A DANCE BETWEEN THE TWO

Night crept.  The light continued to fade as darkness settled into the edges of the world.  Slinking up from the eastern horizon it spread quickly across the sky and into the West.  Quietly it touched the peaceful waves lapping against the docks of ‘Sinking Bay’.  Continuing over Ongelan, it began to devour the ‘Eight Sand Cities’ of the arid Kingdoms.  Still in pursuit of the light....and seemingly it’s prey.  The shadows inched rapidly West across a hundred leagues of sand before biting and crawling up the slopes of the Damoui Dunes. 

The world waited here on the edge of the Dunes to be consumed by darkness.  Darkness that would cover the dunes and insurmountable leagues of sand.  The old nomads tossed in their sleep; tired after struggling through the wastelands with their herds in toe.  They provided the substinance needed for his Army.  This night they wrestled with their blankets, pulling them tight to their chins in the midst of a chilling cold.  A cold brought on after dark.  But this world held its own chin and night was its blanket.  The Damoui Dunes, looked to be an old and familiar obstacle.  Smooth from a distance - the giant sand mountains were covered in scruffy short shrubs and sparse desert grass at their peaks.  The Dunes would be the only shelter against the night for a thousand leagues.    

The barren incline, stood against the western sky as high as any mountain chain, stretching the span of the desert from north to south, curving with a slight smile. They stood hardened and strong.  Holding these dunes would be the anchor to any armies success.  They would be the back drop to his last stand. Wind and sun tormented them for millions of years, shaping them and molding them to appear tanned and weathered; the hide of the Dunes resembled the skin of the nomads living here.  They were beaten into leather under a timeless sun and wind. 

This weathered ancient mass of sand twisted and narled provided aid to brave souls who fought the terrain and the harsh environment in the West.  A hard life for all who dared to live on the wild Plains.  Sadly it was going to get worse for them...now they would either die or become slaves in the march.  For those caught so far out in this environment would be fodder to the eb and flow of the worlds desires.  Life here was the definition of death.... some of the screams reached his ear in this very moment.  He gave them little thought.  
A gust of wind pushed hard and heavy just after the cloak of night, and followed the darkness borne from the sea.  With these ancient winds came the bitter cold.  The wind bore a chill racing toward the dunes.  It sounded as if a mass of wild horses - millions- were pounding the sand toward his perch. The wind thrashed the landscape, scratching and shaping. For thousands of years the nomads, beasts, and dunes were left exposed to this.  In ancient times the Nomads would leave their 'unwanted' ... exposed...most found themselves skinless.  

Folds, pitches, lines, and ditches filled the harsh terrain.  They would provide the only safety from the storm.  Aside from the Dunes, amidst the sudden freezing temperatures of night or the deadly sands twisting in the air - there wasn't much else that could kill him tonight.  It beat against the eastern slopes of the Damoui Dunes. Ostensibly they rose from the ground in opposition.  As the army approached the chin of the world it presented a climb for both Soldier and wind.  Luckily an ancient cave system and small waddy tunnels offered protection.  It would provide a comfortable and lasting shield against the winds once on the leeward side.  If they were to survive this night...it would be a race to 'Crow Tunnel' and the western slopes of the Dune's for the Army of Ongelan. 

Avel Les Moshun and the last bit of daylight held fast together watching the ever winding flow of Soldiers, horses, and supply wagons.  The light would only stay upon him and offer its warmth for a few more short moments.  Here at the peak of the ‘World’s Chin’ – Avel, ‘The Right Arm’, ‘The Lord of War’ sat upon his horse.  Here, where the last splash of sunlight fought its eternal war with darkness.  Here in the western most edges of the arid Kingdoms - he sat and listened and watched.  
The light chose its ground well, but not quickly enough.  Just as Avel had raced to this location so did the darkness.  He arrived...only to hunker behind the Dunes for protection and just in time to catch the end of his army suffering the cold through the twilight hours to the east.  For an instant - the world would be exposed to a fray of night and day.  Light’s vigorous hues of red, orange, and purple blanketed and swirled over sky and landscape.  Some reds as deep as blood covering the slain in a battle.  It is here and now that the drama would unfold between the two...a dance of sorts.  
The sun’s waning presence provided an estranged strength and rapidly failing warmth against the freeze.  It was; however, doomed in tonights battle.  The end pre-ordained.  It’s resistance feeble and pointless...yet it stood.  
Like an army that was hopelessly outmatched; yet, somehow against all odds and only through its tenacity was magnificently holding the line.  Lingering well beyond its privileges, refusing to recede, the light earned Avel’s respect suddenly.  In this moment in time - his mind wondered.  
The night continued to press; however, and the purple turned to dark blue and light’s colors swirled, racing in a panic as they were driven back. Here and there they rushed to hold that line and dance a few brief moments before retreating.

  Mostly unaware of the struggle in the heavens, but anticipating the freeze; his army continued setting camp down the western slope.  Nearly one hundred leagues west of their sea bound home in Ongelan. The shadows lengthened as they worked.  The soldiers already on this side - were protected from the ghastly winds. 
This was truly a desert, a vast and deadly mixture of shifting landscapes.  Only feral camels or carrion birds survived for any expanse of time.  All who could live here were as gnarled as the terrain surrounding them. 
Migration was the only reprieve.  Offering themselves as sacrifices to a relentless sun and to scavengers while marching just to get from one water hole to the next.  Too often they would find the distance between two holes a burden incapable of enduring.  The scene of their remains creating eerie passageways between ‘Shades’.  Ancient routes were littered with bones and decay.  So many of the weak or young, old or dying animals scattered, but did not stray far from the ancient and solid worn paths of a million hooves, paws, claws, and slithering scales.  
Routes that would have otherwise disappeared under shifting sands.  The bones remained as solid markers of where they were and what they were trying to do. Some of the bones were of enormous ancient animals passed from existence and well beyond the memories of man. Only a few remaining stories spoke of these amazing creatures and their leviathan white and brown heaps of muscled bodies.  Enough meat to feed a village.  These bones marked the routes and paths between ‘Shades’. The desert animal migrations never failed to commence - for an unknown reason to Avel... these animals were compelled to travel in a sense of enchanted duty.  A march equal to the one he endured now.  

