The forest came alive around them. Undergrowth rustled, trees swayed, and small saplings were trampled as countless forms approached, emerging into the clearing. The creatures were hunched on four legs, their backs arched, their fangs bared, snarling and snapping.
Wolves. A whole pack of them, if not multiple packs combined into one. Patrick tried counting them to ease his fraying nerves, but he stopped when he reached a hundred sets of rheumy yellow eyes. Some had black fur, some gray, and others were differing shades of brown or even patchwork. They were all mangy, and the heat of their combined breath seemed to close in on him.
Their growls became louder until Ashhur held out his hand, and then the beasts stopped their rumbling and sat on their haunches. Some offered whimpers and some lay down in submission, whereas others simply stared straight ahead with frostily primitive eyes that spoke only of hunger. Many of them had globules of red clinging to the fur around their jaws, bespeaking recent hunts. Patrick sidled up closer to Ashhur. Craning his neck as far as his hunched back would allow, he stared up at his deity’s face.
“My Grace,” he said, keeping his tone a faint whisper, “what are you doing?”
“My children are in need of protectors,” Ashhur said, “and so I will create them.”
With that he lifted his arms. Ashhur’s glowing eyes became twice as bright, as words of magic flew from his lips. The atmosphere shivered, and the gathered throng of wolves began to writhe. They thrashed and mewled, offering braying protests to the heavens. Patrick covered his ears once more, his eyes wide as he watched the beasts flay and twist. A repetitious crack filled the air, rhythmic like the beating of a thousand drums at once.
“From the flesh you gain sustenance!” shouted Ashhur. “And like the plants, from the soil you grow!”
The foliage that lined the clearing liquefied, becoming a multitude of thin silver streams that flowed toward the thrashing beasts. The rippling fur of each wolf seemed to drink in the liquid, and then they began to grow. Their limbs stretched, their chests widened, and the cracking noise became all the more pronounced. Patrick looked on as paws flattened and then extended, furry fingers sprouting from the creatures’ paws. Each of the beings wailed in pain as they thrashed, their newly formed arms and legs smacking at the silver liquid that flowed into them.
Then the moaning began. To Patrick, it sounded like a chorus of sadness, of wounded creatures lamenting the loss of their natural innocence. Ashhur ceased his chanting, and very slowly the wolves began to cease their struggles. The strange cracking sound died away, as did the bellowing. Soon all that could be heard was the combined rasps of hundreds of gasping lungs.
One by one, the wolves rose off the ground. Patrick looked on, not believing his eyes. The creatures were now twice the size they had been, and they stood upright on two legs. Patrick stopped breathing. They were a perfect combination of man and wolf, every single one of them, though they stared ahead with eyes that appeared just as icy and unfeeling as ever-the single-minded gaze of an animal.
Patrick happened to glance down, where the streams of silvery liquid had appeared, and he saw that the grass beneath the wolf-men’s clawed feet, grass that had only moments before been the bright green of spring growth, was now light brown and dead. Looking up, he saw that the first row of trees behind the beasts was just as lifeless, their leaves crinkled and sagging, the bark breaking away in chunks.
He heard a thud beside him. Ashhur had fallen to a knee, the glow in his eyes faded. He panted, the knuckles of his right hand digging into the scorched earth beneath him. Patrick held out his hand, and the god took it. He instantly felt silly for the gesture, for Ashhur’s hand swallowed his own like an infant’s, but his act seemed to steady the god. Ashhur closed his eyes, rolled his neck, and then stood to his full height. When he did, every single wolf-man fell to his knees. They were clumsy even then, some falling over and rolling on the ground in panic.
“My Grace,” Patrick began, but he could not finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
“We needed soldiers,” said his god.
“But how?”
“The knowledge of form and function resides right in here,” Ashhur said, tapping his temple. He was winded, but his voice hadn’t lost any of its potency. “You can alter any form if you know the proper ways.”
“Yes, but you made them grow as well.”
“The universe is all about balance; other than the gods, nothing can be created from nothing. I gathered nutrients from the plants around us and minerals from the ground beneath us, and added them to their bodies, allowing them to grow. Everything in this world, from the stones beneath your feet to the whales living in the deepest reaches of the ocean, contains similarities I fear you would not understand. Just know that, for me, what I did was akin to piling sand upon sand to build a larger mound.”
Patrick squinted. Ashhur looked a hundred times more exhausted than he ever had after bringing up the walls around the settlements. “But you’re panting, my Grace,” he said.
“Did I ever say it was simple?” asked Ashhur. “The power required was tremendous, and I fear I have overtaxed myself.”
“Will they fight for us?” He looked around at the creatures. They seemed hungry, wanton. “They might stand upright, but they still seem like…well, wolves.”
“As they are. They still have the minds they’ve always had and are driven by the same instincts. But they know my desires, and they will fulfill them as best they can. It will take them a few hours to adjust to their new forms, but nature is adaptable.” Ashhur gave a sad smile. “Our armies may not have swords or armor, but these wolves will require neither. They hold their weapons in their mouths and at the tips of their new fingers.”
Patrick looked at the curled, sharp claws protruding from each of their digits, both on their arms and legs. He shook his head.
“Why didn’t you make them smarter?” he asked. “That might have been helpful.”
“I cannot,” the god said. “Not without great cost. This is not the same as when my brother and I brought man from the ether. We infused our power into the ewers, giving a small piece of ourselves that now resides in each man, woman, and child in Dezrel. We were weakened to mere shells of the beings we once were. Should I give these creatures a bit of my essence, my intelligence…Karak marches against us, Patrick, and I will surely face him again. When I do, it cannot be as his inferior.”
“Oh.”
Ashhur gestured toward his monstrous creations.
“They will fight for us, Patrick, for even as wolves they can understand my desire, for it is one they are very good at fulfilling. I want them to hunt…to kill.”
The wolf-men howled as one, and a moment later they were rumbling into the forest on all fours, hand over foot, heading south. The god had it right; they seemed ungainly with their new, larger forms, but the speed at which they moved was uncanny. Patrick could see their muscular shoulders working as they galloped through the trees. In a matter of minutes, he and his deity were alone in the clearing once more.
“How much time do you think they’ll give us?” he asked.
“Two days, perhaps three,” Ashhur replied. “They are few compared to what approaches, but we have surprise on our side. If there is one thing I am certain of, it is that Karak will not expect this.”
Frowning, Patrick said, “Karak is akin to you in many ways. Are you certain?”
Ashhur grinned. “Yes. No matter what occurred in Haven, my brother will still assume I’m playing by the rules.”
It was an ominous statement, and one Patrick didn’t press any further. Without consciously thinking about it, his mind drifted to Bardiya. His friend would hate the idea of Ashhur creating wolf-men to fight his battles for him. Bardiya believed in the sanctity of all life, not just humanity’s. He would find it unsavory that the wolves of the forest were being sacrificed in such a way.