The rich man's head fell with a rather stupid sound. It was boring compared to the coins pouring into our sacks. These sanctimonious types who came to invade actually served their purpose. We had enough time for a small compensation for years of ignoring us. Then we would go for the weak mages and be powerful again. The Wolf Clan was ready to send.
Everyone had been arriving from distant lands. No one had stayed here. Our services were despised—only the Blood Elves—what a stupid name—kept paying us. It was true, but nothing we could not earn in the past. Only suddenly, there was no room for spring goblin massacres. The wolves and their cubs in summer brought us many women and wine. In autumn, orcs, some Forest Elf or another, paws, horns, teeth, pelts, and skulls—it was a good life. Then the dead arrived, and we all had plenty of work... until the Lich awoke.
I still remembered our departure. Happily, we went to destroy several undead at the southern border. They were all simple—some were from the Clan, yes, but the weak ones would still give us money in their death. In short, we arrived, and there they were—all those useless Whitecaps and their leader, one who always let us do whatever we wanted. But he was eliminating our source of work. His magic tore them apart, then marked them, and although I tried to erase those marks, they never rose again.
I searched among this merchant's things—a good house, some slave women, a couple of children to serve him. Finally, a good bottle! I had to take a drink. What I saw that day when I went with my complaints about payments and concessions—I was received by someone very different. He was not there; he was never at previous conferences. But this time, he just said there was a system of honor where he would deliver benefits to those who obeyed only his missions, which sounded sanctimonious and boring to me. But as soon as I began to shout at him, a single flash—a second of his attention in his gaze—and I understood that the golden teat in this city was over. Even today, I needed a good drink of something strong to face such a memory. It was like being seen from within, being peeled layer by layer, looking for what? I did not know, but he was looking for something in me. I was sure he did not find it. That was why I began sending the various minor clans to other cities. That was how we survived. For years, so many things I tried to obtain those honor weapons and items from the Whitecaps. I went from eliminating those who got them—those battles were intense. They were only a few, but they eliminated entire squadrons of my troops. I expected great things from those prizes... only that was not the case. None of these products worked and began to rust as soon as the body went cold.
My second attempt was with the smiths. But they did not know what happened to the armor they delivered to the tower. They showed me some of the simpler ones—undoubtedly of high quality, even when their materials were leather or copper. But I had seen them in action—their power once you were honorable with this Judeus. Yet even when I paid several of my common soldiers, they never rose in honor level. They did the missions, but there was always an excuse—if we eliminated a family, if we killed more than requested, even one of them was expelled from the city for a gold coin... A single damned coin that he took from the petitioner, just because he did not want to give a larger reward.
I was seriously thinking about changing cities when I received a message—a meeting request with a certain General Redshank, commander of the forces of one of those new continents seeking the enslavement of cities. I did not care too much; cities come and go, but mercenaries are always necessary. So I just listened to his megalomaniacal ambitions. I gave him about a hundred of my soldiers—nothing we would miss. The deal was sealed: they would arrive, distract everyone; when the mage's tower fell, we would join the fight while we would be looting everything we could. That same day, I sent for everyone—the scattered clans, the special mission ones, the shock force ones. I wanted many hands. This city was rich, and it would be a shame to leave without compensation for all these years of service.
Two weeks ago, the Black Wolves arrived, then the Damned, the Ghost Wolves with their poisoned bone weapons. The Glacier Wolves were not a great force since they were attacked by the Deathbringer... another damned monster. The Steppe Wolves left their outpost in the Dark Forest to participate. Our main clan had two thousand members, but among all, we added up to nearly ten thousand units—from the weak to the leaders, we all agreed: Stormhammer would fall today.
The most important houses were looted. I did not think anyone should miss them—they were extortionists and usurers, so it was almost a good deed. The blows had been echoing for some minutes. My spies told me the Whitecaps were locked in their tower. As I suspected! They were just cowards hiding behind that monster that was their boss. What had become of his former secretary? He made very good deals with me—time will tell. I began giving orders. Some small seals allowed me to know where my troops were. On the map, my people's positions were clearly visible. I preferred to see them like that, as the bulk of the enemies was very large and would overshadow my people. Some of mine suggested going for the treasures of those elves who had arrived as refugees. However, I disagreed—they were good customers, all elves. Eliminating them would deprive us of valuable business seeking alchemy pieces or rare ingredients. That, and they were strong—I would lose many soldiers trying to obtain prizes that only elves could use. Best to let them be pursued. Refugees in the forests, I could extract their money to the point where they themselves would have to sell their own for stability... What a good idea!
