Book 2: Chapter 1 - The Dawn of Chaos

[Simey]

Between Eshnar and Temel

Already the plan that he didn't have was going wrong.

Simey couldn't take his eyes from the clawed finger levelled at him, but the crawling, prickling sensation it gave him was only intensified as he knew that all other eyes had now turned in his direction. And he was suddenly much less sure what he was dealing with. It crossed his mind that he might have been mistaken, that all wolf creatures – on the unlikely assumption that there were many of them – spoke with a similar voice, and that perhaps this was not Beowuuf. But then the other one that had been brought into the army encampment before the creatures had attacked had acted and sounded very different, so surely the creature in front of Simey now surely was the one he knew. Or thought he did.

“What brings you here?” called Simey, mindful that his words must pick a careful path if he wanted himself on the right side of both opposing parties. “This is a remote place that should be of no importance to you.” The act of addressing the wolf as a stranger flowed oddly easily from him and made him blink.

He pulled his gaze away from the creature and swept a glance quickly across those villagers he could see, catching none of their eyes. His hands twitched to be free, but only restrained suspicion simmered nearby, not nearly enough goodwill or trust to hope that he might be unbound yet. He looked back to the wolf and started towards it.

Simey's freedom from incarceration in the hut was revealed to those on the other side of the fire as he moved forward. He was almost immediately aware of a figure taking a few taut steps towards him. He tried to ignore it and look only ahead at the wolf who had yet to answer.

“How did he get out?” The fury in Griman's voice was turned ragged with panic. “He's in league with it! Stop him!”

“Tell us why you're here,” said Simey deliberately, making no show of noticing the village leader, but actually taking the man's words into quick account. “And what you want with me. I would know how I may have unwittingly caused these people to feel threatened.”

There was hesitant murmuring and movement from around Griman now and Simey was still closer to the crowd of villagers than he was to the wolf. But he couldn't run, because he couldn't take sides. And given that without the fire glaring at his vision he could now see that the creature in front of him did appear to be Beowuuf, that made him very uneasy.

[Beowuuf]

Between Eshanr and Temel

Wolvish faces should make it hard to see subtle expression, especially in the flicking play of firelight where shadows bob and weave. However, the slow knitting of Beowuuf's brows in a form of anger, and the tightening of his eyes, were very visible. Perhaps it was easy to see what one expected to see?

"I'm here because of YOU!" said Beowuuf in exasperation, eventually. "Not once but twice!"

There was a pregnant pause in all gathered, even Griman, before the muttering started, the occasional shout. Beowuuf ignored it, seemingly trying ot recall something. He slowly swept his eyes around the crowd - or more specifically, above it, before he gaze returned to the elder.

"And we're all in league with that damned man!" said Beowuuf hotly. "He's a Knight of the White Mountain." Beowuuf eyes focused on Simey, or rather his wrists. "Why is he bound?" Beowuuf said at length, as if the bindings took a moment to resolve themselves in to an understandable pattern. It was not the sort of thing one epxected, even if the boundaries between Sommerlund and elsewhere got fuzzy this far from Eshnar.

"We know all about the knights, in league with the creatures!" said Griman, his fury running cold. "The boy told us you would come, following the men you turned."

Beowuuf ignored Griman, looking up from Simey's bindings to Simey himself. The looks had not become any friendlier, from either direction. "Of course this place isn't important to me," said Beowuuf hotly, then looking against at the crowd, or again above it. Or, with greater specificity again, the trees around. His eyes narrowed as if looking for signs. He looked back. "You are the one who came here. I was following you." Again the muttering, though it seemed to be in support of Griman's previous comment, not Beowuuf's apparent confirmation of it. "I wouldn't have even come through here if I wasn't waylaid by idiots and had them speak about creatures and try to drag me here!"

Beowuuf turned to regard Griman. Slowly, the mob seemed to be coming to their senses - or rather, shaking off their sluggtish air and coming to a decision that only made sense from a certain point of view. "Seize the wolf!" said someone from the very, very back of the crowd, safely protected.

