A Howl on the Wind: Packless, #2

By T.J. Spicer

The Paranette Fang mountain range is no place for the weak, the ill prepared, or the foolish. Join the expedition of Lord Edmund Ashley as they search the deep crags and crevesus of the Fangs for wealth, but what will they truly find in the snow capped peaks.

 

Join us in this second part of a series of short stories in the Packless chain, we dive into the legends from the world of Vici. 

 

Warning!
There is violence and explicit language in this short work of fantasy and horror. This story has werewolves, people get ate. You have been warned!

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.J. Spicer
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201438654

T.J. Spicer

T.J. Spicer currently lives in San Diego, California, with his beautiful wife and daughter. It has been a long time homecoming for him to return to the Golden State after leaving to serve in the United States Army. Tim was a sergeant in C Co., 1st BSTB, 82nd Air Borne division. Don’t get too excited. He was no war hero, just a simple signal sergeant. Today he spends his time writing jabbering tales of fiction and enjoys roleplaying games, all books he can devour, and tabletop miniatures games. A mid all these silly nerdisms, he somehow finds time to work his day job as a test engineer. I hate writing about myself, so maybe someone else would have done a better job.

Book preview

Dedication

For my beautiful wife, with her, I will never be alone in the wind.

Interlude Two

John stumbled down the middle of the cobblestone main road of Ashenvale. The heavy paving stones of the road were more like boulders slowing his drunken slog. He would have had a much easier time of it had he traveled the side dirt-packed streets of the hamlet with his skittered drunken gait.

Damn bitch, he slurred over and over between drinks from the heavy earthen jug of whiskey as he slurred down the path from the tavern to his old Shepherd’s shack outside of town. She left me to go live with them, old fuckers.

He was oblivious to the black shape following behind him in the shadows. He wouldn’t have heard the boot steps even if he had been stone sober and alert. The phantom just followed behind him as he left the village, and the road turned from paving stones to dirt. It slowly meandered back to the north to come to a parallel path with the trade canal that the foresters used to float their cut timber to Ashenvale’s sawmills. The shadow kept pace.

John babbled on and about that damn bitch, and her bastard boy; as he stumbled, the shadow listened, waring with the voices in its own mind.

Killer! Killer, kill him. The voices screamed over and over in the phantom’s mind as it stalked its prey. The specter’s hand gripped one of its two copper wire-wrapped, hilted long knives. A soft whisper of wind made a rustling sound as the blade drew forth. A mere inch of steel into the night air. The bright sharpened steel should have glinted in the moon and starlight, but the blade’s edge seemed to devour the light.

The shadow darted forward to bring the sharp bite of death. Its blade stabbed out in one swift flash of movement. The long edge biting only the air as John stumbled drunkenly and landed hard on his ass. His arms swiped and flailed as he slid down the soft earth until his legs sloshed under the waterline.

Of course, he slips and escapes my blade. The specter thought as it leaped to the bank next to his fallen prey. The shade crept closer; the smell of the cheap whiskey drifting off the man was near sickening to the ghost.

Kill him! The voices screamed.

Hold on. I’m in charge here. I’m doing this because I want to. Oscar thought back to the voices. And if you don’t shut up a moment, I’ll just take my blade and go home.

Kill him!

That’s it. This is your last warning. Oscar thought back.

The voices huffed and were silent.

Do you still breathe? Oscar, satisfied with the silence of the voices, asked John. The distorted echo of his query caused the drunken man to stir.

Get away from me bitch, John lolled in his drunken stupor.

"Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type. Besides, from what I’ve heard, the boy made sure I don’t ever have to worry about you siring more