The branch tore from the tree just as another wolf cried out below, and the goblin archer leaning over the edge pumped a fist in the air, cackling at the battle beneath.

  Until Ollie stove its head in.

  In the chaos and the growing dark, none of the greenskins below noticed, and Ollie pulled the body back before it could fall and alert them.

  His heart was still racing but he’d committed. He double-checked that the goblin was dead, but the unnatural angle of its neck and the caved-in back of the skull made it pretty clear.

  Clenching his mouth shut as his stomach revolted at the sight, he pushed down on the urge to vomit, instead wiping a few splatters of dark blood from his jacket and inspecting the makeshift club.

  The creature made its choice.

  The branch held together, the dense, dry wood proving harder than cranial bone. He considered the fallen goblin’s bow for a moment, but he wasn’t at all confident in his ability to hit anything. He’d only tried archery once or twice, and not since he’d bought an experience for himself and his brother and father as a joint Christmas present a few years back...

  Recognising the subconscious procrastination, he stifled it before it stifled him into inaction, he contemplated the bow for a second longer before dismissing it.

  No, he was bigger than them, and the makeshift club gave him a bit of reach. Besides, a rock or two could even the odds.

  He bent down and picked up a fist-sized stone. It was heavier than he expected, dense, but he could hold it like a shot put. Even if it didn’t hit it would distract.

  With the club in his other hand, he stepped back to the edge and looked over.

  The wolves were still penned in by the spear-wielding goblins, and another had been caught by a noose and was being dragged away, barely conscious. Behind the main mob, perched on a flatter ledge no more than ten feet below him, were the remaining two archers, too busy sending arrows at the wolves to notice their missing friend.

  Nine with spears. Two with bows. Three wolves on their last legs, and me.

  Eleven on four.

  Oh well. In for a penny…

  Ollie launched the rock at one of the spear goblins and, without watching to see if it hit, grabbed his club in both hands and leapt onto the archers below.

  He didn’t yell or scream. He simply dropped out of the darkness, trying to time his swing with his fall as he aimed at the closer goblin.

  He was off by a fraction of a second, but it didn’t matter much as he landed bodily on the diminutive greenskin.

  The archers were even scrawnier than the rest, and couldn’t have weighed more than fifty pounds wet. Whereas Ollie was pushing two hundred.

  Simple physics took effect, and if the archer wasn’t dead, it certainly wasn’t getting up any time soon.

  Ten on four.

  His chest and arm and shoulder throbbed from the impact, and he was pretty sure one of the creature’s arrows had dug into his back, but Ollie came up swinging, and the second goblin next to him looked round with a stunned expression just in time to take the end of a tree branch to the face.

  It fell back with a squeal, and this time the attack didn’t go unnoticed, possibly due to the impact the previously-hurled stone had arrived with when it hit one of the speargoblin’s arms.

  The injured greenskin and his closest friend had spun round to search for the source of the new threat, and another two twisted at the archer’s scream, and the wolves, bleeding from scores of wounds and on their last legs, took advantage of the confusion and made one final rush.

  Ollie pressed the reeling archer, jumping forwards off one leg and kicking it in the chest. It fell to the ground, and before it could roll away he stamped down on its leg and then jabbed the branch down with all the force he could muster at the goblin’s chest. Flesh and bone gave way with a sucking squelch that was lost amidst the sudden chaos and the goblin died instantly.

  Nine on four.

  He turned to find the wolves bowling the remaining greenskins over, though one whimpered as a pair of spears pierced its chest and managed to snap only once at its killers before it breathed its last.

  Nine on three.

  Scattered, the goblins still had the advantage of numbers, and they’d clearly worked together before. As two ran at Ollie, another two harassed the smaller of the wolves, and five leapt back to keep the largest wolf at bay, though not before its jaws crunched down on the neck of one.

  Eight on three.

  He couldn’t spare any more attention for his situational allies as he suddenly found himself having to dodge back from a thrust as the faster of the goblins lunged for him. He wasn’t quick enough, and a jagged line ripped through his jacket and into his arm.

