Chapter 22 – The Pack Stands

Fleur spent another night pouring over notes. The Divine Library was opened in 101 PGW, converted from another building. How could it end like that? How could the best scholars simply leave it at “One of the pre-existing buildings was used to serve as Olympiada’s unofficial library?” What was that! She stood up and set off to the historical department. Someone had to know! If not, she’d find the fucking maps herself!

“Here!” Fer stopped. “Hold here. You! Traius!” She picked out one of the minotaurs, a huge hulking fellow, his two horns a mighty crown on his head. “Take half the darkfurs, half the warherd, the women and children, push further west. Do not stop at anything! Understood?!”

“And when we make it to Karaina?” Traius asked.

“Then push further.”

“It’s Pantheon territory.”

“Their hunters are easier to deal with than this!” She pushed him away. “Go! NOW!” He took a step back, inclined his head and turned.

“Yes Pack master.” Each of his steps cracked the frozen dirt and sent small dust clouds into the air. The pinewoods around creaked as the rest of the herd started to catch up.

“What about us?” Logar growled, a wolfman, not a werewolf. His grey fur gave way to a bare chest clad in rough pieces of leather. A short-sword was always in his hands, a small buckler always bounced off his hip.

“A mile south.” Fer turned and pointed. “There’s a dwarf-hold, abandoned, we will make a stand there.”

“In ruins?” One of the lesser satyr asked.

“In ruins.” Fer’s growl cowed whatever sort of attempt at argument they were going to make. “We need to bring them close.”

“Aye!” Yorik added, another minotaur, a bowman. His quiver had run empty a few days ago. No grandmaster from the sects had been felled yet. They moved as a group, they protected themselves like a horde of shrieking sparrows.

“We’ll be trapped. Swampland is better.” Another satyr barked up.

“That hold is connected to the highway.” A road that spanned the entire underground empire of the dwarves, a road long ruined, haunted and unusable. “TRUST ME! I’VE HUNTED THERE BEFORE!” Fer roared at them, she did not try to hide any of her bloodlust, the next beastman who spoke up would be torn in two, no matter if he was half-rabbit or half-dragon! The herd remained silent. “MOVE!”

Fleur stared at a series of maps of Old Arcadia. What the fuck was this? She was mad at their stupidity at first but then that anger started to fade. Impossible. Not possible. One map, mistake. Two, idiocy. Twenty? It was a deliberate effort.

Everything was labelled perfectively, everything had a history. Everything apart from the Divine Library. Opened in 101 PGW from a building. On every map, that building was simply labelled “structure”.

Fer watched as her darkfurs’ vines started to wrap around the floor. Thick green veins that would lash and whip and poison and choke and grab at enemies. Her herd started to filter deeper into the structure, their fur melted into the darkness, the only sign they was floating red eyes. “Yorik, the storerooms are on the right, third corridor. See if there’s any weapons left behind.”

“Yes Pack Master.” He ran off immediately, collecting a few lesser satyrs with him as he went.

“Logar! Sixth floor up. Ammunition room. Check it out!” Fer ordered, the wolfman saluted and ran off.

“Pack master.” One of the dark furs walked to Fer, his goat’s head bowed. A monstrous figure, his chest covered in scars, his jaw exploding with crooked teeth. One of his horns was snapped and a scar ran across his chest. “I do not question, but how?”

“How WHAT?!” Fer roared, she towered over the fellow, two of him would barely reach her.

“How do you know this?” He took a step back.

“I’m older than you. That’s how!” Fer pointed to the moat. “Fill that up with spores. I do not care what you use, poison the earth forever if you want!” He nodded, turned and got to work. Red mists started to seep from his hands and mouth and enter the ground.

“Kalkos!” Fer shouted. One of the oldest darkfurs in the pack ran up to her. A grizzled veteran of a dozen hunts. One of the few who were allowed to use a staff in assistance to their magic. It was topped off with red heartstone.

“Yes Pack Master!” He saluted like they did back when Arascus was around. Fer always smiled at that, she quickly wiped that smile away, turned and pointed.

“That corridor, left, staircase. Basement level, six floors down is the magician’s quarters. There’ll be a heartstone ball-should be. Bring it here. It feels like this!” She placed her palm on beastman’s furry chest before he could react and poured some of her own magic into him. His eyes bulged, stumbled backwards and looked as if he was about to be sick.

“Un-understood!” He took a crooked steps before finally recovering and turning that walk into a sprint.

“PACK MASTER!” A minotaur shouted from a hole in the ceiling. “LOOK!” He waved a dwarf-bronze blade. Stronger than steel, heavier too. Although that was only a problem for men, not beasts.

