Destral - Four Wolf - Men, Horse - Men

"Deirdre!"

Destral awoke screaming, sitting bolt upright. He winced and cried out in pain. His right arm was on fire, and his palms and face stung as if the skin had been flayed off them and gallons of seawater had been poured on them. He sucked his breath and opened his eyes, only to close them again as the blinding sunlight dumped itself unceremoniously upon them. Lifting his left hand to shield them from further aggression, he tried to stand up. Strong, firm hands forced him back onto the ground.

"Not s' fast, frien'." said a low, gruff voice. "Yer not fully recove'ed yet, and if ye try to si' up, ye'll only ruin a whole twoday's a work." Accepting the advice, Destral relaxed, and tried to speak. The only sound that came from his lips, though, was a husky, broken croak. "Aye, aye, don't get impatient. Here, drink this, it'll make ye feel be'er"

Destral let his unseen benefactor put a bottle to his mouth. He felt the sweet, cool liquid on his lips, and he let it flow into his mouth. He gulped hard, and continued to gulp until the bottle was pulled away from his lips.

"Easy, easy. Let the wa'er wet your lips and e'ery part of yer mouth. Gulping it down like that'll only make ye throw i' up again just as fast." Destral swallowed the last of the water in his mouth, but it went the wrong way and he started to cough violently. He felt himself being lifted by a couple of hands onto a sitting position, then he was leaned against something and those same, strong hands began to pat him on the back, continuing to do so until he stopped coughing. He could feel the hands clearly through his tunic: they were large and hard, and yet they treated him with the same delicacy as a mother treats her child. Destral, who had been trying to open his eyes for a while now, finally managed to keep them open a crack. He could make out the back of the person who was patting him on the back. It was wide, powerfully muscled, and... Covered in mangy brown fur?!

Pushing himself away, he scrabbled backwards until he was a safe distance away, then pointed his fingered ring at the creature. Except for the fact that the ring wasn't on his finger anymore. Looking at the being that had been taking care of him, he was utterly shocked when he saw the long muzzle, the sharp claws on the tips of the long, hairy fingers and the huge, powerfully-built, well-muscled body of a werewolf.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked sharply. "And where's my equipment?" The werewolf just sat there, not moving, studying him carefully with its savage, animal eyes.

"Well, I'll be cursed a hun'red times if they didn't tell me ye'd react just like that... Ye'r an ungrateful one, ye know? I' spent a whole twodays working night and day to get 'im back in 'o shape, and th' first thing 'e does? Why, he opens 'is eyes and scrabbles away like a scared pup. Fine fer me, I'm not th' one with the cracked bone, sunburnt hands an' face, and black 'n' blue all over furless one who's eaten 'arf our food while we look after 'im. Th' least ye could do is be civil, in'roduce yerself and say 'Ta kindly', ye know?"

Destral, who had been looking at the werewolf in awe at the fact that he could speak his language like a native, suddenly realised what had happened, and felt slightly uncomfortable. The werewolf looked truly hurt. Destral relaxed, looked around him. His gear was piled neatly next to where his head had been before he had instinctively scrabbled away from the werewolf.

It looked at him for a moment, as if expecting an answer, and then focused on Destral's left hand. "Aww, look what ye've done to yerself! Yer hand's all bleedin' again. 'Ere, let me change that bandage before ye bleed to nea' death again..."

Destral looked at the being suspiciously, then offered his hand out. The werewolf gently took it and pulled off the ruined bandage, applying a new one from a small bag that lay on the sand next to Destral's gear.

"So, furless pup. What's yer name?" it asked as it redressed his wound.

"I'm Destral..." he muttered. The werewolf looked up from what he was doing. It's bright yellow eyes were fixed upon his own, as if it was trying to say something. Almost shifting under the close scrutiny, he lowered his eyes. "Destral Minare of Versine." unseen to him, the werewolves lips curled upwards in a smile.

"Versine, Versine... Nah, can't say I've heard of the place. Where's that? Sounds like a mighty fine place. Versine..." the werewolf tried the name out several times, as if tasting it. "Whate'er. The name's Mother's Paw. Now, before ye say anything, I didn't choose the name. The previous shaman gave me th' name because I showed a talent at healin'. Ye can tell, can't ye? If it weren't fer me, ye'd be feeding th' carrion crows b' now. But anyways, th' name's Mother's Paw. Awful pleased t' meet ye."

"The pleasure is mine. I must apologise for my previous behaviour. It's just that back in Versine, werewolves are a major threat to the common folk, and since you look exactly like one, I thought..." Mother's Paw was still bandaging him, but he made a sound half way between a sneeze and a snort.

"Hmmm... Werewolves, ye say? What 'ould they 'appen t' be?"

Destral wondered how he could explain what a werewolf was without further offending Mother's Paw. After a few moments of thought, he replied:

"Well, a werewolf is a being that looks very much like you, but they can also become human, like me, or turn into wolves."

"Hmm... Sounds like a pre'y nifty trick, dunnit?"

