Chapter Three

Harold sat in the sunlight coming through the tall windows in the anteroom.  He been here before to receive awards and a boon from his Jarl in previous years and always associated being at the Jarl’s mansion with victories and celebrations.  This was different of course, and also confusing. The last court martial had been just prior to WWII.   It had been held at the Hearg in the forest next to the training grounds and Harold had expected to be ordered there.  Perhaps the Jarl and his council didn’t want to sully the sacred grove with his bad judgment and instead, conduct the proceedings in the Jarl’s office.  “Either way, what a gorgeous day to be ruined.” He thought, and an almost wistful smile appeared on his face for a second.    

The secretary at the desk next to the Jarl’s office hadn’t made eye contact with Harold when he came in and didn’t speak to him either, just indicated the chairs facing the windows. He could smell her disdain for him and Harold guessed she’d read Alfred’s report.  Harold had too and it was damning.  Some of it was not completely objective.  Alfred had given vent to his anger in the report but Harold couldn’t blame him.  He had disobeyed a direct order from his superior, and worse, he had put the pack in jeopardy.  

Harold looked out the window and whispered a prayer to Baldr and Forseti, “Hail the ancestors, hail the Ǣsir, hail the Vanir.  Father waiting for Ragnarok, son in his stead, I’ve no words to defend myself and ask for no help today.  Instead, I ask that you direct my Jarl and his council to place upon me a judgment that fits my crime and dishonor. Hail the ancestors, hail the Ǣsir, and hail the Vanir.” Harold felt a little better and walked over to the window.  He heard the secretary look up at him and could feel her ire at his temerity at getting up from the chair she had appointed him.   

Looking out the window of the old mansion, Harold admired the gardens and beyond them the forest and meadows.  His people had been raising sheep and cows in those meadows since his ancestors had come across the sea with Horsa and Hengest.  At the top of the hill next to the mansion was the ruins of a castle the Jarls had used up to the 1500’s when Ulfhednar still hunted earðkinar.  Building the mansion and moving the Jarl and his council to the mansion was more than just an architectural modernization.  It was a transition to a new way of being for Ulfhednar.  Harold wished the draugar had moved forward with the earðkinar during the Renaissance and Age of Enlightenment like the Ulfhednar had.  Instead they had stayed in the mindset of 1400’s.  If draugar had moved with the times they wouldn’t hunt earðkinar, Ulfhednar wouldn’t have to hunt draugar and then he wouldn’t have been in Coventry and thus, not standing in his Jarl’s mansion awaiting judgment.  Harold shook his head, outlandish what ifs weren’t going to do him any good.  

“Mr. Sigbert, Jarl Cenric will see you now.”  The secretary spoke in a flat monotone voice, as if his talking to him wasn’t worthy of inflection.  She’d also addressed him as “Mr.” not “Warrior”, as would normally be the case.  Harold smiled politely and realized the court martial was a formality, the paperwork had already gone through and he was no longer one of the Jarl’s warriors.  

Walking into the office Harold was surprised to see just the Jarl there, no council, no other warriors, no one.  Looking around he was impressed as he was the first time he’d been to the Jarl’s office.  It was huge as would be expected, but that wasn’t what made it impressive.  It was the paintings dating back to the 1400’s of the Jarls and warriors from all over Europe.  There were many Jarls across the world, but only the Jarl in England with its responsibility for all of Europe had a lineage so long and storied.   The Jarl of Europe was just one Jarl among many when the Althing was called, but his opinion and actions carried a little more weight than the others.  

“Surprised it’s just the two of us?” asked the Jarl.  He seemed slightly amused as he stood up and walked around his desk.  His long white hair draped over his suit and his braided beard rested on his stomach, making him look like an odd interpretation of Santa Claus.   

“Yes my Jarl.  I am surprised.” Harold tried to stay relaxed but he knew his scent was betraying his confusion and worry.   

The Jarl on the other hand had the scent of someone sure of themselves.  “We’ve already finished up and made official your court martial, as I’m sure you’ve deduced.  So now what do we do with you?”  Harold was even more confused.  What else would they do with him but send him home to his family in dishonor, left to see out his years as a failed warrior tending livestock?  The Jarl could smell Harold’s increasing confusion and tension and pushed on to get it over with and onto the real reason he was there.  

