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The Season of the Wolf	By : LadyOfTheSouthernIsles Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 1434 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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Though his expression gave nothing away, Nuada was at a loss as to what to do with the broken, disfigured boy in front of him. Balor's edict was simple and to the point; any human found to have had any part in the death of an elf was to be executed, swiftly and mercifully, and the boy was undoubtedly part of the raiding party which had slain all but two of a whole elven village. Three, Nuada amended silently as he looked at the crying baby in the boy's arms; they needed to get her to a Healer.
But the boy – Treasach - had saved her life and was doing what he could to care for her. Nuada had learned that much, and more, in the short time he'd been in the humans' camp, glamoured and unseen by their murderous, thieving eyes. And too, there was something repugnant about killing someone so obviously at a disadvantage and without any hope of ever defending himself. And yet the king's orders were clear. Death.
Nuada's thoughts tumbled over one another like stones caught in a raging torrent but before they could find a place to settle, an angry roar from a human throat drew him into the fight again. Spinning round, he parried a blow from a thrusting spear and lunged forward, on the attack. There was no doubt in his mind about what to do with this human.
… …
Treasach watched the elven warrior, transfixed. If his own limbs weren't broken and bent, if he wasn't a fool. If he was tall and straight, and could move properly, speak properly. If Da hadn't taken him up on that horse all those years ago, mean drunk on grog and with Ma crying 'no'… then he would want to be like the elf, Treasach decided. Move like him, fight like him.
The warrior was all explosive power and fury as he drove his opponent back against one of the huge, forbidding menhirs that circled the ancient fort. Slipping past the man's guard, he ran him through with his sword but as he wrenched the weapon free of the dying body, four more reivers attacked. He whirled round to meet them and now he was the one with his back against the wall. He had his work cut out for him too, fending off their blows and not tripping over the corpse at his feet, and he was given no chance to regain the offensive.
Treasach wondered how long the Elf King's champion could hold Da's men at bay before one of them got past his flashing blade of silver and killed him. Though he knew it was disloyal to his kinsmen, he hoped with all his heart that the warrior would win but then he remembered those fierce, flame-gold eyes which only moments before had burnt a hole right through him, and he faltered in his wish.
A hurtling shadow and low, rumbling snarl broke in on Treasach's agitated thoughts. His eyes focused on an elven war dog as it barrelled into one of his clansmen, knocking the reiver off his feet. Vicious snapping jaws tore into the fallen man who screamed and writhed on the ground. His hands flailed in a desperate attempt to push the hound off, and then fell lifeless at his sides.
The other men, startled by the sudden attack, glanced round to see what was happening; their momentary lapse was all that the elven warrior needed to retake the advantage. He lunged forward with a rapid slew of deadly, well-aimed slashes, his sword flashing to the left and to the right. Another of the reivers fell under the onslaught; his life's blood spurted from a fatal wound which had sliced through to the bone, severing the artery in his thigh. With barely a pause in his attack, the elf bent low and snatched up the man's blade. He fought with two weapons now as his remaining opponents redoubled their efforts to kill both him and his war dog.
Though he was mesmerised by the warrior's fluid grace and skill, Treasach realised he and the elven baby were dangerously close to the fighting. Holding her awkwardly, he shuffled back against one of the towering, moss-covered stones to get as far out of the way as possible. He had just curled in on himself, shielding the baby with his body, when something warm and wet pressed through his long, dark hair and into the side of his face. He jumped with fright, letting out a loud cry, and the baby wailed in distress as her injured shoulder was jolted. Treasach turned and saw another elven war dog standing right beside him, it's maw only inches from his head. The dog bared its fangs and growled as the baby cried, and Treasach was certain he was about to be mauled to death just as his clansman had been a moment ago. The sudden pressure on his bladder told him his body was about to let him down again too. He didn't have time to wonder why it hadn't failed him long before now. With the dog's breath hot on his cheek, its snarl rumbling in his ear, and the musky smell of its fur in his nostrils, he tensed up and closed his eyes.
