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It was one thing to walk a couple of blocks to the store or walk around your high school between periods. This was walking for hours on end. All their feet were well tenderized by the end of the third hour. Except for Runt, who had tried to make the pace brisk but gave up after leaving them as indistinguishable dots on at least three occasions.
The sun was setting, turning the sky afire with purples and oranges. The countryside, still quite rocky, was now a touch greener with the occasional copse of trees and batches of colorful wildflowers on fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Melvin had never seen so much nature all at one time and he so desperately wanted to see something else. Something that looked like civilization because that meant he could stop walking.
Mike voiced their concerns. “Yo, can we punch the timecard? My dogs are barking.”
Runt looked at them all and stopped. “Briefly. You all take your boots off.”
“I can’t believe you understood him,” Jason said.
Runt grunted. “Don’t have to. Mike Ballztowallz like most megryms. Overly wordy. Understood he wanted rest. You all want rest.”
They all sat down save Runt and pried their boots off with earnest. A concert of groans and ahs went up into the air as they began massaging.
“We make poor time,” Runt said. He stood with his back to the group, facing the mountain range on the horizon that was glowing gold from the light of the fading day. The sunlight glinted off of the unconventional weapon that ran the length of the big man’s back, a stout staff with axe blades facing in opposite directions on either end, like a deadly letter “Z”.
“Thanks for bearing with us,” Melvin said. “Walking’s a lost art for guys like us. And thanks for the stew earlier. It was really good.”
“No thanks needed, Miss Melvin Zhufira.”
Mike snickered. “Miss Melvin.”
Melvin felt his face grow hot. “Uh, yeah, Runt, about that. You can just call me Melvin. I’m not really Zhufira and I’m definitely no miss.”
“But you are. You are Miss Melvin Zhufira.”
“I don’t think you understood our story fully. I’m Melvin Morrow. I’m a sixteen-year-old guy. I’m just stuck in a woman’s body right now.”
“Understood story. Zhufira fights. Melvin walks. You are both. Miss Melvin Zhufira.”
“Speaking of fighting,” Mike said, “you still have a big ass hand print around your thigh from when that weagr spanked that ass. I noticed your nasty ass friends looking at it when we was walking.”
Shock hit Rich’s face like a lightning strike. “No I wasn’t!”
“You was looking at my brother’s tight, brown-sugary ass, you old pervert. I saw you.”
Rich’s face turned red behind the beard. “Um. What? No—no—that’s crazy.” He shook his head.
Jason shrugged. “I was looking. Sorry Mel, but right about now your brown-sugary bottom is the most scenic vista out here.”
“We should leave,” Runt said.
They set out once again. The sun had all but vanished behind the mountain range. An army of stars twinkled into existence. Runt stopped, little more than a giant silhouette against the growing darkness.
“Mike Ballztowallz, walk with me. I need your eyes. We go to the mountains, the base of the mountain with the horse head shape.”
Melvin looked at his brother and noticed his eyes shining like a wolf’s. That’s right; megrym vision was better suited to night. Melvin wondered what it was like for Mike to see the world right now.
“I don’t remember Tirys being in the mountains,” Jason said, looking down at his feet as he talked. Melvin imagined his eyes were pretty useless in low light.
“Not going to Tirys,” Runt said. “Tirys is for tomorrow, in daylight.”
“I don’t see why we need to deviate,” Jason said. “Going to the mountains puts us farther from Tirys than we would be if we just headed straight for it.”
Runt explained without breaking his stride as he walked beside Mike. “We would not make Tirys at our pace. Exhaustion would claim you all. Easy for weagrs to find us as we slept out here in the open. A grim end.”
Melvin shivered. It had been so calm and peaceful on the plains that the threat of weagrs seemed distant and surreal until now. The prospect of them finding their camp out here in the middle of the night destroyed any thought about sore feet.
“What’s in the mountains?” Rich asked.
