Chapter 8 - Chapter 9
Isengrim awoke to a twinge in his leg and the smell of breakfast. No—to call it just a “smell” would not do it justice. The aromas wove a rich tapestry that told tales of sizzling bacon, hot mushrooms and tomatoes dripping with their juices, hearty black pudding, sweet and savoury beans, buttered toast, and potatoes browned to a perfect crisp.
His mouth watered as his eyes remained shut. Then someone playfully whacked his shoulder. “I was wondering when you’d get up, lazybones,” Suhel’s voice said.
Isengrim opened his eyes to see her standing over the sofa with a smirk. He offered her a grin. “How did you know I was awake? My eyes were still closed.”
She let out a few coughs and took a swig of tea. “You were
drooling, milord.”
He wiped the drool from his muzzle and sat up. “I shall have to be more discreet in the future. Sometimes I like to lie around in the mornings and gather my thoughts.”
“Too bad you’ve got me crowing at the dawn,” Suhel said. More seriously, she added, “How is your leg feeling? Should we stay here another day before heading to the keep?”
“No,” Isengrim said. “I will be fine. That tincture you applied, as well as Pharazon’s spell, should help it heal quickly, and it should not slow my pace any as long as I don’t put undue strain on it, so no combat or hunting for a while. But we need to find that staff and help you and Lexora.” He looked out at the parlor. Around him, Werelupes were eating their breakfast, and he could hear Lexora’s family chatting and laughing with each other in the kitchen. Connor sat in his usual corner, poking at a black pudding with his fork.
Isengrim sighed and looked back to his second-in-command. “Besides, I am not willing to endanger this household any more than we already have. The sooner we leave town, the better.”
Suhel nodded. “After breakfast it is, then.”
The Werelupe King was about to ask where his own family was, when Terra and Pharazon came out of the kitchen, Terra carrying two plates of food and the Draik carrying one.
“Don’t you dare think about getting up to eat,” Terra said, handing Isengrim one of the plates and sitting down with the other next to Pharazon on the floor. “You need some pampering.”
“Ah, thank you,” Isengrim said, his eyes gleaming at the bounty of meats she had brought him. The plate was piled with thick slices of ham, rashers of bacon, several sausages, and a black pudding, as well as a bit of everything else on the side. “You know exactly what I like.”
“Of course,” Terra said with a modest smile, digging in to her beans. Isengrim knew she would take any excuse to dote on him, or just forgo excuses altogether. He did the same for her.
Lexora came out of the kitchen sipping a cup of tea, and she smiled when she saw Isengrim was awake. “I’m just sorry there’s not more,” she said. “We don’t really have the means to feast like this every day.” Today she wore a skirt that seemed sturdier and more fit for travel than the sweeping elegant thing she had on yesterday evening, and it no longer reached the ground, so Isengrim could see that she wore a sensible pair of boots underneath.
Isengrim snapped up a sausage and shook his head. “This is more than enough, thank you. We just appreciate your kindness.” He picked up a slice of ham with his fingers. “Just remember that no good deed goes unrewarded,” he said before biting off a meaty chunk, reveling in the taste. “My compliments to the chef, by the way. He has honed his art to perfection.”
“Mummy!” Simon said, appearing from around her. “Tell the Werelupes to use silverware like civlised Neopets! They’re being impolite!”
Lexora chuckled. “It’s not so bad, dear,” she said. “This is a bit of an impromptu breakfast, at any rate.”
“Sorry,” Suhel said. “We don’t mean to lack etiquette. Ours is just a little different than yours. We always eat with our paws at home in the Burrows—and we do make sure to keep our paws clean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lexora said. “That’s sort of what I figured. You lot don’t strike me as the sloppy type.”
“Are you all packed?” Suhel asked.
The Kougra coughed into her arm and nodded. “Daddy’s letting me take some of his old travelling gear. Not too much,” she added. “I know you said to pack light, and we’ve only got a Ganuthor for transport.”
“Well, I shouldn’t say ‘only’,” Pharazon said. “She has quite the weight limit.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to burden her,” Lexora said. “But Caradoc, I am bringing us a crate of that tea. I think we both could use it.”