"It is quite... useful. You see, werewolves are carnivores..."

"Just like me, and the rest o' us. Look, 'ere they come." Mother's Paw signalled over to Destral's left. Upon turning his head in that direction, Destral saw three more wolf-men. They were about thirty feet away, but in the glaring light of the desert sun, Destral could make them out perfectly. One had light brown fur, almost like a fox's, but a bit lighter, and a very torn left ear. The one in the centre stood a full head and shoulders taller than the other two, and had dark midnight blue fur. Destral could make out a necklace made of huge teeth, probably wolf carnasials, hanging from its thick neck. The last was the shortest of the group, but it had huge, rippling muscles under its short, tawny black fur.

Once they had reached the camp - nothing more than the remains of the camp fire, half a dozen sacks and a bundle of dry wood- they sat down around Destral and Mother's Paw, and eyed the former suspiciously. Destral could feel the wolf-men's eyes as they examined him; he could imagine them wondering if he would taste any better than their normal meals, but he didn't let it show. If these wolf-men were anything like the barbarian tribes he had met before, and they certainly gave that impression, it wouldn't do to show nervousness or even fear. Among the barbarians, any sign of weakness could get you into trouble very fast. As it was, Destral wanted to avoid trouble with these beings as much as possible, partly because one of them had just saved his life, and partly because he hardly felt capable of holding the huge beings at bay with only one arm. "Glad 'a see ye made it back. Found any'ing useful?" asked Mother's Paw of the largest of the newcomers.

"Yes, Mother's Paw. There is a group of centaurs not far from here. A patrol, most likely."

"Hmm... That means the'es got t' be a vill'ge nearby. Maybe 'r journey's near 'ts end. Destral, 'ld ye be 'nt'rested in v'siting a centaur v'llage?"

"It would certainly help." answered Destral without even thinking. The thought of getting some new clothes and some other gear was music to his ears. A village, no matter how small, would have supplies and perhaps even a tailor.

"Oh, bu' first, I might's well 'troduce ye all. Destral Minare of Versine, this 'ere is Silent Breeze." Mother's paw pointed at the wolf-man with sand-coloured fur. "'E's our scout." Silent Breeze gave a quick nod without taking his eyes off Destral. Destral did likewise. "This one's Storm Hammer, and th' tall one's Fang-Ripper. As ye can see, our name's're very well indicative of who and what w'are. Folks, this's Destral Minare of Versine." The two warriors looked at Destral for a moment before greeting him just like Silent Breeze had done. "Don' worry 'f they don' say much, it's just that they're young, and furless ones aren't that frequent in these parts. Once ye folks all get used t'each other ye'll all end up being good pack."

"Excellent. I'm honoured to make your acquaintance," said Destral. Fang Ripper grunted something unintelligible.

"Very well, 'en. Seems we're all ready t' go. Destral, get up, w' need t' pack the blankets 'n' the sacks. Ye should be able t' walk fine. As ye can see, I've tied yer arm up so's to help't heal up quicker." Destral stood up and noticed for the first time since he'd awoken that his arm was bandaged a lot better than before, and that it hung in front of him. The cloth was tied round his neck to prevent it from leaving it's position. Destral noticed that the bone seemed to be back in place. 'Mother's Paw's done a good job of this,' he thought. He turned to his stuff and saw that Mother's Paw had handed out the blankets and the other wolf-men were placing sacks in them, folding them up and tying them, making one large bundle instead of various small ones and a folded up blanket. He watched fascinated at the simplicity and practicality of the wolf-men, and decided that these people were as suited to life in the desert as Kherios's troops, or even more, seeing that they didn't seem to need half as many provisions as Kherios's people. Destral grabbed his harness, slung it over his shoulders and adjusted it so that it fit comfortably. Then he rolled up his chainmail, setting it aside for the moment. Putting on his belt, he attached his pouches to it after checking that everything was where it should be. Then he fastened his swords to the belt, and put the ring on his finger. Once he had put everything he could on, he asked Mother's Paw if they could help him with his mail. Mother's Paw quickly convinced Silent Breeze to carry it in his bundle. A few minutes later, they were all ready and they set off, with Silent Breeze in the lead, followed by Destral and Mother's Paw, with Storm Hammer and Fang Ripper taking up the rear. The trek was long, but the sands seemed calm that day, and they didn't have to climb any of the dunes, simply walking round them was definitely a lot easier and less energy consuming. The sun shone brightly, hanging like a baleful eye in the vast azure sky, and Destral soon found himself sweating profusely. He wiped his forehead with a tattered, ragged sleeve, and wondered how his travelling companions were doing. He might as well not have bothered, for the huge creatures seemed unaffected by the blasting glare of the sun, and Destral noticed very quickly that the only sounds he could hear were his own breathing, hard and ragged, and his heart pumping frantically to keep him going.