Runt explained as they made their way. A fort lay there, abandoned for ages. It was one of many forts that dotted the landscape and in disrepair since the days of the Nigev Endeavor. Jason had heard of that; when mankind had attempted a manifest destiny of sorts leading to fierce warfare with aians and nasrans. Men named the forts after idealistic principles that ran contrary to their sense of entitled conquest: Fort Noble and Justice and Vigil. They were headed to Fort Law.
Jason was telling stories of history’s hard lessons, of famous battles and heroes in the Endeavor when Mike called for the group to stop. Melvin could see the oppressive pitch of mountain outlines against the starlit sky all around him.
“Prolly best to go single file through here,” Mike said.
“What’s here?” Melvin asked.
“Graveyard.”
They all fell in step behind the megrym. He snaked a course through the graves that felt erratic to Melvin’s feet. Despite the low light, Melvin was able to spot a few grave markers. Some were innocuous rounded stone but others were crossed swords or spear heads affixed in granite. This was definitely not a safe place to wander through aimlessly.
“That’s not all,” Mike said. “There’s holes all over the place, like some giant badger went crazy.”
“Hmmm,” Jason said, “I don’t recall reading anything in the bestiary about an animal that would do that. Seems a lot of trouble to get corpse meat.”
“Few troubles in easy meal,” Runt said.
The graveyard was massive and by the time Mike led them through it, the team was within a stone throw of the mountains. Within a mile they found a mountain pass, host to an old and broken trail overgrown with weeds. As the trail led them around a bend, Fort Law came into view.
Even abandoned and age worn, the fort was awe inducing. The gates alone had to be the height of a three-story house and made of dense wood as thick as a bank vault. Sharp iron spikes bigger than Mike protruded from the wood, a clear and imposing message that no one was welcome here. One gate hung ajar and beyond it blue flame flickered in sconces, casting an eerie glow on the stone steps leading to the entrance of the fort.
“Netherfire,” Rich said breathlessly, his eyes never leaving the blue flamed sconces as they approached the gates. “Stuff’ll burn for a thousand years.”
The netherfire illuminated the face of Fort Law. Shadows danced across foreboding features. Melvin imagined an era long gone when behind the slit windows men fired arrows or from the balcony they poured boiling tar onto the entryway. His gaze flitted, along with the flickering blue light, across the expanse of the entryway, carved to resemble the monstrous maw of a hungry beast.
A sound in the not-too-distant darkness behind them broke Melvin’s reverie. A yell. Followed by another.
“Weagrs,” Runt said. “Going through graveyard the hard way. Will be upon us soon. Help close the gate.”
They all strained as they tried to coax dense wood well settled after being ajar for countless years. It fought the change, issuing its own massive groans as it gave up inches. Melvin could hear the weagrs getting louder, closer and sounding angry as they were no doubt dealing with the many holes and sharp markers of the graveyard. The butterflies in his gut made him nauseated and the gate’s slow progress only made them flutter faster.
When the gate finally shut it sounded like a loud knock on hollow walls. Runt looked around and retrieved what must have been the doorjamb, a giant four by four beam.
The beam was worm eaten in some places, heavily splintered in others. It would not hold long against banging weagrs.
“We got another problem,” Mike said, his eyes shining as he looked across the courtyard.
Melvin followed his brother’s eyes and saw another pair of eyes shining back at them from the darkness. The eyes approached until the netherfire revealed an animal that looked like a hyena. Instead of the short, spotted fur of a hyena, this creature had a mane of long brown hair erupting from its neck and down its back. It seemed to regard them all with curiosity.
“Strandwolf,” Runt said. “Will kill for its meat when necessary or in large groups. Mostly scavengers.”
Scavenger or not, Melvin didn’t like the looks of it. There was a nasty and intelligent gleam in those shiny eyes. The strandwolf rose up until it looked like a man on two legs leaning forward, its front paws hanging down in front of it. Then it started to laugh, revealing wicked teeth. “Ke ke ke ke...”
The gate behind them jumped with a sudden thud. Another thud followed, as jarring as the first. The doorjamb splintered a little more.
“Ke ke ke kiyiya... yeya!” the strandwolf’s laugh got louder, bouncing off the mountain walls of the courtyard. It ended its taunting laugh with an ear piercing howl.