“The draug caught in Coventry talked a great deal before he died.  Seems he and the older one were planning to kill the draug you chased.” Harold heard a slight accusation when Jarl Cenric said ‘you’.  “She was part of their guild and had been seen drinking animal blood and ran away from the guild.” Harold stared at Jarl Cenric.  Draug didn’t drink animal blood.  It was sacrilegious to them and would be tantamount to renouncing the drinking of earðkin blood.  There were whole sections of the Beriyt, the draugar version of the Sagas, dedicated to drinking the blood of earðkinar. Further, drinking animal blood broke the covenant they had with their prophets Lilith and Cain and their god.  No wonder they wanted to kill her, to other draugar she was an apostate.  

Jarl Cenric could see the disbelief in Harold’s face.  “I know, impossible to believe.  For many reasons.  And there is more, even more unbelievable.  It seems the guild had heard a rumour of a guild of draugar in Washington, the state, not the capital, who have forsworn the killing of earðkinar and instead sustain themselves on animal blood.”  Harold began to suspect the Jarl was having him on.  Perhaps this was all some ridiculous prank on the court martialed warrior for the other warriors to have a good laugh about.  Jarl Cenric’s refined sense of smell detected a change in Harold’s pheromones.  He was experienced enough to guess what the change signified.  “Mr. Sigbert, I’m not making this up.  Nor this next part which I find especially preposterous.  It seems this guild of ‘enlightened’ draugar are either allied with or in partnership with a tribe of natives who themselves are Ulfhednar.”   

Harold had heard enough and sat down in a leather chair.  Realizing what he was doing, he quickly jumped back up.  “Apologies my Jarl.” Harold tried to formulate a question but came up blank and could only stammer out, “But… Jarl Cenric, I don’t understand.”   

The Jarl held up his hand indicating Harold to be silent.  “All of this may be false, the ramblings of blood starved and mad draug.  But even so, I am intrigued.”  Jarl Cenric walked back to his desk and picked up a thumb drive.  “Harold, I’m offering you a mission that may be nothing but a wild goose chase.  You’re not one of my warriors anymore so you can turn and walk out the door right now.  But if you want this mission, and please, only take it if it’s what you want to do, I have all you need here.”   

Harold stared at the thumb drive and felt himself relax a little.  Questions and thoughts started to work their way up through the confusion in his head.  There was the smell of sheep blood at the train station.  Had it really come from her? What could motivate a draug to give up earðkin blood?   No other Ulfhednar had ever been encountered in the 500 years they had followed earðkinar from Europe around the globe, could there really be more like them?  

Harold looked from the thumb drive to Jarl Cenric.  Return home to his family or follow his curiosity?  Harold smiled and took the thumb drive.   

Glossary

Al-Hasib – One of the names of the draugar god. The Bringer of Judgment

Al-Malik – One of the names of the draugar god. The King, Sovereign

Al-Alim - One of the names of the draugar god. The All-Knowing, Omniscient

Fyrd – Warrior packs loyal to the Jarl

Horsa – Warrior chieftain hired by Vortigern to fight his enemies

Hengest – Horsa’s brother and also fought for Vortigern

Althing – Great council of the Jarls

Baldr – God of justice.  Resides in Breidablik until Ragnarok

Ragnarok – end of the world when the forces of good battle the forces of evil

Forseti – Baldr’s son and presides over judgments in Baldr’s place

Breidablik – Baldr’s hall

Ǣsir – Gods of law, spirit, war and the elements

Vanir – Gods of fertility, farming and family

Jarl – Pronounced “Yarl” an Earl

Hearg – Sacred grove or altar in the forest

Ulfhedinn – Werewolf warrior, singular

Ulfhednar – Ulfhedinn plural

Draug – one that walks again after being dead, singular.  Vampire

Draugar – Draug, plural

Earðkin - Human  

Earðkinar – Human, plural

Goði - Priest

Lochem - Draug warrior

Chapter Two

Harold sat by the dustbins trying to sort out the all the smells and sounds.  He could smell the two draugar from where he was but couldn’t see them.  He could also smell two of his pack-mates, their scents were above and to the sides of the draugar.  Harold knew he was the one that would most likely make first contact with the draugar if they went for the flats they were watching and grinned at the thought, his teeth baring.  