Suhel smiled. “Good idea. Oh, and—you know, you can just call me ‘Suhel’. We’re not in school anymore—and Werelupes always use first names. Calling me ‘Caradoc’ just feels too impersonal, and I’ve not gone by my last name in ages anyway.”
“All right, then, Suhel,” Lexora said. “Then you may as well start calling me by my first name, mightn’t you? My last name isn’t even Fitchet anymore.”
The female Werelupe laughed. “Fair point. Lexora it is, then.”
After breakfast, they geared up and loaded into the Brownings’ wagon—the children wanted to come, but Lexora and Beoffrey convinced them that someone had to look after Grandfather. Gwyneth had settled down to sleep in the alley overnight, and she smelled as if she had thoroughly enjoyed rooting through rubbish when she awoke. But the Cloak of Night had stayed on her, and Pharazon looked quite odd coaxing thin air through the foggy morning.
The Werelupes, Terra, and Pharazon huddled beneath the tarp as Beoffrey hitched himself to the wagon and set off down the street, Gwyneth following closely in their wake. The Brownings regularly visited Beoffrey’s family in the countryside, so seeing them plod through town would not arouse any curiosity or suspicion. Isengrim and his thanes set pieces of their armour and gear on their heads to disguise their shape better under the thick cloth. Connor sat wedged between two Werelupes, not looking very happy about the arrangements but not making any attempt to run away again. His head was low and his eyes focused on the bed of the wagon.
Isengrim felt sorry for the pup, even if he did not exactly know how Connor must feel. However, Isengrim could guess at just how hard it was for Connor to see his own family reject him and his neighbors turn against him, faced with a new life that he very clearly did not want. Isengrim wished he knew how to help him better, but the king had never before met a newly-turned Werelupe, whose hurts were still fresh. All he could think to do was keep extending a paw of friendship, and do his best to protect Connor from those who misunderstood—and from himself.
Next to Isengrim sat Terra, and on her other side was Pharazon. The Draik lifted a hand and said, “Oh, right, let me get a scent-dampening spell going.” His claws began to spark.
Isengrim thought this was quite wise, as many Neopet species had just as keen of a sense of smell as they did sight. On his other side, Suhel grabbed his arm, her claws digging into his fur. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered to her. “You probably won’t feel a thing.”
As Pharazon cast the spell, Isengrim closed his eyes and strained to feel any sort of magic, but all he could discern was the usual babbling noise of a town in the morning, the jolt of wagon wheels on cobblestone, and the overpowering odour of rubbish-coated Ganuthor. Werelupes just did not have a sensitivity to magic, so much so that they might be considered numb to all but the most powerful energies. This did not seem to be the case for Skoll, who practised magic before becoming a Werelupe, but Skoll was the only Werelupe magic user Isengrim had ever met, so he seemed to be an exception.
Not that Isengrim minded—he never had much of an interest in the magical arts anyhow, and he quite enjoyed the talents that came more naturally to his kind. As he opened his eyes again, he noticed that it was more difficult to smell anyone in the wagon. It was jarring, like not being able to taste food in his mouth, but he supposed most magic would be jarring simply by virtue of being magic. It did odd things and, like Pharazon said, played by its own rules. While it had great potential for power, it was also difficult to understand and control. Isengrim would stick to fang and steel—those, he understood perfectly.
Suhel remained tense, and she and the other Werelupes bobbed their snouts, also clearly perturbed by the anomaly. “Don’t worry,” Pharazon said, “it’ll wear off soon. I don’t have the kind of focus to sustain it for very long, anyhow. I wish I could have muted the smell completely, but this will have to do, and I think Gwyneth’s stink will mask what’s left.”
“You did a fine job,” Isengrim said, still instinctively sniffing the air for scents he knew should be there but seemed much too far away. “Even our Werelupe noses are having trouble detecting our smell.” He stuck his nose in his own arm fur—it was the oddest sensation to not smell enough like himself.
Unlike use of magic itself, Isengrim understood quite well Pharazon’s frustration at not having a focussing implement. It was like having the right weapon that felt natural in one’s paws, was made well so it did exactly what one wanted it to, and meshed perfectly with one’s combat style and skillset. The weapon had to fit the wielder or it would do more harm than good, and Isengrim imagined it was much the same for mages and their tools. That concept was easy enough to grasp, unlike the slippery strangeness of spells.
