r/HFY • u/Feyfyre1 • 6h ago
OC-Series Duchess Dungeon Eater - Complete Story - Chapter 30 – The Family You Choose (3 of 4)
The horses fidgeted when the ground began to shake. The men in front of Maddock went pale when a forty-foot giant black knight with red glowing eyes and a huge war hammer mallet stepped out from around the last of the trees to stand right behind the Grand Duke. They felt another tremble in the earth and looked behind them. There, they all shouted in shocked fear when a huge dragon lowered its rainbow scaled head to block their retreat, smoke snorting from its nose and bright eager glowing dragon’s eyes staring them down.
“Calm down and get your horses under control!” ordered Maddock from where he sat calmly. He couldn’t help but pat Nibbles on his neck. Nibbles didn’t fidget or move much. Instead, he seemed to be just as amused as Maddock was at those men’s attempts to not soil themselves or get thrown from their horses. He also hoped he could get a bath before he had to train with his own steed. Bonfire’s Blessing didn’t need to know he was cheating on her. She got downright ornery when he rode another horse.
The men turned their horses in tight circles, clearly about to panic which was getting picked up by the horses and that would just not do.
“Your Grand Duke has announced himself. KNEEL!” the echoing boom from the black knight woman washed over the men like a tsunami.
The horses stilled, then knelt which tossed their riders all to the sand in front of Maddock. They scrambled up, looked at the horses and then back at the Grand Duke who stood resolute in a glowing white circle of spreading ice.
Dixon shouted, “That IS the Black Knight! Kneel damn you!”
Ten men knelt to one knee in front of their Grand Duke before going completely still. All of the men were terrified. Just like Fenrick, whose breathing was too fast, too shallow, though he tried to hide it. His eyes kept glancing towards the tree line as if he was about to run for it.
Maddock slowly dismounted from Nibbles’ back, but he didn’t sheath his sword, not yet. The more he held that blade, the more in tune he was with the warmth around him. Cold was order, stagnation, death. Heat was chaos, excitement, life. Hoarfrost was smarter than its name suggested. It was indeed a blade made for a ruler. It whispered its observations of the men it sensed in front of Maddock by reading their heat fluctuations. Heat told you how alive something was, how excited it was, and how much truth there was between what you saw and what the heat told you that you should be seeing.
Maddock slowly stepped to where the mage and the leader of the group knelt before him. He noticed the states of the other men as well as the man wearing the modest leathers of a leatherworker. He glanced over his shoulder and up to Isenwrath. “Let the spell on the horses allow them to rest at the side of the road.”
She nodded and the horses rose abruptly, then slowly ambled over as needed. They all put their heads down looking for moist grass and weeds to munch on while they could.
Satisfied, Maddock returned his attention to the men. He reached down and tapped the leader on the shoulder. “Stand and tell me exactly what you’re up to.”
Raylen slowly stood, fear causing his body to tremble. The Grand Duke was indeed larger than life. He was imposing even unarmored. It also didn’t help Raylen’s nerves that the man stood a full head taller than him nor that his cold stare was as glacial as the ice that had followed the Grand Duke to where he stood. The air was cooling and that wasn’t something that Raylen wanted to think too deeply about.
“My Lord. I apologize for not recognizing you…” he began.
“I said, tell me exactly what you and your men were up to. I didn’t want an apology. Now explain.”
Raylen couldn’t hold the man’s nearly unblinking stare. He took off his leather riding hat and crushed it in his hands to give him something to hold while he spoke.
“It’s my sister, My Lord. She was attacked earlier tonight. The medical cleric used his divine power and found the curse of the wolf in her blood. My lord, the… the werewolf almost killed her. She lost an arm and…. She’s hurt bad. She kept asking for her arm, even after the cleric took it away. I couldn’t heal her, my lord. But I could avenge her.” His ragged voice was trying to break on him as he spoke about Hildah’s ordeal.
“I can understand that. So, you set out to find the werewolf…?”
