The Wolf, The Knight and the Mountain

This story, The Wolf, The Knight and The Mountain, is one of Coroxn's five prequels to Heroes of Gielinor.

The path up White Wolf Mountain was steep, almost vertical, so that Markus was climbing more than hiking. It was grueling work, and the weather wasn't helping: snow poured heavily from the sky, and it was freezing. Markus' black cloak offered him a little protection from the cold, but not much. The Wise Old Man had sent him here, to the Oracle, for information on his marked hand. Markus had had this symbol on his hand for as long as he could remember. One of his earliest memories was the Orphanage worker, Mrs-something-or-other, freaking out because she couldn't wash it off his hand. She literally threw him out on the streets. Markus was six.

The steep path suddenly flattened, and then ended. Markus raised an eyebrow in surprise. The path lead straight into a wall of ice. Markus trained his eyes upward; the wall continued for several meters, and the top was hidden from view by the swirling snow. Markus wanted to shiver, but he stopped himself. He'd braved cold worse than this before, and to shiver now would be an insult to all those who hadn't survived the Varrock City winters. There was nothing for it. Markus would have to climb.

He threw himself at the wall with great fury, his thoughts now focused on the royals and wealthy nobles. They were warm, and cosy, and safe. Markus was here, risking his life, just to know what the mark on his hand was. Who his parents were. Who he was. He clenched and gritted his teeth in frustration. Life seemed desperately unfair at times. He climbed quickly, the uneven ice providing plenty of footholds.

Markus's blue fingers gripped the ledge, and he hauled himself up. His hood fell over his eyes, so he swung his legs up blindly. His left toe hit something metal, with a dull clang. Markus threw his head back slightly, dislodging his hood. There, standing out like a fly in milk, jumping out of the scenery because of the contrast in colors, was a knight. As white swirled all around him, he was an easy figure to fear: his armor was as black as death.

A strong metallic hand gripped the color of Markus' cloak, lifting him so high his toes no longer touched the ground. The Black Knight caught Markus' eye, though Markus could not see his from under his black visor. The Knight cocked his head, as if he were surveying Markus, and then nodded once.

The Knights grip slackened, and Markus fell to his feet. He was in a very precarious position, inches behind him was a fall that could easily kill him. The Knight stood only inches in front of him, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Markus didn't quite know what to say, so he said "What did you do that for?" and tried to sound arrogant. If he sounded arrogant here, in front of this monster, than maybe he could sound like a strong opponent. Someone you didn't want to fight.

The Knight stood perfectly still, but his lips moved from under his black helm "Hell hath no fury like a black knight". The voice was deep, black, echoing-and terrifying. And then a steel fist crashed into Markus' stomach.

Markus flew outwards, over the ice, and for a few terrifying moments he was suspended in mid-air. Then he grabbed the Knights stoic fist, swung his legs around, and using all the momentum he had, smashed his boots into the helm. The Knight's head shot upward, but he did not fall, nor did he move an inch. Markus froze, afraid. That was as strong as he could hit, and he'd never found something he couldn't brake. The knight slammed a fist into Markus' back, and tossed him over his black helm. Markus fell on his feet, and from within his deep black cloak, he drew two swords.The Knight drew his own blade, which was pure black. As dark as sin.

The Knight swung, and Markus crossed his own blades and sent them out to intercept the attack. The force of the crash sent Markus to his knees. The Knight pushed his dark blade down upon the kneeling Markus, who forced his two blades to stand strong in defense. However, this Knight's strength outmatched Markus' own. Inch by inch, the blade slid closer to Markus. Our cloaked hero forced his blades against the black giant with all his strength, but it wasn't enough. To stop the blade from cleaving him in two, Markus rolled to the side, and the dark sword embedded itself in the ice.

And then Markus had a brain wave.

He rushed forward, and pushed the blade hard. At first, nothing, but then it slid sideways, still in the ice, until it's hilt nearly touched the cold marble floor. As a crack shot to the right, the Knight aimed a kick at Markus. If that boot connected, Markus' skull wouldn't end up in a recognisable condition. To evade the kick, and to further his plan, Markus pulled the blade back up straight, then pushed it down the other side. A long crack shot to the left, and now there was so little holding up the Black Knight's corner of ice.

Markus braced his legs against the Black Knight's Blade, and pushed. There was a deafening roar as the ice cracked, splintered, gave way- and the Knight's section off ice came right of, with his blade embedded in it. The block of ice slid of the mountain, and into the mist, the Black Knight roaring in frustration.. Markus just lay there, exhausted. There were plenty of questions. Who was this Knight? What was he doing here? He almost just gave up, just lay there and froze to death. It would have saved a lot of effort. But in the end, Markus was a fighter. He pulled himself up off the cold ground, and walked on.

The wind blew harder, began to pick up snow, which had two effects; It made everything look dazzling, and to made everything bloody impossible to see. A deafening roar echoed from above Markus' head. No, not a roar, a howl. He walked to the wall of ice, and leaped. His fingers slipped inside a crack, and he pushed up with his feet, grabbing a ledge of ice. There was a small crack in the ice, going up the wall, just big enough for Markus to slip his fingers inside and climb. The crack got bigger and bigger, until it became a chimney chute for Markus to slip inside.

