The Iron Wolves by Andy Remic Page A

They are my new family. They are my army. And you are part of that, now. You are part of my expanding warhost.”
    Tuboda swallowed, lowering his eyes. “Yes, Lady,” he whispered.
    Orlana shifted her gaze to the panting, drooling beasts. “Come to me,” she said, and they rose, gathering round, shuffling forward, many looming over Orlana and a cowering, terrified Tuboda. All he could see were razor fangs, bloody mouths and insane eyes. He realised tears stained his own cheeks and he put his face in his hands.
    “You are the beginning,” spoke Orlana, looking around herself, eyes shining with pride. She lifted her hands in the air. “You are my children! And I know the Change was difficult for you, pain like you have never before experienced; and you are hungry beyond the comprehension of mortal man. Go now, find the oxen which pulled these wagons, feast on their flesh and blood and bone marrow; go now, find the women and children of the tribe, devour them whole, feed your hunger and be satisfied.”
    “No!” cried Tuboda, as the massive creatures turned and padded off down the boulder-strewn valley. He whirled on Orlana with wide, crazed eyes. “No, not the women and children; you cannot do this, please! My wife and children are with them!” Without thinking he found a long knife in his hand and he stabbed it towards Orlana’s heart. She batted it aside with ease, where it thudded into the dirt and blood at their feet. Tuboda waited to die, like the others; a part of him welcomed it. But Orlana behaved as if Tuboda hadn’t just attempted a mortal blow.
    He fell to his knees.
    She leant forward and took his hand. Looked down at him. Smiled.
    “You have a new woman, now,” she said, and led him up, guiding him towards the abandoned wagons.
     
    It was just before dawn, and Tuboda sat on the wagon steps and cried.
    All around lay Orlana’s twisted creatures of nightmare, satiated, panting, drooling, great distended bellies rumbling and gurgling. Some slept on their flanks, huge heads to one side, black tongues lolling free. Tuboda did not know when they had returned, but he was sure all his tribe were now gone, and lost, and dust.
    Finally, Tuboda took several deep breaths. He glanced behind, but Orlana was silent in sleep. Still. As if she were dead.
    Tuboda crept down the steps and retrieved his long knife from earlier. Then he sat down cross-legged on the ground and stared up at a bloated yellow moon. The horizon was infused with a pastel pink. It was going to be a beautiful, cold day.
    He shuddered at the memories of his night with Orlana. Again and again she had forced him to bring her to orgasm, her nails clawing his back like knives, drawing blood. And then she had slept, and he had felt truly unclean. As if he had made love with a living corpse.
    “Holy Mother, forgive me, for I am lost,” he said, and pressed the knife to his wrist. One deep, hard cut, and eternal sleep would be his. He could find Darlana on the Lost Plains, and Boda, and cheeky little Eska; they would be a family again. Together again. Together in Eternity.
    He shuddered and tried to cut down. But his hands would not work. He tried, again and again, until tears of frustration drenched his cheeks. But his limbs no longer obeyed his control.
    He sensed her behind him and shuddered again, his body shaking with great silent sobs. She came close, naked, and sat down behind him, wrapping her legs around him, kissing him on the back of the neck.
    “You don’t need to do that,” she whispered in his ear, breath tickling. “I have a present for you. I’ve been saving something special – just for you.”
    From the dawn gloom something moved, shifted, and Tuboda blinked. And then he smelled the beast, smelled its rancid vinegar piss and stinking breath filled with strips of old rotting meat. It moved closer, head low to the ground, huge tawny eyes fixed on him as if hypnotised. It gave a low, low bass rumble, and its huge paws