Chapter 9
Unlike the aftermath of their first combat engagement there was no talking of past victories or other glories. Questions remained heavy on each of their minds. They may have successfully fought and killed 40 enemy troops but that number did not make sense. Werewolf armies were enormous and even if the group they had encountered was an advanced party they should have been ten times the size. Something was amiss and it did not sit well with the Helluvans. They could not ignore the likely possibility that there were many more werewolf warriors nearby.
Beyond the clearing however they soon discovered a bridge, larger and grander than any the group had seen before. Positioned between two mountain edges this bridge had been forged from an unknown material that was thick and strong. To put it simply this dull gray bridge was a work of architecture beyond the skill of any man. It was not just its width that would have allowed 50 odd man to easily walk down it side by side; it was the length of the bridge. There seemed no obvious telling of how it had been connected between the two mountains that stood thousands upon thousands of feet off the ground below. The group did not have to worry about vertigo for the sides of the bridge reached up far higher than any of them stood. The bridge lead to a descending path that curved immediately after the bridge preventing its end from being seen.
After they began their descent they found themselves in a field which was covered by some kind of red crop overgrown to at least 8 feet. The crop may have prevented them from seeing beyond the field but at the same time it kept the group hidden from the outside world. No words were exchanged but tension was thick in the air. This was Wuvan; a crop used by werewolves to create Jursug a type of ale whose alcohol was so strong a single glass could easily kill a large man. Being immortal werewolves did not need to eat or drink so any consumption was an act of pleasure. To the best of the group’s knowledge Wuvan did not grow in the wild, meaning that this field was either a private stock or was near a large werewolf population. Adding to the mystery however was the sheer size of the crop, Wuvan needed to be harvested once it had grown to three and half feet, if left for any longer it would lose all of its flavor.
It seemed this field had been left abandoned because of the power struggle in the west, but what that meant for the group could not be completely known. With this weighing heavily on the group’s minds their steps were slow and deliberate as they reached the end of the field. Tanagy who was leading the group poked his head out from the crop for a moment before gesturing that it was okay to proceed. With great caution the rest of the group followed Tanagy the Abider as they left the field of Wuvan and entered another bridge.
Though this bridge was far smaller than the first and covered less distance it was still strikingly impressive. The material it had been made from looked like stone but felt like steel, though was neither. Before the group had reached halfway across the bridge they came to a silent stop as they realized what was both beyond and below the bridge. Beneath them was a city, filled with temples and buildings so grand that not even the most tyrannical of human kings with a million odd slaves could build anything like them. Made from what seemed the same material as the bridge they were on, there were buildings that reached so high that not even the sky seemed to limit their summit. There were temples covered in symbols and engravings so detailed and rich they seemed almost like livings things had somehow been placed upon them. In a word the sight was truly breath taking, putting anything a human civilization could create to shame.
This is what Gorgoza had envisioned for his kind, cities built to show the grandness and ingenuity of his kind. The bridge seemed right in the middle of this strange city that had been built between various mountains with surprising ease. They could also see that this bridge was far from being one of kind, with literally dozens upon dozens of bridges both near and far could be seen in almost every direction. It was almost like a gigantic maze, one that could not easily be solved.
The Helluvans and Cada Varl had no time to gaze upon the magnificence of such a place because they were all horribly aware of where they were. This was a werewolf city, judging by its sheer size it was home to well over a million monsters. A million enemies, each of whom would offer nothing but death to the group. The sides of the bridge were not high enough to keep them hidden forcing the group to remain somewhat vulnerable to enemy vision. But there was a mysterious silence in the air, one that neither comforted them nor haunted them. Though they could see no sign of destruction below them there was an outside chance that the city had been abandoned because of the civil war and yet it seemed illogical that the city would not have been claimed by the enemy and yet the silence told otherwise.
The group was unsure of what to do, entering an enemy city with only 7 troops was utterly ridiculous. But at the same time the group had already lost considerable time, not to mention the fact the mountain ranges proved almost as treacherous and confusing as the tropics. It seemed silently the decision was made to proceed forth, on the condition that the group remain upon the bridges over the city, where they could potentially find a way through undetected. Keeping to the small wall that was built on the side of the bridge they proceeded carefully. As the bridge ended it led into a small clearing between a number of other bridges.