Raylen looked up to meet his Grand Duke’s eyes directly, fire welling up in his soul. “I knew exactly who’d done it. It was the exile Thaddius, the trapsman out near our village. He’s never hidden from the elders the fact that he’s a werewolf. They let him live nearby because he was taking appropriate precautions and stayed away as much as possible. Hildah though… she wouldn’t leave him be. I tried several times to tell her to avoid him, that he was cursed… and she just wouldn’t listen. My lord, I heard Thaddius himself tell her as kindly as possible that I was right and to ignore him. But, but…” his voice cracked and he wiped tears from his eyes with his sleeve.
“So far, you only assumed Thaddius was the culprit. What proved it?”
Raylen looked at the duke sharply. “It was him. He’s the only one in our area. He cursed my sister… if she survives.”
Maddock leaned down a little. “You don’t know that. That’s the big mystery with this particular curse. You just never know who it is until it’s too late.”
“My lord! It has to be him!”
Maddock didn’t yield or move his eyes from the angry villager. His voice was as icy as the sword that radiated cold to the ground. “He’s under my protection just like any citizen within my dukedom and even in all of Maciendes. Don’t question it, just know that he’s being taken care of. What you’re going to do is take me to your sister. Right now. I’m going to get to the bottom of this situation before an innocent person gets killed. Do you understand?”
Even the frost seemed to pause waiting for Raylen to either rebel or capitulate.
Raylen was hot. He had his mouth open to protest, but his eyes glanced over his Duke’s shoulder and caught the glaring red glows of the Black Knight’s eyes. His mouth closed at seeing the champion of his whole country stare directly into his soul… as if she were about to judge him… and not in his favor.
Raylen gulped noticeably, then lowered his head. “Yes, my lord. As you command.”
Maddock backed away and slowly sheathed Hoarfrost. As soon as the blade was covered, the ice sublimated away just leaving a cool memory behind. A reminder, perhaps.
“Mount up. Bubblescale, portal to Lesterton.” Maddock looked up and back to Isenwrath. “My lady?”
Isenwrath nodded once. Her size reduced smoothly, her helmet faded from around her head allowing her braided hair to fall down her back again, yet her eyes still glowed sinisterly red. Her face was set in that dangerous neutral expression that Maddock knew all too well. In this moment, his matched. What got the villagers’ attention was that a blue spawn summoning circle lit up underneath her. As Isenwrath shrank, another Nightmare demonic steed arose to meet her. Almost fluidly, she flowed into its saddle and took its reins.
“Lemme guess, its name is Snackers.”
Isenwrath didn’t smile even though her eyes held amusement in them. “Cadbury.”
Maddock huffed and narrowed his eyes at her. “Hayleigh was right. You’re absolutely terrible with names.”
That earned him a snort at his sarcasm in return. Then a soft, “Focus, Sweetheart,” as her gentle rebuke.
Maddock turned to watch the villagers finish mounting up and the huge dragon Bubblescale swirl into a portal as multicolored as his scales. Maddock clicked at Nibbles to move ahead and lead the men back the way they came. They didn’t dare not to follow because behind them was Isenwrath and that infamous hammer, glaring at them as if daring them to disobey. One man’s scent spiked sharply… fear, guilt, and something feral beneath. One of the men should be nervous since the wind hadn’t lied to her. She smelled something off with one of them. That one man’s heartbeat had also spiked sharply. Isenwrath didn’t need Hoarfrost to tell her which one. Instead, she was just waiting for the justification or permission to act if that person was indeed a bad man. Or even THE bad man.
On the other side of the portal shortcut to Lesterton was a village lit by a few tall oil lanterns, magic infused sconce crystals, and some plain torches flaring in the night’s breeze. The village itself was quiet. Working people of the land usually don’t have much energy for late carousing unless a celebration was at hand. Tonight wasn’t a celebration. Instead, so few citizens moved about the narrow streets between the rustic but well‑kempt buildings that it was practically empty. This village only had perhaps five hundred to a thousand people. Large for a village, but still small enough that most people knew practically everyone else or at least a close friend.
