Grand Game 262: A Wolf in Chains (Patreon)

Like the tree itself, the prisoner was riddled with seaworms—thousands of them. But thankfully, they were all dormant, which likely explained why the wolf was only awakening now.

How is he still alive? I wondered. The hags had not mentioned how long they’d been holding their captive prisoner, but I’d gotten the impression it had been for some time.

Metal clanged. Wood creaked. And bits of dead bark fell.

The wolf was coming out.

I backed away from the tree to give the newcomer space. The creature was probably half-crazed and in no mood to be friendly. Letting my hands hover near my blades, I waited.

A figure stumbled out.

I was not sure what I was expecting, but a naked human was not it.

Stumped for words, I stared at the tall young man. He was filthy. Mud caked his hair, brown streaks dripped down his arms, manacles were fastened around his feet, and slumbering worms covered nearly every inch of his body.  But for all that, the ‘wolf’ was clearly human.

He’s a player, too, I realized a second later as I read the spirit signature clouding his form.

The target is Anriq, a level 102 human. He bears a Mark of Minor Dark, a Mark of Lesser Shadow, and a Mark of Wolf pack-brother.

The werewolf criminal.

I shook my head, amazed at my luck. For once, fortune seemed to be favoring me. I had come to the grove to complete one bounty, but here I was, on the brink of completing three.

Anriq, meanwhile, was grunting and staggering about in a circle—he’d been chained to the tree—and frantically swiping at the clinging worms to free himself. He wasn’t doing a very good job, though.

“Need a hand?” I offered.

The wolf-man flung up his head and pinned me with an ugly stare. The whites of his eyes showing, the youth bared his teeth and growled menacingly.

Hmm, it looks like I wasn’t far off the mark. He seems half-feral.

“Easy there,” I said soothingly. “I’m not going to—

Claws extended from the youth’s fingers, and in a sudden frenzy of motion, he slashed at the steel chains imprisoning him, shearing them clean through in a single strike.

My eyes widened, impressed by the ease with which the captive had slipped his chains. Still, I couldn’t help but wish he’d stayed imprisoned a little longer. He seemed to be focusing on me as the target of his animosity. Backing farther away, I showed him my empty palms.

The gesture did not appease Anriq.

Surging forward, the youth charged me. Bracing myself, I prepared to meet him, but I made no move to draw my weapons—I was not about to kill the only other Wolf Marked player I’d met before we even had a chance to speak.

Only a second later, though, the youth gave me cause to question the wisdom of my tactics.  Even as his feet flew over the water—senseless worms flying free—Anriq was changing.

Pink, swollen flesh spurted coarse brown fur; claws extended from stubby toes; ears elongated, canines revealed themselves, and a snarling snout appeared where none had been before.

Worse yet, the youth got bigger.

Bloody hell, I thought, watching the onrushing figure—more beast than man now. Having closed the gap to less than three feet, Anriq was already as big as a dire wolf and still growing.

Perhaps, this wasn’t the—

You have been hit by a werewolf’s charge.

Trying to stop my opponent was impossible.

I might as well have been trying to hold back the tide. Against Anriq, the half-dead prisoner, I’d fancied my chances. Against Anriq, the werewolf, I stood no chance.

The youth plowed into me, and I flew backward, helpless to fend him off or even slow his charge. And for the second time in my short sojourn in the grove, I was struck helpless.

You have failed a physical resistance check! You are battered (limbs immovable, abilities restricted). Duration: 3 seconds.

Cursing my luck and flat on my back, I sank to the marsh floor with the werewolf’s weight bearing me down. Anriq’s assault had only just begun, though. Sharp canines ripped into my shoulder, and clawed feet raked my abdomen.

Anriq has critically injured you!

Anriq has critically injured you!

Quick mend triggered!

Warning! Your health is dangerously low at 40%.

The youth wasn’t going to give me a chance to explain anything, I realized, and grappling underwater with the stronger werewolf was the last thing I wanted.

I need to buy time, and then I need to put some distance between us.

Directing my thoughts to the potion bracelet, I injected a restorative concoction into my bloodstream.

You have restored yourself with a full healing potion. Your potion bracelet has 1 of 3 charges remaining.

Soothing trails of liquid spread through my body, closing my wounds and healing my injuries, but I was still battered and unable to move or use my abilities. My foe, meanwhile, did not let up on his frenzied assault.

Anriq has injured you!

Anriq has injured you!

…

Warning! Your health is dangerously low at 25%.

In a breathlessly short space of time, my health flashed red again. Trapped underwater and helpless to do anything else, I injected myself once more.

You have restored yourself with a full healing potion. Your potion bracelet has 0 of 3 charges remaining.

Warning: you have imbibed too many alchemical mixes today! Consuming further brews in the next 24 hours may trigger unwanted and irrevocable side effects.

The Adjudicator’s warning was alarming but less so than the huge swathes of damage the werewolf was wreaking on my body. And besides, my potion bracelet was empty, so it mattered little in my present circumstances.

For now, I had no choice but to watch and wait.

Anriq has injured you!

Anriq has …

…

You are no longer battered.

The lethargy infecting my limbs and the fog around my mind vanished, and I wasted no time in weaving psi in a bid at escape.

You have cast windborne.

Anriq has injured you!

Warning! Your health is dangerously low at 18%.

More than three-quarters dead and bleeding from multiple bites and gashes, I rocketed out of the water on the windslide that manifested beneath me.

My ploy did not, however, get rid of my werewolf hanger-on.