The group had been silent for a long while, apart from a soft growl from Storm Hammer every now and then. Feeling a bit more at home with the wolf-men, Destral walked up beside Silent Breeze and asked what they were doing in the middle of the desert. The Wolf-man answered that they had been sent by the Chieftain of their clan to trade the goods they had in the sacks. The wolf-man had a soft, whispery voice, like the wind through a fog. As they talked, Destral noticed various scars on the wolf-man's chest.

"Every year," he explained, "our clan produces various items specifically for trade: firewood, bone ornaments, and glass. Four times a year we travel to the smaller centaur villages of our island. There, we trade our goods with the centaurs for cloth and livestock. Sometimes we even get gold and silver, when we have a good year."

"Say, what's the name of your clan?" asked Destral. He got the impression that these people were very much like the nomadic tribes of Kherios's own homeland, and he felt a longing in his heart for his old friend. The similarities were many.

"We are the Four Dune Clan. The name originates from the birthplace of the founder, Roaring Sun. He was born at a small oasis many seasons ago, and at the time four dunes surrounded the oasis, sheltering it from a particularly violent sandstorm."

"And how did you receive those scars?" asked Destral, pointing at a particularly long one that began in the centre of the wolfman's chin and ran all the way down to the lower left part of his abdomen. Silent Breeze felt the scar on his throat, and smiled. Destral noticed the savage glint in the wolfman's eye; the predatory instinct hardly kept at bay by what some would call 'coherent thought'.

"This island is home to many. The oases are very contested. You were very lucky, in fact, that it was we who found you, and not our wilder cousins. The centaur might have been reasonable, but they might have sold you into slavery..."

"Who are these wilder cousins you speak of?" asked Destral, after finding a suitable natural break in the flow of the wolfman's words.

Silent Breeze suddenly stopped in his tracks, and snarled softly as he pointed to something up ahead. The other wolf-men quickly moved up to where he was. There were all sniffing the air intently. Destral could see nothing out of the ordinary, could smell nothing but the dry air of the desert.

"Centaurs." said Silent Breeze. "And Karnivores. The scent of blood is strong in the air. It seems your answer is to be answered sooner than we expected, Destral."

"Hmm..." mused Mother's Paw. "Tho' damned mutts. Keep givin' us a bad rep'tation 'gain..."

"We must make haste," said Storm Hammer, his voice low, a savage, animal tone ringing softly behind the delicately phrased words. He turned towards Destral. "In your present state you will never be able to keep up with us. Would you mind if one of us carried you? I mean no disrespect, but we must hurry or the centaurs will be decimated before we get there to help them..." Storm Hammer's voice trailed off, waiting for a reply. Destral wondered why he had mentioned the disrespect, and made a mental note to ask Mother's Paw about it later.

"As you see fit. I have nothing against being carried." said Destral openly. Storm Hammer nodded and motioned to Fang Ripper. The tallest of the wolf-men walked over to him. From close up, Destral realised that Fang Ripper was even taller than he had thought at first, standing some three feet taller than himself. The wolf-man turned his back on him and knelt down, and Destral hesitated for a moment before getting himself together and climbing onto Fang Ripper's broad back. >From where he was, Destral imagined what it would be like to have Fang Ripper as a boat, and decided not to mention it to him, just in case he took it badly. Annoying the wolf-man was the last thing Destral wanted to do.

"Are you holding on tight?" asked Storm Hammer of Destral as Fang Ripper stood up, seemingly oblivious to the extra weight he was carrying. Destral looked at Storm Hammer from over Fang Ripper's shoulder, and nodded hesitantly. His mind was trying to figure out why Storm Hammer was the leader and Fang Ripper merely a follower. Surely the wolf-men would have only the strongest as their leaders? And Storm Hammer couldn't possibly be stronger than Fang Ripper, could he?

"Very well, then. We move!" called out Storm Hammer, turning round to face Silent Breeze. The scout was already loping off into the distance on all fours. The other wolf-men broke into an abrupt run, Storm Hammer on all fours, Fang Ripper upright. Mother's Paw bringing up the rear of the group, also running on all fours. Destral noticed that the large wolf-man was the only one still walking in a human fashion, and made to apologise. Fang Ripper said nothing, but emitted a soft grunt as his reply. Destral saw the bright yellow eyes focus on him out of the corners of Fang Ripper's eyes, and for a moment wondered if the wolf-man was going to bear a grudge against him for making him into an improvised mount.

"Don't worry, Destral Minare of Versine. I am used to running like your people instead of like mine. I have longer legs than most other Karnivores, and that makes running on all fours impractical. Furthermore, if you consider the length of my legs, it is faster than running on all fours." Destral felt - more than saw - the corners of Fang Ripper's mouth turn upwards slightly. Destral didn't know what to make of it, but thought it better not to take the matter further, and decided to examine the landscape around him.

The wolf-men travelled swiftly, and the sands flew by like a summer breeze. Destral watched, almost mesmerised, the never ending sands shifting and changing as the wolf-men ran, on and on. Destral looked at the other Karnivores, as Mother's Paw had called them. The similarity with the werewolves of his homeland was striking, yet the honour and grace displayed by the Karnivores, coupled with the wisdom shown by Mother's Paw, made him wonder. He had encountered similar situations, where two seemingly similar species had had completely different attitudes and values. He had seen it many times, but every time he came across the phenomenon he couldn't help but wonder.

