The Queen of the She-Wolves

This story was written as a part of the

Tales of Leinyere Story Event

, a collaborative fantasy worldbuilding event from many talented Literotica authors. Look for the event on Literotica's story page to find links to a map of Leinyere, the official timeline of all our stories, and links to all the stories in the event from all the fantastic authors who have participated. Thanks for stepping into this world with us, and happy reading!

I'd like to give a very special shout out to

siobhancan99

,

Rustyoznail

, and

Nicole

for beta reading and guiding me towards crafting a better story, and a huge thanks to

Nouh_Bdee

for organizing this event and his active role in creating a beautifully imagined, shared world!

I hope you have as much fun in reading this tale as much as I had in writing it!

*This story is a work of fiction. The characters are fictitious and not intended to represent any living person. All characters are eighteen or older.

~*~*The Queen of the She-Wolves~*~*

On the night the Blood Moon rises,

Loud do the forest wolves bay,

Quiet are the songs of the warbler,

And in their beds, do the ancient stags stay.

On the night the Blood Moon rises,

In lucid sleep, do fair maidens say,

"Ophelia, Queen of the She-Wolves,

To you, my heart and soul obey!"

Chapter 1. The Witch Thief

"Hey there, handsome," said the woman sitting at a corner table to Red's right as he entered the dimly lit Loach and Lumber tavern. The wide floppy brim of a pointed hat covered her eyes and most of her face. Only her smile peeked out from beneath. Understanding this to be the woman that had summoned him here, he took a seat from across her.

She lifted the brim of her hat to get a good look at him and to allow him to get a good look at her.

He was taken aback by unexpected beauty. Her eyes, he noticed first. They were hazel and grey like the stormy glacial waters of the Southern Seas. In them, a lively cleverness that reminded him to be cautious around her. Her hair was black like polished onyx in a bright moon and fell in dramatic, chaotic curls. Her lush, lascivious lips smiled sharply and seemed adept at both singing sweet songs and spitting venom. Her beauty was the sort of beauty a creature might use to warn others of its dangers.

"If it isn't the Witch Thief. In the flesh."

"My reputation precedes me, it seems. My friends call me Kyra."

"You have friends?"

"Clever. For a ranger."

"Please, my friends call me Red."

Kyra smirked.

Red signaled to the bar maid for an ale.

"Tell me, Red, what have you heard of me?" Kyra asked.

"You have a reputation for cunning, to say the least. Though I'm not sure if I believe the stories. They also say you're as beautiful as Princess Elbereth the Second of Melima."

"And?"

"I don't know what Princess Elbereth the Second of Melima looks like."

A smile crept across her face.

"You're quite parsimonious with your flattery. I like that."

Red winked at her.

The bar maid brought the ale, and as she sat it down, the golden foam came up over the top of the rim and slid down to pool onto the weathered oaken table.

"Lovely. Thank you, darling," he said to the bar maid, then to the Witch Thief, "So, shall we dispense with the pleasantries, and you tell me what it is you've brought me here to discuss?"

"And you're a man who likes to get straight to business. I must say, I'm beginning to adore you."

"It's how I've made it this far in the world. So, what is it that you want from me?"

"I want to hire you for a little trip. A little frolic through the woods, let's say."

"You want to go into the Greywood."

"Yes, I do."

"I'm not going to help you with that. It is certain death. Now, if you're looking for someone to frolic with you in the sheets, that is something I am entirely willing to help with. I give a small discount to those as beautiful as the Princess of Melima."

"As tempting as your other talents may sound, I'm only interested in hiring you for one thing."

"Then you should find another ranger."

"You're the only I know of that had plumbed into the heart of the Greywood and lived to tell about it."

Who told you that?"

"Yagre the Blight."

"Ah. Yagre. How's the ol' bastard doing?"

"Not well, I'm afraid."

"No?"

"Let's just say that the crows are likely busy picking his bones clean at this moment."

"Poor bastard. May he rest in peace," he muttered in feigned ruefulness before tipping back the cool ale.

"He had it coming," the Witch Thief replied. "Anyways, before he met his untimely end, he mentioned you were a ranger for King Harold during his little expedition."

"Yes, I was. So, you know I'm not exactly cheap. What's your offer?"

"How about riches beyond your wildest imaginations?"