"Why is it always capture and chases with you," muttered Beowuuf in regards Simey. He looked towards the crowd - at them this time - while flexing his hands. Although the words had been spoken, again there seemed to be a slow delay in anything happening. Beowuuf himself looked at his left hand, and waved it infront of his face. It seemed to move as if disconnected from his mind, acting ahead of his perception of it. For the first time Beowuuf realised his mind seemed a little clouded, as if he were drunk and not quite registering anything quickly.

However, the immediate concern regarding this, and the instinct to mention it, was still queued behind another realisation.

"A boy?" said Beowuuf to the elder. There was a moment's silence at the words, nothing but the snap and crackle of a fire. Beowuuf then realised the sound was not quite correct, and looked to his right hand. The fingers had slowly stretched out as far as they could with a few small bone cracks, and were already deliberately cruling back with further straining cracks in to the tightest of fists. "You are doing all this because a boy told you to?" Beowuuf said it with a hiss. He looked up. "You don't want to make me angry," he said grimly as people begane to notice his clenching and unclenching claws. Beowuuf looked to the hut as if channeling his anger.

There was a series of cracking sounds, by magnitudes of order louder than the fire and sounds of Beowuuf's hand before. The hut that Simey had emerged from quickly collapsed upon itself as the villagers looked on dumbfounded. It was only as the creaming started that the villagers perhaps remembers that the hut had not been empty.

As if a spell was broken, everyone looked back around to Beowuuf in fear, their minds instantly realising the source of the destruction even as the sound of screaming took on a slow, drawn out and chilling quality.

The wolf was nowhere to be seen. With terrifying speed the villagers noticed the hole where the wolf creature had been. The hole that appeared to grow with slow, inexorable purpose outwards towards the rest of them. Firelight flicking on its dark depths made tendrils of shadow bob and weave deep within it.

Everyone tried to escape, and found their bodies were so much slower than their minds now. There was nothing to do, trapped in their prisons of flesh and a waking nightmare as they were. Nothing except voicing drawn out screams and making sluggish movements away from a doom that was stalking ever closer in a race it would win. And experience every moment of anticipatory terror of that.

[Beowuuf]

Between Temel and Eshnar, near a sinkhole

There had been the cries of people and the noise of tortured buildings snapping in the distance. And then there had been silence. A few birds had started to chatter again, bring sound to the eerie silence. And then, just as suddenly, that silence had returned.

And now there was an odd, muffled grinding sound, the stress of earth and the tearing of sod. It continued for a moment, and then cries returned to the air, but much closer. And then some odd noises like the whipping of branches or perhaps tentacles, and then muffled solid hits as if heavy objects were hitting the ground.

All became silent for a moment longer. And then the birds slowly chattered again. And a variety of people started moaning and crying out softly..

Two shapes were more distant that the others. One was human but wore fancier clothing and armour, a Knight of the White Mountain. The other seemed to be a bundle of fur, that rolled around in pain slowly, revealing claws and teeth and pained black eyes.

For a moment the wolf creature decided to stay lying down, although he knew that soon despite the pain he would need to rise up and help the others he could hear around him. He was alive. They were alive.

"It didn't want us," he grunted, mostly to himself.

"What?" came a question from his well dressed companion close by.

"Whatever it was didn't want us. I suppose it was looking for something. Something else. Or someone else."

The supposition was given all due deference and then the two figures went back to stretch with painful movements, and working out where they were now. And who was still alive to help.

[Beowuuf]

A mansion, somewhere in Sommerlund


The room was not ostentatious, the rich and detailed designs were hidden in plain sight. To a casual glance the study possessed plain white walls stacked with many items of neat furniture and neater arrangements on that furniture. The hardwood floor had its exact nature and cost hidden by plain dark red carpeting unusual yet otherwise unremarkable. The ceiling was a darker grey, wood paneling edging half pillars in simple deep colours of stained brown. You would have to look closely to notice the light grey patterns repeated in the wall, swirls and simply flowers dancing alternately around the room. Carefully worked in to the wood paneling were similar patterns and embossed coats of arms. Several were visible around the room, hinting at both the impressive lineage and close ties to other families with equally impressive lineages. The carper actually had several shades, a rolling pattern of red waves hinting at Sommerlund's seafaring ancestry. And at key points, barely distinguishable rugs were placed, subconsciously denoting where visitors should walk to prove minimal disruption to the furnishings. The rugs themselves had faint ships embroidered in to them, flattened vessels sailing flattened seas, becalmed unless a person's stride could temporarily shift them.

