The Ogre's Pendant & The Rat in the Pit
The Wolves of Lycundar

Haldrych raged silently beneath his blindfold.

The theft had been an utter humiliation.

An heirloom of his house - only recently freed from his mother - stolen while he attended the wretched woman’s funeral. He wondered if her spirit cursed him from whatever whirling black pit it now haunted.

His only solace had been having the guards whipped for their carelessness.

It ruled his mind as he followed Adelmar and the two men they’d met through this darkness. Haldrych gripped his friend’s shoulder for guidance while the merchant’s son gripped the shoulder of one of the men ahead. Despite this, the poet stumbled through what he assumed was an underground passage. Where he was, he could not reckon with any certainty.

Shortly after his return to the manor, Adelmar had insisted they don heavy cloaks and make for the Pantheon’s Plaza - where dozens of temples honoured twice as many deities. There they were met by two men in black robes - their only ornamentation being bronze bracers bearing the same sign as Adelmar’s: a wolf consuming its own tail.

They had been blindfolded, led down a flight of stone steps and into a passage. For a time, they walked, until exiting somewhere in the wilderness from the sound of it. There, they were loaded into a wagon and - after a long, uncomfortable ride - had come to another place underground.

Strange sounds echoed from all about. Moans of misery. Growls of beasts. Quiet feet and low humming from many voices. During all of this, their guides had instructed Haldrych:

“As soon as you hear the prayer,” one of the men spoke in low tones. His footsteps echoed from ahead. “You must not utter a single word until he speaks to you. Do not break this.”

Haldrych bristled, but bit back heated words. Nerves stopped his tongue while the profoundest desire for vengeance kept his feet moving forward. Were it not for Adelmar’s utter faith in these individuals, he would never have agreed to this.

His breathing slowed as a strange sound reached his ears.

A chant writhed sightlessly through the dark.

The hairs on the back of his neck crept up.

A dull, distant roar formed an undertone to unnatural words. Words which echoed over each other like hounds fighting for scraps:

“Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is destined to consume the sun! Bless us with your curses! Through strife we are made strong! Through struggle we are forged! The primal that was lost is gained once more through your bite! Your children who fall will feed those who survive! Their strength begets our strength! Our strength begets your strength! The pack lives, and tonight we witness ascension! Lycundar! He who consumes himself! He who is-” It repeated endlessly, with each beginning consuming the previous ending.

Voices in multitude surrounded Haldrych as he stepped into what seemed to be a colossal chamber. Fear doubled in the young poet’s chest with every heartbeat. What sort of cult had Adelmar gotten himself involved in?

“Stand here,” one of the leading men ordered. Haldrych could hear him stepping away.

“You’ll do fine,” Adelmar whispered, tapping him on the shoulder before slipping off.

Slowly, the chanting died.

The tang of old rust hung in the air.

“You,” a man’s baritone rocked the chamber.

The young poet, held sightless, froze.

Spoken with low volume, the word had been quiet but seemed to roll off of every wall before crashing upon Haldrych’s head. The authority it held matched an emperor or high priestess. There was power in that one word.

“Young lamb,” the voice continued. “What brings you to our sacred den?”

Haldrych swallowed. He knew that he could not lie. “I seek membership. My friend has told me of you. How I, you, and your brethren could ally.”

“We do not ally with lambs,” the voice pronounced.

Haldrych nearly fell to his knees.

“We do not ally with lambs!” a hundred voices roared.

Haldrych promptly fell to his knees.

He placed his hands on what felt to be sand. Small, sharp objects pressed into his palms. “I do not wish to be a lamb!”

The din quieted.

“Oh? Is that so?” the powerful voice held a note of amusement. “Then what do you wish? What is best in life?”

The poet swallowed. “I wish for glory! To be a warrior and write of my own deeds! To rock the firmament with my legend!”

The note of amusement became a barking chuckle more lupine than human. “You are soft, lamb.”

“I was caged!” Haldrych snarled, the memory of his mother bringing a heat, despite his fears. “Caged by a woman with no spirit! Yet in death she plagues me with thieves and dishonour! I beseech you! I know I am destined for something great! Help me reach it!”

“And how will you seek it?”

“Through struggle in combat!” the young poet cried. “Through the sword!”

“Just the sword?” the voice rumbled. “What will you do if they take your sword?”

“I will use my knife!”

“Hah!” The bark slapped the young poet in the face. “If they’ve taken your sword, they own your knife, lamb! What else?”

“I…I will use my fists if need be!”

“With those soft hands? That would be a sight! And what if they bound your hands?”

Haldrych’s mind raced. “I would use my teeth if I have to!”

A towering silence filled the space.

It was as though a titan had sucked in a breath and held it.

“You would not break the skin…” the voice said with a note of approval. “But that can be remedied. You can be forged. You can be given fangs.”

A roar filled the chamber.

“You are worthy of Lycundar’s pack!” the voice boomed as it drew closer. Haldrych resisted the urge to crawl backward. The sharp things dug into his knees.

The deep voice continued. “I have been told of your deeds! You slew your very mother-”

Something stung deep in the poet’s chest, but he pushed it away.

