Wolves' Blood Rising: The Third Chronicle of the Wolf Pack

By Thomas Tipton

The Kintara have an ancient credo. Never leave an enemy alive. They will only return to torment you.

After the disastrous battle atop the Pyramid of the Sun in the astral realm, Falcon leads the Wolf Pack against the combined might of the Darklords and Forsaken. The people of Mekedah are choosing sides, and the Wolf Packs ranks continue to swell allowing tired soldiers a long awaited chance to rest.

Their furlough is interrupted though as Falcon is forced to put aside his duties as High King and hunt down those responsible for kidnapping his son. This quest will lead him and the few stalwart friends who follow him on a collision course with an old enemy, an enemy who will make them wish they had listened to their estranged friend Raven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 9, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467049313

Thomas Tipton

Tip was born in 1975 and lives in Texas with his incredible children. He teaches high school art, watches too much kung fu, and dreams in infrared. He is the notorious author of Into the Breach Once More, To Catch a Tiger by the Tail, Archangel, Shadows Wait to Play, Wolves' Blood Rising, Ashes in the Fall, and Shattered Skies in my Eyes.

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Wolves’ Blood Rising

The Third Chronicle of

the Wolf Pack

by

Thomas Tipton

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2008 Thomas Tipton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/5/2008

ISBN: 978-1-4389-2690-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4931-3 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

For Tim,

the golden boy.

Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTES

PROLOGUE

MASTER OF THE HOUSE

TIME MARCHES ON

FOLLOW THE LEADER

HEADHUNTERS

ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

HUNT THE HUNTERS

IT’S A LONG HARD ROAD

THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MEN

HELPLESS

REVELATIONS

A DOWNWARD SPIRAL

PICKING UP THE PIECES

TRIALS AND SNARES

DEAD ENDS

FURTHER DOWN THE SPIRAL

THE UNDERGROUND

SUCH WICKED GAMES WE PLAY

EXODUS

IN THE NAVY

BACK IN THE SADDLE

HUNTED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to God the Creator and Jesus, my savior. To my wife, Amy, I love you. Special thanks to Pops, my father, my hero. To my brother, Tim, my wingman, who always had my back. To Brooklyn and Cadie, thank you for making me smile. To Layne and Erin, I don’t know where I’d be without you.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

This story was written from the eyewitness account of a warrior known only as Bulldog, and he, like most artists, has taken some creative license with the spelling of certain names. I have left them as found in his annals. Also, there were other accounts of the action that Bulldog had collected, stories told him long after he had recorded his memories by the soldiers he served with. Bulldog had the individual writings scattered through out his annals. I have pieced them together in as close to chronological order as possible.

PROLOGUE

They were just so savage, these creatures. Brutality was their singular behavior. Gulgotha stood in the dimness of the deep cave, a circle of Hellborn sorcerers between him and the chieftains gathered in the great cavern. Gairon knelt before him, the Harbinger’s eyes lifeless. Gulgotha could feel his heartbeat through the steel of the binding leash between them, could feel the man’s soul raging inside him, ever fighting.

Thousands of the creatures had come to witness the birth of their long awaited leader. Gulgotha had known they awaited the coming of the one who would fulfill their ancient prophecy even in his first life on Kronnos nearly two hundred years before. In the center of the great cavern, on a raised block of granite, laid a female writhing in the agony of birth. The Forsaken knew the ritual. Every so many years the most powerful of the chieftains gathered and the strongest female of their kind was given to them. She was raped repeatedly by the group, beaten and broken as the males sated their primal lusts. If the female survived and was impregnated, her child would grow in power and strength far beyond that of a normal male of its species. Gulgotha thought of the species, his face twisting in disgust at the very thought of their name.

Goblins.

This child would be the Goblin Lord when it reached maturity. Gulgotha’s grim visage turned into a sly smile, as he sensed the Goblin child fighting within the mother’s womb. Yes, this would be the most powerful in generations, a legend even among the foul Goblin folk who respected nothing. The child would not reach maturity for another twenty years, though, and Gulgotha could not wait that long. The most powerful of his Hellborn sorcerers assured him he would not have too.

Atop the stone dais the female bucked in agony. Like all species, there were easy births and others that were difficult. This one was more than difficult. The prophesied child was powerful in a way Gulgotha did not understand. He could sense the incredible strength, the matchless ferocity of the Goblin Lord, but there was more to it that eluded him. The Forsaken could not quite grasp the enigma. It frustrated him, but not as much as the possibilities this tool presented excited him.