The view would have been magnificent, if it were not for the snow. It was bloody freezing. His back was pressed against the ice, as were his toes. He managed to ascend like this, it took less energy then climbing. Markus's hand reached the edge of the ledge, and he pulled himself up.

From here, the mountain became a slope, not steep at all, easy to ascend. Easy.

From the depths of the snow, a werewolf leaped out at him with a guttural growl. Markus spun violently, hooking his right leg into it's jaw, sending it spinning back. It jumped on him again, but he fell to the floor, punching it in the ribs. It yelped in pain, and rolled to it's hind legs. Before it had a chance to react, Markus gave it a left-right combo to the snout. And then, he Intruded.

Markus placed his forefinger on the creature's forehead and closed his eyes. Markus felt his consciousness slip from his body and into the werewolf's, he felt the sheer brutality, the sheer primal instinct of the werewolf's mind. And he found it was superficial. It was just a shell, a cover, hiding something real. Markus slipped even further from himself, and mentally touched it. It shattered, and as it did, so did Markus' hold on it.

Suddenly, he was in his own body again, facing another young man where the werewolf had stood. They were silent for a moment, unmoving. Markus' right leg flew to his head impossibly fast, but his hands came up brace against it. Markus's foot dropped as his right fist flew, but it was parried, so he moved in with his left, which was caught.

He went in with some more fists, but none met their mark. The pre-werewolf batted an arm down with his elbow, making way for his own blow. Markus dropped to a crouched position to avoid the powerful fist, kicking out his opponents leg as he did so. The pre-wolf dropped, and Markus caught him in a strangle hold.

"Now listen, I've been having a pretty bad day. I climbed a mountain with almost no gear or equipment, and in the freezing cold. I just got attacked by a bleedin' wrecking ball, and just now, some elongated mutt jumped me. Now you're going to tell me who you are, and why, or I'll snap your neck"

"I'm Glenn. I have no control over what I do when I'm a wolf. Sorry, though. It was probably rude. As is this!"

Glenn slipped his hands around Markus' neck, throwing him over his shoulder. His back hit a rock, pain stopping him long enough for Glenn to get a punch in. Markus tapped into his other side.

Again he slipped, but deeper into himself, accessing something carnal. His two hands pushed against Glenn's stomach, and a ripple of shadows echoed from the blow. Glenn was tossed through the air. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

He ran up the mountain slope, impatience gripping him too tightly to let him walk. Markus flew up the hill, to the summit. He nearly collided with the Oracle. He skidded to a sudden halt, boots almost slipping on the cold ice.

She wore a dress of ragged brown skins, of the same color and complexion as her hair. Her skin was whiter then the ice around her. On her face, below and between the eyes, were strange red streaks. Blood? Tatoos? Her lips didn't move when she spoke.

"What is it that you seek?"

Markus was taken aback, but answered after only a moment's hesitation. "Knowledge"

He raised his arm, pulled back the sleeve, revealing the dark purple marks on his recently blue skin. They glowed eerily in the light.

"Knowledge I have not"

"Great. Who does?"

The Oracle shook her head. "Not many, only one I know. Gypsy Aris, in Varrock. But she is a bit busy with the wrath of the wrath. You'll need to help her first"

"Thank you"

"Leave me"

Markus buckled, and flew backwards down the slope, sliding on the ice. He slid past the rocks, and into Glenn's legs. The pre-wolf's head came rushing down to meet the ice. Crack. Markus rose, eyeing him.

"Are you going to do the thing, or can I just go?"

"Just, wait" said Glenn. "How did you, that, thing before, you made me human again? How?"

"You don't get my life story"

"Fine, fine-could you do it again?"

"Sure, it's easy?"

"Could you teach me?"

"Nah, it's a born into kind of thing"

"Well, I guess I'll be sticking with you then. Look, I just talked to the Oracle, I came up here to see if there was a way to keep the wolf inside. She said there wasn't. And then you! I'll be with you for a while, just until I find some others. There's a cure somewhere"

Markus turned around, walking to Glenn. "And why would I want a pet dog following me around?"

"I've got muscle. And it's not a choice" Glenn aimed a punch at Markus' face, but he caught the fist. Markus' boot, imbued with dark magyk, struck Glenn in the ribs, knocking him into the air and sending him crashing into the ground.

Glenn rolled back, then ran forward, coming in with a powerful kick. Markus grabbed the foot and twisted, the pre-wolf went off off balance and was elbowed in the back. He came back up, but Markus waved him off. Glenn was a redhead, and he wore a very determined face. Behind the eyes, Markus could see a fighter. A normal kid, life ruined by something completely beyond his control.

"I'll make you a deal. I'm going to Varrock, to meet Gypsy Aris. You get there before I clear off, I'll work at your furry little problem"

"I'm fast man, I can get to Varrock before you"

"Which way is Varrock?"

"North-East. Around.." he pointed. "There."

Markus drew his blade, channeled his darkness into it and tossed it. It flew like a bird, singing through the air.

"Whats wrong? Don't like the blade?"

"Ahh, no. You'll see"

Nearly a mile from the mountain, the blade landed, digging into the cold soil. Markus slipped through the air, and suddenly he was weightless. Glenn saw him turn to smoke, and waif through the air, drawn to his sword. Markus solidified, drew an sheathed his blade. He gave a dismissing wave to Glenn, and started running.

Glenn saw the tiny black speck that was Markus.

"Nice trick. I'll still get there before you, though"