Red put down his mug, narrowed his eyes on the woman across the table. She had a cute smirk plastered on her face, but otherwise, he read only a sincere seriousness.

"You have no idea how wild my imagination can get."

"I'm talking enough to make you a king yourself if you wanted."

"Hmm... King Red. I like the sound of that."

He, of course, found the idea of nobility entirely objectionable. On the other hand, he had nothing against vast wealth, so he was still keen on her proposal. There was only one problem:

"I know what you seek, thief. It's not there."

She raised a curious eyebrow. Cocked her head to one side. He answered her silence with the explanation he knew she waited for.

"King Harold sent me into the Greywood along with a score of other rangers to find the palace on the lake. Found the lake. Found no palace."

"It's there," She asserted.

Red shook his head. Finished his pint and signaled to the bar maid for another.

"I assure you. It is not. Whoever told you otherwise has bullboar shit coming out his ears."

The second ale came quickly. "Cheers, love," he said to the bar maid and raised the fresh mug to his mouth.

"Now, if you don't mind, either we discuss the possibilities of employing one of my many other talents, or I'll take that offer to one of the other women of this fine establishment."

He scanned the mostly empty room and added, "Wherever they may be."

"I'll offer collateral. I'll make it worth your while, palace or no," she said.

"And what sort of collateral could you possibly offer to entice me to face near-certain death?"

She crossed her arms tightly, signaling confidence that she had exactly what he craved. Red couldn't help but glance at the cleavage of her breasts that poked out of her blouse. It took all he had to not lick his lips. She noticed the dazed look in his eyes, and so she squeezed her arms more tightly, squeezing her breasts together.

"I know what it is you've been seeking your entire life, ranger," she said coolly.

His eyes still fixated, he murmured, "What is it that I seek?"

She leaned in, reached out a hand to lift his chin with a finger to pull his eyes away from her breasts to her eyes.

"You're a lone wolf, ranger, and you hold that superlative proudly. But I know what secrets lie beneath that tough veneer. There's a side of you that longs for what most have. You've been seeking it your whole life, and it pains you deeply. You want to know what has become of your family."

The words hit him like a hammer, and he could not hide it. She saw the reaction on his face, and she smiled triumphantly, knowing that she had hit a nerve.

"You're good at reading people, I'll give you that. But I'm trying to wrap my head around how that helps as collateral," he replied.

She sat back and took a sip of her ale and wiped her lips of the foam with the back of her hand. Her fingers found a loose curl of hair from her bangs and twirled It.

"I know more about your history than you'd imagine. You could say there are things I know about you that you do not know yourself. I know where to find your family, for instance."

His face darkened. The hair on the back of his head stood on end.

"I don't know what dark trick you are up to but know that I do not enjoy being made a fool when it comes to certain matters."

"With the Ancients as my witness, I assure you, I play no tricks."

"I trust no gods, Ancients or otherwise, and something tells me you're about as half as pious."

"Then put trust in my words."

"The word of a thief."

"And a witch," she clarified. He raised an eyebrow.

"What do you know about my family?"

She wagged her finger at Red then drew a zipper across her lips. He scowled at her.

"Take a walk with me in the woods, and I'll tell you. Palace or no palace. But if you're unwilling to help, then you are free to go. Enjoy your fair selection of women."

She tossed a few silver pieces onto the table. The coins jingled as they fell. One spun on its edge. Red stopped it with his hand and pulled them towards him.

"For your time," she said.

He opened his palm and stared down at the pittance. It was barely enough to cover his ale and a small supper and perhaps a night's stay at the inn, but not more than that.

He sighed.

"If I take you to the lake in the forest, you tell me what you know about my family."

He reached his hand out across the table. She shook it. A smile curled on her lips.

Chapter 2. Dangerous Creatures

As a ranger, Red carried his livelihood on his back. He traveled as light as possible, carrying no food and, for his only luxury, a small pouch of Dwarven whiskey (his preferred alcoholic libation). The heaviest items besides his thick fur coat were his twin Podl'adomian dirks that he won off an elf in a card game in Giltan's Port -- daggers that were hard to lose their edge, perfectly balanced, and equally as useful in a brawl with bandits as they were in skinning a rabbit. These he kept strapped to each leg. He also carried a bow of yew, which he mainly used for hunting, but on countless occasions, had come to rely on in combat.

