Lightning cracked the sky and rain fell with a blinding force. A family ran through the storm, clothes soaked, eyes wide with fear. A small boy clung to the back of a man, a newborn clutched in the arms of the woman. A tremendous crack shook the air, and the woman stumbled, slipping in the mud. She cried out as she fell, cradling her precious package. The man stopped, running to his wife's side. As lightning split the sky again, for a brief moment he could see the throngs of people behind them, fleeing for their lives as well. Fires lit the night as farmhouses burned in the distance.

  "Papa, look!" Called his son from over his shoulder.

  The man turned and relief flooded through him. The gates of the castle had opened, and men on horseback were charging out. They sped down the road, lightning reflecting off their helms. They rode past the family, and off towards the horror beyond.

  "Where are they going, papa?" Asked the boy.

  The man watched them ride past, his eyes steely. "To fight the terrors in the night, my boy."

  The wind tore at the knight's cloaks, and rain pelted their helmets. They galloped at breakneck speeds, pushing their mounts as hard as they dared. The road had been washed out in the storm, becoming a quagmire. Broken carts and stuck wagons littered the track, with belongings left behind by fleeing families. Here and there bodies lay, blood soaking into the soggy ground. Ahead of them, screams broke the night, interrupted only by the crash of thunder. They approached the first set of buildings, a cluster of farmhouses and barns set just off the road. The flash of thunder revealed figures hunched over bodies in the field. They were gangly, with long arms and knees bending the wrong way. As the horses approached, they whinnied in fear,smelling the predators. The creatures raised their heads, revealing yellow eyes that glowed in the night. Their faces, elongated muzzles like that of wild dogs, were coated in blood. They snarled at the approaching men, showing their vicious fangs.

  The man at the front of the posse slowed and called out, and the knights behind him fanned out and closed rank, forming a tight wedge formation. They lowered their weapons, calvary spears, aimed straight at the monsters. The knights rode straight at the beasts, and the figures rose, standing as tall as the waist of each mounted knight. The men shouted fiercely,spurring their horses on. The cavalry charge collided with the creatures, the spears plunging deep into the furred chests of beasts and driving them to the ground, where they thrashed and howled. The lead knights rode on, circling around the buildings, while the men at the rear leapt from their steeds, brandishing gleaming swords forged with silver.

  All but one of the beasts had been hit. The injured ones flailed on the ground, breaking the wooden poles of the spears. The knights focused on these. They ran to the first one, stabbing at it repeatedly. The spearheads had driven straight through, but werewolves could not be killed by such mundane weapons, as the knights had learned early on. Their swords however, recently forged with a compound of iron and silver, caused them great pain. The creatures wailed as the knights thrust their blades through their hides.

  The uninjured werewolf charged, snarling at the smell of fresh meat. Two knights intercepted it, swinging their swords in wide arcs. The monster howled loudly as the metal seared its skin, a feeling unknown to it until now. It lashed out, its wicked claws catching a knight's arm and throwing him to the ground. It leapt at its prey, thinking to rip its throat out. The other knight stepped in, thrusting his sword with a two handed grip. He sunk his weapon into the creature's side, burying it to the hilt. The werewolf flung itself away, screaming in agony and wrenching the sword from the hands of the knight.

  Having finished the other wounded creatures, the other knights joined their comrade. Together, they finished off the last monster. The horsemen came back around the houses, slowing their mounts.

  "Only one injury sir! It's Torin, I think his arms broke." Called a knight.

  Having no healer on hand, they did their best to splint the man's arm. They helped him on his horse, then took his silver weapon, passing it off to another knight. Together, the ten horsemen returned to the muddy road, riding fast once again, towards another destroyed home. Before they reached it however, they came across a man, weakly stumbling through the muck. Blood soaked his tunic, and his eyes were unfocused.

  "Hail good sir!" Called the lead knight.

