know, I think you’re right. Something does feel different about tonight. Besides, where’s Blackfang? He should be down here any minute to gloat over us.” 

No sooner had the words left Rjurik’s mouth, than Blackfang came striding through the pens. All of the captives, except the animals and the three friends bowed as he passed. Reaching their cells, Blackfang stopped and studied them.

“Well my friends. It seems we’ve been here before.”

Mortharona flashed him a wicked smile. “Are you going to fight tonight coward?”

“No Mortharona I’m not. My goddess has decreed that you will not die at my hands but at the hands or teeth of a combatant in the Pit.”  He shrugged. “I’m sorry my friend, I wish it could be different. I would love to teach you a lesson about combat.”

Shooting his arm through the pens bars, he tried to reach Blackfang’s throat but he was just out of reach. Mortharona retracted his arm quickly and said, “One day, you and I will meet in combat.”

Blackfang turned his back on the elf and walked away, laughing. Passing some guards, he barked out an order. “Bring the dwarf! He’s next!”

Sprinting to do his bidding, they grabbed Rjurik out of the cell and dragged him to the side of the Pit. At a signal from Blackfang, he was pushed in and the crowd went wild. They loved when the dwarf or the elves fought. Once the roar of the crowd died down a bit, a large club was thrown in for Rjurik to use.

This was normal. Blackfang always gave the dwarf an inferior weapon. Rjurik casually picked it up and went through a few practice swings to judge its balance and waited calmly. He didn’t have to wait long before three gnomes out of the crowd jumped into the Pit. Gnomes and dwarves are racial enemies. This hatred runs so deep and long that no one living can remember why or when the enmity between the two races started.

The three gnomes were well armed and outfitted. Each wore leather armor and carried short swords in each hand. The gnomes, laughing and jeering, tried to taunt Rjurik who just stood there. The gnomes rushed him with a loud yell. Rjurik launched himself into a dive and rolled right under the trio’s clumsy swings. Coming up behind one of the gnomes, he broke his club over its skull with a vicious two-handed swing. The unfortunate gnome dropped like a stone and the crowd went wild!

Before Rjurik could pick up one of the fallen swords, one of the remaining gnomes ran at him with his sword held out like a lance. Rjurik stepped to the side and let him run by. Of course, he did put out his foot to trip the charging gnome, which fell face first onto the sandy floor. Not waiting for the fallen gnome to get up, Rjurik pounced on his back and grabbed the gnome’s head. He pulled it as hard as he could straight back. The gnome’s neck snapped with a loud pop!

The crowd roared their approval.

Blackfang watched as the crowd began to cheer on the dwarf. They didn’t care who was winning they just wanted blood. And as long as they got it, Blackfang didn’t care who won either. For no matter who won or lost, Blackfang was the true winner and that made him happy. Turning back to the action, Blackfang watched as Rjurik picked up one of the fallen swords.

Rjurik studied it for a moment. The sword was not very pretty. He took it through a few passes and shook his head in disgust at the crude weapon. Slowly turning towards the last of the gnomes, he advanced. The gnome held his two swords in front of him in a guard position. Striding right in confidently, Rjurik parried the gnome’s first swing easily. The second parry was even easier. Then, with a thrust that came as an afterthought, Rjurik ran the gnome straight through the heart.

Throwing down the sword, he looked at the gathered crowd with undisguised disgust. Folding his arms across his body, he waited for the rope to be let down. The crowd roared with delight.

When Rjurik arrived at the top of the pit, Mortharona was grinning. “What took you so long?”

“I ran into some old friends and had to send them to the Abyss.”

The three friends watched as the evening progressed. Most of the fights were quick and brutal, lasting only several minutes. There was a long drawn out fight between the grizzly bear and a small cyclops. In the end, the bear won but was put to death by the jotens' friends. Finally, it came to the last fight of the night. Mortharona and Khlekluëllin knew it was to be their turn.