Refusing to let go, Anriq hung on tenaciously and was borne up with me. Still, our abrupt upward velocity startled the youth, and his frantic pawing stopped for a moment. Taking advantage of his distraction, I wove another spell.

You have cast slaysight.

Anriq has failed a mental resistance check! You have terrified your target for 10 seconds.

The spell completed just as the windslide came to an end, and my foe and I tumbled off, still attached. In freefall, I glanced down at my captor.

But he was no longer that.

My spell had transformed our roles, and magic-induced fear suffused Anriq’s face.  Meeting my eyes, the werewolf blanched and loosened his grip. Grimly, I shoved him away, and we hit the water, separated by a distance of a few feet. Resurfacing quickly, I spun around in search of the youth.

But I needn’t have bothered.

The werewolf was cutting through the water as fast as he could in panicked flight. My shoulders sagging in relief, I wrapped myself in shadow and set about healing myself.

✵ ✵ ✵

Whatever had caused Anriq to attack me drove him still, and barely seconds after his terrified debuff lapsed, the werewolf returned. But strong as he was, the youth’s senses were not finely honed, and he passed within inches of my hiding spot without finding me.

Concealed amongst the reeds, I studied the player. Anriq’s earlier transformation was complete. He was at least twice my height in his full wolf form and looked a formidable foe. But now that I had more time to observe the youth, I saw that his beast form bore as many signs of his recent captivity as his human form had.

Anriq’s wolf skin hung loose on his frame, and tufts of his fur stuck out oddly. White scars riddled his torso, but they were slowly closing over even as I watched.

The werewolves’ famed regeneration, I thought, remembering Barac’s offhand comment from months ago. It must’ve been the same regeneration that had allowed Anriq to survive the worm’s jaws for as long as he had.

The youth was stalking through the grove, sniffing and snarling. He’s still half-feral, I decided. Not leaving the shadow’s safety, I reached out with my will and ensorcelled him again.

You have terrified Anriq for 10 seconds.

Once more, the werewolf took off, fleeing, but only seconds later, he returned, gnashing his teeth in anger. Stubborn, I thought. But so was I. Pitilessly, I terrified him again.

And again.

And again.

Each time Anriq returned, his frustration palpable. I paid his anger scant heed, though, and bewitched him, in turn, every time.

We kept at it for nearly an hour.

Finally, something gave, and on his umpteenth return, the wolf shrank down, transforming into a haggard and very naked human. “Show yourself, coward!” he yelled in a hoarse voice.

“Why should I?” I asked, projecting the words with ventro.

In a flash, Anriq descended on the spot from where my voice had emerged. Crowing in victory, he slashed at the reeds with claw-tipped hands.

I chuckled, watching his near-berserker fury. “You won’t find me that easily.”

Chest heaving, the youth swung around to the new reed patch I spoke out of. Realizing I was toying with him, he didn’t charge, though. “Where are you?” he demanded.

“Somewhere close,” I replied vaguely. “Now, are you ready to talk, or do you want to decapitate a few more bushes?”

Anriq’s face transformed into a rictus of rage, but he quickly suppressed it.  Hugging himself tight—to rein in his fury, I suspected—the werewolf player stared out over the grove.

He still hopes to find me, I thought.

“You can tell Dathe I’m not returning,” Anriq half-growled.

My brows creased. “Who?”

“Don’t take me for a fool,” the youth spat. “I saw your Wolf Mark.”

I scratched my head. “Perhaps that makes sense in your mind, but I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

“You’re one of his!” Anriq accused.

“Whose? If it’s this Dathe you mean, then certainly not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Anriq roared.

“Why would I bother?” I countered. “Believe me, if I wanted you captured or dead, you wouldn’t still be walking free.”

“You want it!”

“It?” I asked, shaking my head in bemusement. “There you go again, assuming I know what you’re talking about. Why don’t you do me the courtesy of pretending I don’t and explain what you’re going on about?”

Anriq didn’t say anything. Fuming in silence, he scanned the marsh.

Patiently, I waited him out. I held all the cards at this point, and the werewolf player had to know it.

“Dathe is the pack leader,” he said finally.

“Ah, I see.” I paused. “And of which pack would that be?”

Anriq’s brows drew down sharply. “What are you playing at?” he snarled. “There is only one werewolf pack, and Dathe is their leader.”

I nodded slowly, finally realizing where this was going. “This pack… they are hunting you?”

“Yes!”

“And you think I’m part of it?”

Anriq’s only response was a menacing growl.

Deciding to take that as assent, I concluded, “Which is why you attacked me when you saw my Wolf Mark.”

“Congratulations, you’ve solved the mystery,” Anriq spat scornfully. “Now, if we are done with this charade, will you show yourself? Or will you continue to cower in the dark like a dog?”

“There’s just one problem,” I said, overlooking the insult. “You see, I don’t know this Dathe, nor am I part of his pack.” Anriq opened his mouth to retort, but I spoke over him. “Which you would know if you read my Marks correctly.”

The youth closed his mouth with a snap. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Precisely what I said.” Rising to my feet, I let the shadows around me dissipate.

Anriq whirled around to face me, hands clenching and muscles tensing as he prepared to charge.

“Read my spirit signature again,” I ordered, ignoring his threatening stance.

The youth did not comply at once, and I resigned myself to a second tussle. Then I felt a tingle wash over me.

Anriq’s eyes widened. “Y-y-ou’re an alpha!” he gasped.

Folding my arms across my chest, I grinned. “Exactly.”