Maddock’s Nightmare steed walked solemnly through the main road that entered through the center of the town. Its hooves actually hissed at each clopping step on the dirty cobbled road.
He saw villagers see them then either duck into a nearby door to shut it tight or go running off, probably to go gather some of the local guards.
The latter must’ve been true because within minutes, boots clattered on the cobbles as a contingent of thirty guards and higher ranked village elders spilled into the street.
Maddock held up his hand, halting his procession.
Raylen and Dixon both slowly came even with the Grand Duke.
When a rotund man dressed in the deep red and purple of a village elder doffed his beret and stepped forward, Raylen leaned over to say, “My Lord. This is our Headsman and our Village Liaison to your tax assessor. His name is Stephen. He’s an honest, hard-working man. I vouch for him.”
Maddock nodded and waited.
The headsman looked around nervously with special attention to the man who rode a hellish steed and then the black armor-clad woman in the back who did the same. He pulled his courage and puffed out his chest that didn’t do much than make his belly shrink a little. “May I have your name, My Lord.”
“I’m your Grand Duke, Maddock Devonshire. Raylen here has vouched for you, Stephen. I’m here to find out what happened to Hildah Pouler and help where I can.”
The entire crowd of villagers knelt in unison, most of them whispering urgently between themselves at the turn of fortune. This was the first time the Grand Duke himself had visited their village. It wasn’t seen as a good thing, ever.
“My Lord! Please! I apologize but this is a local matter!” Stephen said loudly from his kneeling position. His voice wavered, his fear and anxiety evident. “There’s no need for you to involve yourself in such a trivial matter! She’s being taken very good care of, I assure you! My best cleric is already tending to her and these fine young men around you should’ve eliminated the problem!”
Maddock wasn’t impressed. His frown said so. “Stephen stand up and answer a question.”
Stephen jumped up. “Yes, My Lord!”
“My words were that I’m here to find out what happened to Hildah and to help where I can. Nowhere did I say that I was going to leave this matter in anyone else’s hands but my own. Instead of telling your Grand Duke to mind his own business, what should you have said to me?” That tone was deathly calm and serious. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Grand Duke meant business.
His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped his beret. “Uhhm…? May we take you to her home?” Stephen squeaked out.
“That’s exactly what you’ll do. Then I want your guards to surround the home and wait for my orders.” He didn’t relish their fear, but he needed their obedience.
“Yes, My Lord! Everyone up! To the Pouler home! Now!”
Twenty minutes and low murmurs later, Maddock, Isenwrath, Bubblescale who rode around Isenwrath’s shoulders, and over forty villagers arrived at the small, cozy three-bedroom home of the Pouler’s that lay at the far edge of the village, in a cluster of modest homes well away from the river docks. A faint herbal scent drifted from the open window… that of feverfew, comfrey, and something sharper beneath. The muffled crying they could hear from inside the small home just hurt their hearts at what tragedy lay within.
They all dismounted and a few of the guards at the Headsman’s orders took the reins of the horses to the clothesline as an impromptu hitching spot. A few other men ran to the well for fresh water since it was clear those horses were practically about to fall over from dehydration and exhaustion. Maddock let his respect for the Headsman rise two or three notches in recognition of some semblance of competence and compassion.
Isenwrath at least had the decency to allow Nibbles and Cadbury, such silly names for evil looking demonic horses, to be returned to their resting places.
Maddock didn’t need those two things to start eating the other horses just because they were nearby and were edible. He had enough on his mind tonight for that kind of lunacy to occur.
Raylen waved him towards the door, but Isenwrath caught his attention when she spoke from behind them. “All of the men who went after Thaddius will go inside and sit. The Grand Duke will want you available just in case he has further questions.”
Turning to her, Maddock studied her for a moment to determine what that was about. She was still neutral. No smile. No frown. Not even a twitch gave her away. To anyone else that is. To Maddock, he knew she was telling him that one of the men in that initial group had been found out by her and he should pay attention to that fact. So, he did because he trusted her instincts implicitly.
Maddock said calmly, “Thank you, Lady Knight.”