Simple bookshelves help complex tomes arranged in order of ascetics over usage. Every work surface - side tables, dressers, writing bureau - denoted useful and much used items of stationary and leisure, and yet all were placed back in their resting places. The owner and accustomed occupant of the room sat at a central desk, solid and simply in frame but also finished with subtle and complex patterns and crests.

Despite the piles of notes he was looking at, the persona at the desk kept putting them back in to neat piles set at equal spacing to each other and the desk's edges. Only one letter remained out, folded neatly yet dog-eared and worried enough to show it had been carried for quite some time. Oddly scruffy compared to anything else in this place.

The man at the desk shifted his solid seat silently across the carpet to come closer to the great fireplace. It was large and simple, only the bricks if looked at closely showed expert finishes, with a chamfered edge for no reason other than to be aesthetically unusual. The man shifted his chair briefly to correct a shifting of the rug.

He had one visitor, seated at another solid chair. The visitor had moved closely to the other side of the desk, moving a stack of letters as neatly as possible in deference to the room's owner and placing them in what would be an equitable spot. The visitor then placed his hands, loosely steepled, on the desk and then regarded the man by the fire and the letter in turn with slow looks. The visitor seemed to ignore the rest of the room, as if deceived by the simplicity and heedless of the little details. It was an air that served the visitor well, as his interests were always, always in the small details. The man seemed to be aware of his visitor's mental state in turn, and gave a long and hooded look back in turn.

"James-" started the visitor at length.

"Don't use my name," said James in a quick, low hiss.

"Fine, Lord A-"

"Don't use our family name either," said James in a far more menacing hiss. "What are you going by yourself? Still Lord Ramtop?"

"For now," said Ramtop, his eyes flat despite the lightness of his tone, "and please do not use any name of mine out loud either."

The two men looked to each other, the crackle of the fire in the fireplace easily augmenting the flavour of looks shared across the desk. James buckled first, his gaze going to the fireplace. Ramtop took the opportunity to reach across for the letter.

"So this is the letter?" the man said apparently conversationally, for he was already opening it up to look over it.

"I wrote two for you," said James looking back across even as his body leaned back in his chair, as if to distance himself from the thing he had penned. "One you took away, and that is the other one. Kept so you could see it disposed of yourself." There was a deliberate flat tone of voice, all expressions removed. The disgust and hurt in equal measure were reserved for the James's twisting mouth and haunted eyes.

James saw Ramtop smirk for some reason as he read the note. "The content amuses you?" asked James, disgust now entering his voice.

"Not at all," said Ramtop lightly without looking up. "I simply realised you could not forge the shake in your hand at what I asked you to write. Subtle but not up to your usual neat standards. I had forgotten that." James's eye twitched and there was something else in his expression for a moment. Some fear. However, Ramtop did not appear to notice as he read out the letter in a low voice. "'Beowuuf...knight and wolf...tragic accident...Ascending Dawn...'"

Ramtop looked to the back and front of the letter, nodded satisfaction, and lifted himself out of his seat for a moment to stretch over and give the letter to James. James hesitated, and then took one of the curled edges of the thing. With a quick, decisive motion he threw the letter in to the fire, and then took a poker to stir the blackening form in to the deepest, hottest centre. Within moments the letter was lost. James looked to the edge of the fireplace for a moment, and then seemed to relax.

"A fire in this weather?" asked Ramtop at length. "We really should have met outside as I suggested. A small bonfire when gardening is far less noticeable."

"You wished to be seen and overheard?" retorted James with sneering contempt, "you know this study was constructed so that nothing could be heard. Solid build, muffled as needed."

