The battle-worn tavern hall was filled with dancing people—the sounds of both mirth and an almost nervous energy in the air. The room was simply bursting with this electric mood as everyone was desperately soaking in the happy memories they were creating, and in the background, the music of the bards and balladeers played on to fill the air. This was the kind of levity that the villagers—as well as Lalauri herself—desperately needed after the nonstop onslaught of the monsters they had been fighting since the Church-sponsored army, the Wolf-bane Battalion, had arrived to liberate the village from the Wolf Plague…so then what was causing this slow sinking feeling inside of her? Why couldn’t she stop her hands from shaking?
Lalauri was a black elf woman with stark white hair who—to anyone looking at her—looked to be about thirty years old, and she was finding herself very content with sitting by herself at a table in the corner as she reflected on the days that had passed. The truth was, that she very much wanted to take part in the hard-earned festivities alongside everyone else, but she was paralyzed by the feeling that something horrible was about to happen. This unfortunately was entirely due to her long and bloodied past.
“Now what’s wrong with this picture?” came a man’s voice. The young human paladin in question helped himself to a seat at her table, not bothering to ask if she even wanted company. “Why so glum, chum? Why, if I didn’t know any better, I would have said we might have lost this little stretch of our crusade rather than won it, just based on the look on your face. What’s the matter?”
The champion-knight’s name was Sir Anxo, and Lalauri knew that while he was once again being nosy, it came from a good place. It was often he who would be the first to check up on her during her sulkier moments. He had black hair, and green eyes, and could not have been much older than twenty-two.
“I’m fine. Just not interested in dancing, that’s all.” Lalauri said. And it was not a full lie either. She really didn’t care much for dancing.
“Fine, huh? Strange. Why are your hands shaking then?”
Lalauri looked at him, half annoyed at him for noticing, and half annoyed at herself for not thinking to hide her hands when he sat down. “I’m fine, Anxo…it is just that…does this…does this not seem a little too easy?” said Lalauri. And when Sir Anxo looked generally taken aback by this she quickly added, “I do not mean that it was without its losses, good knight. I merely mean that…I look at you and the others—Sir Axlan, Lady Christabel, Sir William and all the others—and I still can’t shake the feeling that—”
“Lalauri, do you know what I think my dad would say if he came over here and heard you now?” Sir Anxo interrupted. “It would probably go something like this,” He then deepened his voice to put on his best impression of his father, the war-pastor of their company, Gennady. “My Lady, Lalauri, for what surely must be the billionth time, stop moping on about this nonsense. There is no curse about you! You have been a wonderful asset to the forces of the Church and her allies during this crusade against the Wolf Plague. If any one of your comrades dies, I would be more than shocked to hear that it was due to any fault of your own—no, in fact, I simply would not believe it.”
Lalauri did not say it, but his impression was not that far off from the last conversation she actually had with the war-pastor. “Yes, you’re right, he probably would say that. Still…I feel like the other foot is still going to drop.”
Sir Anxo sighed. “You know what, perhaps you are doomed then. Doomed to forever be a downer who can’t take a compliment and refuses to dance.”
“A ’downer’?” Lalauri smiled weakly. “Now we’re name-calling? Was that truly necessary?”
Sir Anxo held up his hands in the air in defence. “I simply call it as I observe it, my lady.”
Lalauri fought back a wider grin from forming on her face, with little success. “Rotten little stinker. You should learn to respect your elders more, you know. In fact, I would have expected much better manners than that from a future war-pastor.”
“Oh please,” Sir Anxo rolled his eyes. “If I ever get as stiff as any of those other old loons—”
“And by ‘old loons,’” Lalauri interjected, lowering her voice and bending her head down. “Do you mean your father as well, young man?”
BAM!
The room went quiet, and the pair’s conversation was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt—as was all the dancing and other conversations and jolly laughter that filled the building. Lalauri and Sir Anxo then jumped to their feet to see what was going on.
The loud noise that stole away everyone’s attention was the sound of the front twin doors of the tavern being kicked open by a group of knights. Between the lot of them, they were holding tight a ragged-looking villager whose clothes were torn in some areas while covered in mud in others. He was shouting at them to let him go—a sentiment shared by an older man and woman who were pulling and kicking at the knights, trying to get them to let go of the man.
“Let him go!” yelled the woman. “No! Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
“You let go of our son right now! RIGHT NOW! Or else—OOF! OW!” The older man yelped as one of the knights elbowed him hard in the rib cage. The old man’s legs gave out underneath him, and he sank to the floor, landing on his knees, gasping for air.
“Sully!” the woman cried out, rushing to the man’s side.
“Silverbrew!” Cried out one of the knights holding the younger man. “Damn it, someone grab some silverbrew, quickly! Do it now!”
This request was all it took to snap all of the knights and paladins present in the room into action as they all knew what this meant; the man being restrained must have been infected. They all searched their belongings for any last remaining vials of the powerful medicine they might have left.