The female twitched again, her back arching, her protruding, sweat soaked belly glimmering in the firelight. Then she let out a scream and fell still. The Goblin shamans rushed forward, one of them using a very primitive knife shaped from bone to deftly open the female’s belly and remove the screaming Goblin child. The gathered masses began a guttural chant as the shaman held the Goblin Lord aloft.

The chanting went on for what Gulgotha, bored with the ancient ceremonies, considered an unbearable length of time. Eventually, the shamans, followed by the huge Goblins who had sired the Goblin Lord, stepped through the crowd, stopping before the circle of Hellborn. Without an exchange of any kind, the Helleborn moved forward, encircling the child. They did not chant or speak a word to one another, but their combined magic sprang to life in the form of a glowing cocoon that floated at eye level to the sorcerers.

The shaman looked toward Gulgotha and spoke in the Goblin tongue. It was guttural and harsh and though the Forsaken did not know the language, through magical means, he understood the words. The grizzled old Goblin was saying in no uncertain terms that if the child of Goblin prophecy was harmed in any way, all of Gulgotha’s power, all of his magic, would not save him from the wrath of those gathered. Then he gently pushed the child inside the cocoon of light.

Once inside, the child began to writhe and squirm and an angry buzz started throughout the thousands of gathered Goblins. Gulgotha’s eyes narrowed as a number of Black Goblins, their obsidian skin gleaming in the dim firelight, approached, hatred in their golden eyes. The Forsaken was joined by his Darklords, Whither and Burn. He could sense that they were both ready to unleash an arsenal of spells. They were uncomfortable this far underground, surrounded by so many hostile creatures.

Then the child within the cocoon began to grow, the bones breaking through the skin around its knuckles. Gulgotha heard Burn’s sharp intake of breath as an explosion of blood coated the inside of the cocoon, but he was not worried. This was merely an event that marked the beginning of adolescents for the males of all Goblin races. The child was already three times his original size and the angry murmur of the crowd had faded to absolute silence. Gulgotha smiled.

How long? he asked the Hellborn sorcerers.

Six days, one of them answered.

Gulgotha nodded, and then mentally commanded Gairon to open a portal.

Should one of us stay with them? Whither asked, her cruel eyes revealing an unbridled blood lust.

No, he said. We had to make an appearance, to earn their trust. We could not appear to them as a threat. Likewise, we show them that we are unafraid of their numbers, though in all likelihood, had they decided to kill us, all of our power would have been for naught. Beyond the walls of this cavern there are tens of thousands more.

And they will follow you now? Burn asked, his tone showing his skepticism.

No, Gulgotha admitted with a smile. The Goblins follow no one save the Goblin Lord.

Then why are we here? Burn asked. What purpose does this serve?

Gulgotha’s mood notwithstanding, he was losing patience with the young Darklord.

The reason I chose the Goblin Lord is his simple minded obsession and his indomitable strength and will. I chose him because hundreds of thousands of these Goblins will follow him to Gateway and will lay siege until they are all dead or the Goblin Lord has what he wants.

And what is it that this Goblin Lord wants, Gulgotha? Whither asked.

A mere trinket, child, Gulgotha crooned. A trinket that will make him a god.

A globe of darkness engulfed the four figures and then dissipated. The Goblins nearby growled as they realized the Forsaken, his pet, and his two bodyguards had disappeared. The Hellborn paid little, if any, attention to the fact that Gulgotha had gone. They were wholly focused on the Goblin child. Most of the gathered Goblins took little notice of either the Hellborn or the disappearance of the more powerful sorcerers. They were in a daze, a sort of rapture, every golden eye trained on the growing child within the cocoon.

MASTER OF THE HOUSE

Two soldiers strode purposefully through the massive citadel, one practically sprinting to keep up with his commander. Onward, past the monstrous reptilian sentries that worshipped the Lord Chamberlain, into a large, ornate anteroom where visitors waited. Several of the sentries were stationed within the circular room to ensure that anyone wishing an audience with the Lord Chamberlain was properly intimidated.