“It’s yours! Take what you can carry! Arm yourselves! PREPARE FOR BATTLE! THE PACK STANDS!”

Mikhail proudly stared at the Kira car factory. His Kira car factory. Engine pipes became rifle barrel. Wood furnishings became stocks. Mirrors and glassworks became scopes. The first day, two rifles had been built. Today, ten. Tomorrow, a hundred. An army could be outfitted in a month.

“PACK MASTER!” Logar shouted from behind one of the balustrades on the upper levels. It creaked and parts of stone fell down as he put more weight on it. “There’s javelins! Arrows too!”

“Bronze or wood?”

“ALL BRONZE!” Good. Dwarf-bronze had an easier time penetrating magic.

“BRING THE JAVELINS TO THE ROOF! SEPARATE THE ARROWS AMONG THE BOWMEN!” Fer shouted up.

“YES PACK MASTER!” He howled with excitement, that brought on more howls from the wolfmen in the pack. Then the others started roaring. Fer didn’t shut them up. She wanted noise and she wanted to keep morale up. Her heart started to sprint like a leopard as that smile returned, it had carved itself onto her mouth. Bloodlust hung in the air like an overpowering incense.

Fer was still directing her war-herd when Kalkos returned. In two mere hours, they had transformed the outer walls. Vines climbed over the stone like a cancer, they plunged into every crack, split it to lay their poisonous seeds. The corridors had been widened, the balustrades were removed. The floor was made uneven and covered in rubble. The beastmen were running exercises, jumping down through the holes in the ceilings and landing without breaking their legs. Those who could do it were assigned to be ceiling ambushers, those who couldn’t were put on corridor duty.

Dwarven weaponry was repurposed. The short-swords could be little more than daggers but the great-pikes made for excellent spears. One minotaur even found a Centurion’s ceremonial axe, heavy enough even for him to struggle with the wait. Fer turned to Kalkos when he finally got within earshot of her. His black fur was covered in vomit and he was hauling the red heartstone in his bare hands. “Good.” Fer took it from him. “Take a rest and recover.” He nodded, turned around and collapsed onto the floor. “TAKE HIM AWAY! HE NEEDS REST!” Fer shouted and turned away.

Her fingers felt the fury of the red crystal. Anassa’s work, the sorceress had made them herself. She took a deep breath. Mages could do this sort of thing effortlessly, modern technology made it even easier but back then, this was the pinnacle of logistical prowess: A message crystal. Accessible only to Divines and as easy to intercept as it was to snatch a sweet from a child, but both of those were small prices to pay for instant communication.

Fer held the crystal close to her lips, powered it with magic and whispered into it: “Anassa, dear sister. I need help. I am at the site where Siranius pledged allegiance to you.”

Anassa blinked as she felt a warm sensation. Fer? She always liked the beastgirl. It was hard not to. She was silly and stupid, but loyal. Loyalty could be buried for a thousand years but it was a treasure that never lost its value.

Fer felt the warm whisper in her head.Destroy that crystal, it can be tracked easily. I cannot come myself but I will send you four students. One of them you’ll like.She crushed the crystal without a moment’s care. If Anassa said to do it, then Anassa said to do it. Her sisters did not lie.

Fleur poured over a history book: The Lost Divines. In 25PGW, Anassa was imprisoned. She stared at the map of Arcadia dated to 23PGW, it was faded, the ink was slowly fighting a war to disappear from the paper, but it was enough. That ‘structure’ was not there. She turned to the map dated 28PGW. The building simply labelled as ‘structure’ now existed.

Fleur leaned back and blinked. The maths did add up. And this… wind circled around her fingers… this was sorcery in its purest form.

But that was impossible… wasn’t it? That woman… she couldn’t be… but the maths did add up…

Fer watched from atop the nameless dwarven hold. Beastmen constantly faded and reappeared from the shadows. The moat had grown fat with an overflowing poisonous mist. They had even lit a fire. Vines crawled halfway up the mountain behind, carving a goat’s head into the exterior. The original crest of the first herd; as it was back then, so it will do now. Fighting under a banner was refreshing.

The stars had come out. How long would they need to wait? The wait was always the worst part before a hunt. Fer sat down, cross-legged and leaned against the toppled pillar. Her thick black mane served as a blanket and a cushion as the cool wind started to sweep in. A week and she would meet her siblings in the next life. Until then, she would make sure that the sects of Guguo would never forget her name.

Elassa appeared before her sister. “I sensed one of those communication crystals you made back then.”

“It was Fer.” Anassa replied coldly.

“Was it?”

“She asked for help from the Hunt.”

“What did you say?”

“I gave my goodbyes.”