When they left the Loach and Lumber, grey clouds had gathered overhead, and a light, misty rain started to fall. The temperature dropped precipitously so that condensation puffed from their mouths as they breathed.

Like a palisade wall, the Greywood Forest stretched across the far edge of the wheatfields. The tops of the tall trees stood like distant mountain peaks. A single footpath led them there.

The forest canopy was so thick that though it was only midday, it was dark enough that they needed light to find their path. Kyra illuminated the leaves-strewn path with several small flaming orbs cast out from the tip of her wand. The orbs followed her, fluttering about like moths.

The trees here were moss-covered oak and birch with a smattering of thick firs. Hidden birds called out into the woods in long wailing calls as if in mourning. Red knew these birds to be Greywood grouse, and their calls signaled that alien creatures had entered the forest. He wondered what other curious creatures recognized the sound these birds made.

"Do not stray far or long from the path," Red warned Kyra as they entered the forest. "The Greywood is a treacherous master, and it will ruthlessly punish those that do not obey its unwritten rules. Many dangers lurk here. The mist devours the senses and will lure you deep into the woods if you are not paying attention. Many magical beasts make their home here -- the will-o-wisps, little spirits that appear in the night like lanterns. They seem friendly enough but do not take their offer of help. They mean to eat your soul, cursing you to wander the shadow realm for all eternity. Goblins will hunt you for your meat. Hobgoblins have no taste for human flesh but desire gold and will kill you for yours. And do not wander near caves. They are crawling with kobolds, the most cunning and perhaps the most dangerous creature in these woods."

"I'm the most dangerous creature in these woods," Kyra responded flatly.

Her cheek caused Red to stop in his tracks and scoff.

"Don't be so sure, witch."

She shot him a smile over her shoulder.

"You haven't seen what tricks I have up my sleeve, Ranger."

"I'd rather not have to."

"You've survived these woods. What is your trick?"

"Luck," was his answer.

As they traveled through the forest, Red would stop frequently and crouch at the side of the path to investigate a flower or a weed. If he considered that the plant might be helpful to them on their journey, he would take a cutting, or several, tie them in bunches with a string, and place them in a pouch. Over the years of subsisting on the natural things, he knew enough to know the use of most of these plants, either as ailments or poisons.

Kyra remarked, "Herbology and alchemy were my lowest marks at the academy. I never had the patience for such things."

"You should. It could save your life someday."

So, she took heed of his advice and quizzed him about every plant he inspected. He humored her, as it was an excellent way to pass the time.

"This one is a young mandrake. A salve made from the stem is an antidote for the venom produced by elder mandrake," he explained to her as he cut into a small fern to show it drip a milky sap. A short while later, as they crossed a creek, he picked a beautiful blue bell-shaped flower and said, "A siren nightshade for a good night's sleep. Tastes fine in a stew. Also, a powerful antidote against the toxin of the death shade, and it heals open wounds quickly."

He picked a few shiny black berries, popped one in his mouth, then handed one to her. She stared at it skeptically but then put it in her mouth and chewed. A moment later, her jaw dropped.

"My Gods, I can see! This is incredible. I thought batberries were poisonous."

"They are poisonous. If you eat more than a few at a time. And their effects on your vision wear off the more often you use them, so use them only sparingly."

The first day was uneventful. The oak trees grew thicker the farther they went. The brown mushrooms on the forest floor grew as large as shields. Farther still, the oak became less and less numerous, their numbers replaced by a thicker set of spruce so tall that their trunks shot up into darkness as if to disappear into clouds.

The night came eventually, ascertained not by the amount of light but by the changing sounds of the birds. The grouse went quiet, their calls replaced by the hooting of owls. The nightingales too, changed their tunes.

The mist became more apparent at night, seeming to descend on them from the treetops, making it difficult to find the path in front of them.

"We should make camp for now," Red suggested. Kyra gladly obliged. Though they both wore heavy fur coats, they shivered tremendously from the cold.

While Red pitched their tent from a roll of waxed canvas, Kyra made the fire, gathering logs that were too wet by Red's account. Still, before he could offer advice on the matter, she waved her wand at the damp wood with a whispered incantation, and they were lit ablaze as if the water in them were oil. She did this quicker than he had time to tie the first knot in his tent, and it filled him with immediate optimism about this adventure.