Though his commander maintained iron discipline, ignoring the cushioned sofas where others waited to see the Chamberlain, Rapier glanced nervously toward the large reptilian creatures. Wearing over one hundred pounds of spiked armor, the creatures, called Naghii, boasted quickness far beyond Corilium capabilities. An inherit savagery and the heavy armor coupled with a total lack of instinct for self-preservation made the Naghii practically invincible. The half-dozen Naghii staring at him through eyes that gleamed with malign intelligence unsettled Rapier. The Corilium could have sworn the creatures were sizing him up and running their tongues across needle sharp teeth, wet with saliva in anticipation of their next meal. Long moments passed before one of the King’s personal guards opened one of two reinforced doors leading to an audience hall where the King and Lord Chamberlain were discussing matters of state.

State your report and be gone, the man said, his tone full of arrogant pride.

Rapier watched as his commander’s back stiffened. A small smiled played across his face. He recognized this posture from his old friend. Striding forward, Rama the Archer grabbed the guard by the throat. Rapier drew his own slim blade as several of the guard’s companions moved to assist their brother in arms. Rapier’s reputation as a swordsman kept the situation for becoming deadly.

I make my reports to the King or Lord Chamberlain only, swine, and I come and go as I choose, Rama growled, shoving the man away from him. The guard tripped and fell, sprawling to the stone floor.

The guard scrambled to his feet. He stood staring at Rama, his eyes full of malice and hatred. Rapier and his fellow Headhunters were all too familiar with these looks from the people of Juma. His people were outsiders, brought to the island nation of Juma from a desolate and hopeless future by the Lord Chamberlain. It was to him they owed their allegiance. The feelings of the Juman populace were of little concern.

I suggest that next time you and I cross paths, you remember your rank and move aside as I come through, Rama said.

Enough, the King shouted as he approached. Rapier turned his head toward the spindly man. It was the first time he had seen him in anything other than the illusions Vision cast when the King or Lord Chamberlain wished to address the city. Bald from head to foot, rumors were rampant concerning the little man’s obsession with cleanliness. King Creinen stood before them now, naked, wearing nothing but an open indigo robe of silk and his crown. Behind him stood an enormous man, smiling at the exchange.

Come along, Reginald, King Creinen ordered. The Lord Chamberlain has business with the outlanders.

As the King and his guards moved out of the room, Rama and Rapier turned to the booming laughter of the Lord Chamberlain. Rapier had never been comfortable around the man. Even when he had first freed he and his family from the slave pens of the Despoilers, Rapier had tried to stay well away from him. There was a slight menace in his eyes, and his unimaginable bulk, propelled by awesome muscle, was more than a little intimidating.

Ah, Rama, how very much like the angel Gabriel you are, waiting to blow his trumpet to announce the coming of the King. I can sense the excitement and anticipation flowing through you, the Chamberlain said.

The huge man was dressed in soft silks and satins, all white, pure and without blemish. Rapier’s eye caught movement behind the man. A woman, beautiful, but unnerving stepped slowly from the raised dais joining the white clad man. Her eyes were cruel, her smile seductive. Rapier would not meet her gaze.

Begging your pardon, sir, Rama said, ignoring the woman. Slider has returned. He reports that our agent has provided the information you requested. Word is that the target is scheduled to return to Falcon’s Crest within three weeks.

The Lord Chamberlain stood still for a few moments while the two soldiers patiently waited.

Continue training your team, Rama, he said at last, a small smile on his scarred face. Commence with your attack in exactly one months’ time. It is the time of judgment. It is time for jihad. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Rama and Rapier bowed, and then exited the room, quickly making their way back to their platoon. Rapier walked a step behind Rama. Once they were beyond the Naghii, however, Rapier caught up with his commander.

You realize the King is insane, right? he whispered.

Rama grunted and pointed to his ear, hoping Rapier would catch on. These walls had ears. Rapier failed to heed the warning, though.

What’s with the Lord Chamberlain spouting all that religious mumbo jumbo? And now there’s that bitch of a girlfriend and the creatures she brought to the arena pits to consider. Hell, even Straycat won’t go near them. He says they’re totally unnatural.

Rounding a corner, Rama stopped, grabbing Rapier by his jerkin. He pulled him close. Whispering, he told Rapier to shut his mouth.

My friend, you are a fool, Rama said. Yes, the King is insane. Yes, the Lord Chamberlain has his faults, but it is dangerous for you to speak of these things. Especially while we walk the halls of the citadel. We are not so strong that we can afford to make an enemy of the one we serve.