  “Bollocks!”

  It stung like the dickens, and he scrabbled back, barely keeping ahead of the series of jabs the greenskins sent at him. He could feel it bleeding freely but he could still move his arm. He stumbled as his foot hit a rock and one of the goblins’ eyes opened wide with glee as it darted in to skewer him.

  But Ollie only wavered for a fraction of a second, and instead of trying to block with the branch he simply let it fall from his hands and grabbed for the spear.

  The goblin’s eyes opened even wider as Ollie latched on to the pointed end, cutting his hand in the process, but that wasn’t on his mind at that moment.

  Instead, only one thought entered his head.

  I’m a lot bigger than you, you little shit.

  Heaving with all his might, before the creature could think to let go, Ollie sent the spear wielder crashing into its friend, and as they staggered, dazed, he let go of the weapon and jumped into close quarters. He took a blow from the second goblin’s spear, but he was too close to be skewered, and the haft only stole the breath from his lungs in a white-hot explosion of pain that radiated across his ribs. Ignoring the sudden agony and the need to breathe for a second, he grabbed their heads and smashed them together.

  Before either could recover from the blow, one arm clutching at his side, he snatched up the now-fallen spear one-handed and plunged it into each of their chests.

  By the time he looked up he found that, though he’d managed to deal with his opponents, the wolves hadn’t been so lucky.

  The smaller Silvermane lay on the floor, unmoving, and though one of the wolves had torn another goblin apart, they were still outnumbered.

  Five on two.

  The largest wolf was being pushed back into the cleft, running out of space and energy to dodge as its lifeblood dripped from dozens of wounds, but the goblins couldn’t spare any of their number to deal with Ollie lest the huge beast risk a final suicidal charge.

  Ollie stooped and picked up another stone with shaking arms and hurled it at the backs of the goblins.

  He missed the first, but the second and third impacted with enough force to make the targets stumble, and the huge Silvermane snapped forwards to decapitate one with its steel-trap jaws, taking a long gash down the side of its muzzle as it did so.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Four on two.

  Imperceptibly, the energy changed. The goblins might have had more bodies, but those bodies were smaller and weedier than either the wolf or Ollie’s, and they knew it.

  One of them turned to flee, and Ollie hurled a stone at another as the surviving Silvermane pounced.

  The goblins broke, and within seconds, green limbs and dark blood were in the air as the wolf with a growl like thunder tore apart those that had taken its pack from it.

  Ollie’s makeshift club fell to the floor with a clatter.

  And then there was silence.

  —

  The silence grew, tension building, as Ollie and the last wolf both swayed where they stood, breathing hard, bleeding hard. The entire left side of his body was a symphony of pain, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright as black spots danced at the edge of his vision.

  His eyes met the wolf’s gaze, and he held it only a second before glancing to the side.

  Don’t look a wild animal in the eyes.

  The piece of trivia came into his head unbidden. As badly as the creature was wounded, he didn’t want to challenge it. Antagonise it.

  Instead his gaze wandered over the rest of its body.

  Its last charge had cost it, and it still had a long spear sticking out of its back just above its shoulders, but that was only the final wound it had taken.

  Three more spears, hafts snapped, dangled from its side, and a short sword or dagger driven up to the hilt was lodged in the meat of its back leg. The tattered remains of a net hung from its haunches, shredded and snapped by the forces it had tried to contain. Other wounds bled freely, though the smallest nicks were beginning to clot. And that was just the side that Ollie could see.

  The Silvermane slumped to the cavern wall with a faint huff.

  Taking a chance he never would have before, Ollie approached. Slowly, hands outstretched and open, showing he was unarmed.

  The great lupine head tracked him, barely, one eye watching as he stepped closer, breath coming faster and shallower with every yard the distance between them shrank.

  “Easy there. I don’t mean you any harm. I just want to help you.”

  Praying that it understood the tone, if not the words, he bent his knees as much as he could without collapsing beneath the strain, making himself smaller, and paused at a low growl.

  A hint of steel entered his tone. A trick learned from years in the classroom.