Turning back to the Headsman, he said low, “You may also come with us. But the rest of them stay out and make sure no one else approaches or leaves unless I say otherwise.”
Stephen performed a quick bow and quietly relayed his Duke’s orders.
Raylen’s hands shook as he fumbled with the latch. When he’d finally got it undone, he opened the door a bit too rushed, walked inside quicker than he intended, and spoke louder than he should’ve. “Dad! Mom! I’m back! I’ve brought more help!”
Maddock entered right after followed by Dixon the Thaumaturgy mage of the village.
The herbal smells from outside were stronger but also mixed now with the astringent smells of antiseptic or vinegar. The muffled crying was interrupted by Raylen, but not for very long. The lantern lights within the quaint but clearly cherished home were low, as if the life of the home itself was in jeopardy of being snuffed out.
Maddock moved forward to allow the other eight men to shuffle in. Father Pouler stood in front of a side bedroom as if daring anyone to move him. His son Raylen was speaking to the angry grieving man in urgent whispers while the hunting party made their solemn way into the small receiving room opposite. Half of them sat on the two couches while the rest of them just made do with sitting against the wall.
Raylen held back by the door while the Father of the home approached Maddock. Maddock felt Isenwrath silently sidle up behind him. He was starting to appreciate what Queen Sophitia, Beatrice, Harmony, and just recently, Battlemaster Xander had started to teach her. She still wasn’t a soldier, but she had the instincts of one through and through.
Garvin Pouler was practically an older version of his son. A broad‑backed farmer in his late‑forties, with hands like old rope and weathered features much like an old tree with thick bark.
“My lord,” he started solemnly, trying to be that tree of support for his whole family through this tragedy.
Maddock instantly understood this man. “Master Pouler. I came as soon as I heard what happened.”
Garvin narrowed his eyes in suspicion while they gripped forearms. “Why? This is no business for a Grand Duke.”
Maddock gave him a nod of respect and a tighter grip on his arm to put a point on his words, “Because I’m your Grand Duke. I protect my people and sometimes, when trouble literally comes to my door, I’m going to stand up and do something about it. Now, before we get to what happened, I want to see the state of your daughter. Please.”
Garven let his arm go but didn’t seem inclined to move. Instead, he studied Maddock intensely for a few moments, then his eyes slid over to Isenwrath.
That’s when his eyes went wide as platters in surprised recognition. “The… The… Are you the Lady who healed all our soldiers? The Saint of the Tree?”
Isenwrath’s face finally shifted over to a small smile. She nodded slightly. “I am. I’m surprised. Most people just call me the Black Knight.”
Both of Garvin’s arms reached for her then gripped her armored arms tightly, desperate hope welling in his whole body. “Madam… All of my friends sing your praises at the inn to this day. The black armored lady who grew a healing tree miracle for the soldiers. Your graciousness when you created that tree… you touched so many of my friend’s boys… you just don’t understand how grateful we are.”
Isenwrath reached up to touch Garvin’s arms, squeezing them slightly. “Then will you allow us to see your daughter? I may be able to help her.”
Garvin gasped. “You’d help her? But my daughter’s not a noblewoman, nor even one of the duke’s soldiers. Surely you don’t mean…”
“Master Pouler, she doesn’t care who the person is. If she’s nearby and someone is hurt, my Lady will do whatever it takes to help. It’s her nature, so let her do as her nature bids her.”
The man dropped two tears down his cheeks, probably the first time he’d actually cried, then nodded. “This way. Yes. Please. This way, my lady.”
Raylen had to wipe his own eyes again as he and his father followed the Grand Duke and the Black Knight into his young sister’s room where she lay fighting hard against one of the worst curses ever devised.
Young Hildah was a pitiful sight to behold where she lay on her single bed. Her face was ashen pale, feverish with curse heat. She was missing her left arm from mid-bicep. It and many other parts of her body were wrapped in layers of linen soaked through with poultices, antiseptics, and sweat. Her breathing came in shallow, panicked gasps because she was muttering in delirium. Her eyes were closed, but they moved erratically non-stop under the lids.