I’m sorry, Rama. I’m just not sure I agree with the Lord Chamberlain’s policies regarding our target, Rapier said. Even you have to admit he has been acting strange lately. Who is the woman? What are the Naghii, and where did they come from? Why are they here?

Rama was quiet a moment, meeting his childhood friend’s gaze. Rapier saw determination and inner strength reflected there. In Rama, Rapier saw the man he wished he could be.

If you are uncomfortable with our holy mission, then resign your commission and try to make your way in this world. I remember the slave pens. I remember the stories the elders told us of why we were born there. And I remember the man who brought us out of that captivity. It is to him that the others, all of us, have sworn our allegiance. That is why I will fight this jihad. What I need to know, Rapier, is are you with me? Rama said, his eyes ablaze with righteous passion. That fire had not only seen Rama through some tough times, but many of his soldiers and friends would admit that they owed him their lives as a result of his passion. Rapier was among them.

You know that I am, Rama, Rapier answered, hurt by Rama’s questioning of his loyalty. Rama nodded and continued leading Rapier down the hall. Rapier let the conversation die, and decided to keep his reservations to himself. He may doubt the validity of the Lord Chamberlain’s jihad, but he did not doubt Rama’s loyalty. He could not, in all good conscience, fight for the Lord Chamberlain, but he would give his life for Rama.

TIME MARCHES ON

Life with Falcon and the Wolf Pack had settled into a vicious routine of short lulls between the fury of the storms. I’m speaking figuratively of course. We had been fighting a nonstop war against the tide of Forsaken, Darklords, and ShadowElves, holding them in a stalemate for over a year and a half.

Nine months on the frontline had left me in desperate need of one of those lulls. General Trogan had finally convinced King Falcon to take some time away from the front, return home, and get some much-needed rest. That meant most of the Wolf Pack was headed back to Defiance, including little old me. As personal bodyguard to the King, I went where he went, and for the next couple of months, that was near feather down mattresses, hot meals, cold ale, and Roulette.

Of course, someone would have to stay behind. Those unlucky souls included General Trogan, Warbird, and Creek. Creek was being left to command the two thousand members of the Wolf Pack who were being left behind to carry on the fight. Trogan and Warbird would be leading the Crimson Guard. After the devastating loss of life the Khorinin nation suffered when the Forsaken twins called Blight and Malice laid siege to Eagles’ Heights, the Crimson Guard, the Khorinin cavalry, had grown exponentially. Men and women displaced from their home and feeling vengeful had flocked to Trogan’s fighting forces. It had swollen to nearly ten thousand combat soldiers, not counting the fifteen thousand Khorinin manning the walls at Defiance. Warbird and the Lancers who had survived King Blackhawk had been absorbed into their ranks.

So we were headed home to Defiance, also known as Gateway, or Falcon’s Crest depending on whom you talked to, while some old-school warhorses took care of things. Our new home was nick named Gateway. Stone’s people, the deep cavern dwelling Albinine, had built the city at the southern mouth of Winter’s Pass, opposite Safe Haven in the north. It was literally the gateway to the northern half of the continent. If the Darklords or Forsaken wanted to get at the rest of the continent without having to cross the Plains Breaker Mountains, they had to go through us. The city was also known as Falcon’s Crest because Stone’s people had a thing for sculpture and beauty. I was never sure what stone was used for the place, but amazingly, the entire citadel and surrounding walls were one piece connected to the very walls of the valley in which it stood. No seams, no blocks of stone. There was absolutely nothing to mar the perfect smoothness of the organically carved walls.

The crest tag came from the top tower. There, the Albinine had constructed a massive gemstone mosaic of a falcon with wings spread. When the sun went down and the twin moons rose, the huge gemstones they used began glowing with a light of their own. It served two purposes. When it was lit up the northern side showed our allies beyond Safe Haven that we were still holding strong, and gave the people of Defiance a reason to keep fighting in the face of what the populace considered imminent destruction. I will admit, sometimes I looked at what we were facing and wondered just how we had any hope of holding out. For those to the south, the great red falcon glowing atop the citadel tower was a great symbol to our enemies. It was like us giving Gulgotha the finger. It was one giant middle finger pointing to the sky, one great defiant gesture. We were the blight, the blemish in the enemy’s campaign. For some of us, that was our reason. We existed for no other reason than to spite the Forsaken.