Though the orange glow from the fire could be seen and the pop and crackle of the burning logs could be heard echoing distantly, Red was not worried about attracting any danger. The forest creatures were usually shy and would rather avoid whatever made the light and the noise than confront it. To not have a fire would be more dangerous. As long as the fire was going, they would be safe to sleep. Besides its safety, its warmth in the frigid autumn night was welcoming.

They sat near the roaring fire and ate a meal of roasted mushroom and berries they had foraged, along with cheddar and hardtack bread that Kyra purchased from the Loach and Lumber earlier that day, soaked in a gravy made from a cut of salted butter and a pinch of flour. It was a hearty meal. Afterward, Red brought out his whiskey pouch and shared it. They soon felt its numbing effects, and the inhibition and tenseness in their conversation eroded.

"So, tell me more about this treasure. Why does a thief with the wealth of kings risk seeking out the trove of a mythical palace in the middle of the Greywood?"

"Who says I'm so wealthy?"

"Says the rumors."

"The same that peg me as beautiful as the Melimian Princess?" she quipped as she flicked her hair aside. "I've met the Princess. I cannot hold a candle to her beauty. So, I challenge your premise."

"You're not some street pickpurse. The stories of your exploits are as legendary as the artifacts you have stolen. I mean... you've spirited away the Tesseract of the Terresian Clock Tower out from under the nose of the Storm Wizard, emptied the coffers of the Great Merchants of Elmina, and strolled out of the Harem Palace of Talishpur with its most valuable gems. If half the rumors of your exploits are true, then I wager to say that you are very wealthy indeed."

Kyra snatched the whiskey pouch from Red's hand, took a sip from it and made a face, and wheezed at the strength of the alcohol.

"When you're someone like me, you simply do not retire," she answered. "It is in my blood to steal."

"There's more to life than stealing treasure," Red said and took the whiskey back.

"What does it matter to you, ranger?"

She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin in the divot made between her knees and stared into the fire. The licking flames glimmered in the wet reflection in her eyes. She had a wistfulness about her as if remembering something pleasant, but Red was sure it was more that she was putting the topic at hand out of her mind. He was sure there was some unpleasant secret about her quest that she would prefer to withhold from him.

"I'm just curious to know what sort of treasure might satisfy your need to thieve and take such tremendous risks to do so."

"I suppose I owe you at least that. We seek the Diadem of Ouksenn."

She said it without pomp as if it would mean nothing to Red. She was right. Red had never heard of such an artifact.

"And this is valuable because...?"

"It is valuable because my client says it is valuable."

"Who's your client?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Are we partners or not?"

"I can't tell you because... well, how should I put this..."

"Put it the way that comes most naturally to you."

"I believe in discretion."

Red gave her a funny look.

"Do not look at me that way. Discretion is to a thief what honor is to a ranger."

"So you say. Anyways, what sort of power does this diadem possess?"

"Well, it contains a shard of Ouksenn's soul. They say that it gives the wearer clear and profound foresight. If that is true, then can you imagine what a power-hungry royal might pay to have it?"

"I thought you already had a paying client."

"Indeed."

After providing her answer, she sought to change the subject immediately.

"So, ranger, tell me about yourself. Tell me your story."

"It's a long and uninteresting one."

"Very well. I need a story to put me to sleep."

He smiled thinly and thought long and hard about what he should say. It did not come naturally to tell his story, as it was not something he had done much. The rare company he kept was never interested in knowing it. When he found the words to say, for which Kyra waited patiently, he said,

"It was never my intention to become who I am today -- a ranger, that is. Rather, I fell into it from a dizzying path in life. I suppose most rangers do. I was picked out of an orphanage to be a squire for a knight-errant at an early age. Of course, the promise was that if I worked hard, someday I too would become a knight myself. But my knight was a drunken bastard and treated me like I was less than dirt. One day, I had enough of his treatment and struck him. He struck me back, as he should have, and that should have been that, but by that moment, a blinding rage had welled up inside me. I grabbed a sword and sliced his hand with it and I ran as far as I could and didn't look back. I didn't go back to the orphanage, of course -- I was sure he'd find me back there and have me killed. Instead, I wandered, town to town, scrounged food, and shelter from the kind souls, and learned combat from hardened ones. With so much wandering and living in the wilderness, I've learned the skills necessary to become a scout for hire."