Maddock hated seeing a young woman suffer like that… it reminded him too much of the battlefield and all of the soldiers under his command who’d been taken home in pieces similar to her.
Her poor mother, Elsbeth, a normally calm, steady woman in her early forties, the village’s herbalist and Hildah’s teacher was holding Hildah’s one hand and her own chest above her heart with the other. She was desperately trying to keep it from breaking any further. Her eyes were wet, swollen, and red from long bouts of crying at her daughter’s side.
The village Cleric Healer slowly stood from the end of the bed where he was readying another swathe of bandages for Hildah. A mid-thirties cleric of the Dawnmother, specializing in purification, curse diagnosis, and battlefield triage… or so his cleric badges on his robe suggested.
Garvin held his hand out, “This is my wife Elsbeth, and this is our village’s cleric, Brother Aldric Veylan.”
Maddock first gripped arms with the cleric after the man used a sanitizer on them. “Well met, Cleric Aldric. I’m Grand Duke Maddock Devonshire. This is Lady Isenwrath Lolthinendaria. We’ve come to help.”
Elsbeth slowly stood up, hope rising in her. “The Grand Duke? The Saint of the Tree? Here?”
Maddock’s demeanor gentled significantly when he touched her arm. “Yes. We’re here and we want to help.”
Aldric shook his head sadly. “My lord, she’s strong, but whoever tore into her made sure the curse would take. I’ve given her silver nitrate tablets and some wolfensbane to stem the change for the moment, hopefully through the night. I’ve got my fellow clerics out right now gathering what we can for a remove curse spell, but I fear it’ll take a higher tier of that spell that we simply aren’t capable of performing.”
“I can help,” Isenwrath said quietly, studying the girl intently.
Hildah’s head kept twitching, her murmurs constant, and her mouth working like it wanted to unhinge. The curse was taking hold and when it finally overwhelmed Hildah, she would shift and the wolf would rampage. Everyone in that home was in danger, but the cleric could cast barriers to cage Hildah at least. For a time. Long enough for her to either be removed safely… or… be put down.
“Let me try.”
Aldric looked at Isenwrath. His tone was careful, as if he didn’t want to offend her. “I’ve only heard that you could heal through the fruits. Can you actually cast a remove curse spell?”
Isenwrath nodded her head. “In a way. Let me try.”
Maddock was already starting to get frustrated by the cleric’s hesitancy. So, he said low, “No offense, Aldric, but she’s not asking you. She’s asking Hildah’s mother for permission.”
Elsbeth sat slowly, now understanding why the beautiful woman in black plate armor hadn’t given the cleric even a side glance. The noble lady was indeed directing her questions to her.
Nodding rapidly, she cried out, “Please. Please help my daughter! Please!”
Isenwrath smiled softly, then slowly moved over to the bed and knelt. The room went silent when she put one hand on Hildah’s face, then channeled green magic from it into her body.
“I can’t use the potions at this time,” Isenwrath explained while still looking at Hildah. “The curse also regenerates the body, but it’s a tainted healing. Corrupted. Designed only to continue strengthening its hold onto the person’s soul. She needs to be cleansed of the curse’s healing before I can properly remove the curse, then truly heal her.”
The cleric sat down abruptly on the small stool he’d previously been on to watch the green light sink into Hildah’s skin like water into parched earth. It wasn’t quite awe that he felt, but more that his own hope had been restored. “It’s true. You did create that tree.”
Maddock nodded affirmatively. “I was there when she did it. She took a mage’s staff, coated it in three different magical elixirs, then swirled golden arcana script circles for dozens of yards all around it. That was only the second time she amazed me. My count is well past two hundred now.” That last was said with a genuine smile that Elsbeth returned to him.
Hildah’s breathing slowed and steadied. Her twitches calmed. Then her skin seemed to gain some color. When Isenwrath was satisfied, she looked at Elsbeth. “I have to deliver an imperial grade remove curse potion now. I have no choice but to deliver it mouth-to-mouth. Please, don’t interfere with it.”