Randomly it seemed Tanagy chose one bridge to follow peering around its corner and ensuring nothing was on it before proceeding. It was this way for quite some time with the group reaching the end of one bridge only to choose another, always checking for any sign of the enemy. The silence of the landscape in itself haunted them with not so much as a breeze; it was like this whole land had been forgotten by the world. They were in a land so strange that it felt not just foreign but alien, as if they had truly stepped into another world. When the wind finally emerged even it seemed unnatural whispering in a language that not even Cada Varl recognized.
As they turned the corner onto another bridge they could see immediately that it was far closer to the ground than its predecessors. But that quickly became an afterthought as from the corner of his vision Tanagy could see movement upon the ground 50-foot or so below them. Instantly he gestured for the group to crouch down and they did so without hesitation. Like mirror images of one another the group turned and peered down over the ledge of the bridge to see what had caused the movement.
Perhaps as few as 30 yards away from the bridge three werewolves could be seen, each wearing armor similar to the troop the group had just fought. Similar being the key word for two of the werewolves’ wore armor far more extravagant, consisting of multiple layers and a rich yellow colour upon both shoulders. The yellow may not have resembled gold but it seemed a far more precious colour. These two werewolves who were large even by the standard of monsters stood at either side of a third werewolf. The third werewolf was draped in another kind of armor, far simpler than the other two, decorated on one shoulder by dark blue and black and a small symbol on the other.
The two yellow armored werewolves had forced the third to its knees placing all of their weight through their left feet upon the back of the third’s knee. They held onto the third’s shoulder and forearm holding its limbs tighter than even the most powerful of vices. The larger werewolves seemed to be speaking but the group could not make out what they were saying specifically. The Helluvans watched on in silence but when yet another werewolf came into view a collective gasp could be heard from them, looking upon this new monster it could easily be seen why.
The new werewolf was a giant even amongst these enormous creatures he bore armor even grander than the yellow shouldered monsters. Parts of his armor were also this magnificent yellow but there was much more of it upon what he wore. The detail of his armor was incredibly decorated not just by symbols and carvings, but by spikes and rounded blades making him by far the fiercest of the creatures below. Strangely he had a curved sword at his waist that looked more like a long dagger upon such a massive frame. His most striking feature however was the fur upon the left side of his jaw, it w
as a strange yellow, not gray, that was only slightly different to the colour that decorated parts of his armor.
This giant, for there was no other way to describe him approached the others standing before the kneeling monster. As their eyes met the kneeling monster was instantly consumed by fear that could be seen by the group even from such a distance. Blood cleaved from unknown wounds could be seen upon the kneeling werewolf, as the giant seemed to be asking something of it. A moment later and the giant raised a gargantuan hand that was so large it easily engulfed the face of the kneeling werewolf. It took only a second for the group to realize what the giant was doing as the kneeling werewolf began making a sound that was the very epitome of pain. The sound was so loud that the group heard it easily before the definite cracking of bone was heard. A second later and it was all over, the giant had literally crushed the skull and head of the kneeling monster. The giant then pulled the broken skull from the body, where it was accompanied by the creature’s spine. The giant threw the bloody mess onto the ground as the other two werewolves allowed the eviscerated corpse to fall to the ground. The grizzly movement had been done with disturbing ease; the giant had shown no sign that it needed to summon excess strength to perform such a task. Even more disturbing may have been the fact that the giant did not raise his head and howl like a beast. The murder had been performed with cold cunning and silent ruthlessness.
Without saying anything Tanagy began crouch-walking across the bridge with the others soon following him. When they reached the other side they found themselves protected from view by two natural rock walls, yet this did nothing to lessen the look on their faces. The group quickly gathered in a circle each looking upon the others with a look of shock. For Helluvans who were well capable of hiding their emotions, this made their expressions even more intense. The sighting had been brief and yet it seemed to carry the gravity of a lifetime of staring. Cada Varl did not share the concerned expression of his comrades but could feel the heavy tension in the air just the same.
Leannol was the first to speak, “That was Thark.”
Upon hearing these words the expression of the Immortal changed to match the Helluvans. With the exception of Gorgoza, Metamok and Yakarzin there was no werewolf more infamous than Thark. A warrior who it was said knew no equal, as the right hand of Gorgoza he had lead the king’s armies against all opponents and had played a vital part in Gorgoza becoming the first king of his kind. By his hand it was said he had personally killed 10 million enemies. He was the leader of the Maka Vaon, the elite core of Gorgoza’s army. Arguably there were even more stories of his boldness, bravery and butchery in battle than any werewolf ever known. The sword he carried was not used as a weapon but as a trinket of what he once was, before becoming a werewolf. Everyone but Thark himself had forgot such an identity, but there were many legends that claimed he was once any number of heroes of ancient legends. The fact that Gorgoza who had systemically obliterated everything created by mankind from the west allowed Thark to carry the sword proved just how highly the king had thought of him.