There were few sounds, earðkinar sleeping, a couple of jets high above, various animals in the trees near him.  The scents were more prevalent.  There were a lot of earðkin smells around him, some animal smells, dogs, cats, rats, birds, squirrels, a badger too.  There were also the smells of cars that had gone by earlier in the evening with varying engine issues, food and drink spills on the pavement, the unique smells of each building, and…another draug?  Harold’s brow furrowed as he tried to isolate the scent.  The breeze moved the scent around a little, and it was faint.  Closing his eyes he concentrated pin the scent down.   

Just then Alfred came over his headset asking for status.  Harold ignored him and tried to focus.  Again Alfred asked for his status. “Here”, replied Harold curtly and tried to regain his focus.  Alfred asked for his position and status again.  Harold detected a slight tone of displeasure with him.  Ignoring it, Harold replied with his location and that he was going to make the change. He needed his full senses to narrow down the other draug’s scent.  

Harold retreated further into the shadows and quickly removed his clothes and stashed them in the empty backpack he kept under his jacket.  Focusing his mind, he released his Ulfhedinn form while gritting his teeth to keep from making too much noise as the pain of changing worked through his body.  He made a slight whining noise like a hurt dog and muttered a brief prayer to Heimdahl.  His long copper coloured hair and beard seemed to spread over his body and become darker but for his chest and stomach. Now in his full Ulfhedinn form, his senses increased dramatically and he started sifting through all the smells in the area.  He couldn’t tell for sure but it seemed like the third draug’s smell was coming from the flat watched by the two draugar he and his pack had been tracking.  It was too faint to tell much about it, not enough to even determine how old the draug was, or even if it was a third draug.  Harold wondered if perhaps he was just smelling the two draugar they had been tracking.  He thought of telling Alfred, but he wasn’t sure enough to tell him, it was so faint.  There were plenty of smells associated with earðkinar he was sure were going into the building, body odours, cigarettes, deodorants and antiperspirants, take-out food and some pets too.  Some were strong meaning they were recent and frequent, some much weaker and the one he wanted to identify, even weaker.  He would have to pick out each smell, isolate it, and try to determine if the draug smell was really coming from the front entrance and not just wafting around from the two his pack had been tracking.  

Harold spent the night working through the different scents and was becoming more confident there was a third draug that had gone into the flats through the front entrance, when suddenly the front door flung open and a female draug burst out.  She was down the street in a second and running fast. Harold glanced at the two draugar he’d been tracking with his pack, and then back down the street where the female draug was running down.   

Do his job, or follow his curiosity.  Curiosity won and Harold bolted after the female draug.  As he did so he heard Alfred shouting in his headset.  Harold wanted to focus on his quarry and having Alfred yelling in his ear was going to make that difficult.  Yanking the headset off, he headed for the wooded park next to the street with the idea to cut off the draug.  She was heading straight for the Ringway road.   If she reached the motorway before him, she could possibly leap atop a passing lorry and be out of Harold’s reach.   

Pulling his gun as he broke from the trees, he saw the draug running at the pylons supporting the elevated ringway.  She was wearing all black, hooded jacket, jeans, shoes, and a large black backpack which seemed to be bulging with its contents.  Harold fired a shot at the draug as it neared the first pylon.  Aiming at a target dressed all in black, in the shadows under the motorway and while running, he missed.  The .50 bullet made a large hole in the cement and sprayed pieces of concrete several feet in every direction.  The draug didn’t seem to notice the shot as she ran past the pylon and through the trees under the ringway to Quinton Road.   

His prey ran past Park Road, leapt over a brick wall and started running through the backyards between the houses.  Each potted plant, garden tool, piece of yard furniture or any easily picked up item she ran past was thrown backwards at Harold.  She wasn’t aiming at him, but Harold still had to dodge several of them and they made it difficult to take aim.   

