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Dessin left us somewhere a few yards back. Kane studies Garanthian now.
“I saw a pack when I was a young boy. They weren’t that large. Even still, no other beast compared. They were our favorite monsters to hear stories about.” He continues trying to make conversation but Kane isn’t humoring him with small talk.
“What’s your favorite story?” I ask. It wouldn’t be small talk for me. I’d love to learn more about where DaiSzek comes from.
Garanthian huffs. “I don’t know how much of them are true. We’d hear lots of stories about the RottWeilen packs maintaining population sizes.”
My eyebrows rise. “What does that mean?”
“For animals. Not people. About a century ago there was a mass reproduction of night dawpers in these parts. They were slaughtering women on the rag, men wounded from battle, they’d even managed to annihilate several of our hunting parties.” Garanthian leans down to pet a blue-eyed wolf trotting alongside him. “They nearly made our snow elven wolves go extinct.”
Each wolf continues to glance over at DaiSzek. But he’s glued to my hip, not to be bothered with them.
“There was an army of them. At least a few hundred. Hungry, gnarled, ugly beasts. We eventually had to shut the gates of the keep, and they would have starved us out. If it weren’t for the RottWeilen.” He nods his head at DaiSzek, smiling. “It only took twelve of them. Twelve. And they galloped through the snow like hellhounds sent from the devil himself, wiping out a few hundred night dawpers. And my gods, our legends described how they fought. Strategic. Precise. It was like they planned their battlefield, decided every move, every attack together.”
“He used to leave me speechless after a fight. Somehow, he’d always seem overprepared, as if he didn’t need his brute strength. He needed strategy,” Kane finally responds.
Sounds like someone else I know.
“Aye, they were a force. Calculated. United. They not only fought for their pack, but they fought to save our people.”
I look down at DaiSzek, scratching behind his eyes with pride.
“We’d never in a million years think a species so superior would be wiped out in one fell swoop. An alchemist’s warfare is for cowards,” Garanthian growls under his breath.
My heart stutters to a stop. Demechnef destroyed the RottWeilen with chemical warfare. It’s as if someone has slapped me across the face or stuck a knife in my back. He lost everything. His pack. His family. And now he’s the only one of his kind.
Forever.
“That’s devastating,” I mutter.
“Aye. It is. But y’know, these creatures aren’t only known for their violence. We have other myths that may ring true.”
We wait patiently for him to continue.
“It’s said that RottWeilens can sense the cries of their pack members from across the world. It’s a telepathic connection to come when even the weakest pack member is in danger.” Garanthian takes a swig from a leather canteen pouch. “Or that in the heat of battle, the strongest member can reach an octave with their roar, rendering their enemy completely deaf.”
We stop trudging and gaze upon several leagues of empty space. Nothing but snow. Only trees surrounding the white opening of land.
“But my favorite is the legend of the god alpha. The strongest form of alpha that can pass through the veil of life and death in order to save their kin. We’ve only heard of it happening three times in their history.” Garanthian shrugs. “I’m sure the Crimson Kres could give accurate stories if they were still around.”
We’re silent for a long moment, waiting for further direction of where to go, but also taking in the power of legends from DaiSzek’s kin.
“Do you have a healer? We have wounds that need to be cleaned,” Kane says. I forgot that an arrow skimmed his already battered arm. My hand instinctually flies up to his bicep, covering the open flesh.
Kane glances down at my hand, then raises those thick lashes to me. A surprised smile.
“Ay!” Garanthian shouts at DaiSzek who is kneeling down to sniff a curly red plant. “One bite of that and the saphriness oil will knock ya on your ass, beastie!”
Kane clears his throat. “A healer?”
“We do. Will you join us for a feast after you’re tended to?” Garanthian asks.
But we still aren’t moving. And Garanthian’s tone suggests we’ve already arrived.
“What are we waiting for?” I turn to Garanthian, catching him watching my every move with a cautious expression.
He scratches his copper beard. “You don’t see it?”