I finished packing my gear and strapped it to my horse, who, I swear, looked like he was considering making a run for it before I could climb aboard. I can’t say that I blamed him. Horses and me never got along. At best, we tolerated each other.

I waited while Falcon was finishing his briefing of Creek and Trogan. Jay Jay and Sar Beck, two soldiers that had joined us during our first run in with the ShadowElves approached. Sar Beck was a large, heavily muscled fighter. Jay Jay was a short, lightly built swordsman. The two of them side by side was a contradiction I found amusing. They both still had three months on their tours before they could take a vacation.

Bulldog, Sar Beck sneered. Wipe the big idiot grin off your face. No need to rub it in.

Sorry, boys. Got a furlough to attend to, I replied, shaking hands with both men.

That’s about right. Go live it up while we do your dirty work for you. I wouldn’t expect anything less from an officer, Jay Jay said, though he was an officer as well.

Don’t worry, guys, I’ll say hello to the ladies for you. I might even think about you while soaking in a warm bath with a cold ale in hand.

That’s just plain mean, man, Sar Beck said with a chuckle. Another soldier, an older man named Kreighton approached. He had been a refugee from a little village called Luck before he had joined the Wolf Pack. I shook his hand. He merely nodded. He was very laconic. I don’t know that I had ever heard him string more than a couple of sentences together at any one time.

We said our goodbyes and the three moved on. I was left waiting for Raptor and Falcon to finish their business. I scanned the crowd of soldiers moving to and fro on various assignments, looking for some familiar faces. The Wolf Pack had grown to over five thousand strong in the last two years. Unfortunately, that meant our once small squad, the core group, had been forced to take on a variety of roles.

Falcon, of course, was up to his armpits in the usual activity, dividing his time between uniting the kingdoms of Mekedah and waging war on the Forsaken. Raptor and I still held our positions as his personal bodyguards. Lyric spent most of her time with us. She helped Falcon make headway with some of the less enthusiastic city-states with which the King was trying to build alliances. Some were desperately reluctant, but they were more desperate not to be alone against the tide of the Forsaken and their ShadowElves. Others refused to believe the Forsaken were coming at all despite the four armies currently operating on Mekedah that proved, at least in my mind, that the threat was very real.

Most of the time I thought we were wasting our time on them. Often the Kings and Warlords were useless as far as I was concerned. Not many of them showed any promise as leaders or soldiers. I thought most of them were spineless. As proof, I offer the fact that there had been very little opposition from those who commanded the city-states and kingdoms that had committed to the Circle of the Third Covenant when they had voted Falcon to lead the armies. There were a few who were capable, like a Battle Mage turned Governor named Tide, but they either didn’t have the political muscle to back a claim against their rivals, or were too old, such as the commander of Safe Haven, an old wizard called Wise. He was powerful enough to wage war when it came to him, but he was not meant for spending too much time in the saddle and taking the war to the enemy. Instead, the movers and shakers of the Circle had elected Falcon, a wild card they considered a barbarian to lead the combined forces. He was High King of Mekedah in title. He was the supreme commander of countless soldiers in practice.

Unfortunately those countless soldiers were still in muster. For the time being it was just us against the world. Of course, the GreenElves, BlueElves, and Dwarves of the Canson Mountains were still holding, but they were completely defensive. We were waiting for our allies in the north to send armies so we could sally forth and lend some much-needed help for our buddies down south.

It had been awhile since I had seen the others, the core group, I mean. We gathered around campfires occasionally and traded lies when we were in the same camp, but things had been hectic lately. Gypsy had taken on a new role. He was still a Commander in rank, but he did the part of a General. His strategic victories were giving us the advantage we needed to push the Forsaken back. His trickery and behind-the-scenes work were the perfect counterbalance to Falcon’s brute force approach. Gemini and Witchhunt were still his right and left hand men respectively. Gemini kept the troops in line, and Witchhunt got the dirty work done.

Wraith had risen to the rank of Commander and had been given the task of training new recruits in the ways of the Wolf Pack. His latest class included Prince Heron’s personal guard. I had heard they would be taking to the field soon. Strobe, Ember, Capricious, and Piper had been assigned to help him. Stone had become the