Harold would have been enjoying the chase but realized where the chase was leading, Station Square.  If she made it there and ran into the station, Harold would have to take the time to change back into earðkin form and he’d lose her when she caught a train.  Sure enough, toward the end of the block the draug cut across a parking lot, crossed Manor Road and made straight for Station Square. Harold was tempted to take a shot to bring her down, but she didn’t run in a straight line for more than a few feet as she sprinted down the street.  Taking a shot and missing would put a .50 bullet into a building or parked car and he had already made a noticeable hole in a pylon.    

Reaching the station the draug suddenly slowed to a stroll.  She was relatively safe. A few earðkinar were already in the station to catch the first train of the day and even if the station was empty, the security cameras in the building would record the sight of a seven foot tall Ulfhedinn running through the station.  Harold was going to have to take the time to change in order to continue the chase.   

“Damn!!” Harold barked and ducked into a stand of trees on Eaton Road and changed into his earðkin form.  He growled and grunted as the pain of transforming back worked through his body.  Once done he pulled his clothes from his backpack and quickly put them on.  Harold ran to the station entrance and picked up the draug’s scent.  It was stronger now, indistinguishable from any other draug but at least he could determine she was young, somewhere between 50 and 60 years a draug.  There was a smell of blood, but not earðkin blood, it was the smell of sheep blood.  This confused Harold.  Draug didn’t drink animal blood.  They considered it unclean and sacrilegious.  He decided the smell of sheep blood must have been on the clothes or boots of an earðkin that entered the station.  A farmer from out of town, Corley Moor perhaps.   

Following the smell of the draug, Harold walked quickly through the station.  Checking the schedule Harold saw that a train for London had just left at 5:51AM.  Harold swore again.  The draug must have known she was being watched, either by the two draugar or the pack, and timed her dash from the flats to the station to catch the train at the last minute.   

On the remote chance the draug wore perfume or some other product, Harold stood still for a while, trying to find anything distinct or memorable about the draug’s scent, but there was nothing to work with.  Draugar never wore deodorant, and rarely wore perfume or cologne or used hair products.  There was the smell of the clothes she wore, but there was nothing special about them, just off the rack clothing.  There was a smell of money though, a lot of it.  That was interesting.  Harold wonder why a draug needed a backpack full of money.

He considered catching the next train, but the draug would have nearly an hour head start.  The would mean Harold would have to track her through London in his full Ulfhedinn form and even then there was no guarantee he’d find her scent.  Dawn was breaking so that option wasn’t available.  He turned and walked out of the station and as the door closed behind him, he caught the scent of Alfred and two of his pack-mates.  “Damn me”, Harold muttered to himself.  Not for the first time his impulse to do what made sense to him, regardless of what the pack was doing, was going to get him in trouble. This wouldn’t just be a reprimand on his record, this would put him in front of the Jarl and his council.  His career as a warrior was about to end.  

The Wyrd of Harold and Josephine

Chapter One

Harold smiled through his scruffy red beard and squinted his grey blue eyes in the spring sun.  He and his pack-mates were tracking two draugar through Coventry and he was enjoying the hunt.  The only thing Harold wasn’t enjoying was having to work with his pack-mates.  He respected their skills, commitment and even their teamwork, but working with them always felt limiting.     

All of the pack, including Harold, looked as if they were in some branch of the Special Forces.  A few of them had even served in the Special Air Service and Special Reconnaissance Regiment with the sole purpose of bringing that training and expertise back to teach their fellow Ulfhednar.  Skills that were put to good use protecting, or at least, avenging, earðkinar.  This has been the ulfhednar mission for almost two hundred years and Harold was proud to carry on that heritage.   

Since the pack were tracking draugar in a city, each wore what they jokingly called “Urban Camo”, baggy jackets to hide their weapons and equipment, loose fitting jeans and varying versions of hiking boots.   None of them wore bright colors.  All were in muted tans, browns and faded denim.  Each article of clothing had Velcro instead of buttons to enable a quick change to their hunting form.  This is also why some of the more humorous in the pack called them “stripper togs”.  The only thing that made them stand out in a crowd was their long hair and beards which varied from shades of blond to copper red to reddish brown.   Unlike their always refined and stylish draugar prey, the pack covered a range of clothing, hair and beard fashions.  Some, like Harold, went with long and scraggly beards and hair, with clothes matching that scruffiness.  Others preferred carefully trimmed beards and hair with clothes worn to match.   