But the painful, flesh-tearing bite never came. A rich-timbred voice – the elf's, Treasach realised - barked out an order and the hound whined instead, as if disappointed. There was a rush of movement, and the cold night air stung Treasach's cheek once more. He opened his eyes to see the dog loping away. Looking up, he got another fright; the elven warrior was standing over him, bloodied swords in hand, his chest heaving as his breath came in harsh pants. The ground behind the elf was littered with five bodies now.
"Stay there!" he rasped. He didn't wait for a reply. Moon-white hair flew in a silvery arc as he spun round and raced into the middle of the ruins where the fighting was fiercest.
Treasach breathed a sigh of relief as the two war dogs followed close on their master's heels. It was only a temporary respite, he knew, but for the moment he was more than happy to do as he was told. He shut his eyes and hunched over the baby again. However, although he could block out the sight of the battle, he couldn't block out the sounds. The yells and cries of men and elves, the snapping and snarling of the war dogs, the sharp, metallic ring of silver on bronze, the whinnying of the horses, and the bleats and grunts of the frightened livestock all assaulted his ears as did the frantic cries of the baby. An acrid smell - of blood and death - soon filled the air too, and Treasach could taste it in his mouth along with his own bitter fear as the fighting raged on around him.
After a while, the terrible noises abated and he dared to open his eyes once more. He had to force himself to keep them open. Though the flickering flames of the fires had burned low, leaving much of the stony ruins shrouded in eerie, moonlit shadows, there was still enough light by which to see the torn, bloodied bodies of his clansmen strewn about the ground. Most were dead but in amongst the corpses there were signs of movement, and the sounds which now reached Treasach's ears were those of the wounded and dying. Pain-racked moans mingled with the low, menacing growls of the elven war dogs as they prowled restlessly through the human carcasses, sniffing here and there and occasionally stopping to let loose a long, mournful howl whenever they discovered the body of a dead pack mate. Each time, from deep in the forest, came the answering howl of a wolf. The winter-starved predators seemed to sympathise with the war dogs… or perhaps they just sensed the chance of a meal.
Treasach tore his gaze away from the grisly sights of the dead – and almost-dead - and sought out the living, the ones still standing. There was not a single human amongst them, he realised. All ten were elves. But they had not escaped lightly either. A few were only on their feet because their comrades were holding them up, and one elf had lost the greater part of an arm. Two others were with him, and Treasach could see a strange fire emanating from the hands of the older one as his long, pale fingers moved over torn skin and shattered bone, severed sinews and sliced veins.
How many elves had lost their lives, Treasach wondered. He quickly scanned the ruins for 'his' one, and spied him standing near the middle of the circle, a tall, lone figure bathed in a silver shaft of moonlight, surveying the carnage. Without warning, the elf swung his head round and pinned Treasach with his hard, auriferous gaze once more. Nascent relief shattered like brittle ice; the respite was over.
… …
As he stared at the trembling youth, Nuada realised he had made his decision. He could not stomach the thought of killing the crippled boy. His father had obviously not envisaged a situation like this when he'd laid down his edict and would surely understand why his orders had not been followed in respect of this one small detail. Everything else had been done in accordance with the Elf King's wishes. Almost everything else, Nuada amended as he recalled the dead humans in the razed elven village; he had ordered their corpses to be left for the wolves, not buried as was the custom with their kind. In all other respects though, Rí Balor's decrees had been followed to the letter.
The elven dead had been attended to and the sacred rituals observed. Provisions had been made for Máistreás Sadhbh and her brother, Faolán - the elven woman being determined to stay in the village until she discovered the fate of her baby - and three warriors had remained behind to watch over them. Only then had the rest of the Horse Guards set out after their quarry.
The madraí cogadh had quickly picked up the scent of the human raiders and the company had ridden hard and fast through the night, following the trail by the light of the Quiet Moon. The thundering hooves of the elven war horses had eaten up the miles as they raced on under a star-studded cloak of darkness, past stream and brook, though forest and glade, until the bare-limbed, frost-encrusted trees had given way to frozen fields and this low rise, on whose brow sat the moss-covered crown of an ancient fortress. It was to this place that the elven warriors had finally tracked their quarry. They had soon discovered too that they weren't the only ones hunting this night. Not long after they'd arrived, there had come from further back in the forest the bone-chilling howl of a wolf, and then the excited snarls and yaps of others. The war dogs had growled softly in reply, hackles rising, ready to attack, but the wolves stayed well back… for the time being.