The Werelupe King turned to his family and his ears drooped a bit. “Terra, Pharazon, I am sorry to get you caught up in this,” he said. “By all rights you should be riding out there with the Brownings, not hiding like fugitives.” He closed his eyes, wincing as the wagon went over a bump that jostled his leg painfully. “Enduring the persecution of last night was difficult enough for me, but you should not be stigmatised by your association with Werelupes.”
Terra gave his paw a squeeze. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’ve never fit in with anyone else anyway. It’s not something I’m concerned about.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry it’s upsetting you so much. Please, don’t worry about it. Pharazon and I are okay. Trust me—I’m more than up to the task of owning a Werelupe. No one ever said it would be easy, but the best things in life take fighting for.” She grinned fiercely. “And I’ll gladly fight for you any day.”
Isengrim smiled. She may have had soft fingers and blunt teeth, but inside she was just as strong and brave as any Werelupe.
“I think it’s more than worth it,” Pharazon added. “Other people can say what they like—we’re privileged to have you in the family.”
Terra nodded. “Not many people can claim a hardcore forest king as part of their clan, you know. And if other Neopets don’t like it—well, tough. They need to get their priorities straight. It’s their problem, not ours.”
Isengrim gave her a fanged grin. “That’s right.” Few Werelupes, he thought, were as lucky to have a family who not only loved them the way they were, but thought they were, in Terra’s words, “awesome”.
“What upset me most about last night,” Terra said, “was how those Neopets treated you and the other Werelupes. It just burns me up to see such unthinking hatred.”
The Werelupe King sighed. “I hate it, too… but it’s nothing new.” The sounds of town had begun to fade, the road grew a little rougher, and he guessed that they had cleared Barrowmere, but they still had a way to go before they could stop hiding.
“I just don’t understand,” Pharazon said, “why Werelupes get such a bad rep in the Haunted Woods. I mean, painting a Lupe with a Halloween paint brush makes them look like a Werelupe too, and there are plenty of Halloween Lupes roaming around Neopia being normal citizens.”
“That is because in the rest of Neopia, the Haunted Woods is viewed as an aesthetic,” Isengrim said. “Much like how there exist paint brushes to make a Neopet look as though they came from the Lost Desert, or Mystery Island. They are an imitation of the real thing.” He adjusted his sword across his head, making sure it stayed firm between the teeth of his skull-crown. “There is good reason to avoid Werelupes in the Haunted Woods. They are certainly not just Lupes painted Halloween.”
As they went over another bump, Suhel reached up to steady the bone pauldron she was currently using as a helmet-disguise. “And matters here probably aren’t helped at all by those recent raids,” she said. “Barrowmere has a legitimate reason to hate Werelupes—“ She began to cough. Her shoulders hunched and she breathed in through her nose, trying her hardest to keep the hacking as quiet as possible.
This was the part that worried Isengrim. If she had a bad coughing spell now, it might blow their cover. Even outside of town, a coughing wagon would definitely arouse suspicion from travellers on the highway.
Pharazon frowned. “Gummy Rats,” he muttered, “I wish I could layer the smell-dampening spell with a noise-dampening one, too.” He glared down at his claws. “I’d be able to do so much more with an implement…”
While Suhel continued to struggle for breath, the other Werelupes sat still, listening for any sign of trouble. Isengrim’s heart ached for his second-in-command. It was painful seeing her so ill. The fact that it was caused by a curse just complicated matters. But they had to at least try, or nothing would get any better.
After a minute, the coughing fit finally subsided. Suhel cleared her throat a few times and sat back on the side of the wagon, panting. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Isengrim said. “It doesn’t sound like you gave us away.”
“If I had,” she said, “I’d be the first one to jump at our attackers, to make up for it.”
“I know,” Isengrim said. Not that he wanted her to, but he knew she would anyway. He was just glad it hadn’t come to that. He was in no condition to fight right now.
The wagon stopped. “Well, this should do it,” Beoffrey said. “You can come on out now—we’re off the main road and there’s no one around.”
Isengrim twisted around and lifted the tarp to peer out. The Woods rose around them, with their familiar scent of old and wild things, and he smiled. He would always like the smell of wilderness better than civilisation. The dirt road beneath them looked little-used, and wound out of sight in either direction.