He was brought out of his daydream by Silent Breeze, who had suddenly stopped behind a dune and was waiting for the rest of the group to catch up.

"What is it, Silent Breeze? Are we there yet?" asked Storm Hammer as he reached the spot where Silent Breeze stood.

"Yes. I can hear the sounds of battle behind this dune. The centaurs seem to be holding their own, but they are outnumbered and they will fall soon." whispered Silent Breeze. Destral noticed that Silent Breeze's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be concentrating really hard. Fang Ripper knelt down and Destral got off the wolf-man's back.

"Very well. Destral, it might be wise for you to stay out of the fight. Your wound is too severe and you would not last long..." Storm Hammer looked at Destral straight in the eye. It was almost as if he was waiting for an answer.

"I think I might be able to try something, although it might take a bit, and the results are far from predictable..." Destral glanced at the Ring, hoping it had managed to adjust to the ethereal flow of Nu. Mother's Paw said he'd been unconscious for two days, so it should have had more than enough time.

"There is no time..." Fang Ripper began to object.

"You people wade right in. I'll be there as soon as I can if this works." Destral's reply cut Fang Ripper's objection short.

"Tha' sounds pru'ent." said Mother's Paw.

"I will need my mail if it does work, though." He reminded them. Silent Breeze quickly pulled the chainmail from his bundle and placed it on the sand. Destral nodded and wished them good luck. The wolf-men nodded curtly and smiled to each other.

"Le's go fer 'em!" without another word, Mother's Paw walked up to the top of the dune. The rest of the wolf-men followed. Destral watched on as they reached the top and dropped their bundles. Then, as one, the wolf-men howled. The sound sent a shiver down Destral's spine. It was a challenge, and Destral knew that the wolf-men weren't going to pull any punches. The savage spirit residing in their souls had been unleashed, and nothing but blood would placate it. The wolf-men leapt into the air, and vanished over the other side of the dune.

Destral's jaw clenched itself, and he swallowed hard. If the Ring didn't work, he didn't want to know what would happen to him.

"Miralla, please listen to me now, if never again." he whispered. He closed his eyes, and began to intone. His voice faltered, for he knew that if the Ring was still unstable it could have a disastrous effect. Drawing a deep breath, he let his muscles relax. Perhaps, even if the Ring still wasn't working, he could will it to work, if his mind was sufficiently centred. He began the spell again.

"Miralla, take pity on me, wash my wounds with your tears. Miralla, goddess of mercy, grant me your boon of relief..." as he had learnt to do, Destral let his voice trail off to a whisper; Her priests maintained that Miralla was more inclined to favour the meek, who were more often in need of mercy. Eyes still closed, Destral waited for the freshness of the Goddess's tears to wash over him, breath held. He felt his face flush, and a feeling pins and needles, beginning at the tips of his fingertips and stretching all the way up to his shoulder made him open his eyes and wince. It wasn't painful, but it was so intense that he couldn't help but gasp. Eventually, it died down. He gently tried his arm, praying the spell to have worked. He tried clenching his fist. There was a bit of resistance at first, but it seemed that his arm was fine. Maybe a bit sore and stiff under all the bandages and dried-out leaves and poultices that Mother's Paw had applied to the wound, but it felt fine. He tried it a bit harder. Still it seemed fine. He pulled his arm tighter and tighter, until it was almost straight. He flexed his forearm muscles, clenching and unclenching his fist slowly and carefully. Once he was satisfied, he went all the way and pulled his arm straight.

There was a soft crack, and Destral instantly stiffened. He didn't dare to move his arm, fearing that maybe he had just managed to undo what had cost him so much. Destral gulped and grimaced at the same time, emotions fighting for dominance inside him. Destral was about to curse, but then he realised that the crack had come not from his forearm, but from his elbow. Trying his arm gently again, he found it didn't hurt and he could move it fine. He swung his arm in gentle circles and soon did the same with his healthy one. Confident that Miralla had heard his prayers, Destral began to rip off the bandages. Once they were all off he grabbed his light chainmail hauberk and slipped into it. He began to walk up the dune as he fastened his weapons harness over the armour. The tunic he usually wore on top was tucked into his belt: if he was to get into a fairly large fight, he might as well save his clothes further torture. He began to make his way to the top of the dune. As he went, he looked down at his mangled trousers, wondering how many more things would happen to him before he could buy himself some new clothes.

Destral reached the top of the dune, and the scene that greeted him left him mute with awe.