The strange yellowness that made up the fur of the side of his jaw was another source of mystery and legend. The most popular myth being that on a certain battlefield heavy rain was falling, preventing Thark from seeing his enemies clearly. Angered by the storm Thark demanded the rain to stop, when it continued he bellowed to the heavens and challenged Yockurin, the god of storms to a fight. It was said that Thark defeated Yockurin but for his victory he was struck by a lightning bolt that singed his flesh and changed the colour of his fur where the bolt struck as a reminder of what he had done. There was no evidence to support the myth and even though gods were suppose to be infinitely stronger than anything upon the earth, the aura Thark held made this myth seem credible.
“What is he doing in a city such as this?” Gokkus asked, a great need for an answer was clear in his tone. The question was a heavy one, it did not seem right that Thark would be in a city but rather on a battlefield fighting on the front line. The group stayed silent listening to the still wind hoping to hear the sounds of battle for it would bring sense to Thark’s presence and yet the wind remained still and silent. Werewolf battles were as ferocious as they were loud. Often upon the Helluvan borders battles in the west could be heard from distances much further than any eye could see. The silence revealed no such battle had taken place. Further proof could be seen in the buildings, temples and the city floor. There was no damage or corpses to be found, meaning a battle had not taken place. The air also did not smell of death further proving no great battles had occurred recently.
“I think the better question is why was Thark killing a Gorgozian soldier,” Zova said.
Like the light of an explosion in the dead of night her words brought the complete attention of everyone upon her. “That was a Gorgozian soldier?” Tanagy asked as if he had just been told the sky was in fact the ocean and he had spent his life upside down in a strange world. Zova nodded and explained herself without prompting, “I do not know what division it was from, but the symbol upon its shoulder was the badge of Gorgoza…” The group looked around to one another each with an expression of utter confusion and dread. Zova was known by the title of Infinite Eye for a reason, if she said she saw the badge of Gorgoza then there was no mistaking what she had seen.
All eyes now fell upon Cada Varl like a volley of arrows,
“Cada Varl,” Hazum Ka-te said with unusual concern in his voice, “How did Gorgoza die?”
Cada Varl paused for a moment bringing a most unwelcome silence before he shook his head
“I honestly do not know, the werewolf that told me of Gorgoza’s passing in Uldaween only said that he had been assassinated.”
The group then looked back to one another each searching for an answer that was never found. Imbaka was the next to speak, her words heavy and somewhat forced, “Out of all those under his command who would have been able to get close enough to Gorgoza, to kill him?”
Like a hammer upon a defenseless piece of clay her words struck each of them including the Immortal. They knew exactly what she was implying but it was strengthened by the undeniable truth that it made sense.
“Thark betrayed Gorgoza?” Leannol asked, her words hollowed by disbelief.
The ramifications of this now likely possibility were vast, without Yakarzin to lead them Thark would have been the only warrior capable of keeping Gorgoza loyalists united and therefore capable of defeating Metamok. If he was now under the command of Metamok there seemed no one capable of stopping him from conquering all.
Gokkus then said, “If Thark is in such a place, hunting down loyalists who haven’t been able to mount a defense than that would mean….”
“That the Gorgozian loyalists are on the brink of collapse and Metamok’s conquest of the west is almost complete,” Zova said.
“With the west conquered he will look towards the east….” Hazum Ka-te said with the same kind of heavy hollowness.
“Starting with the destruction of Helluv,” Imbaka added.
All of these words had been spoken in a perfect way, one after the other. It was like the demon god of dread had possessed each of them spreading its darkness through their souls. There was no denying now the dread that filled each of the Helluvans as visions of their homeland being torn apart by the clutches of monsters played out in their minds like the darkest of bad dreams.
Seeing the heaviness that filled each of the Helluvans Cada Varl spoke up.
“ Thark may not be working for Metamok, the soldier he killed may have been a traitor to the cause.”
Though this was more than a credible theory the Helluvans appeared unconvinced, the vision of their homeland burning was more powerful mentally than even Cada Varl was physically.
“If that were the case Thark would have removed the symbol of Gorgoza from the werewolf’s armor before he killed it,” Imbaka said with an iron conviction.