  “Hey, none of that. You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for me. Show some gratitude.”

  The Silvermane whined once, then stopped growling.

  Reaching the beast’s side, he looked closer at the weapons still in the wounds. The hanging spears, cruelly barbed, were slicing its skin a fraction of an inch more with each laboured breath.

  A gasp from above made both him and the wolf flinch and then tense, before he realised who it was.

  The cervitaur’s face looked down over the edge of the rocky outcropping, pale as she surveyed the carnage below. When she saw Ollie and the wolf, it was her turn to stiffen. Her voice came at a whisper-shout.

  “get back! that’s a silvermane. it’ll rip you apart.”

  The wolf began to shift in place but Ollie laid a gentle hand on its side and it froze as he replied in as calm and even a tone as he could manage. His best neutral ‘teacher’s voice’.

  “It’s an animal, and it’s hurt. I think it understands I don’t mean it harm. I want to help it. Do you have anything I could use to bind wounds with?”

  The cervitaur blinked between Ollie and the Silvermane for a long moment.

  “you’re insane.”

  She disappeared from view and for a second Ollie thought she’d left, then a clattering of small rocks came cascading down the outcropping on the far side of the cavern entrance as the cervitaur descended to their level with more nimbleness than he’d have credited her with.

  She was smaller than he’d realised. It had been hard to tell when she was crouched behind the bush, but now they were standing on even ground he guessed she couldn’t be more than five and a half feet tall. Not much bigger than some of the goblins, and a good few inches shorter than he was.

  Stopping a respectable distance away, she rummaged around in a pouch at her waist before pulling out a glass jar and a handful of mushrooms, voice stammering but no longer whispering.

  “It’s not exactly a healing potion, but the poultice should help. The mushrooms are the main ingredient; if you crush them they’ll help your wounds heal and ward off rot.”

  Ollie glanced down to where his arm was still dripping blood. It was a deep gash but he was surprised at how much it was leaking still.

  The cervitaur rolled the jar over the uneven ground and left the mushrooms in a pile, eyes darting between man and wolf as she tensed, ready to flee.

  “You sure about this? We could just leave it. Silvermanes might not be as vicious as some beasts, but they’re a lot more dangerous than most, especially when wounded.”

  Keeping one eye on the wolf, Ollie stepped back to where he could crouch down and reach the glass jar, removing a tight-fitting leather cap and grimacing at the musty stench that emanated from the contents. He kept his voice low and his attention on the creature as he answered.

  “Look at it. Surely it didn’t deserve what happened to it or its pack. I can’t just leave it here to die; not if there’s a chance to help it. What kind of person would do that?”

  Even back in London people weren’t that callous.

  Mostly.

  He just about caught her muttered reply.

  “people that want to live?” She shuffled from hoof to hoof for a second before she met his eye. “If you’re serious, I can go and fetch some cloth, and a few herbs that could help. If the beast doesn't rip your arm off you you could use them to bind the worst cuts.” Her voice dropped to a murmur once more. “if the goblins come back though…”

  She waited for his silent nod of affirmation before she turned tail and bounded off into the forest, and Ollie wondered if she’d actually return.

  Even if she doesn’t, I can’t fault her. At least she helped.

  He turned his attention back to the jar and the wolf, then scooped out a chunk of the poultice on one finger and held both the finger and the gash on his arm up to the wolf.

  “I’m going to use this. Look. It might help. Not bad. Good.”

  Moving slowly, pausing for a second as he wondered if it would work, he smeared the concoction onto the laceration and let out a sigh of relief as a coolness spread over his arm.

  It doesn’t feel as bad as it smells.

  With measured steps, he approached the Silvermane again, and though it grimaced as if in disgust as the scent of the jar grew closer and more pungent, it seemed to understand what he was trying to do.

  “Easy, okay. I know some animals are smart; I’m hoping you are too.”

  Dipping two fingers into the jar he took out a small scoop and, with glacial slowness, smeared it across one of the smaller wounds on the beast’s flank.