The four wolf-men and about half a dozen centaurs were standing in a close group, surrounded by at least a dozen other wolf-men. The other wolf-men, unlike his new allies, were all very similar, with brown fur mottled with grey patches. Some of them had darker or lighter brown fur, and their mottles were all different shades of grey, with some of them having black mottles. Destral also noticed that there were many size variations, with some of them being nearly as short as Storm Hammer and others being about half a foot shorter than Fang Ripper was. One of them, the tallest to Destral's eye, stood a couple of yards away from the living circle of Karnivores. It wore the tattered and ragged remains of a leather surcoat, and a chain and plate gauntlet, the tips of the fingers ripped -or maybe even chewed- off, guarded it's right paw. From the mangled fingerguards protruded the Karnivore's claws, long, black and wicked.

Destral watched, motionless. The tension was thick in the air. His eyes drifted to the scattered bodies of the fallen; five centaurs and two Karnivores. The shadows of the vultures flying overhead circled and circled aimlessly, waiting for the fight to end, for all the living to leave so that they could dispose of the dead and satisfy their ravenous hunger. Destral looked at the circling Karnivores, the statue-like group in their midst waiting for the right moment to strike and break the circle. Destral wanted to intervene, but he felt compelled not to. He had never seen the Karnivores fighting, and he wanted to see what such powerfully built warriors could do. Even Mother's Paw, probably the least impressive of the creatures on the sands at the foot of the dune, seemed to have gained a certain presence, a certain aura of power, vitality and strength. Thinking about it, Destral decided not to intervene yet. Looking at the Ring, Destral hesitated. The Ring had worked before, but would it work again? He couldn't be sure. Maybe it had just been Chance's whim, maybe the Ring did work. He looked at those on the ground below. He could sense Fang Ripper tensing, getting ready to charge. Storm Hammer seemed to be concentrating, and Destral wondered as a fickle gust of wind brought the sound of a soft chant to his ears, nearly inaudible. Storm Hammer was whistling, whistling a soft tune that was gradually getting slowly louder, growing in both volume and intensity. Then he heard the rest, first Silent Breeze, his wispy voice singing softly, like the wind through a peaceful valley. Mother's Paw joined in, humming loudly but in tune, melodically. Fang Ripper was the last to join in, with a great howl that seemed to make the sands squirm away from him. Destral felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle, and his pulse became suddenly obvious in his temples, his mouth became dry. The skin on his arms felt as if it were rippling, trying to get away from the savage howl, and yet he felt a strange confidence swelling inside him, like a balloon. The wild Karnivores began to circle around their prey more slowly, warily, as if expecting attack.

Fang Ripper was only too happy to oblige, and with a tremendous intensification of his howl, which was more like a roar now, he leapt at the attackers. Storm Hammer followed right at his heels, while Mother's Paw continued howling, Silent Breeze standing by his side. The centaurs rearranged themselves into an arrowhead formation. The Karnivore outnumbered them three to one, and most of the centaurs were already wounded, but Destral felt the unstoppable urge to charge down the side of the dune to join his companions in battle. His arm, broken only minutes ago, was forgotten, as were most of his other memories. The one thought that was dominant in his mind was to wade in and force the Karnivore to swallow their weight in scorched desert sand. Without another thought, he rushed down the slope, screaming a battle-cry at the top of his voice, at the same time as the centaurs charged, spears lowered, swords swinging wildly in the air above their heads. They too were intoning some sort of battle chant. Destral could barely hear the words above the din of Mother's Paw's howling and his own challenge, but straining his ears he managed to make out the words:

"T'is the death of a warrior, To die with sword in hand, There is no greater honour, Than to die in battle grand, So don't cry for me beloved, For you know it must be so, And if I fall in battle, Much honoured will I go..."

Destral heard no more, for by the time the centaurs reached that part of the song they were upon the enemy, hacking and stabbing, beating and kicking. It was a fearsome sight; for every centaur there were at least three Karnivores, but the centaurs fought valiantly and with determination, wielding a weapon in each hand and attacking with their hooves as well. The Karnivore fell, and still the centaurs seemed unscathed by their claws and bites. He ran like the wind, unsheathing his swords as he went. Kalita seemed to explode as magical flames began to dance along the sleek metal blade, while a gust of cold air brushed past him as frost and rime covered Gelita. The sound of a third battle cry informed the Karnivores of the arrival of a new element to the battle, and two of the hyena-like humanoids detached themselves from the main group to intercept him. Destral saw them coming, changed direction without breaking pace. At the last moment he leapt, thrusting with one blade and slashing horizontally with the other. The Karnivores saw his move and countered by mimicking him, their greater size immediately negating his momentary height advantage. They crossed in mid air, and Destral felt his thrust brushed aside even as Kalita dug into it's target, the smell of crisped hair and burning flesh wafting to his nostrils almost instantaneously, accompanied by a yelp of shock. He felt claws on his mail and shoulder, another set catching in his mail and snapping as he manoeuvred in mid-air to avoid a swipe at his eyes. The wicked claws passed millimetres from his face. Then they were past each other; Destral landed and nearly fell, but he recovered and continued his charge, not wanting to turn his back on the main melee. Unseen to him, the Karnivore he had wounded caught fire and ran madly as he tried to extinguish the flames that engulfed him. The other looked at its pack-mate as it burned alive, turned tail, and fled. As he ran to aid the centaurs, he glanced sideways, and saw Storm Hammer grab an opponent by the arm and spin around him. A loud crack echoed above the din of the battle, followed by an agonic scream that sounded disturbingly like laughter. Destral looked on as he ran, watching as Storm Hammer proceeded to trip the Karnivore, grabbing him in mid fall and spinning him until he was upside down, at which point he leapt into the air and slammed the Karnivore into the sand up to it's waist. Destral looked away as the Karnivore began to kick and wriggle, trying to free himself from the sand. The last thing he saw was Storm Hammer grab the creatures legs and bend them backwards. A loud snap followed moments later, but Destral wasn't looking any more. His attention was focused straight ahead, where another Karnivore had noticed him and was dropping a mangled, dismembered arm from its jaws, readying itself for this new opponent. Destral saw the savaged corpse of a centaur behind it, the bloody stump of its left arm still oozing blood onto the sand. Destral screamed his battle cry again; the Karnivore leapt at him, roaring like a wounded beast. Destral continued his charge as the Karnivore began to fall upon him, and waited until the last moment before turning in mid-step and ramming the heavy creature with his shoulder. He slammed into the creature's chest, throwing it backwards. They fell together, and Destral fought to keep himself on top of the creature as he tried to kneel up into a position from which he could stab it. The Karnivore swung its fist at Destral's face, sending him flying off him and onto his back. It was up and following him in no time.

