Fang & Bone: “2. The Barber and the Wolf”

This is the second chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.

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On the forested path, the pair would have been considered comical in a world that wasn’t as besieged by horrific oddities as Aurin was.

One was a tall scarecrow of a man,  lumpy and thin in the strangest spots. A torn, woolen beret rested on a tangled nest of dirty straw hair – dirty straw hair rested on a gaunt and angular face, anchored by a tremendous nose. The haze of a burgeoning beard clinging to the chin and up to the sides of the temples was nearly as scraggly as his rough linen clothing, complete with threadbare boots and a gaudy green cloak.

Following behind the scarecrow man was one larger still, even with a decided hunch to his gait. The figure was mostly obscured by a cloak large enough to make sufficient covering for three men. This crush of fabric had nearly obscured him entirely, if not for the canine nose peeking under the hood. There was also the issue of clear digitigrade feet, as the cloak was not long enough to reach the ground.

The smaller of the pair trudged along a roughly hewn road between clearings of trees. Not a real highway of any civilized area – more along the pathing of hunters that local merchants and traders took on for their purposes between the small settlements and homesteads of the region. As he walked, his hand periodically would drift to the hilt of a rapier tucked between his belt and hip. No sheath was present, unlike the dagger tucked just next to his groin between the belt and his trousers. A rather large bag hung off his right hip, perhaps the nicest thing he appeared to own. The bag featured solid, reinforced leather and several small pockets that signified his trade.

He was a barber-surgeon – the Barber, specifically, to the others of Fools’ Errand. The crest of the mercenary company was emblazoned on a faded card pasted to the bag’s front flap: It depicted a skull crowned with the twin tails of a jester’s cap.

If the man trudging ahead was the Barber, then the gait and presence of his companion signified that it was none other than the Wolf.

The Wolf of Fools’ Errand was a known quantity to those who dabbled in the world of sellswords. He was a beastman who appeared shortly after the fall of the kingdom of Triseria, but unlike most of the kingdom, he did not succumb to the madness and bloodlust of permanent lycanthropy. At least, he did not succumb to the degree of his kinsmen. Rather, he succumbed to melancholy and silence.

The Barber generally enjoyed the company of The Wolf – he was mostly quiet and could kill most anything himself when the need arose – which was fairly often in this region of the world. The Barber heard a rattle of chains with each thudding step of his companion. The Wolf was mostly silent, but the security of the clinking of chains was welcome. Sure, while the Wolf did not succumb to the madness of the fallen kingdom, that was not to say he remained untouched by it. He was a werewolf, after all.

Sightings of the Wolves of Triseria were a cautionary tale for most people on the continent, and a death sentence for those who strayed too close to their fallen kingdom. As far as the Barber knew, his companion, who had named himself Fang, was one of the only such Triserians who kept their wits about them. All others were slathering, feral murderers.

But the curse was ever present in the beast’s life. Unlike the other beastmen of the world who seemed to shift based on the cycles of the sun and moons, between the bestial forms and their original human forms, the Wolf was incapable of such reprieve. The Wolf was always the Wolf, and his lunar cycle, tied to the purple moon of Umbra, resulted in only a few hours a month of unrivaled bloodlust and shredding. The Barber had not experienced a cycle of full Argent, the sister moon, in a long while in the company of the Wolf, but considering that lasted several weeks at a time, he felt lucky. The Barber had only seen this event, full and raw, once. It was an event unlike anything he had seen since his days on the battlefield. Umbra’s monthly three-day zenith was a flicker of rage compared to the wildfire of the yearly Argent zenith.

The incident wasn’t at all the fault of Fang – the Wolf. The resulting siege, however, was a reminder of how important it was to follow his instructions on matters of the moons. It established the importance of the chains Fang carried with him at all times – thick, strong manacles to secure him to a tree when the purple moon approached its fullest moments. The silver moon meant exile for weeks at a time.

Some members of the Company balked at traveling with its greatest fighter, not that they would speak such words to his face. The Barber, however, embraced the company of the Wolf. The Barber was smart and a survivor – and Fang saw to his survival on the road. The sound of those clattering chains was a comfort to Erryl Nick, the Barber.

But the chains fell silent.

The Barber turned back to see his companion had fallen a dozen feet behind. Fang’s tremendous hood was down now, as the reddish-furred face of a werewolf sniffed at the evening air.

After a few moments, Fang turned his gaze to the Barber, who now had his right hand upon his rapier. The two road companions stared at one another silently.

In a voice like the low rumbling of earth and stone, Fang spoke: “Erryl. We have company.”

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Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.