  The man barely showed any sign of recognition. A knight dismounted, approaching the dazed man. As he got closer, they made eye contact. Surprise and relief lit the man's face, then he fell to his knees. The knight knelt, examining him. His tunic had been slashed across the front, and the knight could see the gleaming white of an exposed rib. It was a miracle he had lasted this long.

  "Tell me, what happened?" Asked the knight.

  The man groggily turned his head, attempting to focus on the knight's face.

  "The beasts...they came from the forest. There was...so many of them. My wife...she was carried off..." Blood gushed suddenly from between his lips, and he toppled to his side. The knight shook his head in sorrow, then climbed back on his horse.

  "It is like we thought, sir, they seem to hide in the woods."

  "That is not good news." Replied the senior man at the front. "We must go after them. If we accomplish nothing else, we must chase them from the area."

  The hard men looked at each other. The rain plinked off their helmets noisily, but not one said a word. They had all volunteered for this, knowing that they could all be killed. But the thought of chasing after a pack of werewolves through the thick forest made even the stoutest of the knights hesitate.

  "We still have five spears. Let's go, before the trail gets cold." Barked the lead knight, digging his heels into his mount.

  The group rode on, only briefly inspecting each settlement they came across. The beasts had struck fast, and no sign remained of their presence, only the abandoned homes and mutilated corpses. The road turned east, winding away from the forest, so the knights left the muddy path. The fields were flooded, forcing the men to ride carefully, lest their horses plunge a hoof into a misleadingly deep hole. As the tree line got closer, the forest seemed to rise up to meet them. The trees towered above the men, and little light pierced their gloomy depths. Here, they all dismounted. It would be treacherous to take their steeds into the forest, especially in such a storm.

  “Torin,” Called the leader. “You will remain here with the horses. If we don’t return by dawn, return to the keep.”

  The injured knight nodded, and remained mounted.

  They entered the forest on foot, and each man felt as if the air sharpened at their presence. The thick limbs overhead provided a slight reprieve from the torrential rain, but likewise shielded them from any help the lightning might have provided.

  Out in front, a ranger led the way. The trail seemed easy enough for him to follow, and occasionally even one of the other knights would notice a broken branch, or spot the underbrush trampled flat. The men wound their way through the forest, on edge at every woodland sound they heard. They all knew, other creatures besides werewolves called this place home. They could only hope that anything else was as equally afraid of the monsters as the men were.

  As the group began to dip down into a small ravine, the ranger stopped, his fist in the air. The only thing the other men could hear was the constant patter of rain, and the occasional rumble of thunder. They looked around, swords drawn and spears raised, eyes searching for movement. The ranger spoke to the senior knight, pointing down into the ravine, then they all began making their way back up to higher ground. The lead knight signaled, and everyone gathered around. Trying to keep his voice low, yet be heard over the rain, he spoke. "Farin says he thinks he's found their lair. I'm not keen to send everyone down there blindly, so here's what we'll do. I want two of you with spears to go with Farin, as well as two more armed with silver. If they're in there, try and draw them out. Avoid getting caught up in a fight, if you can."

  The men nodded, and several stepped forward.

  The group of five crept back down through the ferns, while the rest waited restlessly. Farin walked silently, wearing lighter armor than his comrades, and staying several feet ahead of them. Even with the storm, his friends were noisy. Branches snapped, metal clinked, hushed voices swore.

  The gulley sloped beneath a rocky overhang, creating a crude cave. The tracks were clear as day to him. Many werewolves had come and gone from here, and recently. He could also see a trail of blood, freshly deposited from what he assumed was prey. Following a curve, Farin stopped in his tracks. His fist shot up, signaling the men behind to immediately halt. Through the gloom, he spied a hunched form, tearing into something on the ground. The coppery smell of blood permeated the air, cutting through the wet-dog stench of the werewolves. Behind him, Farin heard metal scrap against stone, and swore to himself that if they lived through this, he would personally flay whoever did that.