“Well done,” he said as he and his pack threw off the tarp. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem,” Beoffrey said as he unhitched himself and lent his wife a hoof to help her down. “I’ve been meaning to visit my family, anyhow, and deliver a few supplies so they don’t have to make the long trip into town.”
As the others disembarked, Isengrim clipped his sword around his waist and eased himself to his feet. His wound ached, but he had similar injuries in the past and knew he would be fine as long as he didn’t push himself. “I’m sorry I cannot help you down,” he said to his owner and brother, his tail drooping. “My leg precludes me from being a gentleman for the time being.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Pharazon said, fluttering his wings to fly out of the wagon.
“You just rest up,” Terra said, staying by the Werelupe King’s side as he dropped to the ground on his good leg. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride Gwyneth?”
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Isengrim said. At the pleading look on her face, he put a paw on her head. “But I promise I will ride if my leg starts to hurt too badly.”
Terra frowned. “Before it starts to hurt too badly.”
Her Werelupe gave her a conceding smile. “All right.”
As his thanes fixed up their gear and Beoffrey and Lexora said their goodbyes, Isengrim rummaged around in one of the pouches on his belt for something he kept for just these occasions. He always liked to leave home prepared for dealings with other Neopets, and preparing for the good was just as important as for the ill. His experiences over the past few years had helped him have at least a little more faith in non-Werelupes, if not as a whole then at least as individuals.
Beoffrey was just reassuring Lexora that he would take good care of the family and the shop when Isengrim approached them and cleared his throat. He held out a small leather bag to Beoffrey and placed it in the Kau’s outstretched hoof.
“What…” Beoffrey loosened the string and looked inside, Lexora leaning over to do so as well. Their eyes lit up with the gleam of the Neopoints and gems that Isengrim had placed in there.
The Werelupe King smiled. “As I said, a good deed never goes unrewarded. Expect more where that came from. I trust you will use it wisely.”
“We will,” Beoffrey said, drawing the string tight and clutching the bag to his chest. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty, we will.”
“Oh, Lord Isengrim, you didn’t have to do that,” Lexora said. “However can we repay you?”
He shook his head. “This is my payment to you for room and board. And I should hope that next time I am in the area, I can expect another breakfast feast for me and my pack.”
“Of course!” Beoffrey said, pocketing his payment. “Any time! We’ll be happy to have you!”
“I know the boys will,” Lexora said before starting to cough. She put a paw on Beoffrey’s shoulder for support.
Knowing there was nothing he could do to help her at the moment, Isengrim turned to his pack. “Are we all set?”
“Aye, milord,” Suhel said.
Isengrim nodded, and looked over to the still sullen Werelupe pup. “Connor… you will stay with us for now. After all of this… we will see if your parents have had time to think things over.”
Somewhat unusually, Connor did not look like he wanted to leave. He was hovering near his Werelupe guard, his ears and tail low. “I’d be right foolish to run off into these woods alone,” he muttered, not meeting Isengrim’s eyes.
“You’d also be right foolish to run out of a house when a mob’s looking for you,” Suhel said under her breath.
Lexora had stopped coughing and was eating another of the lozenges Suhel had given her. Beoffrey looked very reluctant to part with her as Terra helped her onto Gwyneth. “You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?” the Kau asked.
Isengrim put a paw on his own chest. “By my life,” he said, “she will return to you safely. And we will do everything in our power to break her curse.”
“Our thoughts will be with you,” Beoffrey said. He moved to the wagon with a sigh. “Take care, dear!” he said as he hitched himself to it. “If you need anything at all, send a Weewoo!”
“I shall!” Lexora said. She adjusted her travelling coat and gloves, and smoothed out her skirt as she rode side-saddle. “Please don’t worry about me, dearest—I’m off to have an adventure! I’m sure I’ll have ever so many stories to tell when I get back!”
“You are your father’s child,” Beoffrey said with a bittersweet smile. “I’ll see you in a week.”
Lexora waved to him and put a paw on Terra’s shoulder. “You know, it’s strange,” the Kougra said, “I suppose I should be more serious about this, but I just can’t stop being excited about going on a real expedition!”
Terra smiled at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m excited, too! I think good things are going to happen. I can feel it.”
“Then I believe they shall,” Lexora said.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.