Does the world breathe such incantations ....does it whistle them into the winds...perhaps?  Are we just part of the circle....  Avel wondered. 

For survival he would attempt to be snared in the same spell that bound and drove those ill fated bones.  Avel had the ‘Terra Scholars’ make several charts and maps for each path.  Known routes on translucent parchment drawn to scale.   Using the current groupings of stars his scouts could use these maps at night to navigate.  Under clouds or within sandwinds he’d simply stay within the bones, and halt if they wondered outside of them, sending rope tethered scouts to continue.  The next ‘Shade’ was still several days west of the crest of these Dunes; as far as he could tell.  
He held a small map against the vanishing light.  The army traveled fast and hard, leaving behind their beloved city - Ongelan. Swiftly they moved across the desert during the cover of night, and with a pace most soldiers were unaccustomed to.  He’d pushed them hard during the late afternoon and evening hours of this day in order to make camp before being swallowed by the winds. 
He’d smelled the salt on the air, hinting at the storm that would follow.  It did not bode well for them to be stopping so soon in his mind.  The pain of the pace noticeably affected the soldiers. Looking into eyes swathed by dreams of open sea, Avel noticed complete weariness.  Each iris met his in an exchange of silent dialogue.  Yet he could feel them shouting at him.  
Oh what he would give to be on the decks of ‘Death’s Wind’ and starring into watery giant waves.  A ‘Fang’; no matter how capable, could never have brought them here, yet still it seemed their expectation.  All of them had sea legs...It was a form of confirmation for him.  He hoped what he saw in their eyes would also be in his enemy’s when he arrived.  He would use his strength as a ruse to draw them out.  They must....’bite’ he thought.  Surprise would be their only advantage...and they would need to capitalize on every minute it would provide.  
This was, in his opinion, one of the most drastic and dangerous attempts at achieving such an essential battle element he'd known in his existance.  He felt as if he were grasping at straws...counting on an expectation was always risky.  A bit like depending on assumptions...never wise.  
It made him uncertain that it might not work. He questioned the move. He would lean on a whim – he would gamble - ‘it can never be done’. He remembered the ‘Council’ saying this....then he remembered his own reply ...I will meet them on the Plains of Pa’Los. and destroy them. 

A seige of Pa’Shu would not be an option.  They would never win...He felt a sudden twinge of doubt, and his eyes began stinging as the cold wind wiped across his face causing him to squint.  Their supply lines stretched too thin now....imagine what they will look like in a hundred more leagues....  The Soldiers strength was far too low and they were only half way there.  

He would use a ‘faint’ to draw them out of their city.  With a small fleet of ‘Fangs’ pushing west along the coastline and a few leagues out into the Blinding Sea.  As he looked upon his men he couldn’t help but anticipate and wonder how many skulls, holding those shouting eyes full of pain and fear would be added to the ancient bones strewn along the paths they would use to get there.  All in an attempt to achieve the advantage. To beat an expectation.  Speed was key...they were moving too slow.  They would find out...they will know we are coming...  Who expects the strongest Naval Power in the Realms to march across a desert?  .....Will it work....is it worth it?   

The soldiers’ eyes continued to meet his as they advanced through the ‘Crows’ Tunnel’ just under the crest of the Damoui Dunes, and out the western Cavernous exit, peering into the setting sun and down the western slopes of the Dunes.  Their eyes would just now be catching sight of a vast assembly of white tents, arising like boiling water from the still hot sands.  Beneath the fading sunlight the white cloth homes were quickly assembled.  Seemingly half-hazard and chaotic, but to Avel - it was in fact... home.  
He would have used the words - disciplined and precise to describe the view below him.  This portable and flowing white city…was striking.  It had never been seen before until the past few weeks of travel across the desert.  He would get used to traveling like this and away from his true home at the Central Castle in Ongelan.  It seemed from his vantage at this height that the 'Chin of the World' now aged instantly with a flowing white beard.  Just short of the lower lip of the Plains of Pa’Los.  One hundred thousand men, horses, and all the supplies to support them - milling below his gaze....  
A decorated archer would be covetous of the lines created in each row of wooden stakes, stretching for several leagues parallel to the slope of the Dunes.  White sheets popping and stretching for a league. 

The accumulation of souls among them would not be caught loitering under the watchful eyes of Avel.  He sat still and balanced on the ridgeline above them all with silver mail shining in the retreating sunlight.  
He was thankful he was not among the toils.  It would be an organized pandemonium, and he knew his Battle Captains were capable of focusing the efforts.  
He hoped this would only be one of a few stops made in this treacherous march - if not their last....  Inertia in a mass of soldiers this large could last for days...it will be very difficult to overcome  this pause.  He wondered if it would be worth it to leave with the strong tonight and make up the time with a smaller force......no....he needed numbers more than surprise even.  Attrition would surely play a role.
He would rely on an ancient and historically acurate -race. It was a common race for any Soldier.   Beat the clocks.  One clock ticking in their minds - failing him.  The other would a tangible loss of sunlight.  The pain of the freeze that night would bring with it a lack of adequate shelter.  If either were to win and defeat the Soldier - it would be considered a detriment to their overall reputation and even more importantly the cornerstone of their eventual comfort and rest tonight.  Exposed and expunged for the remaining hours of night.  This conundrum would provide the fuel necessary to combat the urge to sit still...the urge to stay put, and hopefully build a desire for speed. 