The elves had watched the fortress from the cover of the trees, getting the lie of the land and gauging the strength of the enemy. The old ruins were the perfect place to stop for a night, being well-placed with a clear view of the surrounding countryside, and with the dark light of silver moon casting a soft, luminous glow over the slumbering meadows, a stealthy approach was impossible - for anyone who didn't have magic running through his veins.
The humans had also made sure their encampment was well-guarded. Eight sentries had been posted around the perimeter of the abandoned fortress, each one within line of sight of the man on either side of him. It had been immediately apparent too that the elven Cosantóirí were greatly outnumbered but they had the war dogs, the magic of their people, and the element of surprise to help balance the scales, and they had planned their attack accordingly.
Timing was everything and they couldn't afford to alert the enemy to their presence until they'd had the chance to even the odds a little. Though each of the warriors could travel along the paths of magic and light in little more than the space of a thought and disguise himself as he chose, Uileog was the only one of the company who had the skill and experience to work such acts of magic seamlessly, one after the other, without being seen by human eyes. Inexperience have would cost them precious seconds, and Nuada was not prepared to risk losing the advantage of surprise because of it. That being the case, he had decided that eight of the company would use the glamour of invisibility and cross the open ground on foot instead, sticking to the wide set of tracks left several hours beforehand by the humans' horses and the stolen livestock. It would be likewise fatal to their plans if some sharp-eyed sentry spied a new set of prints in the light dusting of snow covering the fields.
Once on the crest of the hill, the warriors would circle around behind the watchmen and kill them, swiftly and silently, before glamouring themselves again, this time as the slain sentries. Fortune favoured the elves in this respect; the large standing stones forming the outer ring of the ancient enclosure obscured the guards from the rest of their party and so the other humans would have no idea of what was happening.
To help matters further, Cearul, one of the two warriors who were to stay in the forest with the war dogs and horses, was a naturally talented weather-smith. Though not yet fully adept at his craft, he could still call on the clouds to dull the light of the moon and on the wind to fill the silence of the night whilst the main body of the company dealt with the sentries. After that had been done, he and the other remaining elf would bring up the dog pack and then the Cosantóirí would launch the attack proper.
The horses would not be used this time; the battleground would be too confined for that. Instead, they would wait in the trees. The great war stallions knew how to use their powerful jaws and deadly hooves to good effect and were more than able to defend themselves against any lurking predator which might mistake them for an easy target.
Dark waves of cloud had rolled in at Cearul's bidding, and the elves had been on the point of executing their plan when the distressed cry of a baby rang out in the cold night air, freezing them in their tracks. Nuada had sent Uileog to find out what on earth an infant was doing in a camp full of reivers. Some adjustment to their plans would be required to make sure it came to no harm, and they needed to know what the exact situation was. Everyone assumed it was a human child and Nuada's first thought had been to leave it at a human village somewhere along the way once the raiders had been defeated and justice served.
Using the enchanted byways of nature, Uileog had travelled to the fortress in the blink of an eye and then covered himself with the glamour of invisibility so he could move amongst the humans unseen. When he returned a few minutes later, he had brought back the disturbing news that the infant was one of their own. There wasn't a single elf in the company who hadn't shuddered at the thought of an elven baby in the hands of these particular humans… not after what they had seen in the destroyed elven village that day.
On hearing Uileog's report, Nuada had quickly determined that only one change would be needed in their plans. Once he had killed his sentry, he would glamour himself with invisibility again and take up position near the baby so he could protect her if any of the humans threatened her before the rest of the company was ready to strike. He would also ensure she was not harmed in the attack itself.