  The beast’s head snapped up, its glowing yellow eyes looking directly at Farin.

  "Everybody out! Now!" He shouted. The men behind him scrambled out of the cave, stumbling to get back up the slick terrain. Farin shoved the knight in front of him, frustratedly displaying his impatience. Behind him, he heard not one or two, but several growls. The men rushed out of the gulley, shouting ahead of them to their waiting companions.

  About halfway up the small hill, the beasts caught up. A clawed hand grabbed Farins leg painfully, and his face hit the earth hard. In one fluid motion, he rolled, drew his sword, and swung. He did not have a longsword however, and only the tip made contact, nicking the beast that held him. He heard it yip, but knew he wasn't safe. With mud caking his face, he couldn't see as another beast leapt at him. He felt a shift in the air above him, and raised his arm up defensively. The werewolf had lashed out with its teeth, going for his throat. Instead, it sank its fangs into Farins forearm. His leather armor did little to stop the beast as it dug into his flesh. Farin screamed out, and began stabbing desperately with this sword. At first, the monster tightened its grip and began to thrash its head, but as it felt the silver blade rend its skin, it opened its jaws, croaking in pain. Farin continued to plunge his sword into the belly of the monster, and blood rained down on him. He heard a shout from his left, and felt the creature roll away from him, whimpering.

  Farin wiped the muck off his face, fearfully looking around. Only three werewolves had followed them out, but they now all lay dead. Farin looked at his arm. The studded leather bracer was completely mangled, and blood was running freely down his arm. Quickly, he started to bandage the wound. Before he finished however, the senior knight approached.

  "Farin, are you injured?" He asked.

  The ranger glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

  "It's nothing bad sir, I can still fight."

  As Farin rose to his feet, his leader was frowning at him.

  "Farin, you know the rules." The man said gruffly.

  Farin looked at him, his eyes set hard.

  "Yes sir, I do. But I'm the only ranger you've got right now. If you want to find the leader of the pack, you need me. I'll accept my fate when this is over, but if you kill me now, you and your men will be hopelessly lost."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The older knight tilted his head, staring at him. Then he sighed, dropping his gaze.

  "I'm sorry Farin. You are right, we still need you. It is a shame we must resort to this at all, but I will hold off until we finish this."

  Farin dipped his head. "Thank you sir."

  The knight clasped his hand on the ranger's shoulder, then strode back to his men. "We move in five minutes!" He called out.

  Farin let out a deep breath. He knew full well going into this he might die, but he expected to be slain at the hands of a werewolf, not by his own men.

  So be it. He thought grimly, tying off the bandage.

  The men crept through the dark forest, the rain still falling between the branches. The night was very late, and the men were exhausted. Farin had led them deep into the overgrown trees, stopping a few times at areas that showed interest, but resulted in nothing. The men halted briefly, using the time to sit and eat. No fire was lit, they just snacked on hardtack from their packs. Farin sat away from the main group, claiming he wanted to be away from the noise. But really, he was worried they would panic if they saw his bandage. The last thing they needed was the fear that one of their own might turn. Besides, Farin knew better than any of them that he wasn't a danger to them. Not yet at least. From what he has seen, it would take at least a day before he started showing signs, maybe more. Still, he kept his distance all the same.

  And he was glad he did, for only minutes after they stopped, he heard a rustle of vegetation nearby. He whipped his head around, staring into the gloom. Nothing moved, but he crouched down anyway. Something was out there, he knew it. It was subtle, like something stalking. He breathed deep, but only the smell of damp earth and pine trees filled his nose. He cursed the storm, filling the air with rumbles of thunder and pattering rain. But he doubted even with a clear full moon would much light make it down here.