Half my troops were traveling underground. Those sewers were a great invention—they kept the filth out and allowed us to enter. They all had instructions to kill the adults; the young would help us. They would be mercenary mages, would help, and we would make use of them.
I think I dozed off a little with the impacts, but when the shield fell, it woke me. The fall of those who did not know how to survive in these times was so sweet. I shouted for everyone to loot, kill, be happy. Wolves did not need anyone—we took advantage of opportunities. Carrion was food, meat was food, money too. We were not greedy—we took what we wanted. That was how the Wolf Clan should be.
Something went wrong. I was sure the Whitecap's magical field fell, but I still did not hear the invaders' troops in the streets. I sent more troops underground. If the useless students required more persuasion, better a corpse on the floor than a risk at their backs. But my main troops were worried, so I used a little more magic on the scroll—it belonged to a small soul stone, which activated the runes. A very weak wave came out of the map, and I saw my lights disappear—one by one, specks of color lost on the parchment. Then entire clans. I could not believe it. I activated the stone until it was empty, but nothing changed. Inside the tunnels, there should have been nearly eight thousand units, but none remained. Like rain methodically soaking the floor, the parchment went blank again. My people would not go into those tunnels—they had been very busy in the residential areas, but now that they knew no one remained there, the least they wanted was to enter where fortune did not follow. But we could not stay. If my forces really died below, the invaders might have betrayed me. So I went out and ordered everyone out of the houses. Apparently, even when I gave the orders, the Black Wolf Clan and the special forces stayed—looting, of course. So I had five thousand elements—all specialized, with abilities superior to the rest of the Clan. I supposed it was best to get out of here.
We were at the city's borders. I still felt watched. I had placed traps along our departure, so at least some of the pursuers would fall. But there were noises—like in a nightmare. Some of the manhole covers were moving. Had some of my men survived? But no—from the shadows of the sewer holes, arrows emerged, and some of my men began to fall. There went the formation. I shouted, but no one listened anymore. Everyone ran. Only my troops maintained a certain level of discipline. I ordered them to stay away from the sewers. At least we were near the outskirts. I hoped I could evade my attackers long enough for my heart to calm a little.
They attack from the shadows! I did not know who they were, but the shadows and they were friends. Arrows, blades, even covered shadows emerged from every corner and shadow. I knew we were not the only ones attacked because the other clans' war cries were heard clearly. First, we defended ourselves—of course, shields high, weapons ready, magical scrolls prepared. But their aim was true; my friends fell. We could not even stay to take their armor. The shadows sent a chain with blades that spun and cut the feet of more than one who wanted spare parts. This was not a battle—it was a hunt. I ordered those who heard me to go to post seven—a small cave to the east, formed during the cataclysm. We had eliminated anyone who approached. With luck, we could count losses and gains there.
They pursued me. All my escorts were dead. I did not know how many of us remained, but Grimm would not leave soon. I gripped my axe and waited for them. A thin silhouette emerged from the shadows. Without more, I struck with an axe blow that would split him like a branch. Yet a very soft metallic sound stopped it—a sword, thin but with a good edge, had just stopped my attack with great force. I will not give up! I threw several blows. With luck, I stopped some of those he threw at me. For such a thin bar, the impact was impressive, but I was standing against it—against death, against lying destiny, against everyone... but did this only eliminate them?
Then I saw them. They were shadows in the trees and houses—hundreds of them. Strength abandoned my body. They were not humans; I did not know what they were. Everything was lost. I lowered my sword. I almost felt the bowstrings tighten. My shield fell, but they did not seem to desist... I don't want to die! As an act, I began throwing everything I obtained from the incursions—bags of money, jewels, even a few tiaras from a fat lady who had a lot of blood in her body. At that moment, the cloak of the one attacking me fell. He was an old man—his skin so blue it looked black. Grooves shone on his face, changing color and shape. He was one of the Dark Forest elves! He told me to leave, that this city was protected by the Dark Elves and the Overlord. With that, everyone returned to the city, leaving me empty. I walked to the forest's edge. I could have taken more things, but I saw no purpose. The forest, the night, and they were one—how could I fight against all? Then I knew my Clan did not die—disarmed and poor, but they must have survived—at least those who gave up everything. As I walked to the refuge, I thought it could have been worse—they still had to face the angry god, and I only had to pray that my men had more sense than greed. I would rebuild my troops. Of course, mercenaries were always necessary. When we were strong again, I would go after the mages. Their leader would not survive this night, and those who remained were weaklings... I would hunt them down.