The pack had been trailing the elder of two draugar for two days as it made its way around downtown Coventry.  The smell of ceramic that all its kind emitted was strong, indicating it was a good 400 or so years old.  The spring weather with its light winds and no rain, had made it easy to track the draug through the city.  Conversely, this had made the hunt more challenging.  If the pack wasn’t careful the draug could easily caught their scent.  

Harold remembered his first hunt in Coventry in 1939 with its industry, heavy coal and horse manure smells that permeated the city.  Those smells had made it easier to track draugar, but only because Ulfhednar had a better sense of smell, enabling them to find draugar before they realized they were hunted.  It hadn’t been a good hunt.  He said a quiet prayer to the Ǣsir that this hunt would not end like that one had.  

For some reason the draug limited itself to the inside of Ring Road encircling Coventry.  It lazily spent its time wandering around the city looking at buildings.  At one point it had even rested on a rooftop of a building in the middle of the day, which made for an especially tempting kill, causing Harold’s pack leader, Alfred, to growl commands over his headset to hold back.  It seemed to be looking or waiting for something in an almost nonchalant way.  Nonetheless, in the course of a day and night it had walked down each street, lane and alley within the Ring Road.  Harold suspected it was trying to pin down someone’s scent or location.   

Late in the afternoon of the second day the draug had made a call on its smart phone and talked for a while.  After the call he walked to Croft Road and approached another, younger, draug seated at a bench.  The two had shaken hands, and it seemed they knew each other.  Harold guessed they were from the same guild.  Draugar rarely consorted with others of their kind outside of their guilds.  From what the Ulfhednar had learned, each guild had its own territory it hunted.  Talking with a draug from other guilds was seen as a possible encroachment on their respective hunting territories.  Harold watched the two and smiled a scornful and grim smile.  The two looked like all draugar.  Fashionably dressed, hair thick and wavy, and each had physiques of someone that went to the gym, but not enough to build up too much muscle.  Not that they had to.  Even a skinny draug was stronger than an earðkin and at night a challenge for an Ulfhedinn.  Harold felt disgust looking at them.  He saw them as mass murdering parasites hiding behind facades of haute couture and good looks.  

Alfred issued orders to the pack, “Box them.  I want every possible exit covered in case they detect us.”  Harold knew Alfred was being cautious, taking chances with draugar was foolish. Watching them talk, Harold wished he could move in closer, but that would risk his scent being detected.  Having no pheromones made draugar virtually blank slates to Ulfhednar but for their smell of ceramic and the blood from their kills.  Instead the pack had to rely on the body language of their quarry to determine what was going on between the two.  It seemed the older one was trying to convince the younger draug of something.    

They talked for almost two hours, only stopping when someone walked by.  Finally, it seemed as if the younger draug agreed to something and they got up and started walking down the street.   

Harold could smell a few of his team’s pheromones indicating their excitement.  They wanted to make a kill.  He could understand why.  Exposed to daylight the draugar would be stronger than an earðkin, but manageable, and the pack outnumbered them by seven.  Even in earðkin form, the pack would have little difficulty killing them.  It would be just a matter of getting them off the street and out of public view.  Harold grew more suspicious as they trailed the two draugar.  Instead of a meandering wander through the city, the two were now moving with a purpose.   There was something more going on here than just a couple of draugar hunting for a meal.  He considered calling his pack leader over his headset, but decided to talk to him directly so Alfred could smell his conviction.   Harold knew this would get him in trouble.  He was supposed to be in a position in front of their quarry.  Leaving that position to talk with Alfred would leave a hole in the box.  Harold shrugged, another reprimand added to the list.  

Harold approached Alfred and before he could berate Harold for not being at his station, Harold quickly whispered, “We shouldn’t kill them now.  There’s more here than just two draug planning their next kill.”  Alfred looked at Harold, his grey-blue eyes held Alfred’s.  Harold spoke with confidence and his scent wasn’t that of someone unsure of themselves. Alfred held back his first reaction to snap at him.   