"And yet a passing stranger making conversation on their journey now becomes a visitor. A person standing close to this place now cannot be seen. And words are trapped, bouncing on walls that should be blown free." Ramtop was almost smiling with condescension himself as he gestured airily with one hand. He settled back down, hands relaxing to a steeple again. Ramtop's look then flattened in seriousness. "Still, my brief was to ensure your comfort, not my own. The letter is my only concession to myself. The chaos of the council's formation was as dangerous as it was fortuitous. It is good to know a rogue element is taken care of, personally."

James's expression was again one of an odd fear, barely disguised. "Your brief?" he asked, and then seemed to change tack. "Just as your brief was to dispose of the wolf?"

Ramptop's tone and expression had swapped, his face said conversational but his tone was flat. "No, you know what my brief was. The wolf was merely another dangerous yet fortuitous asset. One I thought I had to control when he appeared false. Of course, how I was I to know the real reason the wolf was undertaking a mission the Brotherhood mage Andras then denied originating?"

Depite himself James was drawn in. "The mage lied? I thought Andras was a member of the High Council?"

"What? No, I am sure he told the truth. No, the wolf revealed his true reason when he came back with one of the Elder Magi. No wonder he lied. Especially as, if you read between the lines of the various reports, I believe they returned with at least one Drakkeros in tow that they barely disposed of. Still, one can barely admonish the Dessi Council's lack of candor when we have our own failings, now can we? Luckily we had the Helghast story for a cover for the wolf's actions, while the wolf had no such contingencies in place. And so we gain political capital for downplaying the wolf's full activities in return for their downplaying a supposed Darkland's plot in Durenor."

"And yet you do not sound as if you regret almost murdering an innocent," said James quietly and with acid, his expression twisting and coming back to normal with difficulty.

Ramtop's expression and tone flattened together. "It would be better he died. At least the Captain's activities on the vessel that sailed from Toran overshadowed the attempt on the wolf's life. A small blessing form Kai, but otherwise the wolf seems to have come back with nothing but chaos and tales of our incompetence. How is Armadalus? Did you dissuade him from remaining in the courts?"

James was shaken by the sudden mention of his friend. "Is that what 'patriots' do now. Obfuscate and plot and murder. Threaten family, threaten friends? I thought we were done now."

"It's what one set must do when those who profess to be true patriots cannot be trusted. If you and those like you could be trusted to do what they say is right, and handle matters, then I and my kind would not need to step forwards and do what needs to be done."

James seemed to be shaking, and for a long moment looked to the fire as he unsteadily took his seat. "How do you sleep at night?" he asked.

"Doing our duty? Perfectly. Far better than your ilk neglecting yours. Especially you, James."

James turned to snarl at Ramtop about using his name, and was shaken by Ramtop's actions. The man stood up, easily sliding a knife from his sleeve with barely a movement of his steepled hands. He was upright in a moment, and stabbed the distinctive knife point in to a place in the desk before throwing the knife at James.

It was merely an underhand throw, and the knife landed silently on its flat by the startled man's feet. James seemed shock, and it was the most mundane of details that came to break the confusion. "WHAT IN KAI's... wait, is that from the pair outside?"

"Yes, quite the distinctive set of blades. I'm sure others have noticed one missing by now. The fact you have not would come as a shock if I didn't see the other signs of you coming apart, James." Ramptop casually gestured to the spirit decanters on the far wall, the barely hidden dagger points jammed in the desk that Ramtop had now added to, and the blemishes in James's own usually immaculate appearance.

James's eye twitched again, and he almost picked up the knife when he saw something on it. The knife looked oddly clean in most places, but James's meticulous eyes saw in the joints and on the edges the glimmering red of blood.

"The boy had no family nor friends, did you really think that was a good thing, James?" said Ramtop with nothing but sharp contempt and condescension. "No levers, no ties, what made you think you could trust him to be your confidant? Did you really think they would want you dead? And did you really think they would allow themselves to be blackmailed if so?" Ramtop shook his head, disregarding James's own sick and horrified expression, the solid chair knocking backwards as James staggered away from the desk.

"Did you think you were clever?" said Ramtop lecturing, seemingly uncaring that James scrambled for the poker near the fire. "This room, so solid, perfect to conduct sounds downstairs if you removed a part of the isolation and used the correct conductor. Like tin cans and string between the stories of this house, was that supposed to be irony, James?" Ramptop shook his head, face mirroring the contempt James had shown earlier. "I came here to reassure them and myself that you were not a loose end. I did not expect to find this. You painting a target on your back to stop a target being painted on your back. Letting another hear details of this meeting and creating a new loose end you could not possibly control?"