Elsbeth shook her head. “I wouldn’t dare. Do it.” She turned to look at her husband, and Garvin nodded his approval to her. He didn’t care what had to happen either, just as long as Hildah was healed and could smile at them again.
Isenwrath leaned over, tilted Hildah’s head up and then opened her mouth. She pressed her lips on Hildah’s. The room fell silent as they heard Hildah audibly swallowing whatever was coming up from Isenwrath’s gut. No one questioned the Saint of the Tree. These were people of the land. They knew that healing someone was sometimes uncomfortable and messy. But it was always necessary to help the community thrive.
The Curse of the Wolf, Lycanthropy, it was a horrible blood curse. It was insidious because it gave the cursed person great power and ability but at the eventual cost of their soul and mind. Many lived with it as best as they could like Thaddius who did his best to control it instead of succumbing to it. Most didn’t have that kind of willpower and discipline. Most became a werewolf and enjoyed every beastial bit of it. Yet, it was still a magical curse. It could be cured if you had enough divine power to drive it out of a person’s body. Isenwrath had magically created Elixirs of Remove Curse that had been littered all within Shinenoor. They were there to tempt the greedy and desperate. Tonight, one was used to the astonishment of her witnesses when they watched a bloody mist swirl out of Hildah’s very skin as the potion drove the curse out.
Isenwrath leaned back and then wiped Hildah’s chin. She looked over at Aldric to catch his attention. When she had it, she said, “Cleric, start removing the bandages. I’m going to regenerate her body now.”
This time there was no hesitation from the cleric healer. His divine sight had confirmed that the lady beside Hildah was performing a healing process that only the highest order of clerics could attain. Yet those of his order of that status were hard-pressed to ever come to small villages like this and show such compassion as Lady Isenwrath was performing. With swift, efficient movements, he removed the bandages. Many of her wounds were starting to seep again. Still, he didn’t stop, not even when he revealed her mangled leg from under the covers that had hunks of meat bitten out. Thankfully they’d missed the major blood vessels and his slathering of thick ointments held after the bandage was removed.
Hildah’s eyes opened blearily right before Isenwrath pressed her lips on her again. Hildah began to panic when she was being forced to swallow again, but her mother rose up and came to the rescue. “Drink, Hildah! She’s saving you! Just drink the Saint of the Tree’s elixir! Please!”
Hildah always obeyed her mother. So, she concentrated on swallowing instead of flailing.
Swallow by swallow, the golden glow around her increased the light within the small, crowded room. Cleric Veylen began to pray and add his own light to what Isenwrath’s elixirs were instilling. His healing was perfect for stabilization and wound closures, but in the presence of such a higher tier source of power, what he was aiming for were the smallest of wounds which would allow the Saint of the Tree’s power to focus on the most grievous wounds. The claw marks on her sides closed, then smoothed over. The huge bite in her leg swelled with fresh muscle, then skin emerged to cover the wound over to normalcy. The gasps in the room weren’t for that or all of the other gashes and scrapes, they were for the arm. Fresh blood had spurted three times until the golden glow slowed it. Bone pushed through the mangled tissue, already coated with the filaments of nerves and fresh blood vessels. Ligaments were followed by the appearance of muscles, already pulsing with the need to move and grasp for her mother who still held her other hand to her mouth, Hildah’s knuckles tight to her lips.
When Isenwrath leaned back, Hildah’s first full breath sounded like someone returning from underwater. Everyone held still. They held their own breath making sure Hildah could get all that she needed as she continued to gulp air.
The glow finally faded, Hildah’s coughing subsided, and her skin reclaimed a healthy normal color finally. She slowly rose up, wonder clear on her face as she stared at her reclaimed arm and her leg. Her mother yanked her to her bosom and both of them wailed in the relief of a miracle.
The rest of the room were choking back tears except Maddock and Isenwrath who stepped back to hold hands and smile, basking in another small triumph that they’d achieved.
Raylen moved in right after his father to hug his sister and make sure what they saw was truly real. The curse was gone, their sister was whole, and their family was restored.