But how? Lalauri wondered. There shouldn’t have been any more werewolves left. Everyone infected was already killed off during the fighting. There shouldn’t have been anyone left to infect this man…unless he was infected some time ago, and the effects are only just showing now…
It was possible, but unlikely. Late reactions to lycanthropy entering the human body were extremely rare, but thankfully, this also meant there was a chance—a slim one—to save the man’s life.
“What is the meaning of all of this!?”
As one of the knights hurried to bring his vial of silverbrew to them, two men pushed their way into the opening that had formed in the middle of the crowd so that they could examine the scene for themselves; the first was a man dressed in knight’s armour like the rest, but under his arm, he held the decorated helmet of a commanding officer. This was Lord Captain Brandt, a Mogorian warrior assigned by his kingdom to help the Church with ridding this area of the Greater Wilderness of any and all remnants of the Wolfplague. It was he that had asked what was happening.
The other man had a full head of blonde hair and a thick beard to match it. He was wearing his pastoral battle armour and Lalauri watched his eyes dart all around the scene, analysing it for any and all details he could gather, not willing to wait for someone to explain what was happening. This was Sir Anxo’s father, War-Pastor Gennady.
“He’s infected, Sir.” said one of the knights.
“And? Why is he still alive?” said the Lord Captain, frostily. “And how was he infected? We must have killed off the last of the werewolves hours ago.”
“There’s a few werewolves in one of the houses at the edge of the village!” said one of the knights. “They’re bigger than the others were! A few of us are trying to deal with them now.”
“You should have started with that, soldier!” The Mogorian barked, and with that, he rallied the other knights and paladins to his side as they rushed out of the tavern to deal with the new threat.
“We should go.” said Sir Anxo.
“Right.” Lalauri said, and the two made haste to follow the others, leaving the villagers with the medics to look after the infected man.
*
Lalauri crept closer and closer to the final home in the village that had yet to be cleared out. Her fellow paladins and the knights accompanying them followed her lead. In doing so, they approached the house with an equal amount of caution on all sides and with swords drawn. They were all soaking wet from the rain, and Lalauri’s muscles were still aching terribly from earlier fights with other werewolves. All they had to do was make sure this last house was clear, and then they could head back to camp or to the tavern, and then—depending on how the other teams were doing—they might even be able to go home.
A loud snarl and a smashing of objects in the house froze them all in their tracks momentarily. Lalauri brushed a stray strand of her hair out from her face, just in time to see something dash past one of the windows.
Not wanting to waste any more time, the Church’s knights quickly sorted themselves into position. Once the entrances were covered, Lalauri and Anxo kicked in the front door, charging in with their shields up and ready. Far from surprised, the men inside the house lunged at them and pushed them back with such strength that they flew right back through the doorway and down onto the muddy ground. Then the other paladins and knights rallied around them as they got back to their feet. The two villager men quickly transformed out of their already ghastly human forms as they stepped through the doorway, into the rain, and into bodies of fur, fangs, and claws. The werewolves howled and snarled through the rain at them as the storm clouds thundered and raged above.
“That’ll be the last of them then?” Anxo asked, helping Lalauri to her feet.
“It had better be,” said Lalauri. “I doubt my body can take much more of this.”
Then a loud sound from Anxo sent chills down her back drawing her attention to him fully as he suddenly collapsed to the ground in a fit of twitches and spasms, writhing around in clear pain.
“No!” Lalauri quickly got down and began searching his body frantically. “No, no, no!” Her worst fears were realized to be true when she saw where one of the werewolf’s claws had cut clean through his metal breastplate under his rib cage. It was only a small cut, only just enough to break the skin and cause it to bleed, but that was all it took for the disease to take hold.
“Silverbrew!” Lalauri screamed out to the others, who were preoccupied with fighting the two werewolves. “Someone get me the silverbrew!” She held Anxo’s hand tightly and tried to support his head as best she could as he continued to writhe about with foam coming from his mouth.
It took a second before Lalauri remembered herself before she remembered that they all had small vials of the potion on chains around their necks. Hers was all used up, though—she had used it to save a knight from infection when he had lost his own. Lalauri rushed to feel around Anxo’s neck for the chain just as fur started to sprout out from it. It was all for not, though. When she finally found the vial, her heart sank. The vial was already smashed into pieces, and its contents were long gone.
It was then that the werewolves knocked back the others and began howling in rage as they made their way in Lalauri’s and Anxo’s direction. That’s when a pair of twin flaming bolt-arrows slammed into the monsters’ chests and pushed them back a bit in the process.
“Hold them back!” came a man’s voice. “Hold them back so I can help Anxo!”
“Yes, Sir!” someone replied.
