Page 52 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

The moment they were out of harm’s way, he threw a barrier in the opening so whatever this was could not attack them. The slight sound of fur brushing against the wall came from the right, stopping his forward motion. Listening, he heard it again, closer and less stealthy as whatever it was gained confidence.

A slight scraping against the wall to his left made him pause. Across the room, another shadow slithered along the wall. How many beings stalked him? With the room in almost total darkness, he closed his eyes, not trusting his vision if magic was involved.

As the oily sensation grew overwhelming, he fought the nauseousness roiling in his gut and had no doubt dark magic was at play.

He opened his mind and called on the magic deep inside.

Darkness around me, lighten and thin.

Unveil the creatures who walk in sin.

Surround and protect my body and mind.

Open my path to seek and find.

The subtle pulse of his spell grew and flowed through the room, touching on emptiness until it surrounded the bodies of several large creatures. Opening his eyes, his vision turned to dark shades of gray, but the downside to this spell was the creatures hunting him saw him too.

Two werewolves stared at him from across the room. The centers of their wild, yellow eyes glowed red, and their fur was patchy and matted with god knows what. Long scratches traveled down their legs and torsos as if they had already been in a previous battle.

Their elongated, snarling faces gave him pause as he stared at the dark blood covering their dagger-like teeth. The sight made his stomach turn.

The being to his left, however, was different. In the form of a slender man, he could not tell what or who this was. Strangely, though, he did not sense the same malice from him. The sensation was wicked and improper but still dark, not entirely evil. It confused him because his spell made the man visible.

Never letting the werewolves out of sight, he whispered, “Who are you?”

“Neither friend nor foe.” The stranger kept his back to the wall as the creatures crept closer.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Sorry. It’s the only one I’ve got. I can tell you, though, I am no friend to those beasts.”

“That’sa good answer. Why are you here?”

“I was sent in here with them to kill you, but I have never followed orders, so why start now? I also smell Loki on you. Where is he?”

“He is near and waiting for me to clear out this room so we can find the traitor, Haman, and his cohort, Fer-Diorich. We have business with them.”

The stranger raised his arm, and a sword appeared in his hand, aimed at the werewolf nearest to him. “That could be difficult. Like Loki, Fer-Diorich disappeared almost a month ago in Midgardian time. Haman has been in charge ever since.”

Cyran summoned his sword and faced the snarling black monster in front of him. Out of nowhere, the creature’s massive paw swung at him, and he jerked his head back just as four dagger-like claws sliced through the air where his face had been.

With a forward thrust, his blade slashed the wolf’s side. As if Cyran had only just run a feather across the matted fur, the werewolf howled and swung his other arm, sliding off the side of Cyran’s head in a glancing blow, but not before he inhaled the creature’s stench. He couldn't decide whether to retch or cough, but his nostrils burned as if coated in acid.

“Do not let the claws touch your skin. They are laced with poison.” The stranger said, grunting when his opponent shoved him into the wall. “The effects are quite painful.”

“So is their stench.” Scoring another hit, the tip of Cyran’s blade slid across the beast’s thigh, forcing him to move back to the wall. He edged sideways, drawing the werewolf away from the other side of the room where the beast seemed to be leading him.

A glance showed the far corner, which remained cloaked in total blackness. Narrowing his gaze, he caught a quick shimmer, and then the corner moved in a slithering, rolling motion.

“Thanks for the warning. I’m Cyran, by the way, interim royal healer of Alfheimr. You are?” The werewolf facing him snarled and snapped, narrowly missing his arm as he flung his sword arm away with a twist. Following through with the motion, he circled the blade back around, stabbing the creature in his thick bicep.

“You may call me Zel.” The slender man sidestepped the werewolf facing him. Before the stranger pulled back his arm, the beast’s head turned, and his bloody teeth clamped down, holding his forearm like a vise.

With another quick twist of his blade, Cyran sliced through the thick neck muscles of the werewolf and used his sword’s momentum to arc through the air, his blade cutting off his werewolf’s arm and opening his furry chest down to his left side.

He needed to end the fight soon. He wasn’t at full strength yet, and his energy was disappearing.

A howl of pain-filled rage flooded the room, but instead of continuing the fight, the creature jumped backward, twisted on his back paws, and leaped into the black mass roiling in the far corner.

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