Harold had joined Alfred’s pack eight years ago.  Alfred knew back then he’d been handled someone else’s problem when he read Harold’s recommendation letter. It was enthusiastic about his hunting and killing skills and made no mention of his qualities as a team player.   Adding to that, Harold didn’t seem to mind getting a couple of reprimands a year. He passed the minimum age to become a pack leader decades ago, but had been passed over for promotion several times.  Harold didn’t have a disciple problem so much as he had a pack integration problem.  Alfred was satisfied with Harold as a hunter, he was patient, and his killing style was efficient and business like.  But his reluctance to fully integrate into the pack, and his propensity to follow his own opinion about things had started to get on Alfred’s nerves.    

Alfred glared at Harold but said, “Agreed. Now get back to where you’re supposed to be.”  Alfred told his men to maintain their following distance and watched Harold go down a side street to get back to his designated tracking place.  Harold could see by Alfred’s glare that another reprimand was coming.  That would be his third this year.    

The pack moved carefully.  They had to stay either downwind or high enough on the roof tops for their scent to be undetectable, while at the same time keeping themselves in position to attack should the wind shift and the draugar catch their scent.  The two draugar ignored easy prey to follow, their focus was clearly on something else.  They weren’t cautious but did occasionally sniff the wind, and were frequently looking around and up at the top of buildings.  The pack was good at their work, no hints of their presence were detected.   

Shortly before dusk the draugar stopped at the end of an alley off High Street and in the growing shadows of dusk, hid themselves.  They were both motionless, staring at a block of flats across the street in the eerie, non-blinking way only a draug could.  

Alfred spoke into his headset, “Take positions to cover the quarry and the building they’re watching.  Make no move without my order.”  

Alfred watched his pack move into positions to cover each street and alley the draugar might take.  A few on the rooftops had already changed to their full Ulfhedinn form and were armed up.  Each one carried a modified Smith & Wesson Model 500 .50-Cal. with a silencer and an augmented Taser.  Neither of which could kill a draug, but would incapacitate them long enough to tear or cut off their heads with their Franciscas.  They also carried titanium alloy handcuffs and muzzles for capture missions.  Alfred was on the street, downwind of the draugar, and slumped down in a doorstop like a vagabond.  With his shaggy hair and long beard he looked the part.  Keeping his voice at a whisper he went through the pack and asked for a status check.  Each warrior replied with his position and ready status.  Except Harold.  

“Harold, status?”  Nothing.  Was Harold’s headset not working? Dusk was changing to night and Alfred wanted the pack ready.  “Harold, status?” Alfred was getting impatient.  

“Here.”  He sounded distracted and his answer wasn’t a status.  Alfred did his best to not let his annoyance with Harold come through in his voice and asked, “Position and status?”   

“I’m by some dustbins in an alley across from the block of flats the draugar are watching.  I can’t see them but can see the front entrance of the building.  Preparing to change.” Alfred couldn’t see him but pictured his position in his mind.  Yes, that would work, the draugar had no exit avenues and if they moved to the front entrance, Harold would have them.  

The waiting went on longer than Alfred expected.  What were the draugar being so patient for?  Were they waiting for someone they planned to convert?  Normally draugar did that by rigging a bus or car accident and then offering the prospective convert the choice of life or death.  The fact that the ‘life’ came at the cost of drinking the blood of earðkinar wasn’t mentioned until the physical conversion was complete.  Perhaps this was a special case? Someone especially tasty?  Alfred didn’t think that was the case.  The discussion between the older and younger draug indicated something more.  

While he waited, Alfred slipped into a shadow and removed all his clothing and packed it all in the waterproof backpack he had under his jacket.  He focused his attention and quietly said a prayer to Oðinn.   Even though it was a summer night, steam rose from his head and shoulders as his body started to change.  His limbs grew and thick reddish-brown fur grew with them.  The slight sound of bones breaking, reforming and growing could be heard as his jaw protruded.  In less than five seconds he’d taken on his full Ulfhedinn form.  He’d been doing this for almost a 100 years and despite the pain, for the last 50 he hadn’t so much as whimpered when he changed.  Strapping on his weapons, Alfred went through them checking all was in order.  He hefted his Francisca and ran his finger across the axe blade and the notches in the handle.  Each one represented a draug whose head he’d taken with it.  Satisfied with his equipment, he crouched down and waited.  

