There was no shame in admitting that Raskolnikov and his intrepid band had been shaken by events deep in the backwoods of wild Transylvania. Luzhin and Karataev had been injured - Luzhin would recover but alas stoic Karataev would be permanently disfigured - a trophy to show off back in the village he would no doubt say.
They were a hardened bunch but the blasphemy they had bore witness to would question the faith of the most devout. He could only assume that Al-Ghamdi was feeling equally disturbed - the Turks after all bore the brunt of the Demonic onslaught although Raskolinokov was still convinced the Black Arts were employed by their ‘Shaman’ .
However there was no time to ponder the great questions of life, fate, death, faith & the supernatural. Raskolinokov was under orders to get to the mountain keep and snatch what ‘treasures’ were being hidden away. Before they could do that there was interminable forest to get through - occasionally they would glimpse the mighty peaks of the mountains they were to ascend but no matter how much ground they made these damned peaks never seemed to get any nearer. To make matters worse there was a marauding band of heathen Devil-Worshippers out there for the Russians to contend with along with whatever godforsaken beings lurked in this Shadowed-Land.
They’d heard reports from the limited number of locals they’d encountered of a grotesque creature who had been killing indiscriminately and dissolving back into the forest. These peoples - Romanians, Gypsies, Ruthenians, Magyars & Jews - were definitely backward and governed by superstition but based on recent experience Raskolinikov wasn’t ruling anything out. His men had better be hyper-vigilant.
Among the trees, rocks and scrub of the forest Raskolnikov spied, not too far ahead, some broken down walls of what had probably been a loggers cabin. It looked like it might offer the chance of some shelter - with a little imagination - from whatever nightmare was out there. The Russians cautiously advanced through the trees and taking cover from rocks towards the ruins. Luzhin was struggling at the back with his leg wound but the rest pressed on, even Karataev. As they were approaching, Alexey Yegortych, a fearless Jaeger, who was farthest forward became aware of movement across the other side of the ruins. This was no unearthly monster, this was those damned Turks - Al-Ghamedi must have had the same idea about the ruined cabin.
Unless The Russians could drive off the Turks they weren’t going to be able to use the relative safety of the ruins. As they all approached now they became aware that as well as the ruins and the detritus that comes with dilapidated buildings there were one or two items seemingly discarded around these ruins but the men on both sides were wary of these and what they might portend. On the Turkish right one of the Janisseries - may be Salim Selim - found, next to a broken down wall of the cabin, a small bag of shot for a musket. He was intrigued but also wary that it seemed to be silver…..
On the Turkish left a tribesman from the desert regions around Baghdad ventured forward, may be he’d spotted some hidden treasure. From out of what seemed another dimension a huge fearsome creature - a dog perhaps - on it’s vast hind legs surged towards the Turk flailing huge muscular arms with talons like razored bayonets. He didn’t stand a chance….only he did! From all around shots rang out from his comrades and the fearsome beast lay obliterated in a hail of musket and pistol shot. Others in the company recognised the beast as a Wehrwolf, reputed to stalk these lands, but never truly attested and certainly not by outsiders.
This intrusion didn’t stop the fighting between Russian and Turk. One of the Janisseries venturing near the ruins was shot by the sharpshooter Ivan Illyich - it looked a deadly hit but the target managed to take cover and tend his wounds.
The forces on both sides managed to uncover further strange items hidden in and around the ruins - another bag of silver shot; a silver dagger; a small Ikon; and a silver ramrod. Perhaps these backwoods peoples were not so backward in their adherence to their arcane beliefs.
Raskolnikov had already decided it was too great a risk to stay the night at the ruins and was preparing to withdraw when the dusk air was pierced by howling from multiple directions. Al-Ghamdi had decided the same. Both forces now wanted to get away from this accursed place as swiftly as they were able. From both rear flanks large canine creatures were galloping, or so it seemed, towards the retracting and retreating Russians. The same was happening to the Turks - they were all surrounded by Dark Wolves…..
The terrible realisation hit them all that these Lupine fiends were merely harbingers of a far deadlier threat, for now it was clear to Al-Ghamdi and Raskalnikov, that two more of those Wehrwolf’s were stalking them.
Both sides started to pour backwards - no one though could be left behind. The Dark Wolves bore down on their quarry. However these hardened veterans of many campaigns against mere mortals were phlegmatic - they didn’t panic. The injured Luzhin accounted for one the beats in full flight. Similarly Rashid Ibn Yusuf did the same service - like a gamekeeper - for Al-Ghamdi. The others were despatched but the ‘Fog of War’ obscured the individuals performing their grim task.
The Wehrwolf pursuing the Russians was slowed in it’s tracks by the concerted fire power of Raskolnikov, Drubetskoy, Illyich and Yegortych but still it came on, Raskolnikov placing himself between this Hound of Beelzebub and his men, in order that they could escape. He fought the beast in deadly melee and was hurled aside, presumably dead before Yegortych steadied himself from range and sent a second Wehrwolf to whatever damned dimension it hailed from.
Al-Ghamdi meanwhile almost suffered the same fate but fortune was with the Turk that late autumn afternoon and some of his men who had rallied ahead of him managed to pour enough withering fire to send the beast to join its unholy brethren, allowing the Musselmen to escape the field.
Boris Drubetskoy, fearless veteran Grenadier of countless campaigns, was the last Russian to leave but not before he had carried his presumed slain officer from the field like some latter day Achilles with the broken body of Patroclus. Miraculously Raskolinokov survived the mauling from the Wehrwolf but had suffered a deep laceration to his left leg causing a permanent limp. The Russian camp was buoyed by this intercession by Vasily the Blessed. He could only speculate what mood hung over Al-Ghamdi and his fellows......
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