Destral landed on his back heavily, the wind knocked out of his lungs for a moment, but he recovered from the blow quickly and rolled to the side, barely avoiding the Karnivore's taloned foot as it landed where his neck had been less than a second ago. As he rolled, Destral swung Kalita at the Karnivore's leg, but the creature leapt out of the deadly arc with animal grace. Pushing himself off the ground wouldn't be a good idea, he realised: the Karnivore was too fast, and by the time he was on his hands and knees, the Karnivore would probably be on top of him, ready to wrench his heart out through his back. Instinctively, Destral brought the Ring to bear on the Karnivore as it leapt at him, fangs bared and slavering like a rabid dog's, claws outstretched, ready to pin him in place for the lethal bite of it's dagger-like fangs.

"Pillar of Hell!" he cried out, and instantly a roaring column of flame erupted from the sand like a volcano, incinerating the Karnivore in mid-air. Destral heard the Karnivore scream in agony, and rolled aside as its body, completely engulfed in flames, landed where he had been seconds ago. It lay there, burning and screaming, and the smell of burning fur and flesh invaded Destral's nostrils. With a grimace, Destral ran the body through and turned to survey the battle once the noise had died down.

Things weren't looking good. Only one of the centaurs had fallen, but the rest were once again surrounded, having fallen back a few metres to regroup. He glanced quickly behind him, and noticed that his wolf-men allies were holding their own, but not by much and not for much longer. The wild Karnivores had managed to surround Mother's Paw, and Silent Breeze was bleeding from at least a score of wounds, some of them serious. Storm Hammer and Fang Ripper were fighting back-to-back, circling around at the same time, while the largest group of Karnivores in the battle, gauntleted leader included, attacked them in two's and three's, attempting to strike and leaping to safety quickly before their two opponents could land a blow. Destral wondered whom he should help. The centaurs didn't have as many Karnivores against them as the wolf-men, but the wolf-men seemed to be faring better. His mind raced for a solution, but he couldn't come to terms with aiding one group and leaving the rest alone. A cry of pain yanked him away from his thoughts, and he turned back to where the centaurs were, only to see one of them getting pulled to the ground by two Karnivores while the other three kept the other centaurs from helping their comrade. As the centaur fell, the two Karnivores were on top of him, rending with claws and biting with fangs, like wolves finishing off a deer, only the Karnivore were more wantonly brutal. Destral could only watch as the centaur was ripped apart and the two Karnivore stood up from their kill, claws and snouts dripping fresh blood. Destral gulped down the knot that had formed in his throat and stuck both his swords in the sand. As he pulled five daggers off his harness with each hand, he roared a challenge:

"Over here, carrion eaters!"

The Karnivores, all five of them, turned to look at him. There was an evil glint of glee in their inhuman, yellow eyes. One of them pointed a finger at him and turned to face the others.

"You two! Kill Human!" it barked. It turned to face Destral. "Yes, we carrion eaters. You carrion soon. Then we eat you as well!" Destral looked at the Karnivore straight in the eye. The corners of his mouth turned back and up, half a smile, half a snarl playing on his lips.

"Come and get me, mutts!" His smile grew wider as the Karnivore snarled and bared its fangs.