Eyes started appearing in the darkness. A sea of them, too many to count, all of them shining with nasty intelligence. From various places amongst the eyes, a low laugh came. “Ke ke ke ke...”
Boom! The gate shuddered from another attack.
“Inside the fort!” Runt yelled.
They raced to the door. The strandwolves broke into a run to cover the courtyard grounds and beat them to the entrance. The door grew closer quickly but so did the shifting tide of furry bodies all around them. The closest strandwolf, the one that had roused its family, lunged at Jason, its jaws open.
It yelped as an axe blade landed on the side of its face. Runt had pulled his Z-weapon and was bearing it in both hands as he ran. He did not break a stride as he struck the strandwolf. Neither did the remaining pack.
Four strandwolves covered the courtyard grounds before the group could make the entrance. Runt’s Z-weapon went up, cutting one in mid-lunge. Then the other end came down, swiping another. Mike’s club crushed the hind quarters of the strandwolf trying to hamstring Rich. The last strandwolf lunged at Jason, who undoubtedly looked like easy prey, one-armed and weaponless.
Its teeth sank into Jason’s arm. It was the severed arm tied to his back. The strandwolf bit down and a moment later crashed to the ground, deep in sleep.
Jason was the last one inside the fort. Runt closed the doors while Mike slid an iron bar across them. Outside, they could hear the scratching and howling and braying of the strandwolves.
They all backed away from the entrance cautiously, as if any sudden movement would cause the door to break down and allow an army of strandwolves to descend upon them. The netherfire sconces were sparse inside. Their blue light illuminated errant patches of pitch blackness, making the desire to tread carefully that much more pressing.
Melvin could make out the entrances to a few cave-like passages that disappeared into darkness. Four netherfire sconces in the center of the room illuminated a large portion of the antechamber. They retreated to this well lit square, watching the door the whole time.
“What do we do now?” Melvin asked.
“You can start by getting your sword out, jackass,” Mike said.
Melvin drew his sword. The sight of it shaking made him feel even more unnerved than when it was sheathed. He brought the sword tip to rest against the stone floor to keep it steady.
Jason reached behind him and grabbed his severed arm by its hand. He hoisted it like a club. It was a strange sight, with the rigid joints keeping it up and shoulder socket meat exposed at the top.
“Not sure how this unfolds,” Runt said looking at the door. “Door could hold, proof against strandwolves and weagrs. Door could fall to either or both.”
He went quiet. Melvin hoped he was thinking of battle strategies or alternate plans. Melvin couldn’t get his own mind to think beyond what he was seeing and hearing. He was seeing a door surrounded by darkness. He was hearing scratching and braying outside the door, the occasional shuffle and scurry of rats inside the fort.
Runt spoke at last. “Depending on weagr numbers, strandwolves may retreat. We want somewhere dark for weagrs, to ambush and confuse.”
The sound of Runt’s voice calmed Melvin. They had no definite plan yet, but the sound of him working through their precarious situation without fear in his voice strengthened Melvin’s resolve.
“But there are many strandwolves. More than I thought possible in a land scarce of meat like this. Possible they will take down all weagrs, forget about us entirely. Possible too they defeat weagrs and still come for us. Must fight them in light.”
It sounded like they would have to wager on who was going to win outside: the rock or the hard place. Inside, Melvin heard more rats shuffling, closer this time. Normally rodents move away from strangers and danger. He thought about the state of decay this ancient fort was in.
“Are there any other ways into this fort?” he asked Runt.
Runt shook his head. “Carved into mountain. One way in, one way out. Highly defensible.”
Melvin was about to explain about the rats and what he thought he was hearing, but the rats announced themselves with a loud shuffle of movement directly behind them. They all turned to face the noise.
Blue netherfire shed flickering light on some of their questions. Now they knew how the strandwolf population had grown so dense. What was moving toward them was no errant rat.
They were corpses. Some in full and rusted battle raiment, some in tattered rags, but all of them were walking corpses. The men long dead and buried in the fields outside the gates had returned from the grave to occupy Fort Law.