And so their plan had proceeded, and Nuada had discovered that although the baby's life was in grave danger, one of the raiders - a crippled, misshapen youth called Treasach - seemed to be doing what he could to look after her. That had surprised the elven prince on several counts. Humans usually killed or abandoned those of their kind who might be a burden on the rest, and Nuada wondered why this one had been allowed to live when he was so obviously an object of loathing and ridicule to his people, and even to his own father. Moreover, the boy had risked added abuse from his clansmen by caring for the elven baby, and from what Nuada had learned of the other humans in the short time he'd spent in their camp, it was not so much a risk as a certainty.
There was not a shred of mercy in any of them, not even for one of their own. And as for honour… When they'd attacked the elven village, they had deliberately separated the children from the adults and though the villagers had fought back, they hadn't stood a chance of winning; there had been too many humans for that, and the villagers were not trained warriors. And afterwards, when the Aes Sídhe men had all been killed, the women and children had been nothing more than playthings to the human reivers, objects on which to ride out their lust and targets for weapons practice. And the humans hadn't planned on stopping at one village either; they had cast their avaricious, murdering eyes on even bigger prizes. More rape, more slaughter, more elven misery…
It was the misery and distress of the elven baby which had acted as the trigger for the warriors' attack. The moment the two young reivers had started towards the crying infant and her self-appointed champion, Nuada had known they were up to no good. He'd moved in swiftly when the first one tried to take her off Treasach but then the boy had turned away and the other one had grabbed her arm so quickly, Nuada had had no chance to prevent her from being harmed. As she screamed in pain, he had reacted instinctively, killing one of her tormentors with the man's own spear and decapitating the other. The rest of the Cosantóirí had been in position along with the madraí cogadh and as the baby wailed her anguish to the star-filled heavens, they had rushed in, taking the humans completely by surprise. The fighting had been hard and fierce but the elven company had won through in the end.
And now, in the aftermath of the battle, as he stared at the cowering youth and crying baby, Nuada cursed his own lack of foresight in not anticipating the second reiver's attempt to snatch hold of her. Perhaps if he had, she might not have been injured… He had to remind himself that at least she was no longer in danger and the elven healers could see to her arm. It briefly crossed his mind that she might be Máistreás Sadhbh's child. If that was the case and he could reunite the elven woman with her baby, then it would surely count as some sort of victory in this dark, terrible day. He felt no sense of triumph otherwise, even though they had defeated the human raiders.
At the thought of the fighting, Nuada's gaze flickered over his own warriors. Several of them needed the services of the healers too. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one had been killed. A small frown creased his brow as his eyes fell on Tadhg; the young elf was the most severely injured, having lost the greater part of his sword arm. He would live though and learn to wield a weapon again, much as Rí Balor had all those many centuries ago: with a limb forged from elven silver and woven through with goblin magic.
The human boy would live too but as to what to do with him… Nuada's frown deepened for an instant and then eased as expediency won out; he would leave that decision for later. For now, there were the wounded to tend to… starting with the baby elven girl. His gaze swung back to the crying infant and her protector, and he started to walk towards them.
He had barely taken two steps when a tall, dark-clad figure leapt out from behind the large stone against which they were leaning and seized Treasach by the hair of his head. The boy yelped in pained surprise as he was yanked to his feet and the baby let out a piercing cry of distress at the rough, jolting movement. Nuada swiftly drew his sword. He recognised the shadowy figure immediately; it was the raiders' chieftain… Treasach's father. The elven prince swore under his breath as he hefted his blade.
"I'd be putting that away if I were you, elf," spat Garbhán, quickly bringing the point of his own weapon – a dagger - up to the baby's chest. His other arm was wrapped tightly around Treasach's neck in a chokehold and there was nothing the boy could do except gasp for breath as he held onto the elven child.
"But you are not me, human," snarled Nuada. "Let them go and I promise you a quick death." The faintest whisper of movement and a low, threatening growl carried to his ears and he knew the rest of his warriors and the remaining war dogs were now ranged behind him.
"It seems to me you're in no position to promise anything, ye pasty-faced sióg," returned the Toísech with a hard smile. "Or make any demands."