Without warning, one of the bloodied Karnivores and one of the others rushed forward, snarl welling up deep in their throats and bursting out like as a roar. Quick as a flash, Destral hurled the ten daggers in his hands at them and grabbed his swords. Destral was running even before the daggers found their mark. One of the Karnivores fell, daggers stuck in its forehead, eyes, throat and chest. The bloodied one was luckier: it managed to avoid three of them by ducking, but one of them hit him, pommel first, just above it's left eye while the other one gashed it's snout and cheek before bouncing off. It brought it's paws up to it's snout, but realising the danger ignored the pain and looked up to face Destral, claws outstretched. Destral hacked one of its arms off with Gelita and a roaring yelp of agony came out of its fanged mouth as Kalita went straight through its heart. Destral's attack pushed the Karnivore off its feet. Kalita flared up as it cut upwards, driven by Destral's momentum. Destral pulled the sword free, as the prone corpse caught fire and began to burn. Again the smell of charred flesh and burning fur wafted into his nostrils but he was still moving, headed straight for the Karnivore that had spoken to him seconds earlier. He was smiling, but hatred burned in his eyes. The Karnivore looked at him in shock, rooted to the spot; it's lupine mouth open in an expression of human surprise. The Karnivore turned tail and fled. Destral continued running, turning as he ran towards the other two. They looked at their fleeing comrade, snarled, and charged at Destral. Destral yelled his battle cry once more. Behind the Karnivores, he saw the two centaurs blocking the fleeing one's escape route. Before he could see what was happening the two Karnivores were on top of him. He slashed left with one sword, forcing the Karnivore to dodge and preventing it from attacking, while parrying the other one's swipe with the flat of Kalita. As he had expected, Kalita burst into flames again, burning the Karnivore's arm badly. He lashed out with his right foot at the wounded Karnivore, hitting it on the side, just under the armpit. His attack was rewarded with a wet snap, and still resting on his left foot, he kicked upwards from there. The sound came again, barely audible over the Karnivore's snarl of rage. It retaliated, swiping its claw across Destral's face. Destral reeled backwards under the force of the blow. His cheek stung, and he could feel the blood running down his face. He snarled, a sound not unlike the one made by the Karnivore, stretching his right arm to swipe with Kalita as he fell, spinning, to the ground. The blade made contact again, and he heard the Karnivore yelping again. Upon landing he immediately rolled aside to avoid any incoming attacks, and pushed himself to a crouching position on one knee. The wounded Karnivore was licking its singed arm; the other was coming straight for him. Destral readied himself, setting his feet deeply in the sand. He raised the swords so that Kalita pointed at the creature's heart, while Gelita was set to its throat. When it got within striking range, it would all be over with a flick of his wrist.

Destral noticed there was something wrong just a moment too late. The Karnivore leapt at him and he raised the blades for the killing blow. The Karnivore twisted and turned in the air, so that it was coming in feet first. Too late, Destral realised what it was trying to do. He tried to jump into the air, but even as he did the Karnivore kicked upwards. Pivoting on his waist, Destral managed to avoid the worst of the attack, but clawed feet raked his left leg behind the knee. If he hadn't turned in the air, he would have lost his leg. As it was, his leg bent as the claws drew blood, saving his kneecap from being shattered. He was in an awkward position, however, and as his feet touched the ground, his wounded leg refused to hold straight and he fell onto his back. Dropping Gelita, he made a grab for the Karnivore's throat, but the creature was faster than it looked. With a nimble side step it avoided Destral's wild grab, then slammed the inside of Destral's left wrist with its knuckles. Destral winced, the sudden lancet of pain catching him by surprise, and his fingers twitched long enough for the sword to fall out of his grasp. The Karnivore continued its onslaught, this time slashing at Destral's exposed flank. The claws met chainmail, and the force of the blow tore the sturdy metal armour as if it were cloth. Destral snarled as he felt the skin and flesh being ripped out along with the armour, and grabbed the Karnivore's wrist as it tried to get a killing blow in. Destral's muscles bulged with the effort, the blood pounding in his temples, his throat and chest. It was as if he had transformed into a massive heart. His biceps burned and stung as he tried to keep the claws from gripping his throat and tearing it out. The sand under his back was scorching, and he could feel the metal links of his chainmail digging into his back. He gritted his teeth, and tried to bring his other arm to bear. The Karnivore saw him, however, and quickly pinned it against the coarse, burning sand. Destral screamed as his skin came into contact with the sand. He could feel the Karnivore squeezing his wrist, cutting off the flow of blood. He tried to get rid of the Karnivore, but the creature seemed to weigh tonnes. His head felt light, and his vision started to swim. Destral roared as he tried to roll backwards off his back. The Karnivore, off balance due to its grip on Destral's wrist, fell forwards, trying to get a bite at Destral's face. Destral managed to twist his face out of the way, and for a moment he felt the Karnivore's rank breath on his face. Then the Karnivore was off him, Destral's wrist freed from the vice-like grip as it tried to prevent itself falling face-first on the sand.