“-to free yourself from a cage! That is struggle! That is primal! Remove his blindfold!”

A rough hand pulled the blinder away. The young man blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. He gasped at where he was.

Haldrych knelt in a vast arena carved into the heart of a mountain. Moonlight poured from a great shaft in the cavern’s ceiling that led to the peak. The moon hung in its midst - radiant at its midnight apex. Carved stone seats rose above the arena pit, filled to bursting with figures in dark robes.

Wolf-masks obscured their faces. Bronze bracers glinted on encircled forearms.

A ring of black cloaked figures stood in the arena. Each of their faces were revealed, some familiar to him; important members of the city were gathered here.

Inexorably, his eyes went to the source of the powerful voice.

The man it belonged to could have been chiseled from marble.

Steel-like musculature formed his body with the scars of a thousand battles displayed by his open robe. An iron jaw-line gave way to a savage face and the eyes of a predator. His dark hair was cropped short, leaving nothing for an enemy to grip.

“I am Milos of Crotonia.” He strode forth, crunching unseen things beneath his bare feet. Behind him, a colossal statue filled the back of the chamber - so hideously wrought that it sickened Haldrych to look upon. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the NøᴠᴇlFire.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

A mass of stone flesh writhed into a dozen serpentine necks terminating in the heads of snarling wolves. Their granite fangs glinted in the moonlight.

The young poet was afraid. There was none to comfort him.

Milos turned, regarding the entire chamber. “I am sacred alpha to this pack of Lycundar! I answer only to him and the council of twelve! I declare that young Haldrych Ameldan is no longer a lamb! He shall be made acolyte! What say you?”

A roar of approval answered.

He nodded, turning to another figure kneeling in the sand. Haldrych had not noticed it before, despite its position in the chamber’s midst. It too wore a robe, bracer and wolf mask; the midnight moon drew a circle of cold light around it.

“Adelmar Horvoth,” Milos said.

Haldrych startled.

“You have brought a fine acolyte! With this, you have begotten progeny and your hands are washed in the blood of three lambs: you have served the pack. Lycundar is pleased!” he turned to the ring of robed figures “The struggle has washed away young Adelmar’s weakness! I say he is at last primal! What say the pack?”

“Aye!” the ring spoke in one voice. Those that were masked remained silent.

Milos turned to Adelmar. “Tonight, young cub, you will ascend. You will join the pack.”

“I am honoured, sacred alpha,” Adelmar raised his head.

Milos of Crotonia removed the merchant son’s mask.

He grasped the young man’s bracer and - with a surge of impossible might - bent the bronze open with bare hands, revealing pale flesh beneath. “I now bestow upon you Lycundar’s curse…and his blessing.”

Milos took a deep breath. His lips parted, revealing gleaming white teeth.

Teeth that changed.

They writhed in his maw: shifting, shuddering and lengthening. Like swords breaking through flesh, they grew into a beast’s fangs. Haldrych cried out, but only knowing snickers came from the ring and seats above.

With a rumbling growl, Milos drove his fangs deep into Adelmar’s flesh where the bracer once was. The young man flinched, but did not cry out. Milos rose and backed away, licking red from his lips, his eyes alight in primal hunger.

The moonlight shone down on Adelmar, bathing him in its kiss.

Crack!

Haldrych gaped, terror stealing his voice.

His dearest friend changed.

Bone twisted and shattered to hideous popping and a liquid crunch. Flesh writhed. Adelmar screamed, casting off his robe. His contorting body was naked beneath. All others in the ring cast off their garb, save for Milos and Haldrych.

The ring’s breathing deepened, rising and falling in unison. Their eyes shone in the dark.

“Aaaargh! Aaaaargh!” Adelmar fell to the earth, his limbs contorting. Arms and legs lengthened and thickened. His thews swelled in a wet ripping noise. A beast’s fangs burst from his maw. Hair erupted from his flesh like maggots escaping a corpse. His voice coarsened until it was no longer a man’s. His countenance lengthened - the jaw stretching and bursting with fangs.

With a shudder, the creature’s form solidified. It panted. Then lifted its muzzle.

Adelmar - if that was what this thing was - loomed an unnatural monstrosity that was as much wolf as man. The creature looked upon the sky.

The beast’s eyes fixed on the moon.

A howl erupted from its throat.

A chorus of howls answered

Haldrych turned to the circle.

He shook like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf.

Where the ring of men once stood on the arena floor, now there were only monstrosities. Transformed creatures. Wolfmen that walked as humanity did.

“We are now one, Adelmar of Laexondael. Welcome to our pack,” Milos placed a hand on the wolf-creature’s shoulder. The sacred alpha’s gaze turned to Haldrych.

“Now then, young acolyte.” His eyes flashed dangerously. “You are under the protection of the pack. You will serve and grow toward ascension through struggle. In return, we shall protect you.”

Haldrych swallowed, his eyes falling to the ground. Bones. The arena’s floor teemed in flecks of broken and dried bone. He closed his eyes, finding his tenuous grip on courage, and forced himself to speak. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Milos.

“Sacred alpha…today thieves desecrated my home.”

Milos’ eyes flashed inhumanly. “Then they have desecrated the pack.”

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