People in his position had reputations.  As sure as the horse beneath him.... it existed.  His past and history tied him down.  Currently, each Battle Lord serving under him would follow his orders well enough.  Most would do so at the risk of their own lives; yet, they would hang on the inevitability of such loss.  They tell him as much, in their actions and deeds.  He assessed for the most part - those deeds spoke true.  They served him…  
He fought and bled beside them for so many years now.  An undeniable bond lay between them and went much further than fighting under the same banner.  They were ..... something more to him.  He trusted them.  A trust formed as a hammer forms a sword. Their trust and loyalty forged within the roaring flames of battles fought and won.  It went beyond the verbal or written orders that could potentially kill them.  It was necessary and perpetual.  Like lacing a boot or sharpening a knife it was a duty to trust one another.  They owed each other that much at least.  
Nothing but the decency of an allegiance could fulfill that obligation.  To die together - for each other ....it would be all they knew how to do.  Nothing else seemed remotely acceptable or as equally important.  To give your life for your friends and your country, your kingdom, your family ...that was the only sacrifice worth living for in the first place.  A debt that he knew - each of them ...including himself were willing to pay at any moment.  That meant something - didn't it?....It did to him anyway. 

Unfortunately, his ‘reputation’, brought with it a secondary unwanted commitment.  One he’d never asked for.  The desire to win his affection...the desire to please him with their actions.  
A breath was needed away from the fawning.... well outside of those pieces of white kernel below - up here where the oxygen was clean, clear and pure - a place where he could 'think'.  
He despised it.  He felt more comfortable receiving orders than giving them.  The burden was often a bit too much to claim. He despised that his very presence created it, and for that he knew he could not commit fully.  He could not rely on his reputation, but only upon their allegiance.  He would be at fault for their deaths.  Their loyalty and trust simply made him just another man capable of dying as they were.    

He observed from this perch upon the Damoui Dunes the efforts of the camp.  Opposing worlds came to dance on the dunes this night.  High on the crest of the Dunes he watched as they labored and toiled in the last remaining light with stakes, ropes, and poles.  Soon the massive yet mobile version of the ‘Garrison Quarter’ of Ongelan would be complete.  He turned his head to the east studying the final formations approaching him under darkness and into the ‘Crow’s Tunnel’ and spilling out under the light of the dying sun on the Western side of the Dune’s.  He sat here on his horse in retrospect and between both worlds.  The soldiers passing still watched him. Their fists clenched tightly around their spears or lances as they pressed them to their chests in respect.  How were they noticing him so far above? Their honor, clearly rested on his shoulders.  He visibly bore the weight with his prematurely aged face and body.  They felt he was a hero no matter how badly he wished they didn't.   

Notoriety came with a price...and not just the eagerness to please.  Many of these young foot soldiers passing by weren’t born when his accolades were earned.  His deeds in the Plain Wars, Battle of the Ports, and the Desert Conflicts seemed like yesterday and ages ago all at once. They seemed distant and heroic to these men. It was another lifetime to them.  He was a symbol of something impossible ....something inhuman.... he avoided the sure grip of death and rose above it.  
For this...they feared him and put their faith in him.  He was revered.   To Avel, the wars, battles, and conflicts he’d survived were his constant nightmare.  They haunted him whether he was awake or dreaming.  To these young men they were a respected set of achievements.  To them he was a living breathing mythical relic ....a worshiped warrior …history walking.  His reputation was the very foundation on which they built their power and held their pride.  The might of the kingdom and a city; his name would strike fear in their enemies.  .... you old fool...  A slight fault or failure ...and the fear of his enemies would crumble, changing swiftly into confidence and something even more dangerous - contention.  No...the pretense is needed. The weight of success ate him inside out, twisting his gut into pains and leaving him with aches in his head and back.  He no longer wanted to meet the gazes of his men..but he had too – it was his duty now....he must make them believe they could live.  To keep them going.  To keep them sane...he must keep himself going...he must keep himself...sane. 
The desire to tear his eyes out and mash them in his teeth ....was put aside.  

The zeal and faith of these soldiers...I’m left proud and sick.  His emotions as double edged as the swords on his back. Describing...those.. massacres as achievements .... bile rose in his throat and he almost choked on it.  Instead it lingered and burned.  It was a reminder of how his internal pain - burned against his soul. 
The scratchy burning liquid was all that did keep his sanity.  It was all between him and a giant wave of guilt and shame at still being alive.  
He still owed the debt.  He had not coughed up the payment - yet... the true payment he owed his dead friends.  He owed his warm blood and tears to so many.....so many who’d bled for him. So many he’d killed with his orders.  
He owed them his life.  It seemed so often now ....these thoughts twisted in his mind.  History painted a convoluted light upon truth.  It depends on the author…he supposed.  Feed a story with your agenda or purpose, and suddenly something terrible is created.... and something meaningless gains a grip....then it leads to a bloody revolution.  
We’ve fought over words on a page.....  We’ve fought for ideals and a way of life.  So many lives spent....so many more needed.   

He sat balanced between two worlds…two different men he was now….two different lives.  A smile grew on his lips.  He felt....ready.   He realized the fortuitous nature of the moment and the thoughts it provoked.  He was split between the memory of one world and duty of another.  Just like the light in the sky split the darkness along the ridge...his thoughts split; yet, they were not in conflict.  They did not fight.....they danced.  
Facts often become half truths and over time with enough twisting and telling they become outright lies.  The specifics of his life were lost.....they were lost in a grey fog somewhere between black and white on a page or in a book...... somewhere between dark and light.  He knew what had happened... as he recalled those battles fought and lost and others won - the opposition of those thoughts to the stories everyone believed.  
He tried desperately to remember exactly who he was? Why he was? Were he was? The smirk grew as he envisioned himself… embellished, immortalized and dressed in his glory filled armor on a bronze statue somewhere unimportant and generally forgotten.  
He envisioned wondering hopelessly unbalanced within a thick fog.  His arms waving and his heart racing as he guessed aimlessly at the next impending outcome of a step forward or back.  He would cautiously move in an unknown direction, twirling here...or stepping backward there.  
He would dance this one in time with good and evil.  Caught in the same dance this very world was in....a dance with the light and dark.  He looked to the sky ....and began to laugh.  In this instant, in space and time, the light split everything and burst through his soul.  
His sleek jet black stallion reared...bred for war - its hind legs thick and strong.  The dance had begun and he had two partners to choose from....it was a special kind of dance coinciding with the very elements of his spiritual torment.  He was bound to evil and good in this moment just as his physical being was split between day and night...just as the length of the Dunes were split between the darkness and the light. Here upon the crest of the Damoui Dunes - he found a peace.  He knew he would die soon.  It was time...he would go in a blaze...a flash ....it was time. 
The foggy dance on a razors edge of night, he watched as the wind prepared to rush the hill and shave the white beard below it...this was fitting,  in the very least - he knew he was made for this - and his smile turned into a bellowing battle cry.