In a blur, Destral had rolled onto the Karnivore's back, bringing his knee down between the creature's shoulder blades hard. As he did, he twisted the creature's wrist, hard. A snarl grew in his throat as he twisted the wrist more and more, until it finally snapped and the creature yelped. The Karnivore squirmed beneath him, trying to throw him off is back. Destral drove the elbow of his other arm down on the creature's neck. It howled. Destral almost felt pity for it for a second, but the image of the mangled centaur corpses burned in his mind. With a final blow to the back of the Karnivore's neck, Destral put it out of its misery. Destral looked around quickly, searching for more opponents, but the rest had all been accounted for. His four wolf-man friends and two centaurs stood, looking at the corpses scattered over the sands. It seemed that the centaurs had come to finish the Karnivore he had wounded before, and it had managed to get rid of two of the centaurs before finally being dispatched.

Destral heaved a sigh of relief, got off the corpse, and walked off to where he had dropped his swords. As he walked, he saw Storm Hammer walking towards him as Fang Ripper kneeled down over the Karnivore leader's corpse. Destral remembered Fang Ripper's necklace, and turned away, pretending to look for his swords.

As he sheathed Kalita, and began to go over to where his daggers lay, Storm Hammer caught up with him. Destral noticed that the wolf-man was wearing the plated gauntlet on his own hand. Storm Hammer saw him looking at it and smiled.

"It is slightly uncomfortable, but it looks very impressive. Don't you agree?" Destral nodded curtly. His body ached and the wounds he had suffered were coated with sand, making them itch and sting furiously. "Maybe you should get Mother's Paw to look at those," said the wolf-man, pointing towards them with his gauntleted hand.

"I will, but my magic abilities seem to have stabilised. I should be able to heal it myself once the wound is clean." Destral reached the bodies of the other two Karnivores he had slain and began to retrieve his daggers, wiping them on the Karnivores' fur before hanging them on his harness again. "I must say you have a very original fighting technique. I learned something very similar during my travels, but it relied more on punches and kicks than grappling." Storm Hammer looked very pleased at the compliment.

"If you consider that I am one of the shortest Karnivores that ever lived, grappling is a very advantageous form of combat for me. Being built lower to the ground makes it a lot harder for opponents to knock me off my feet. 'The bigger you are, the harder you fall...'" Destral pondered the phrase for a moment, and nodded. "You are fairly impressive yourself. I have never seen your people do that well against Karnivores before." Destral was slightly taken aback at Storm Hammer's sense of politeness, but didn't let it show. He merely smiled. "I have learnt a few tricks here and there..." he replied. Storm Hammer smiled and was about to say something when one of the centaurs reached them.

"My good fellows, I must thank you deeply for your efforts. Surely, without your help we would all be dead, but pray tell me your names that I may tell this tale back home." He looked at Storm Hammer closely, almost quizzically and suddenly gasped. "Are you not Storm Hammer, son of Dune Leaper and Winter Moon?" Storm Hammer nodded, but he didn't really have to. The centaur had obviously recognised him. "You might not remember me, but I am the son of Fella'ar. You visited us last year, after the incident with that rascal Milo'na in the village of the Southern Oasis."

"I do remember you, Hym'sa," replied Storm Hammer, taking the centaur by one shoulder as a greeting. "but I never thought I'd see you patrolling the desert, and less in such small numbers."

"Our party was ambushed, and we managed to flee. There were too many of them, and we thought it would be wise to alert the village. They caught up with us in no time, though, and we would have been killed if it hadn't been for your intervention..." the other centaur ran up to where the three were standing, and interrupted Hym'sa with an unintelligible outburst of babble.

"Calm down!" said Destral. "We can't understand you if you talk so fast." The centaur took a deep breath and started over.

"Two of our friends are very badly wounded, and they will die if we don't do something. We can't just talk idly while they are dying!" it said.

"Let's go and see what we can do for them." said Storm Hammer calmly. He turned to where Mother's Paw and Silent Breeze were standing, and called for the elder to come and help. Mother's Paw jogged swiftly to where the dying centaurs lay. Destral watched as they all walked off, thought for a second, and then called to Storm Hammer. The wolf-man turned towards him. Destral stuck his hand in his pouch and pulled out the Tears of Ssen'Lamar.

"Try this on them. I'm not sure if it will work, but they are supposed to have wondrous healing powers." Destral grimaced fiercely at the thought of the words of the villagers at the foot of Ssen'Lamar's mountain, but it was purely internal. Not even his voice gave a hint towards his scepticism towards the Tears of the mountain-god. Storm Hammer went up to him and took the tiny vial, then ran over to where everyone else, save Destral and Fang Ripper, was.

Destral walked over to Fang Ripper, who was still busy with the corpses of the Karnivores. He stood over the huge wolf-man as he patiently chose the largest fangs and took them, wiping them on the corpses' fur. Destral wondered what purpose Fang Ripper's actions served, but he said nothing. After a couple of moments he grew tired and walked back to where the rest of the survivors were. As he walked, he caught a glimpse of the two wounded centaurs, who had stood up and were looking around dazed and confused. Destral's eyes widened for a moment, but he managed to control his anger and willed himself to be calm.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in gently. An outburst now could be mistaken for something else, and that would severely compromise his situation with his new allies. He let the air escape from his lungs. Subtly he looked upwards at the sky.

"Curse you all. Damn you all for denying me my happiness and showing me this."