James strode sideways, brandishing the sharp poker across at Ramtop, hand trembling with fear and rage. "You killed him?" he hissed. "I'll kill you!"

Ramtop shrugged angrily. "Do so. I will need to do it myself one day if someone else does not. No loose ends, James. You are just at the edge, not inside. You just needed to hold yourself together to be safe. Need to. I have done what has to be done, once more. Use the poker or put it down. There is a body with a distinctive wound leading to you. You can create another body if you want, I would think one is enough to manage considering I'll not tell you where the boy's corpse is right now."

James looked sickened, but the poker did drop. "I'll tell-"

"A wild story that will be discredited the moment your 'crime' is discovered. Or you can start acting suspiciously, find the innocent your own actions put in harm's way, hide the boy's body, and give me the lever against you I need to know you will not be a threat any longer. Either way I am satisfied you are controlled again."

James staggered backwards further turning as if to run, although due to his new position it actually led to a side table with decanters.

"Why didn't you just kill me," said James over his shoulder with a catch in his voice.

"Pull yourself together," said Ramtop, his expression flattening again but steel in his voice. "My brief is not my own. They need to know you are not a threat. You were visible and untouchable before. I am happy to leave you alive for myself. Note though, your own actions and mine now make you far easier to discredit and remove. Permanently. You need to rise to this and be your old self."

James stiffened, then reached out for one of the spirits and poured himself a generous measure. "Don't," said Ramtop.

James turned and threw the glass in the general direction of the man, missing Ramtop but splashing the table, knocking some papers over, and seeing the glass smash on the other wall. There was a muffled quality to the sound that spoke of the acoustic properties of the room. "GET OUT! GET...OUT!" barked James, turning and slapping a decanter back in to his hand.

Ramtop's expression was unfathomable. "Goodbye, James," he said quietly. James turned again, but this time there was no one to hit. The glass was instead launched to smash the closing panel of a bookcase as Ramtop departed in secret.

[Simey]

Between Eshnar and Temel

'You're going to tell me what's going on.' After hours of walking in silence, thoughts broiling, Simey couldn't take it any more. 'You're going to tell me, and you're going to tell me right now.' He jutted his head forward and glared hard.

The giant, upright wolf-creature pacing softly alongside him continued to look along the dim forest track ahead of them. Its great snout rocked gently up and down as it went.

'I'm not taking this. Not after everything.' Simey flinched at his voice, sharp-edged, skittering. 'I have a right to know.'

The wolf's nose wrinkled, but it loped on.

'Did all those people die? That whole village?' Simey found his fist twitching to punch the wolf's arm, but he didn't dare. 'Was it the same creatures?'

The wolf glanced upwards at the lightening sky.

'I know you know.' The hut collapsing flat flashed in Simey's mind. 'You have to tell me. That dwarf was – '

'What?' The word was barked. 'Your friend?'

'Yes, he – '

'Someone you call that dwarf was your friend?' The wolf snorted. Vapour puffed from its dark nose.

'He saved me.' Simey's throat was tight. 'Of course he was my friend.'

'You're bending your oath. Be careful, knight – it breaks easily.' The wolf still didn't look at him, but a sneer twisted its long mouth.

Simey bit his lip. 'He saved me. And at the village I was trying to save him.'

'Because you needed him.'

'I am a knight of the Order of the White Mountain. I don't need anyone.' Simey could hear his furious retort shredding into a plea. 'We are the sternest defenders of Durenor. We are pledged to give our lives for our country.'

The wolf's head jerked towards Simey, its red eyes glinted at him. 'Then why aren't you dead?'

Simey stopped walking, realised Beowuuf had too. He tried to hold the wolf's gaze, but found himself looking at the ground, eyes veering away from the large clawed feet set in the mud in front of him.

'You tell me that,' Beowuuf hissed, 'and maybe then I'll tell you what's going on.'