It was getting close to dawn and Alfred wondered if he should have just ordered the draugar killed during the day.  Even with dawn coming, they’d be a great deal stronger now and would take much more effort to capture or kill.   

As he was considering giving the kill order, the front door of the flats flew open and a female draug sprinted out in straight line down the road.  She was running like her life depended on it.   

“Hel!!” growled Alfred.  Someone on his team must have been seen from inside the flats.  She was already two blocks down the street as the two draugar moved in pursuit.  Alfred decided they could let her go, the draugar they’d been tracking were the prey.  Alfred barked into his headset, “Catch the two.  Leave the female!”  Harold had been right, there was more going on here and the two draugar were going to tell them about it.   

The two draugar heard, saw and smelled the Ulfhednar closing on them.  With everyone in position Alfred felt confident they would be able to catch them both.  The draugar saw Harold come out of his hiding position and veered from their initial pursuit of the draug from the flats.   Instead they ran straight at the building the female draug had run out of.  Without breaking stride they clambered up the walls.  Harold wasn’t there to block them.  Instead, Harold was running down the street after the female draug.   

Alfred barked into his headset, “Harold!  Get back here!!” If Harold had heard him, or seen the two draugar, he gave no indication of it.  He was in his Ulfhedinn form and was already cutting through the trees around the park next to the street, probably hoping to cut off the running draug.   

Alfred saw all this as he was sprinting in pursuit of the two draugar and jumping up to the first floor of the building they had gone up.  Climbing as fast as he could, he was still able to spare a breath for another curse.  His warriors were going to have to move fast to catch up to the draugar.  They had a head start and his pack was a hunter short which would make a difference.  The chase went across the rooftops and through the alleys.  The pack was trying to catch up to the draugar and box them in while they were trying to split up, or make for a break before the pack encircled them.  

Alfred was closest to the two draugar and was able to keep both of them in sight.  As he raced across the city, he could smell and hear his warriors leaping, running and climbing to catch up.  Alfred felt the exhilaration he always felt in the heat of the hunt.  The feeling of his power, speed and completely experiencing all the sights, smells and sounds around him was half the reason he loved his work.  Killing draugar before they killed an earðkin was the other half.  His warriors were closer now.  In seconds they’d be able to box in their prey and bring them both down.   

The two draugar leaped to a higher roof and Alfred followed a split second behind them.  As he cleared the edge of the roof he realized two things, only the younger draug was there and the older draug’s smell was fainter.  The younger draug was making a feint, sacrificing itself to let the older one escape.  With a sudden stop the draug turned and leapt across the roof at Alfred.  Its model good looks were contorted with frenzy. It seemed to be screaming, but no sound came from its un-naturally wide open mouth.  Alfred wasn’t ready for the sudden attack after clearing the roof ledge and the draug knocked him to the ground, his hands at Alfred’s throat.  Alfred was lucky draugar considered the blood of Ulfhednar to be unclean, trying to strangle him was harder than simply sinking fangs into his jugular vein.   

Ignoring his instinct to grab at the draug’s arms, Alfred dug his claws into the draug’s face and raked them across its eyes, blinding it for a second and sending it staggering backward.  By this time the rest of the pack had caught up and were on the roof.  Although the hunt and chase had put them into a near berserker rage, they were well disciplined and were able to resist the temptation of giving in to it.  They also had enough sense to pull out their Tasers and shock the draug.  It shook violently and the Ulfhednar could hear its teeth grind together and smell burnt ceramic as it collapsed, twitching and jerking.  

Alfred looked around at his warriors, “Does anyone have the scent of the older one?!”  Alfred’s throat hurt from the draug trying to strangle him and his voice was rougher than normal.  No one had, the younger draug had given it enough time to slip away and by now would be out of the city.   

Alfred snarled and barked into his headset, “Harold! Harold! Report!!” No answer.  “Hel take his hide!!” Harold was going to get more than a reprimand.  The pack had secured the draug with their handcuffs and a muzzle.  Alfred gestured with the back of his hand at the draug, “Get that back to the hall and have it prepped for interrogation.  We’re going to find out what these two were about this evening.” Turning on two of his oldest veterans, Alfred growled, “You two with me.  We’re going to track down Harold.”