The halfling claimed to know right where to find the "mythical" village of Silatham, and even now led them through the forest far from the overgrown wagon-track that ran to the ruins of Morkeryth and Tent City.
Devis patched up his own injuries with a little ditty, and the gnome cleric kept their most grievous wounds from bleeding out. Zalyn's ability as a healer was limited. The gnome did the best she could, but all were still hurting to some degree. They agreed, however, to save the last few healing potions in case of another battle. If the elf village really was nearby, they could get aid there.
The wolves started shadowing them shortly after the travelers moved away from the river. Diir informed them with unsmiling certainty that these wolves smelled familiar. Hound-Eye insisted this same pack had been part of the massacre at Tent City.
A dozen normal wolves would have been threatening, but Mialee was confident the group could handle such a threat. The creatures that Diir and Hound-Eye described were much more dangerous, akin to the crocodile: zombie-like creations displaying an unnerving amount of intelligence.
The wizard nearly asked Hound-Eye and Diir if they thought the creatures were herding them toward Silatham, but decided she didn't want to know. If she could see it, Diir and Hound-Eye were probably already aware of it.
Mialee's eyes flashed to Zalyn. The chatty gnome was silent. She had tried in vain to raise the halfling, Takata, but the prayers and invocations were beyond her. The failure seemed to have snuffed out part of her spirit.
Mialee nearly tripped on a tree root when Hound-Eye's gloved hand smacked her bare thigh. The halfling stopped and jerked a thumb over one shoulder.
"Slowly," he said, and turned. Mialee saw the others do the same from the corner of her eye.
Two black shapes loped along behind them through the trees, no longer making any pretense at lurking. Black pits stared soullessly at Mialee as one of the wolves raised its muzzle and let out a gurgling snarl. Three, four, six shapes fell in behind the first two, gaping jaws grinning with long yellow teeth. Eight behind them, picking up speed.
Everyone stopped. The wolves slowed and milled about with menace. A few seconds passed as hunters and hunted sized each other up. One of the zombie wolves uttered a low growl deep in its tattered throat, and the pack took up the same call.
Then the wolves roared and charged.
"Run!" shouted Devis, but they already were.
13
Driven by sheer survival instinct, the weary band barreled through the trees. Darji's raven-caw reached Devis's ears from high above. He glanced upward, but could not spot the raven against the moonless, black sky. The bird would no doubt catch up with them in Silatham, unless she beat them to it.
If he had wings, Devis would have been at the back rooms of the Silver Goblet by now. The bird had courage, but no appreciation for the finer things.
Devis knew stories about Silatham, of course. Any bard worth his lute strings knew the legendary local haunts. The village was certainly that. He'd never actually been there, however, and had never really believed Hound-Eye's insistent tales of mysterious rangers hunting halflings for meat. Diir's armor baffled the halfling, who swore the man was dressed like a "damned Silatham ranger." They'd had a difficult time convincing Hound-Eye that Diir wasn't going to betray them, but the quiet elf's obvious confusion about his own recent past persuaded the scruffy halfling to tolerate the ranger, if he was a ranger.
No one agreed on what the place was like-even Hound-Eye said he'd never actually been there, just "followed murderin' rangers until they disappeared, but I know where they disappeared and it's always the same place." According to myth and Hound-Eye's tales, the elves of Silatham were xenophobic in the extreme.
The bard gritted his teeth at the nagging pain in his side, which their limited medicine hadn't healed. Xenophobia he could handle. The elves, he was pretty sure, didn't want to eat him, and that alone would be a welcome change.
"I see a light!" Diir whispered. A dim orange glow resembling campfires ahead in the trees emerged as they crested a hillock. Zalyn picked up speed and passed the bard, leaving Devis trailing.
Devis squinted. He didn't see anything, damn his eyes.
"Don't make sense," Hound-Eye growled. "That's the spot all right, but there's never lights."
The bard marveled that the wolves had not attacked. The grinning, snarling, undead beasts yipped and barked like hyenas and were keeping pace easily. The things were playing with them like barn cats over a nest of mice.
Devis could think of only two reasons the wolves did not attack. Either they were simply trying to tire the prey out to the point where they couldn't fight back, or they were herding the group toward the rest of the pack. If Silatham was lost to the undead, so were he, Mialee, and the rest.
The bard heard a rasping growl behind him and risked a glance over his shoulder. The lead zombie wolf was literally snapping at his heels. Devis pulled his long sword free of its scabbard and slashed awkwardly behind his back as he ran. He felt the blade tip make brief, fleshy contact. The wolf yelped and fell back. The sword was clumsy to hold while running, but he held onto it in case another wolf tried the same trick.
Devis lifted his gaze from his friends' running backsides-how had he been chosen to bring up the rear?-and thought he could finally make out a faint light ahead. Dozens of bloody paws crashed through the brush behind them on the overgrown trail. He hoped the elves were ready for a fight. The bard and his allies were bringing a doozy to their front door. Unless, of course, they were running right into the talons of even more undead creatures.
Devis didn't need the eyes of a full-blooded elf to see the bright flash of blue light ahead of them on the dark forest trail. A lone elf stood in the road about two hundred feet away, facing away from them. The elf was tall, thin, and wore tattered robes that hung from his lanky frame. Atop the elf's head was a pointed, silver helm. Devis could make out no further details. Normally, even his half-human eyes should have been able to see the buttons on the man's coat at this distance, but the moons were down and the only other sources of light were the distant orange glow and the pale light spell Zalyn had asked Mialee to cast on her helm.
Devis heard the wolves snarling and yapping behind them. For whatever reason, the creatures were staying back. The bard hoped that meant they were afraid of the tall man. Maybe he was just an elf.
Mialee gasped. "Favrid?" the elf woman whispered.
"Favrid?" the others responded simultaneously.
"It could be," the elf woman hissed. "Teleportation is no big feat for him."
"Why didn't he teleport himself to safety?" Devis whispered as the group maneuvered to keep watch on the wolves and the shadowy figure. "Why won't he face you? I don't trust it, love."
"Why doesn't he do something?" Zalyn asked.
"Because he's a wizard, that's why," Hound-Eye spat. "He didn't save Tent City, did he?"
Darji circled low over their heads. "Hound-Eye, Favrid did everything he could," the little raven chirped.
"I'll tell that to the dead, when I get a chance to bury them," the halfling retorted darkly.
"Favrid!" Mialee shouted. "Master, I've come to help!"
"What?" Devis said as Mialee ran ahead. "Mialee, wait!"
The solitary figure did not turn. Another wolf howled, and the stinking pack drew closer.
"Planes!" Devis swore and jogged ahead to keep up with her. She was fast.
"Mialee."
The voice that spoke the elf woman's name drifted down the road through the cool night air from the direction of the lanky figure. It reminded Devis of pipe-smoking old Gunnivan. The voice was gravelly and deep, but had the mellifluous quality of a practiced stage performer or epic balladeer.