  The wolf tensed once more, which only made the weapons embedded in its hide cut deeper, but as the poultice was applied it relaxed almost imperceptibly, and Ollie breathed another sigh of relief, grateful that he was still breathing. If the Silvermane had taken offence to his actions, he doubted he’d’ve had time to inhale before it removed his head.

  Not moving any faster, Ollie got to work on the larger cuts, pressing some of the foul-smelling but numbing and clotting mixture into each. Almost half the jar was gone by the time he’d done the open wounds he could see, and he turned to face the wolf, who was looking back to see what he was doing.

  “I’m going to remove the spears now. And that dagger. I’ll try to be gentle, but it might hurt.” He met its eyes and didn’t flinch. This time, the wolf looked away first.

  A low growl rose as he took the first spear in hand, but it didn’t seem directed at him; the Silvermane was facing the wall, as if trying not to look at the injury.

  As gently as possible, Ollie levered it out of the cut and immediately smeared a dollop of the poultice into the wound.

  The remaining three spears went much the same way, but the dagger required a more insistent pull, and the wolf whined and snapped its head round when Ollie finally yanked it free in a spray of blood.

  “Oh pipe down. That one’s barely a scratch to you.”

  There was an…understanding between them, and as he smeared the paste into the wound the huge Silvermane silently ducked its head and shifted in place to present its other side to him.

  As it did so, in the quiet, a faint pawing came from the cleft where the wolves had made their last stand.

  Ollie took a step towards it when the Silvermane growled with real menace for the first time. Or at least, the first time it had directed the sound at him.

  “Easy. I’m just going to look.” Ollie’s heart rate began to pick up. It hadn’t attacked him so far, but it was a wild animal.

  With another step, the growl came again, louder, and the wolf shifted its weight, preparing to lunge.

  Instantly Ollie backed off.

  “Okay, sorry. Maybe not so much of an understanding huh? I’ll leave it, but it sounds like one of them might still be alive.”

  The silver and grey and red-stained fur of the beast rippled as it whuffed, but it did nothing more as Ollie returned to its side with tentative steps, breathing easier as the wolf settled down and he finished tending to the fewer cuts on its left flank.

  He’d just finished when the sound of hoof on stone alerted him to someone incoming.

  She didn’t abandon me.

  It was a small sense of relief in a wild and unbelievable evening, and Ollie let his smile show as the cervitaur - who he realised he didn’t know the name of - cautiously stepped into the clearing in front of the cave, strips of cloth hanging from one hand and a bucket sloshing water dangling from the other.

  Her eyes betrayed her unease as she inched forwards in and out of the deeper shadows in the near-faded light and, to spare her any more fear and danger, he approached her to get them.

  “Sorry - I’m out of herbs.” Her gaze flickered between Ollie and the wolf. “I half thought I'd find your corpse and have to run.” She admitted, eyes roving across the recumbent creature. “Are you a [Beast Tamer] then?”

  There was an odd inflection to her words that Ollie didn't understand, and he shrugged modestly.

  “I'm no one special.”

  The cervitaur narrowed her eyes.

  “You leapt into battle with a group of,” she hesitated and glanced down at the green-skinned bodies, “admittedly adolescent goblins, and a pack of Silvermanes, came out with a few scratches and then decided to approach the injured leader and try to heal it…and didn't get killed in the process. And you're out here in the middle of nowhere, alone and in strange clothes. Somehow I doubt you're a simple [Farmer] or [Hunter]. I've certainly never seen you at Tamar’s Vale before.”

  Sorting through the bandages, Ollie only paused for a moment.

  Adolescent?

  A faint pulse of nausea and guilt ran through him before he suppressed it as he took one white strip to bind the largest cut with.

  “Honestly, I have no idea where I am or what's going on. I just decided that I'm not going to keep walking by when I find someone in trouble…even if that someone turns out to be a wolf this time...”

  She frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could he held out a hand.

  “...but I want to thank you for helping me. I'm Ollie.”

  Cut off from whatever she'd been about to say, she shook his hand and swallowed.

  “Tirwen Moss-Step.”

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