  He slowly crept forward, setting one foot down, then shifting his weight before lifting the next. If something was watching him this was useless. But if something was stalking his friends, he might go unnoticed. He gently brushed a fern to the side, careful not to disturb the plants more than necessary. A faint gleam caught his eye and he froze. Just out of reach, a yellow eye shone through the night. to his ultimate relief, it was not looking at him, but to his left, back towards the group of knights. He could just make out the ears and top of its head. A werewolf. It was stalking through the brush, moving as carefully as a hunting cat. Farin's eyes grew wide as we watched the creature move. It was huge! This wasn't just a werewolf, it must be the pack leader! And if this was the pack leader, that meant...

  Panic flared in his chest, and he lashed out, impaling half his short sword into the huge creature. The beast snarled, and at the same time Farin yelled out, "Werewolves!"

  The men scrambled, throwing their food to the ground and leaping to their feet, swords drawn. The bushes around them erupted with movement. A creature burst from a bush, tackling a knight. Some went to his aid, stabbing at the monster, while others spread out, searching for other threats.

  The pack leader that Farin had stabbed responded, its claws knocking the sword from the rangers hand, tossing it into the darkness. Farin quickly retreated. The beast, abandoning stealth, rose up on its hind legs. Farin gawked. it could have looked him in the eyes if he was mounted! It turned to look at him, its horrible yellow eyes locked on his, then it leaned forward and roared. Farin was knocked down by sheer terror. He pushed himself back with his hands and feet, desperate to get away. The beast took a few steps forward, its maw opening wide to reveal its enormous fangs. Farins hand curled around a rock and he chucked it at the creature, striking it in the face. It turned its head away, and Farin used this chance to jump to his feet. He sprinted back towards the other knights, who were having their own fight of their lives.

  Two knights had gone down, one with his throat slashed out, the other missing an arm. Farin panned his eyes across the ground quickly, looking for a fallen sword. Two knights next to him had a werewolf held at bay, their spears impaled through its chest. It was flailing desperately, losing blood fast. Farin wrenched one of their swords from a scabbard, turning back to see the pack leader stepping closer. It approached Farin slowly, as if daring the man to make a move, knowing it was the superior being. Farin dashed forward, then leapt back, causing the creature to swing at him. The man lunged forward as soon as the beast's claws missed their mark. He swung the sword down from over his head, chopping at the creature's arm. He felt the blade bounce off the bone, but it had cut deep into its flesh. It howled in pain and took a step back, pulling the wounded limb close to its chest. Farin breathed hard, and his hands were sweaty on the grip of the sword. The werewolf pulled back, then sprung, launching itself through the air. Farin tried to roll out of the way, but the beast was too fast, crashing down on top of him. Its claws came down hard, slicing through the leather armor on his back like silk. His screams caught the attention of another knight, who swore loudly at the sight, then rushed forward.

  On his stomach, with the weight of the pack leader on top of him, Farin was helpless. He watched as a fellow knight charged in, yelling, before getting swatted away. Farin pulled a dagger from his belt, not one forged of silver unfortunately, and plunged it into the leg of the werewolf. The beast showed no reaction at all, besides striking Farin with its mighty claws again. He felt his skin tear open and hot blood pour from the wound. He thrashed on the ground, vainly trying to do something--anything, to get free.