Cada Varl fell silent, in his haste he ha
d forgotten that his companions knew far more about the west than he did.
“What about the symbol on Thark’s arm, was it of Metamok’s army?” Hazum Ka-te asked seemingly hoping that Cada Varl had sparked a chance for another possibility.
Zova shook her head, “It was the symbol of the Maka Vaon….”
Simply put the symbol of the Maka Vaon was one of loyalty to Thark not to Gorgoza, it had always been that way.
“This may explain the presence of the soldiers we killed before we entered the city,” said Imbaka. At first this statement may have appeared random but in fact was not. Perhaps the 40 odd troops the Helluvans had killed were aware of Thark’s nearby presence and were in fact in hiding, waiting for others to join them before they escaped into the mountains.
But there was one problem with this theory as Tanagy said, “But they were not soldiers of Metamok or Gorgozian loyalists.”
This revelation did not impact the group that much for each was well aware that there were many other would be usurpers in the west.
“Judging by the size of their encampment however I would say they as well were on the brink of collapse,” Gokkus painfully pointed out.
“We need to create time,” Imbaka said suddenly. “We cannot allow Metamok such control over the west.”
Tensions and emotions seemed higher than even the sky above.
“We have to kill Thark,” Imbaka said.
Now every eye was upon her but it was Cada Varl who seemed the most shaken by such a notion “What would that accomplish?” he asked not intending to be aggressive but he did so anyway.
“With Thark dead his troops would abandon this city, allowing the Gargozain loyalists a chance to escape and regroup,” Imbaka answered with great conviction in her voice.
“How much time will that grant them if it is how you believe,” Cada Varl asked keeping his voice in a very forced calm. “If they could not even mount a defense of this city than what could they do to stop Metamok? What value could they possess if they went into hiding?”
Imbaka may not have had an answer for Cada Varl but Leannol did.
“The value of information.”
Cada Varl looked to the red haired woman warrior but said nothing.
“Gorgoza might be dead but there are other warlords who would be fighting for control of the west as well,” she added.
“But the fight has always been between Gorgoza and Metamok, like two bulls constantly shoving one another for dominance, the other warlords are the equivalent of feral cats,” Hazum Ka-te said not to diminish the words of his comrade but rather to get all the facts out.
“But put yourself in the loyalists shoes, if you had a chance to escape but had no army to call your own what would be on your mind?” Imbaka asked Hazum Ka-te quickly.
He responded, “Revenge, or rather what I could do to get revenge.”
“The survivors might ally themselves with another warlord granting them valuable information about things that only the loyalists could know,” Tanagy added.
“Giving them a serious advantage to stand against Metamok,” Zova said.
“Keeping the war brewing for a long time,” Gokkus added.
The demon god of dread now seemed to be replaced by the spirit of hope bringing light to darkness that had plagued them. But Cada Varl was the exception, the idea of trying to kill Thark was the equivalent of deciding one day that you were going to pull the clouds and blue out of the sky and use them to decorate your house without the gods knowing about it. The risk was tremendous and even if they managed to kill Thark their presence would become known within the city. Cada Varl had to think of something valid and think of it quickly.
“Wait,” he said bringing all eyes towards him. “What if Thark is in command of his own army and he has chosen to stand against Metamok and become ruler of the west for himself?”
The Immortal’s question at first was met by silence until Imbaka said, “It is too slim of a possibility Cada Varl. If that were truly the case he would not have killed that loyalist just then, they would have gladly served under him. Someone wanting conquest would not throw away a chance to command another soldier.”
Cada Varl became silent, he did not want to but he could not think of another argument. The idea of trying to kill one of the greatest werewolf warriors of all time was bad enough. But even if they managed to successfully kill him it seemed a certainty those under his command, the elite of the elite would discover their presence and they were a force that the Immortal did not want to face. Emotions may have been high but Helluvans were not a breed that acted hastily and without thought. But beyond this Cada Varl could see the intensity in each of their eyes, it was so great that he almost could see inside their minds, towards what they were thinking. Each Helluvan was imagining their homeland burning in flames strangled by an inferno. That is when a certain memory came into the head of the Immortal, his own kingdom of Gatavoi burning as it was ravaged by these damn beasts. That is when a far more recent memory came into his mind, what Granzool had said to him before the journey had commenced. That these warriors were dedicated to the cause but the good of Helluv always came first. Time is what the Helluvans wanted and nothing the Immortal could say would change that. Finally he said, “Okay, how are we going to kill him?”