Theoff, Dwarf Druid

Note

I stick to typical fantasy species/race names such as dwarves and elves so that this story can stand alone. For equivalent names in the world of Antire, see Peoples of Antire

“The wind is mighty, but where does wind come from?” asked Theoff. The young dwarf and his elven companion stood on a mountain outcrop surveying the valley’s trees, toppled like matchsticks by the prior night’s windstorms.

“You spend too much time in the village lately,” Ankrishim said, frowning at her pupil. “It’s tainting how you ask questions and, thus, your view.”

“Just because I spend a little time with Matlasak, you think he’s spoiling your teaching.” Theoff turned and looked up at her. “He’s a herbalist and he’s helped me learn a bit about healing without resorting to spells. It’s as natural as anything you’ve taught me.”

“Yes, but he’s also taught you to ask question after question, trying to puzzle out how the world works.” The teacher’s frown turned into sigh. “You forget to stop, quiet your mind, and listen to the world around you. The world will reveal its answers if you pay attention to it.”

“I know. I just don’t see why it has to be one or the other. Can’t we use both ways?”

“As you walk the circle, you’ll see why.” She turned to look up the slope of the mountain. “You still have more to learn. We all do.”

Changing the topic before they spent all morning in the same old argument, Theoff pointed down into the decimated valley. “That wolf looks hurt.”

Ankrishim replied without turning to look. “It does. Tell me, what hurt it?”

“I can’t tell. There’s no wound I can see, it’s just limping badly.” Theoff looked at it for a few moments. “It’s a ruse. It’s not hurt at all.”

“Good. Why do you say that?”

“It’s too busy looking at the world around it. It’s still acting like a hunter.”

“See, you’re letting the answer come to you instead of puzzling it out.”

“I still don’t see the difference.”

“The wolf is a hunter, a predator, and a threat. If you tried to puzzle it out, you’d be so busy trying to identify the wound that you’d miss the important part - the danger. What else does that tell you?”

“It’s not alone. Wolves aren’t always pack hunters like people who sleep under roofs think, but this one is a lure.”

“Good.” Ankrishim turned to face him. “A lure for what?”

“A dangerous predator.” Theoff listened. “Like us. Its pack mates are sneaking up on us right now.”

“Good. How far are they?”

“Not far enough. A couple are big. Dire wolves.”

“Time to leave then.”

“There’s 5 or 6. We can take them.”

“You still think like a house sleeper. Animals can’t risk getting hurt because they’re too proud to avoid a fight and neither can we. When you’re alone in the wilderness, who helps you?”

“Wolves who attack people are…”

“Are you a druid? Or are you a ranger? Let’s change and let’s go. We’ll need to fly.”

“GRrr… ok” grumbled Theoff, feathers sprouting from his beard as Ankrishim’s spell took hold. A moment later, two eagles flew away from the outcrop, looking back at the wolves circling in confusion below.

They landed miles away on top of a low butte they used to gather with other druids. Another, ancient, dwarf emerged from a crevice too small to hold him as Theoff and Ankrishim returned to their normal forms. Archdruid Toick shook his head, white hair whipping around, as he greeted them with sullen “hallo” instead of his usual boisterous welcome.

“Things are mixed up, that was no normal storm last night.” Getting right to the point wasn’t normal for him either.

“It’s bad, that’s for sure,” agreed Ankrishim. “I can’t remember a storm that harsh for that long over so broad an area. There’s hardly a tree much more than a rod or so high left standing in the 20 or so miles we surveyed today. Still, no other phenomenon.”

“No other phenomenon? Did you see any disturbance other than knocked over trees?”

“No.”

Theoff looked at his mentor. With a nod from her, he chimed in. “We didn’t see any damage at all other than in the valleys. I know wind can really howl through tight spots. But that means it’s blowing a particular direction. It didn’t seem to matter whether the valley ran north-south or east-west.”

“I’ve never known a storm that severe to not topple a stone pillar or two in these mountains,” said the older dwarf. “Valley damage is widespread, but the flanking slopes are fine?”

“Yes,” said Theoff.

“Tell Toick about the wolves.”

“They’re more active that you’d think after a storm,” Theoff continued. “Twice, while we were on the ground, we were stalked. Each pack led by dire wolves too. It’s not strange by itself, but twice… what’s that???”

All three cocked their heads, listening to stones falling down the south side of the butte. Ankrishim and Theoff both readied their staffs and started walking towards the cliff edge to investigate. Toick stood still, his hands on his hips, sniffing the air.

Wolves crested the edge, now howling as they charged. Ankrishim chanted, weaving a spell, gathering winds to throw the first few back off the edge while Theoff ensorcelled the meadow itself. Vines shot up, wrestling wolves to the ground. Wolves kept coming by the dozen, by the hundred. Dire wolves followed their smaller kin, bounding past them in their rush to reach the druids. Theoff felt the poking sensation of feathers emerging from his skin. Anger boiled within him as he realized he was being dragged out of the fight.

“Go!” shouted Toick, spinning around to face the other side of the butte. “Warn the villages!”

As Theoff’s arms turned to wings, a gigantic black wolf, larger than a moose, leapt over the north edge of the butte. Flames shot out of its nostrils and mouth as it closed on Toick. Two more followed close behind while another came up over the south edge, knocking mortal wolves aside as it charged Ankrishim.

Anger took a back seat to obedience as Theoff flew towards the nearest village, home of his friend and mentor Matlasak. Within a few minutes, he felt the tell tale tingle of the magic fading. He pushed the thought of why Toick’s spell would be dying so quickly out of his mind, diving to ground before the magic gave out.

Once on the ground, he kept heading towards the village. After a few moments thought, he worked his own transformation spell. Dropping to all fours, hair growing longer, not only was this the fastest form he could think to take, he hoped it would confuse any pursuers.

A few seconds later, a wolf named Theoff loped south towards the village.

The hour it took him to get to the first fields of the village was about as long as he could manage to hold the form for. Back to walking on two feet, he stopped short, taking in the destruction in front of him. Shattered houses and torn bodies — two and four legged — testified to the arrival of wind and wolf. The embers of one house, Matlasak’s, still smouldered, the rest lay flattened by the storm. Vultures and crows took advantage of the little the wolves left behind.

Theoff took his staff in both hands, ready for a fight, and walked into the village. He did his best to ignore the outrage and grief welling up inside him, trying to stay alert despite the dueling emotions and rising nausea. The wolves left little behind to help identify victims. Theoff only identified Matlasak by the cassock, now shredded, he habitually wore.

After satisfying himself that no one remained alive to help, Theoff filled his waterskin from the well and started walking down the road out of the village. He left the bodies where they lay — the vultures and crows just did what came naturally. A thought crossed his mind to investigate other mountain villages, other thoughts told him the story would repeat itself. He took the fork in the road that led out of the mountains and towards the nearest town.