"You are outnumbered, you piece of filth. The best you can hope for is a quick death. Now, let them go," Nuada repeated, his voice flint-hard.
A new voice took him by surprise.
"He's not as outnumbered as ye might think." Two more reivers stepped out from behind the towering stone and took up position, one on either side of their chieftain, weapons drawn and at the ready.
Nuada recognised one of them as the human who had been feted for his skill with the pikestaff. The other, if he was not mistaken, was also part of the Toísech's inner circle. The man wavered unsteadily on his feet and Nuada's sharp eyes soon saw why. Underneath the human's fur-lined cloak, at waist-height on his tunic, was a large patch of torn material - darker than the rest - which seemed to cling to his skin. It was soaked through with blood, Nuada realised. The corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer as he replied. "Nevertheless, he is still outnumbered and the chances of any of you dying a merciful death are slipping away more rapidly than that one's life." He nodded in the direction of the wounded man and started forward.
"Ye'll not be taking any more human lives, ye murdering elf!" snapped Garbhán, the irony of his words escaping him entirely. He jabbed the baby with his dagger and she screamed in pain once more as the blade pierced her swaddling clothes and dug into the flesh on her tiny chest.
Treasach gave a half-strangled moan of anguish as golden blood welled up and spread out, staining her soft silken gown. She thrashed about in his arms, kicking her little feet and flailing her tightly curled fists. He wanted desperately to do something, anything, to get her away from his father but he knew better than to try and struggle; it would only make Da worse.
As for Nuada, his stomach dropped at the Toísech's vicious assault on the baby and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"Aye. That's right, ye piece of elven shite," gloated Garbhán. The look of sick horror on the Aes Sídhe warrior's hard, chiselled features was immensely gratifying. "Like I said, you're in no position to be layin' down terms of any kind. Now, saddle two horses for us and set the rest loose."
The hesitation was written clear on Nuada's face.
"Now!" ordered Garbhán forcefully. "Or I'll carve meself a piece of elf meat!" He brought his dagger to the baby's cheek and pressed it into her skin. She was too little to know to stay still and wriggled madly as the tip pricked her. The result was a nasty cut down the length of her soft, round cheek, which only increased her misery.
Nuada's hesitation vanished; he spoke over his shoulder to the warriors behind him. "Do as he says." His flame-gold eyes cut back to the human chieftain; they blazed with fierce, deadly hatred.
"Oh, and I've changed me mind," added Garbhán. "I'll have a promise off you after all: that ye'll not follow us if I return the babe to you." He smirked in triumph.
The elven prince's features twisted with loathing; it stuck in his craw to make such a concession to the filthy, murderous creature in front of him but he gave a tight nod of assent nevertheless.
Meanwhile, the wounded man beside the Toísech struggled to speak. "Three," he finally gasped. "Three horses, Garbhán."
"What?" Garbhán's brow furrowed and he looked round at his kinsman.
"Y - you said 'two horses'. Surely ye meant 'three'." The man's breathing was shallow and laboured.
"Ah!" There was a slight pause as Garbhán trained his eyes on Nuada once more. "About that, Berach," he said. "You'll only slow us down."
"For pity's sake, cousin," began the tanist desperately.
The chieftain nodded to the man on the other side of him – Mathúin – and moved swiftly out of the way, pulling Treasach and the elven baby with him.
It was one of those rare occasions on which Mathúin got the message without needing further instruction. He lunged past Garbhán and ran Berach through with his spear then wrenched the bloodied weapon from his clansman's body and stepped back, on guard against the elves once more. It was all over in an instant.
"That's as much as I can do for ye, cousin," said Garbhán as Berach's eyes glazed over on a look of stunned disbelief. If the Toísech felt any remorse or sorrow, he didn't show it.
The tanist clasped his hands to the gaping hole in his chest and fell to the ground dead.
Nuada had started forward again, thinking to somehow take advantage of the humans' distraction, but Garbhán was in no ways distracted. He flipped his dagger in his hand and held it poised over the sobbing baby's stomach, ready to drive it home. His lips curled in an insolent smile as he stared at the elven warrior. He had the advantage and he knew it, and once more Nuada was forced to stand down.
