Daughter of the Wolf

Previously: Esmiralda and her companions have discovered that the shattered ship--found upside-down and in the middle of a forest—was once captained by Harfirgorn the Merciless, a pirate of some repute that vanished long ago. On a quest to find his final resting place and the treasure that he is most likely buried with, they are accosted by a shambling, undead thing and draw the attention of a mysterious woman...





As a woman, the figure who emerged from the forest was everything that I was not. Tall and lean, with strong limbs, a flat stomach and a figure that drew appreciative stares from all of my recently-found traveling companions. Her hair was dark and long, with strands that glinted like gold in the afternoon sun. The pelt of some unfortunate woodland creature covered her rounded hips and ample bosom—barely—and boots of faded leather hugged her calves. She released the tension on her bow, pointing the arrow toward the ground as she approached.


Nobody spoke. I cleared my throat and Merrick snapped his mouth shut, ran a hand through his tangled hair and sheathed his sword.

"I am Merrick, and these are my companions," he said. "Seymuhr, Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Esmiralda, a freelance historian in the loose employ of Queen Phedera. May I ask your name? How did you come to this place, and what knowledge have you of this mountain witch?"

She replaced the arrow in her quiver and slung the bow over her shoulder. She looked at each of us in turn and her gaze lingered on Seymuhr, who wore the glazed expression, as usual, of a horseman who been knocked from his saddle by a low branch. The woman's eyes were darker than any I had seen before and they conveyed age and wisdom in a way her lithe form did not.

"I am called Baram d'Lupene, and this is my domain," she said.

"d'Lupene," I found my voice at last, and translated the name as I spoke it. "Daughter of the wolf?" I had heard tales of a forest queen who counted herself among the greatest of the woodland hunters. A legend that could not possibly account for this woman's presence.

"The same," she said.


"Daughter of the wolf?" Seymuhr asked. "Doesn't that make you a bi..."
 
"Show some class," I admonished him. "My apologies. My companion knows little of the courtesies most people extend to one another."

"I care little for them, and would expect no less from one of his kind," Baram said. 

"Men, you mean," I clarified, sensing a kindred spirit. Tane gave me a wounded look, but Baram answered before he could say anything—not surprising, considering the slow, erratic way he formed his words.
 
"I do not." She looked down at the corpse, and sadness flickered across her eyes. She prodded it with her foot.
 
"He won't be getting back up," Merrick told her. "At least, I think not. Our companion saw to that. Do you know who...or what...he is?"

She nodded. "I have answers to both of your questions. I know little of the mountain witch, as you call her—although her work is more and more common in my forest. As to this poor creature, who he is and what is he are the same. He is a puppet, or was, before your companion 'saw to that,' an aberration and evidence of the black power she wields. Before that, he was my husband."



NEXT: Ranfryd's last Sojourn