  The lead knight brought his sword down, cleanly severing the head of a smaller werewolf. He breathed hard, looking around. His men were in bad shape, with only a few still on their feet. One beast was on its knees, head lolling to its side with two spears holding it up, another had two knights on top of it, their swords flashing in the dim light. Finally, he laid eyes on his ranger. The man was lying in a pool of his own blood, feebly thrashing under the foot of the largest werewolf he had ever seen. The old knight gasped softly. He rushed forward, swinging his longsword in an arc above his head. The creature turned to him as the sword came down, slicing a diagonal wound down its chest. It roared at him, but took a step back, allowing Farin to crawl away. The old knight eyed the beast cautiously, watching as it began circling around him. This one was smart, smarter than the rest it seemed. Saliva dripped from its jaws, fury burned in its yellow eyes. But the knight waited. He slowly circled around the opposite direction of the monster, biding his time. The creature hunched slightly, and the knight raised the tip of his sword, anticipating its lunge. As the beast sprung forward, the knight took one step forward, planting his feet on the ground firmly. He turned slightly, and pointed his shoulder at it. The creature crashed into him hard, bringing him to the ground. Seeing stars and hearing the wheezing breath in his ear, the knight twisted and jerked his sword, burying it deep into its stomach. The beast tried to get its claws on him, but the knight squirmed around. Its claws scraped on his plate armor, not finding purchase. Finally, it gave one last wail, then fell still. The knight caught his breath for a moment, then heaved the monster off of him. Slowly coming to his feet, he glanced around. Only two other knights still remained standing. Three, counting himself, out of ten. The knight walked to Farin, who was still lying on the ground, gasping for breath.

  "I'm sorry, my friend." The knight said softly.

  The ranger feebly raised his hand, pointing off into the woods.

  "The castle...head...that way...get them…to safet-" His hand fell to the ground, and he breathed no more.

  The knight gently placed a hand on his head, then walked back to the center of their rest spot. Bodies lay everywhere. He did the gruesome task of checking each one, lopping the heads off the werewolves, and making sure none of the fallen knights would rise as beasts themselves. The other two men collected the silver swords they could find, then the old knight removed the head of the pack leader, carrying it back with him in the direction his ranger had instructed.

  The early morning sun shone weakly through the remnants of the storm, its feeble rays casting light into the castle courtyard. Four knights, haggard and beaten, marched their horses through the main gate. Men and women clapped their hands, cheering as the small group of four rode in. But it didn't last long. Everyone could tell, by looking at the mens eye's, and the fact that six riderless horses accompanied them, it was not a cheerful morning. The old knight left his wounded men at the infirmary and carried the massive head of the pack leader into the council room. As the doors parted, many eyes turned his direction. Several of them turned away at the sight of his gruesome trophy. He strode right up to the table, where the lords of the castle had gathered, and tossed the head up. It landed in the center of the table with a sickening thud.

  "The pack is no more. We have slain the pack leader." He said grimly.

  The man at the head of the table pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

  "A mighty accomplishment. Judging by its head, it must have been an enormous beast indeed." The man said, grinning at the knight.

  "I lost six men in that hunt. Six! One of which was our best ranger." The knight replied sternly. "We need to do something about this. We need more silver weapons, better armor, better training."

  The group began mumbling to each other, their voices overlapping, filling the room with noise. The man lifted his arms, bringing silence.

  "I am sorry for your losses. The kingdom has lost many good knights. But you are right." The man began to walk around the table, towards him. "Before you arrived, the lords and I were actually discussing just that. Between the werewolves, the undead, and the other scourge that has appeared from the darkness, We have come to a conclusion."

  The knight eyed him curiously, but he kept his face stern.

  "Letters across the kingdom state the same thing: We are in need of heroes. A specific breed of knights, capable of going toe-to-toe with such monstrosities. It has been decided that a new knighthood will be established. One whose members are trained by the best, for the sole task of rooting out this fresh wave of hell-spawn. Key people from every keep and castle will go to the capital to assemble this knighthood. I think you are exactly the man we need." The man placed a well manicured hand on the old knight's shoulder.

  "A new order of knights? Aye...aye that could work. But only if we have the resources we need. Every man must have the right weapons and armor." The knight replied, meeting the man's eyes.

  "Fear not, it will be funded by the crown. You will work closely with the order of Paladins until a proper training regiment can be established. You will have nearly full authority to train them as you please. Do you accept this new assignment? We would give you the night, but in the morning you would depart. Your family would accompany you shortly thereafter."

  The knight looked around the room, glanced at the severed head on the table, and looked at his hands, covered in the blood of his fellow men-at-arms. His eyes flashed in the rays of the morning light.

  "Absolutely."