One of the younger warriors, Lorcan, had returned with two of the humans' horses by now. Garbhán looked past him to make sure the other steeds had been cut loose as he'd instructed. Even though he had the elven leader's promise not to follow, he didn't want to leave temptation in their way. And just to be on the safe side - because after all, they still had their elven magic - he had it in mind to give the Aes Sídhe warriors something else to think about whilst he and Mathúin made good their escape.
"You have your horses and my word," said Nuada harshly. "Now give me the baby."
"All in good time, elf," replied Garbhán. He turned his attention to Lorcan. "You there! Bring those horses over here." He waved his dagger, indicating a spot several yards in front of him.
The young warrior did as he was bid and then took his place again, behind Nuada with the rest of his comrades.
Garbhán dragged Treasach and the elven baby over to the waiting horses and spoke to Mathúin. "Watch my back." He then released his son and swiftly mounted one of the horses.
Treasach, thinking he was now free to return the baby to her elven kinsfolk, took a shuffling step towards Nuada but Garbhán reached down and grabbed him by the hair again, hauling him to a sudden halt. The chieftain leaned forward in the saddle, over Treasach's shoulders, and snatched the crying baby out of the boy's arms, having no care for the hurt he caused her. Then he raised his leg and planted the flat of his foot squarely between his son's shoulder blades, and gave a violent shove.
Like Treasach, Nuada had also assumed he was about to get the baby back. He too had taken a step forward, and had his arms outstretched to take her. Instead, he caught Treasach as the boy stumbled towards him, and for a moment he could only stand there holding up his dead weight.
Mathúin was on his horse now, and he and the Toísech wheeled their steeds round and made to ride out of the fortress. The elven baby was utterly beside herself with pain and fear, crying wretchedly and thrashing about in Garbhán's arms. He dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and as it shot forward, he lifted her high. "Here! Have your filthy lump of elven shite back," he shouted, and he dashed her against one of the large menhirs as he galloped out of the ancient fortress.
There was a sickening crunch; the wee girl's cries abruptly ceased. The bottom dropped out of the world for Nuada and for every other elf present, and for Treasach too; the baby elf was dead, her tiny, broken body turned to lifeless stone before she had even hit the ground.
.

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References:
Treasach: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning "warlike" or "fighter".
Femoral artery: is the artery in the thigh which, if severed, can cause death by rapid blood loss.
Madraí cogadh: (Irish Gaelic) war dogs.
Rí: (Irish Gaelic) King.
Máistreás: (Irish Gaelic) Mistress.
Sadhbh(SAH-eev): (Irish Gaelic) name likely meaning 'sweet' or 'goodness'.
Faolán(FEH-lahn or FAY-lawn): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'wolf'.
Quiet Moon: Celtic name for the full moon in January.
Cosantóirí Bethmooran an Fae: (Irish Gaelic) The Bethmooran Defenders of the Fae (the army).
Uileog de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar: (Irish Gaelic) Uileog (IH-lig) – name meaning 'resolute protector'; de na Abhcóide Ciallmhar – phrase meaning 'of wise counsel'.
Cearul (KAR-ul): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'fierce in battle'.
Aes Sídhe (ays sheeth-uh): (Irish Gaelic) the term for a magical race in Irish mythology - can be likened to elves.
Tadhg (TAYG): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'poet' or 'philosopher'.
Garbhán: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning "rough one".
Sióg (she-o): (Irish Gaelic) fairy.
Toísech: (Irish Gaelic-Old Irish) leader or chieftain.
Berach: (Irish Gaelic) name derived from the word biorach meaning "sharp".
Tanist: the next heir to a chieftaincy, elected by family heads in full assembly at the same time as the king or chieftain is elected. See Chapter 2 for more notes.
Mathúin: (Irish Gaelic) Modern Irish form of Mathghamhain, a name meaning "bear".
Lorcan (LOR-kawn): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'silent' or 'fierce'.
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The Season of the Wolf