As another surge of knights and paladins rushed to help the others, War-Pastor Gennady—the man who had ordered the others forward—knelt down beside him and quickly took off his own necklace with its vial of silverbrew.
“How long ago was he infected?” Gennady shouted at Lalauri over the noise, as he poured the potion into his son’s mouth.
“Only moments ago!” shouted back Lalauri. “He still has time!”
When the grey liquid finished pouring down Anxo’s mouth, his body finally stopped convulsing and his eyes closed for a minute. “Alright, now go!” said Gennady, pointing towards the fight scene. “Anxo has his own fight to battle, now go on and finish that one.”
“Right.” Lalauri got back to her feet, turned towards the beasts, and said, “You will not take any more of my allies today, foul beasts.” She unsheathed her supernatural, empyrean-steal sword, The Anthem, and charged right into the werewolf closest to her, driving the Anthem into his thigh as deep as she could. And as it entered, the sword gave off its hallmark sound of a blaring, heavenly tune as blue fire erupted from the sword even as it was embedded in its flesh.
The werewolf howled in pain. “Get! That! Thing! Out of me!” He swiped at Lalauri with his claws and then tried snapping at her head with his teeth, each time missing the mark by mere inches on account of her dodging. “Worthless knights! Stupid paladins! You church thralls think you can come into our territory like this! We were here first! We like it here! Our kin took over this village claimed it’s stinkin’ people fair and squares! ARGH! BITE YOU ALL! STOMP YOU ALL! KILL YOU ALL!”
“You have no claim on these souls that you’ve ruined!” Lalauri then ripped Anthem from the monster’s thigh, took it, and with a shout of rage, used it to cleave off not one but both of its arms in a quick fashion. The werewolf howled louder and louder in pain. Finally, Lalauri leaped up into the air, and when she reached the eye level of the beast, she swung Anthem deeply into its neck, expertly liberating the snarling head off from its body.
Lalauri whipped around almost instantly to face the next werewolf, only to be relieved to find that her fellow knights and paladins had already brought it down and butchered it. Their fight for the village was finally won, but Anxo’s was still yet to be determined.
“Paladins!” cried out the war-pastor from behind them. “Help me!”
Lalauri’s stomach dropped as she turned to see Anxo still writhing and convulsing around in the mud as Gennady tried his best to hold him steady. After racing to Anxo’s side to help hold him down, she looked down at his arms and gasped—there were long, grey strands of fur sprouting out of his arm, and his face was starting to grow pointedly outwards, forming into a snout as he howled in pain. Lalauri looked up at Gennady for direction, only to see tears welling up in the old man’s eyes.
Everyone was circled around them now, all with sullen looks on their faces. Lalauri couldn’t separate the tears from the rain on their faces. No one was aiming their weapons at the wounded paladin, but no one had sheathed their weapons either. Every knight present knew what came next—what had to come next.
War-Pastor Gennady, upon noticing the silence in the area apart from the pouring rain, looked around at all the church’s knights that were surrounding his son, and with a cracking voice, he barked at them, “Get away from him…give him some space…he needs air! Not a single one of you touch him…GIVE HIM SOME SPACE!” Gennady leaped up to his feet, startling them all as he unsheathed his own sword and swung it wildly at them in an effort to get them to back up.
Lalauri hurriedly gestured to the rest of them, and the knights followed her lead and moved backwards a few feet to give them some space.
“C’mon…c’mon now.” Gennady started to pray frantically. “Don’t do this to me, Father…don’t do this…not my last one. Not my boy! Please, Lorraullion! Just let me keep my boy! Don’t take him from me…”
Gennady knew better than to draw it out like this, but Lalauri knew how much he had been through already thanks to the Wolfplague. Anxo Gennady was his father’s last living family member, and his only surviving child; the youngest of seven.
“My friend,” Lalauri pleaded. “…I am so, so sorry. Anxo was…he is…an absolute treasure. A good friend, as well as a good son to you, I’m sure. But we cannot delay this. Please. Before he hurts someone, you need to let us do what we came out here to do. To finish what she started when we came out here. You need to…I need…We need you to let us do our job. We need you…to move aside.”
“No…you can’t leave me too…” Gennady sobbed, as he still talked to Anxo.
Then Anxo’s right arm rapidly finished its transformation into that of a werewolf, and with sharp claws, he swung wildly at the two of them, just barely missing Lalauri’s face. And as the other knights and paladins hurried to drag the two of them out of the new werewolf’s range, the new beast in question finished his transformation and gave a long howl into the rain as he did. The transformation was done. Sir Anxo—as they had known him—was gone, and they all braced for impact as Anxo the Werewolf charged at them with teeth bared.
“Anxo, no!” Lalauri cried out. “Stop!”
But it was too late. Anxo crashed his way through the knights, crashed through the fences and wagons that were in between him and the woods, and quickly disappeared into the dense thicket of the woods, with Lalauri and the others scrambling to give chase.