The Scent

Jaric kept the memory of what happened just a few days back tucked neatly away, but he would have it forever.  Two men went missing, during the night, and no one knew how or why.  It’s easy to go missing in a place like this, but what he saw the next morning was life changing.  The smell and sight of their bodies singed and hanging from a tree limb above their own camp fire still lingered in his nose and thoughts. Blood from their skinless muscles, tendons, and bones dripped into the fire near where he was sleeping.  The sizzling sound of each drop woke him as the bubbling and popping noises grew more constant on the piping hot stones.  He threw up again in his mouth thinking about it, and the vile mixed with the juniper berry juice was fowl enough to make him spit.  The sounds of sizziling blood awoke him that morning, and his screams awoke the camp.    

The ‘creature’ made quick work of those men just a few nights back.  ‘It’ had only a few hours to have accomplished such a feat, but even more importantly and more frightening - his dogs hadn’t heard it.  They’d slept soundly through the gruesome task. He knew something unnatural was out there on the other side of the northern tree line in front of him.  Nobody could strip a man of his skin and hang him from a tree without waking up someone or something in the process….no word was spoken about it, but he knew that the men were shaken to the core.  Rightly so - A bloody body found some distance away from their location was one thing.  This showed that the creature…the ‘thing’ - had no fear.  ‘It’ was in control…setting the traps and leading them straight into its destruction.  It showed they weren’t the ones “doing” the hunting.  It was.  The better hunter was out there….alive…somewhere in a tangled mess of trees directly in front of them.  ‘It’ was something wrong and unnatural.  Just like the trees – it must be right at ‘home’ within them.  That gave him an idea. 

The hunting party, expedition, selected group…whatever you want to call them stood on the brink of a vast and deep forest.  All of them pretending to see into an abyss of tangled branches as the sun dropped below the peaks of the mountains to the west.  They were cold and it was dark - there wasn't much to discern.  His dogs were whimpering quietly.  None were too excited...and all were filled with a slight canine trembling fear. That was rare.  It took a lot to emotionally defeat a dog…and even more to do it to an entire pack. That “something” out there.... froze them even more than the early Northern winter. 

Some brutes, some thinkers, and others quick; the pack was lethal.  He’d worked for years to assemble them, picking from the best litters the Southern and Northern Realms had to offer. 

The man standing behind him and starring directly at his back … was on the verge of destroying his life’s work. The pace he’d set in the freezing cold of early winter crippled most of his pack.  He’d lost two of his veterans from pure exhaustion in the last two weeks.  They were pushing to hard…and too fast.  It was a recipe for disaster….they were on the brink of a massacre because they were moving faster and farther before they could clearly think about their next move.  Jaric wasn’t used to being a foot Soldier…there were too many years between the days so long ago where he was blindly led by another man’s rage, stumbling into the unknown waiting to die.

Jaric was twenty years older than any of the human member’s of this expedition. Balding, he was left with a brittle wispy mange of snowy white hair, matching the blanket of the powdery white stuff clinging and covering the trees and ground all around them.   It ended in a loose braid halfway down his back.  On an average day his looks were disconcerting.  He knew that.  He saw it in the reactions of many of the boys, young men, but boys to him that were on this expedition.  Well…at least the ones who were willing to look at him.  His left eye was covered in a white filmy murk... deep scars lined his hands from a cabin fire he’d survived as a child.   Years of training and hunting in the elements with a pack of wild dogs should’ve killed him long ago, but he’d met his fair share of luck through the years.  His skin was patchy and rough, but covered in tough calluses.  The thing still giving him true grief was the large lump under his left shoulder blade, pressing painfully against his lungs, making him wheeze involuntarily…it was more embarrassing than painful most of the time.          

Physical ailments were a manageable nuisance...but the hunt was taking its toll on his aging mind and the mind of his pack.  So often the fight for survival became more mental than physical.  This was one of those moments, and it was proving to be one of the toughest fights he’d ever been in.  A few broken noses, and even some broken knuckles didn’t compare to the cold he felt now, and the further north they moved the colder it became, seeping deeper and deeper into his bones. 

The winter could trick your mind.  Especially when your so used to being warm.  He was jumping at shadows.  Everything seemed white, blue, and frozen.  The temperatures were squeezing his already burdened lungs.  The further North…the tighter the grip on his mind.  He would soon have to concede to the pain.  What made it worse?...They’d moved miles in the wrong direction - up and down false trails he fell over and over again on ice patches.  Several bad twists made him question the final position of his bones. Their only bag of grain was frozen, a horse on the sled broke its leg, and the whole human side of the camp fell ill for three days, succumbing to a fever which killed two of them.  Each new “complication” proved to be more difficult than the last. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth his own life and the lives of his pack any longer.

He gathered himself and pushed a thought through his weathered lips, “I’m getting to damn old for this…” The worst of it was the anticipation of what would happen next.  This ‘creature’ was anything but normal.  He needed to kill it...to avenge the death of the King, and subdue this ‘thing’ would be absolutely necessary for the confidence of the children of the Southern Realms, but mostly for his ‘own’ peace of mind, but his was a game for young men…not elders like him…..but who else could track like the famous Jaric Longnose?  Some who’d been keeping track claim he’d bagged more thieves and murders than the ‘Citizen Soldiers’ of Ongelan over the years.   He was the natural selection, but often over the years his reputation would get him into a tight spot… unwanted trouble, and this was definitely a tight spot…and even more certainly a cold one.  At least in those moments the coin he earned was worth it.  If he lived through this one he would be one of the wealthiest men in all the Southern Realms…according to Borin, but more important than that at this age was his sleep. He wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly, knowing this ‘thing’ was out there in the world with ‘his’ scent in ‘it’s’ nostrils….if ‘it’ even had nostrils.