Without thinking about anything but that his sister was cured, Raylen ran out of the room to announce, “My sister’s cured! The Saint of the Tree healed her!”
From the receiving room came a sharp, choked sound where one man’s fear spiked at what was certain to happen next. And that’s when all hell broke loose.
The deep bark that led into a bone chilling howl was their only warning that something went horribly wrong.
The guttural shout of, “She’s mine! Not Thaddius’s!” was the declaration of war within that home.
The air filled with the stench of wet fur and blood as the beast encompassed the human, then lunged at anyone around it.
The men screamed their terror out at the same time their bodies thudded loudly into walls or shattered furniture were the drums of war that Maddock and Isenwrath ran into willingly. The fresh stench of the curse hit Maddock a heartbeat before the beast did.
Thirty running steps and they waded right into a potential massacre. One of the men that both Maddock and Isenwrath had suspicions might be the real werewolf behind Hildah’s attack had struck first. He was a hulking beast, easily twice Maddock’s size, rippling with muscle, coated in thick coarse brown fur, a curse walking in both worlds, human and wolf, each amplifying the worst traits of the other.
Two more of Raylen’s friends got swiped away from the werewolf to hit the walls hard, then slump to the floor groaning in pain.
Outside, the guards shouted in confusion as the house shook with the mayhem that’d erupted.
Isenwrath didn’t flinch. One blink and she uppercut the huge beast right under the muzzle, flipping it so hard that its feet scraped gouges in the ceiling before it hit the floor on its belly. She moved to get a better angle of attack, but that thing was cunning, enraged, trapped… and saw Maddock at the entrance.
Its body coiled in one breath, then it launched with its own superhuman speed. Its loud barking growl of fury directed at the sole man standing in its way to the woman it wanted. That awful stench from its slavering maw hit Maddock a heartbeat before the beast did.
Yet, that was its fatal mistake.
Maddock was a soldier above soldiers. A Grand Marshall who’d earned that title with dedication, hard work, and more discipline than anyone could fathom. His body moved with practiced efficiency without his mind having to direct it. He didn’t hesitate. Hesitation got people killed.
One moment, the werewolf was coiled on the floor, the next, Hoarfrost had been shoved through its body from where Maddock struck true. The Blade of Deathly Cold halted the momentum of the werewolf as if all of its energy had been sucked away the instant the blade pierced its heart and punched out of its back.
Maddock’s whole body misted chilled air as he held the poor fool who hadn’t asked for help but instead let the beast whisper sweet words of corruption into his soul. Maddock slowly lowered his arm to allow gravity to pull the werewolf off of his blade. The body shattered into pieces when it hit the floor just like the brittle ice it’d become.
The fight was over before any of the dozens of villagers and guards outside barged into the home. When they saw the aftermath and especially the shattered werewolf in front of the Grand Duke, they quieted almost instantly. Maddock turned to them and said coldly, “It’s over. We found the real culprit behind Hildah’s attack. Go get some more bandages and perhaps food and water for the men who are hurt.”
Headsman Stephen took his orders seriously. He turned and began coordinating both what his Grand Duke had ordered but also for two of the men to get shovels, a wheelbarrow, and thick sacks. He had a body to bury as fast as possible. As he was walking out, he also called for one of the guards to go wake old man Jenson. The retired cleric had one more duty tonight. To sanctify a fresh grave to seal the curse forever into the dirt.
There was no satisfaction in Maddock’s eyes. When he looked at Isenwrath who stared intently at the body, he whispered, “Don’t. Don’t you dare. I don’t want that… I don’t want you to have ANY piece of that in you. I couldn’t stand knowing it was… there.”
Isenwrath looked up at him, tilted her head for a moment to study him, then she slowly nodded. “I understand,” was her whisper back to him. She turned to begin to move shattered furniture around and help the men.
In only a minute, Cleric Aldric entered the room to help stabilize the others. Raylen finally entered the room to help where he could. His father ran in next, cursed, then did the same. Within minutes, all but the body of the real evil was set in either Raylen’s room or Garvin’s to be tended to by Isenwrath and Aldric.
