King of Wolves

Ron reached up and pushed his visor open, then crouched on one knee. He was several times taller than the little girl, and only after crouching were they barely able to meet each other's gaze.

"Don't be afraid, little one. What's your name?"

The little girl lowered her hand from her mouth. Her lips were still trembling, but her eyes were no longer locked in fear as they had been moments ago.

She looked at Ron, at his plate armor, and sniffed.

"I'm Gretka." Her voice was thin, every word trembling.

"Gretka, can you tell me what happened?"

"There was a huge, huge wolf. My friend told me to hide here. She went to fight the Wolf King."

"What does your friend look like?"

"An older sister with grayish-white hair, carrying a sword." Gretka raised her hands above her head and mimed the shape of a sword. "The big gray wolf was trying to bite her."

Ron rose and turned to the soldiers. "Stay here and keep watch. Too many people in the cave will only get in the way."

He took the greatsword from the side of his horse and hefted it one-handed. The cave was dark, with only a few shafts of light leaking through cracks in the ceiling.

A roar came from deeper within. It was not a wolf's howl, but a heavier, rumbling bellow.

This was followed by the clang of metal striking something hard, a brief muffled groan, and then the dull tremor of a body slamming into a stone wall.

Ron no longer held back his pace. His iron boots crushed the gravel underfoot, and heavy footsteps filled the entire tunnel. As he rounded the final bend and rushed into the deepest part of the cave—

A young woman with grayish-white hair was struck by the werewolf's massive arm and flung from the ground, crashing into the stone wall opposite.

Her sword flew from her grasp, skidding several yards across the ground before stopping in a corner of the cave. She slid down the wall, clutching her injured arm as she raised her head.

The werewolf was enormous, nearly twice the size of a grown man. Its entire body was covered in gray-black mane, thick as clusters of upright steel needles.

Its canine fangs interlocked between its upper and lower jaws. Its eyes glowed dark red in the darkness as it stared at the girl, then sprang toward her.

Ron drove his rear foot into the ground. The throwing spear cut through the air with a deep whistle, its tip striking the werewolf's right shoulder and burying itself deep through the shoulder blade. The immense impact knocked the creature stumbling several steps backward, away from the girl.

Roaring, it climbed up from the ground and turned its head. What it saw was a giant clad head to toe in heavy plate armor, and a flicker of surprise flashed through its dark red slit pupils.

The armored warrior opposite it was so broad-shouldered he nearly filled the cave passage. Beneath his heavy visor, only two slits of shadow showed where his eyes were. A massive greatsword hung from his hand, its blade gleaming coldly in the cave's faint light.

The werewolf's instincts sensed the threat. It reflexively kicked off with its hind legs, its body charging the intruder with a roar. They were nearly the same height, nearly the same build.

But Ron was faster. He gave the werewolf no room to build momentum. He instantly lowered himself and veered into a charge, gravel exploding beneath his feet as his shoulder armor filled the werewolf's entire field of vision. Then they collided with a thunderous crash.

The tremendous impact traveled from Ron's shoulder into his chest, then through the rocky ground. The werewolf was thrown backward even faster than it had lunged forward, its back slamming into the rock wall with a muffled boom as rubble clattered down around it.

The greatsword followed with a fierce downward slash, but by the time the blade cleaved into the stone wall, the werewolf had already rolled away. The blade struck down, and shattered stones flew against Ron's breastplate with sharp clinks.

The werewolf dropped to all fours, raced around to the side, and pounced. Its claws tore three arcs through the iron face of Ron's breastplate, producing a shrill scraping sound as sparks flew.

The blow sent Ron sliding half a step, leaving two white streaks across the rocky ground, but his sword stance remained steady.

Ron swung backhanded. The werewolf kicked off and retreated, the blade grazing the mane along its belly before missing. It bared its teeth at Ron in a mocking grin.

Ciri climbed up from beside the stone wall. Her sword lay a few steps away. Supporting herself with her left hand, she crawled over and gripped the hilt again. The moment she did, she did not immediately rush in.

The werewolf was slowly circling Ron. The wound torn open in its shoulder blade by the throwing spear was gradually closing, and its powerful regeneration had already repaired most of the damage during their brief exchange.

When it backed into the open space at the center of the cave, its center of gravity shifted left for an instant. As its left hind leg pushed off, its left knee was fully exposed to Ciri's view.

Her feet stepped across the ground as she lowered her body, every step falling at an angle beyond the werewolf's line of sight. When her sword tip pierced the tendon in its left knee, the werewolf was still watching Ron's movements.

The blade pierced beneath the kneecap and pinned through the joint. The werewolf's left leg suddenly lost its strength. Its knee buckled forward, its upper body dropping sharply as it let out a roar laced with pain and fury.

A massive wolf claw swept backward, but Ciri had already rolled clear. She pressed herself to the edge of the stone wall, using her sword tip to brace herself. Her chest heaved violently, but her gaze never left it. She was waiting for the next opportunity.

With its hind leg pinned through, the werewolf could no longer move quickly. Ron seized that brief opening, and his greatsword slashed down diagonally from above left.

The blade, trailing an afterimage, cut into the werewolf's neck and through its cervical spine. The massive wolf head, still attached to half its neck, hit the ground with a thud and rolled twice.

It struck a stone pillar and came to a stop. Blood sprayed from the severed neck, splattering the rock wall before gradually dwindling into thin streams that seeped into the cracked crevices in the stone.

The echoes in the cave slowly faded. Ciri pushed herself upright with her sword. She lowered her head to glance at her right arm, pressed a hand over the wound, and raised her head again.

Ron planted his greatsword in the ground and pushed open his visor. "Are there any others alive?"

"Who are you?" Her voice was hoarse, but her tone remained even. She was steadying her breathing, reassessing this stranger before her as quickly as possible.

"Captain of the guard for the Lord of Velen. I'm looking for missing subordinates."

"Ciri," she said.

Ron nodded, pushed open his visor, and gestured behind him. The soldiers spread through the cave, their torchlight sweeping over every crevice.

Miko's voice came from the other side of the cave. "Found him!"

Hans was huddled in a hollow behind a huge boulder. His helmet was gone, and blood smeared across his face obscured any expression. When Hans saw Ron, his lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

"Can you walk?"

Hans nodded hard.

Ron had the soldiers help the wounded man up. When he turned around, Ciri was still standing there watching him, while Gretka ran in from the direction of the cave entrance.

The little girl ran around the werewolf's corpse and past the soldiers, then rushed to Ciri. Both her hands clutched Ciri's sleeve.

Ciri lowered her head and said a few words to her in a very quiet voice. No one could make out what she said. Then the little girl nodded, but did not let go of her sleeve.

Ron pulled his greatsword from the ground.

"You're injured. Come back to Crow's Nest with us. Someone there can treat you," he said, then called for a nearby soldier to help Ciri out.

Afternoon sunlight streamed into the forest. Ciri walked beside Gretka, her left hand still holding her injured right arm.

Each step pulled at the wound, and blood seeped through her fingers to drip onto the dead leaves. She made no sound, but the sweat on her forehead grew denser.

Ron walked silently at the front of the group. The soldiers' corpses still lay scattered in the woods. Hans followed behind, and when he passed them, he turned his head away and clenched his lips tight.

The group followed the path they had taken through the dense forest. In the distance, the outline of Crow's Nest emerged from behind the hills.