The hair on his neck stood suddenly as fear spread like a wildfire within the pack.  At whit’s end.....their hackles stood straight, and their eyes strained to see.  Hairy ears were pointed in every direction in an instant and the entire hunting party held their breath.  To keep their sanity a Plain Sheaperd and Mastiff mix almost as big as his alpha wolfhound started to bark.  It initiated a pack wide chorus of howling that filled the night air.  It was out there….close.  He could almost sense it ….moving around them. 

“It’s only a rabbit!” Borin's high pitched angry scream took them all by surprise.  So much so that Jaric’s heart jumped into his throat and the dogs howling stopped instantly, breaking the icy moment.  Some of the pack laid down painting with anxiety.  Borin was as wide as most men were tall, but his high pitched voice deceptively leaped from his face.  Whether out of fear or anger it worked.  It was also true…a furry little creature darted out of the edge of the woods but didn’t make it past two of the labs.  They tore it to shreds. 

Borin’s round body stood over an even wider shadow from the fire light behind him.  He couldn’t see it in the dark but Jaric knew the man’s long blond hair hung annoyingly in his eyes, covering his broad nose and other portly features that remained in shadow.  It was amazing he could see anything really.

Jaric turned around to face the fat man and laughed out of fear in the eerie silence, “Hell Borin...maybe your right... Except a good man knows when the hunt has turned....” He paused to scratch his gray stubble chin, and lay his other hand on the gray giant wolfhound's head that sat beside him.  Ever his companion the giant dog never left his side.  It’s head was chest level, almost looking Jaric in the eye. The alpha of the pack he seemed completely at ease – unlike all the others.  He even seemed to be smiling.  Jaric spat chewed juniper berries like a dart at the ground.  It helped a little with the seeping pain in all of his joints…, “Right now Borin...we’re too far into this to turn around.   Even you can see that moving around at night is taking a unecessary risk.  If we go for it –right here….tonight…. well…-I’d have to be pretty damn certain ‘we’ve’ got the jump…and I can tell you as clear as you are standing there looking fat – that we don’t have the jump on much more than that rabbit.”

Jaric knew full well what Borin was about...and he was deep under the man’s skin.  Borin walked a tight rope between insanity and cruelty.  He supposed two traits necessary to be the King’s personal assassin.  Although his physical features were as much a disguise as he’d ever seen.   Maybe his years of service had taken their toll.  That many feasts and parties he supposed he’d put on a few layers of loose skin too. 

The fact that someone else had the answers that Borin didn’t, and even more so that it was Jaric - enraged the extra-large man. He could see it in his round flustered face when the man spoke, and in his squinty eyes when he didn’t. 

Jaric simply knew more about hunting than Borin did.  He’d still been giving the man small victories - here and there, in front of the other men.  It was only a temporary fix.  He knew that.  Just by listening to the man’s subtleties and carefully judging his aggressions Jaric’s time was running short.   Many nights and days spent in the bars and taverns along the Coastal Kingdoms would teach anyone a thing or two about communication.  Body language and tone of voice were indicators long before someone acted out their aggression.  The thought of it made him wish he was there right now playing a descent card game or two with the locals, drinking himself into a stupor, and dancing with a pretty girl.  Jaric figured with Borin’s ‘tells’ he had less than a week worth of time left.  Which meant he needed to act fast.  Borin had most likely already planned Jaric’s death.  He would just need a good moment to pull it off.   If the ‘beast’ out there in the dense forest didn’t get him first.  Talk about feeling stuck….this was a stuck as you could get. 

He hadn’t determined yet the best way to deal with the moment when it came, but he knew there would be a moment.  Sometimes that’s all you needed.  At least its good to know who’s holding the sword when it falls on your head.  Borin would brake soon, and when he did it wouldn’t be pretty for anyone out here with him.  He may be fat, but under that was a thick layer of muscle that would make him tough to handle for any normal sized man let alone two or three.  He would need to slow him down somehow.  If the fat muscular man lost it - he knew he’d be the first among many of his initial targets.  Jaric had no intention of being a target especially for a man with an extra heavy chip on his shoulder. 

He wanted out of this mess, and it was most simply that.  He wanted plain out of it! The answer was staring him in the face….  He almost laughed out loud at how quickly it had come.  Thankfully his fear subdued that reaction immediately.  Eighteen pairs of eyes were starring right back at him.  Some dog and some human, but all were looking to him for answers in this moment…including Borin.  All he could think of was the answer to Borin's sword.   When he was a young man….a soldier he’d been taught to fight the immediate threat first and work his way out from there.  You get caught watching the nobles and a farmer could pike you in your gut.  The other was strength in numbers which he’d been working on since the started this journey over two months ago. 

He needed everyone.  These men were boys to Jaric, but being young usually meant they would be impressionable.  He had to take that risk.  For his sake and the sake of the lives of his dogs he needed each of these young men in Borin’s hire.  The only hope was if they were wise enough know the importance or true value of their lives in the face of a threat.  Would they choose their own lives over a few of Borin’s coins?....  He would need them in the coming days.  He would need boys to become men, and he would need them to become men overnight.  It was a lot to ask, but he had no other choice…he could try and.... worm his way out.  Given the right moment...he would be a half a day away before anyone noticed, but he’d be running for the rest of his aging life from a fat obnoxious and insanely rich man. He couldn’t give his pack up either.  He would die for them if he needed too. The right moment and it would be his head on a pike instead of the creature they were chasing.  What he really needed was the confidence and strength of the boys starring at him now…their numbers – he needed them to turn on Borin...he needed an insurrection.   

Jaric felt a twinge of confidence with the possibilities of this new direction. He turned back to the tree line...and spoke softly enough to put each of them on their toes who were trying to listen.  He would need to include them….with a wide sweeping motion of his arms he looked each young man in the eye... “ ‘We’….aren’t interested in dragging carcasses out of this tangled mess tonight are we?”  He went back to scratching his chin and spat more berries at the ground.  He looked to the others for support.  They started to grumble amongst each other.  Turning around again he looked into the small crowd of men and putting his hand up to shade his eyes he attempted to read their faces.  They seemed confused that someone was challenging Borin, but hopeful.    