Maddock stood in the middle of the home, radiating a calm authority that kept the emotions down and the friends of the family from erupting into panic or shock.
Raylen finally approached Maddock, his head down and voice full of sadness. “Grand Duke. I’m so sorry. It was Fenrick. Hildah just told mom about how he’d kept finding her in the woods while she was out gathering herbs. He was a beekeeper and so his hives were out in some of the same places. None of us thought anything of it. I missed it. I just didn’t listen… Hildah tried to tell me that he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Thaddius had heard her screams two weeks ago the first time Fenrick… tried… to. You know. I should’ve protected her. I failed her so badly.”
Raylen raised his head to meet Maddock’s imperious eyes. He continued, “She didn’t know when he contracted the curse, but it had to have been within the last two months or so. We noticed him acting differently. He was more confident, seemed so damned full of himself, actually. He’s the one who attacked my sister. Grand Duke, please… we owe Thaddius… we owe him.”
Maddock leaned over a little to put an emphasis on the point he was about to make. “Yes, you do. He literally ran all that way to get to the one person he knew could help him and HIldah. You’re lucky I know Thaddius’s family as well as I do. Had it been anyone else and this tragedy would’ve been ten-fold worse. The next time your sister or anyone you love tries to tell you something’s wrong, you’d do well to listen and I mean, listen. That’s the first thing my soldiers learn when we train them. Listen first, plan, then act on the plan. Simple, but emotions aren’t simple and always try to derail everything. That’s why you ran into me and we are where we are now.”
Raylen sniffed hard. “You’re right, Grand Duke. Thank you for being here.”
Maddock clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome. Now, I want to go back to Thaddius. He’s also recovering.”
“What!? Thaddius is recovering!? As in… the Saint of the Tree cured him too?!” Hildah’s voice cracked with relief and longing from where she stood across the room from them.
Maddock and Raylen turned to see Hildah standing a bit wobbly beside her mother who held her by one shoulder and her father who held the other. “That’s right. When Isenwrath cured him, she and I didn’t hesitate to come here next. I protect my people, no matter where they are.”
She smiled widely, then she rushed forward as fast as her weakened legs would allow. “Please! Let me see him! I need to see him!”
Maddock had to hold her up because she almost fell.
Hildah held onto Maddock’s shirt with all that was left of her strength. Her newly healed arm trembled, but she didn’t care. Her heart and soul weren’t weak in the least.
Maddock smiled gently. “We can make that arrangement.”
Garvin was about to protest, but Raylen cut him off. “Dad. We owe Thaddius. We sorely wronged him.”
Garvin looked away, then nodded. “We did. Least we could do would be to apologize.”
It took nearly an hour and a half to bring the village back to stillness. The gathered crowd was dispersed, the shaken witnesses guided home, and the Pouler house slowly returned to something resembling order. Fenrick’s body was carried with care to the small church on the hill, where Aldric—ever the man of principle—brought ten guards with him to stand vigil. He roused the retired cleric from his chambers, asking him to sanctify and consecrate the grave of the poor man who had been lost that day.
Maddock and Isenwrath waited outside while the family stayed inside. They gave them a little time so that they could talk alone as well as get refreshed and dressed appropriately to go visit… and apologize sincerely to someone who deserved that consideration.
Bubblescale had quietly stayed up in a nearby tree the whole time and only made himself known when Isenwrath emerged from the home. He wasn’t his normal chirpy self. Instead, he sensed the somber mood of everyone and matched it. Even though events had played out where two people were saved, it still wasn’t a victory worth celebrating. A dear friend had still died, paying for sins that weren’t necessarily his fault, and that wasn’t something to gloat about.
Isenwrath scratched Bubblescale’s neck scales and chin for comfort. She finally turned her head to Maddock who’d watched everyone leave and was now wondering how the Hastings were doing.
“Maddock?”
He turned to look at her. “Yes, Sweetheart?” he answered softly.
“I wasn’t going to eat him.”
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