Some of the men gaped past Jaric into the dense wood thinking about the possibilities of death that was starring them back in the face.  He dared not look away now.  He could hear Borin's deep breaths and he could feel the heat of the man’s blood boiling.  It was in a constant simmer, and it didn’t take much but a slow stir of the spoon and a pinch of salt to make it bubble.  No need to put more air on the embers of this man’s flame, but if he didn’t challenge him now on the edge of uncertainty he would never be able to recruit the man’s hired hands. 

He needed Borin to make a mistake.  He needed him to make enemies.  He had done just that along the way.  He had plenty enough enemies in Ongelan to last the year already, but none within this group that Jaric could see or pick out at the moment.  He needed to push Borin over the edge.  This would be the only indicator that his plan would work.  It would either be Jaric or Borin tied up, but at least he wouldn’t be dead.  If he could separate the ones with doubt he would be in luck. 

He felt Borin’s eyes burning a hole through him.  It was nothing new truly.  He’d been slowly chipping away at their trust behind the man’s back.  Now it was time to test his theory.  He could no longer wait to know.  It was now...or never.  Would they just throw more lives away?... The tides had shifted and the longer they remained under Borin’s thumb and within the ‘monster’s traps  the more likely all of them would end up dead or dying.  

Jaric spit, and then he looked Borin straight in the eye.  “I don’t think any of us could carry you out….you're to fat.”  The pot was tipped.  Borin blew up.  He even saw the man’s eye twitch before he gripped the handle of his sword and started what looked like an attempt at running toward him....it actually reminded him of a giant bull rush.  He was too slow at the start though….slipping slightly and catching himself with his wide fingers as he stood up pulling his sword from its scabbard the tip didn’t leave the sheath before one of the young men grabbed his wrist, and another grabbed his other arm and yet another kicked the back of his knees.  Borin’s face was in the dirt before he could move five feet.  Not to mention the wolfhound was inches from the big man’s throat….growling.  The actions of his alpha were instantaneous – but he wouldn’t bite without Jaric’s word.

“We’ve lost enough good men to the weather - Borin.”  Jaric had to smile. One of the bigger young men stood behind Borin now with his sword drawn.   Borin screamed with rage, “I’ll wipe all your bloodlines clean.  None of you will have a family left to go home too!!..”  “Your anger has pushed us far enough.”  The boy with the sword at Borin’s throat spoke.  “This isn’t about payments…it’s about survival.”… Sander's voice cracked a bit, but it was easy to see now that the men had chosen.  Jaric couldn't help but exhale.  He also couldn’t help but think – ‘the boys did have an ounce of sense in them.’  “Take his sword and tie his hands.”  Jaric felt much more comfortable with his decision now.  The other men had confidence in him…that at least would help them live a little while longer.

Borin was playing at making a point with his rabbit comment, but Jaric was more than aware of what a show of dominance looked like by now.  His dogs’ were skittish around the man....and it only further proved to Jaric that he’d made the right decision.  Borin was on edge.....lost in his own mind....in the hunt.  Of course the King wouldn’t have made Borin his personnel ‘assassin’ if the man didn’t have skill with a blade or the ability to kill, but hunting was a different kind of killing. 

Killing is easy for an assassin – a knife in the dark while someone you’ve planned to kill sleeps soundly ...a common thief could pull that off.  Hunting with a pack is different….you often wait for your prey, attempting to draw it in closer and it usually ends up fighting ‘you’ in the end.  

Walking the knife’s edge of insanity - the man's toes were obviously dangling off.  He’d pushed him over.  Now – it was no time to pull the rest of the pack and the young men back from that edge. Accusing eyes began darting in every direction...swords were gripped and shouting broke out.  “RELEASE!”  Jarics bellow in the dark had all fifteen of his dogs in a formation surrounding the group before a fight could brake out.  Each of them posed on the verge of attack with their own individual targets identified.  Each man froze.  “Now boys…..let’s get a grip.  Their’s a thing out there trying to kill us.” He pointed behind him, “Tie everything down!  Seal the cracks!  Sharpen your swords!  If you want to live ….we fight together!”….Each man stood silent and began nodding.  The day of individuality was over.  He would command this formation.  He would lead them.  Most of it was just keeping the honest men ….honest, but it was time to push past that now.  Fear wasn’t good on a normal day and even less so when you’re hunting a killer whose hunting you back.  He needed a united front behind him.  

How do you lose credibility…..by making poor decisions that get men killed....that's how.  He’d spent the last week convincing the other men …one by one that Borin was killing them….well – it didn't take long to dispose of him.  So….it had worked.  The memories of a past life crept back into his mind – memories of a war...and he was re-living his own small part in it.

  Borin’s scent....was chaos mixed with determination...like his own, but it was mixed with crazy.  Borin wasn’t afraid of this ‘thing’ out there.  That wasn’t natural.  Each man had the scent of fear except for him.  He wanted to “see” it…  He was charged with the mission from the King himself…..- and Jaric knew he would never convince this man that it was a fool hearted task, but before the disheveled incredibly fat man killed them all he had to act.     

So….that meant Borin knew something that no one else did.  He knew something that made him understand ….the threat so he could manage his fear….or…he was just crazy.  Jaric wasn’t about to let a secret kill his pack or the rest of the youngsters in the hunting party.  Jaric took a few steps forward and knelt next to the man in the dirt who was still spitting and sputtering dirt out of his mouth.  His alpha stood over the man and at Jaric’s slight command the dog began growling in Borin’s ear.  As the beast began the ground began to vibrate under Jaric's feet.  He simply asked his question, "What do you know...that we don't about our little rabbit - Borin?"...the man was shaking a little now. ...  "....It....It....It's a 'Shifter' "  A gasp spread out from the men nearby who could hear the high pitch whisper.

Outside of that little secret Jaric was probably the only one who ‘truly’ understood what that meant and pieced together what was happening.  Their prey’s scent…the ‘shifter’ was at least seven days old and anything but fearless.  The thing had a week of preparation on them.  As far as he could tell they were hunting a shadow in its homeland.  It was a race to get here and ‘it’ had won.  Was it actually seven days away?  It could be miles, hundreds of miles….or inches?  It could be a few meters outside of camp and they wouldn’t even know it….not with a shifter.   The men ‘it’ had killed was a warning….aimed directly at Jaric.  He was giving him a fighting chance to turn away and go back home without a fight.  As long as they stayed on its trail it would kill them one by one, and there would be ‘Nothing’ that he or the other young men could do about it….team or not.   He would need an Army to kill this thing…and even then it wouldn’t be a guarantee.  This was an ancient evil.  One he thought was legend….a folk story….a lie.  If what Borin said was true that meant it was over already. Without him and his pack of dogs the ability to track wouldn’t have existed.  He knew now that Borin wasn’t scared because Borin was resigned to dying already.  He was already dead in his own mind.  This was his death sentence.  Jaric could only think of one more question….”Why?...Why did you let us believe we had a chance out here?”….Borin began to laugh.  “You were the last one Jaric.  The last of the King’s internal threats.  The only one left from the Old Guard who could still raise an Army and fight him before he branches out to crush the other Realms.  That creature out there was paid heavy coin to lead you out here.  A Northerner…an assassin far better than me….better than any living.  The deal was to kill you…and everyone else.  I would be the only one to survive and bring the story home to your family.”   

The defenses of the camp would be useless and his pack was the only reason the hunt was happening anyway.  The rest of these men may as well have turned their horses around weeks ago, and headed back to Ongelan.  He knew something was wrong from the beginning.  It was pointless.  They were on a suicide mission.  Sander raised his blade but Jaric parried the deathly blow before it impacted with Borin’s giant neck and it drove deep into the mud.  “What are you doing!  He’ brought us out here to die!!”  Sander’s rage was justified…but Jaric was a tactician.  An old general. He spoke softly…, “We may have use of him still, and….he could be lying. ”

“We’ve followed you and you’re mutts around for two months…and every day that we piss by - another coin falls out of the King’s pocket.  You really think I’m lying?!”  Borin began to laugh as his hands were tied behind his back.  The fight was gone in his voice…the man was resigned to Jaric for his own life at this point.  It seemed he was reserved to the fact that Jaric was in control now. “You may not care how we are funded, mutt loving - prick, but I promise you….you aren’t the only tracker we could have used to hunt this thing down.  Your old and falling apart, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are a legend amongst the Realms. You have done nothing that shows me you are worth the gold I was going to be paid...... This forest is still a long way from Ongelan.  It will take you weeks to return, and you’ll be lucky to make it that far.”... It was a show for the men.  He was still hiding something.  It was one last scratch at  instilling fear – a bluff. He was becoming more and more thankful for those tavern games.

Borin had left a momentary pause before the threat...and Jaric had felt the urge to spit during the lie, but every good lie required a majority of truth.  He reconsidered the blatant disrespect of one of the King’s own.  Borin would kill him if the opportunity presented itself now for sure.  No questions asked.  It was easy to voice such disdain toward a man of Jaric’s stature though – he was used to it.  No commonality stood between a relative of the King...the King’s personal assassin and him, but his legendary past still exacted respect from most.  He could still smell a hint of respect lingering on Borin for his capabilities...they wouldn’t be here -…still alive …..if it wasn’t for Jaric and he knew Borin knew that much at least.  They should have died a while ago and now he knew why Borin was getting frustrated.  He wasn’t sure how much longer it would last, and he was tired of being cold.  So the King wanted Jaric dead…..now it was clear.    

Jaric, knew in this moment the high pitched voice was impotent, but now it would be about getting to the truth behind the creature they were chasing.  There wasn’t another tracker within three hundred miles of this remote wilderness.  None of the men or Borin had another choice but to continue to rely on him to find the scent and continue on.  The longer he chased.  Potentially the longer he lived.  He needed more time to gather his thoughts….make a plan.  There wasn’t another tracker in the world that could use a pack the way he did either. The men don’t trust him ...they trust me.  If he wants to ….kill me…. this ‘thing’ – we’ll have to do it for him.  He wouldn’t give the King the satisfaction of knowing the truth.  “Strip him.  Tie him.  And secure him to that tree.  Build a fire near him and feed him some stew.  He doesn’t piss without someone else holding it for him.”

 Jaric and the other men had hesitated to name their prey…something they would have most likely done ages ago if they’d known the truth.  It was a different type of hunt now.  So they kept to ‘thing’, ‘it’, ‘creature’ all of the different names given to an anomaly.  There was danger in that alone.  Now that he knew it was a shifter.....‘It’ had a whole new eerily mortifying persona, and the ultimately evil feeling grew exponentially.  Whenever ‘it’ was discussed ‘it’ simply made the terminology of ‘it’ all the more menacing.  He wished they had a name for it now, but the ‘nameless’ grow inertia in legend, and it would be his legend versus ‘its’…..and ‘it’ could only get worse now.

 The ‘creature’ was on horseback... and he didn’t let that fool him.  If legend were true - that gave it a human depiction, but he’d seen worse than human's riding horses.  He knew that much.  A heavy horse with a wide gate and a big hoof.  It was at least a span taller than his own.  The ‘creature’ was a giant and a heavy one.  Or he’s carrying or bearing something extremely heavy as a disguise.  One thing was bugging him though - for sure.  This ‘thing’ back tracked...and it back tracked all the time.  Often circling around the camp in a mile or two wide berth.  He would never share that tasty tid bit of information with the others because of the havoc it would cause. His ability to lead a hunt didn’t just happen overnight.  He knew most of it was a mind game, and steady control over emotions/confidence far outweighed jeopardizing the entire mission.  Often the most dangerous thing was senseless fear.  He needed to kill this ‘thing’.  The pack wouldn’t stop until they found it anyway.  It was bread in them and they would find it or die trying.  The decision was made….the hunt would continue.

The only evidence found besides hoof prints and a nasty scent happened well before they’d even started the hunt.  It wasn’t something he could see with his eyes.  He knew this thing they chased was hired to do evil things.  He’d seen it before long ago.  It had almost felt like a past life the memory was so old. This creature was trained in its craft... Some sort of ‘specialty’ assassin, and a damn good one – the best.  If he rushed the pursuit at all he had the distinct feeling it would end with his ten toes up to the sky.  No sense in letting on that the distance they were keeping from 'it' was the only thing keeping them alive at this point.  He had no intention of letting that little secret out either.  Sadly enough, with the way things were going.... this thing had an obvious advantage.  He’d seen the... leftovers.....it could create over the last few months. He needed a large shovel to clean up most of it.  He would need a lot more than skill here – he needed an advantage......a trap.  Plans like that took time.  He would need to use the men he had on hand now….not only for their mutiny this evening but for bait in the future, and Borin would play a role in that as well.  That he was sure of.  He’d heard it said in the past….revenge was easy when it no longer mattered.  ….He would make sure that the King knew it was him, but he would need to wait.  He would need a long term plan.

The night had worn on and they’d finished camp along the edge of the wilderness.  Borin’s threats were empty, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to scream them in his womanly voice.  They'd propped him up like an anchor against the nearest tree to the fire.  He knew the man was secure, but he’d still leave his good eye open tonight.  “Close the distance eh…well that might get us all killed.”  Jaric thought out loud in a cold whisper that blew a cloud of steam from his lips.  His alpha’s ears perked up and he lifted his enormous head to look at Jaric with a side glance.  The dog lay between the Jaric’s feet at the moment - near the end of his bed roll.  The boar of a dog always seemed interested in what he had to say.  He was thankful for that.  He needed someone...or something to listen to his rambles tonight – it helped ease the pain and discomfort of loneliness and fear.  He couldn’t believe the very man he’d fought for wanted him dead.  It didn’t make any sense.  Borin’s voice echoed over and over again....it most certainly had weakness in it....  He seemed to mask it slightly with misplaced aggression.  Jaric whipsered to the wolfhound, “We’ll move at first light - ....yes.., we will eh...pup.”  Jaric reached down and scratched the dog’s chin to the beasts delight.  “Someone stuff his mouth!”, that was Sander.  Within a few short minutes Borin’s voice was drowned behind a rag and rope.  He went back to his conversation. “Resting will allow the...how’d he say it...hmm....mutts..... a little recuperation. You’ll need your energy tomorrow boy.  The forest undergrowth gets thicker as you move North.  We can’t be more than seven days separated with the strength of that scent... – and that’s closer than we’ve been yet.  We both know that entering the ‘Trees of the North’ in our condition will leave us without....well let’s just say we don’t have any guarantees.....eh?”....nothing like talking to your best friend to help you fall asleep at night, but nothing would put his mind at ease on the eve of what felt like a potential disaster....not even petting his

 ---something just moved in the woods... a shimmer in the moonlight he barely noticed out of the corner of his good eye.  The giant dog's ears were twitching forward and sideways just for an instant, and at night his dogs ears and nose could see better than Jaric could.  Somewhere out of his periphery it continued to slip between the trees.  He kept his head still.  The brilliant alpha froze, and so did the rest of the pack.  All with a slight hackle rise on their backs....they needed to convince the thing....they weren’t ready – they were …sleeping.  This was a survival tactic they’d used for years against large carnivorous game.  It'd worked with bear and even other packs of wolves….a shadow between the trees flashed again.  Much closer now.  Jaric’s breath caught - …. ‘it’ smelled…..familiar.  

An Ancient Song

  

His mother's story faded softly as he drifted into a deep sleep. The creaking door of his room held a voice of evil. Her tale became a legend, and a distant memory of an ode sung by his father aged with time.  A deep voice began humming a somber song of the North that he knew so well….

Black pines brooding circled mountains; would only a’future be
This world formed from single mount amidst a frozen sea
No man or creature found a'light beneath its crushing breath
Until Creator saw a’fit to cease an endless death
Kingdom’s Mount with snow a'fresh the only land existing;
while newly figured forms below sent a heart too twisting!

Ancient loathing stirred within; a patient resolve a'melt
Fires rushing forth from depths; did forfeit a debt it dealt
All creatures set to watching; filled internal with hopeless dreams
Ash and flame a'ruin blaze; burning sonnet cries and screams
Blue ice, red blood, white bones a'split, spilled, and shatter’d
Frightened teeth a’mashed, smoking skulls a’dash whither’d tossed and scatter’d!

Molten pleasure seeping a senseless froth; spirits manifested
Guttural bruising batters; a’life forever tested
Darkened sky and countless lights did paint exhumed deluges
South, north, east and west, obscured in a’vile's clutches
Peak gave way to a'searing liquid lashing; a’last it's self reproof
Filling the world with a'flame; wailing bursts aloof!

Pain brought forth abounding souls to reconcile;
Faulty dreams of mankind seems de'pleated for awhile
A world teeming with leeching souls; never reaching reveled fate
Writhing molten stone instead; a’draping them with hate
Timeless efforts er’last we all remember;
When anger’s greed coats a’deed a’vim and vile vehemer!

Shaking awake he still grasped Shadow’s reigns…..His head pounding with exhaustion. It felt like yesterday, but a million years were cramed into a fleeting moment. The obliteration of countless villages....so many cities....castles.

As a boy he'd found the remains. He often played and lived among them. His thoughts swept outward into the current moment. He was a few miles from the rim of the wood. Just after the foot hills on an old deer trail and along the waters of Cold River, the oddest and the ancient landscape of his childhood existed. A land left frozen in time. He’d found plate-ware held in cauterized fingers ... people still sitting sat at feast tables for a meal. Their remains were as ice and stone. Fashioned slate shingles from ancient buildings were dashed into countless pieces as fine as dust, covering the ground in a thin layer of ash and larger pieces could be found scattered for miles and miles among the woods.

Obsidian bolders, some the size of the hills themselves, stood seperated only by the trees. The largest spanning well above them into the sky as piers. Others were wide enough to replace the villages they landed on, but all were once a part of the mountain's core. They didn't belong here. Not out in the open, but they were beautiful glass sculptures. Giant black and red fingers reaching ever toward the sky.