Wolf Blade: Chains of the Vampire

by Marco Frazetta

  In their midst knelt dozens of Skaldean captives, their hands bound behind them. Many more lay dead all around. Then I spotted him. “Gannon!” He was young, but man grown now, his armor bloodstained, his muscled arms bound behind him. His face was strained, afraid. Though strong, capable, he was never one for battle. He never lost himself to bloodlust as others did, as I did. Observing all of the captives was a warrior armored differently than the rest of his soldiers. He was armored in expertly wrought crimson armor, with a great lion face on his breastplate, and mighty dragon wings that had been sculpted to rise from his pauldrons and from his helmet. His helm’s breathing slits were like the gaps in a great whale’s teeth. He turned to me now, and his thick black cloak rustled as if it were a dragon’s wing. As if his mere glance were an order, the phalanx rows nearest me all aimed their spears in preparation to skewer me. There had to be a thousand of them here. I could not face them alone.

  The general raised his gauntleted hand to stay his troops. He brought his hands to his helm, and worked two latches, then pried it off. I was still panting from racing here and held the gladius tight in my grip.

  “General Eschellion,” I muttered, feeling my face tremble with rancor. It was him, those subtle crow’s feet at his eyes, that slight smirk hiding under the serious angles of his face.

  “Have you come to parlay, young warrior?”

  “No. I’ve come for my brother.”

  He smirked a little. “I see. Skaldeans do care much for kin, don’t they? I wonder how far that sense of family runs, however. The Skorradeans were more than willing to let us march through their territory, though they are certainly closer kin to the rest of you Skaldeans than we Imperial legions are.” A few of his men laughed, though even their laughter was more like courtly, disciplined laughter than the relaxed revelry of a Skaldean tavern. “They did the reasonable thing, Skaldean. As should the rest of you. The future is the Empire. Surely you must see this. You seem just as reasonable as they, though your blood soaked sweat might sway others’ opinion on that.”

  “I care not for Skorrad’s craven treachery. I care not for the war. All I ask is for my brother’s life.”

  He studied me a moment. “I study my adversaries well. You are one of Gustaff’s sons, are you not?”

  “I am. Rothan. His eldest.” My eyes met Gannon’s. I saw the panic in them.

  “Ah yes. Then you are this one’s brother.” He gestured at Gannon. “Tell me Rothan, why should I spare him?”

  “I will give myself as prisoner, in exchange for releasing him.”

  His smile widened. “I would take you prisoner regardless.”

  “Perhaps, but it will cost you two dozen of your men’s lives. Perhaps three—four if they are as weak as the ones I killed below.”

  At this, Eschellion truly laughed and glanced at his attendants as if to enjoy the jape with them. “I like you, Rothan. I like a man who knows his worth. Very well, let us make this bargain: a life for a life. Drop your weapon, present yourself as prisoner, to be executed in your brother’s place. He in turn, will go free.”

  “No, Rothan!” Gannon cried out, but a soldier’s spear butt silenced him.

  I ground my teeth, but held back from violence. I looked Eschellion in the eye, and nodded.

  “I’m a man of my word.” He waved and a soldier yanked Gannon to his feet. The rope that bound him was loosed. He came running at me.

  “Brother, don’t!”

  “It’s alright,” I said as I squeezed his broad back to me. “It’s alright. My soul will rest easier, than if I had lived and you had perished.” And it was true. I could bear the cold, heavy shroud of death far better than his bright soul could. I nearly felt that it would suit me. “Become a great smith, be a good son to Father.”

  “Rothan…” He looked at me with tears in his eyes.

  “Go now.”

  “But—”

  “Go! You're my younger brother! You have to do as I say!” I held back an ache in my chest and handed the sword I held to him. “Let nothing stop you until you reach Father. Now go!”

  He nodded, and pried his feet away from me, one by one until he reached a quick gait down the pass. He gave me one last glance and was lost to me.

  I turned to face the general and his legion. He nodded toward a few of his soldiers and they came to me, bound my arms behind me with rope. They shoved me forward, until I stood facing the general face to face. “You’re a mighty warrior, Rothan. It’s a damn shame you don’t fight under my command. But rest easy knowing that someday Skaldeans will fight under the Imperial banner, and they’ll help bring a great glory to the world. There will be peace, Rothan. If not in this lifetime, then soon. Soon. Now kneel.”

  “No.” I was at peace, knowing that Gannon would live, knowing that I protected my brother as was my duty, that he knew I loved him truly, as he might not have before he left the world. A corona of spears surrounded me. “Let them say I died standing.”

  “Very well.” The General motioned his spear men away. He slid a dagger from his belt. Strange. It was rather small for as tall a soldier as he. Curved, unlike the daggers of Imperial officers. Was it not the same knife as Eliette held? Even his eyes, now that I stood close to him, were red rimmed as well. Perhaps it did not matter. I should calm my mind before death. “You die with honor, Skaldean. Go now to your gods.” He thrust the dagger into my throat.

  But just as it would have skewered me, I was shoved aside by something crashing into me. The dagger managed to slice into my neck so that I felt the hot ache of blood, but it was not a mortal blow. As I caught sight of what crashed into me, I realized it was some woman, beautiful as I could tell, yet terrifying, with wings like a giant bat and horns upon her head. I went to the ground and gazed up at the General, moving far more swiftly than he should have wearing such armor, and he was slashing at the winged woman with his small dagger. Even more uncanny, he was soaring through the sky with her, locked in a fierce combat like rival hawks.

  I looked about me. The soldiers seemed to flicker in and out of existence, frozen like statues. What madness was this? The winged woman hurled fiery orbs at the general, who held his hands to his face to guard it as they burst around him. “Arrgh! You demon whore!” the general screeched in a voice that was not his own, but that of an old hag.

  And with that, the illusion vanished. I was not at Hofgrail Pass at all, not amidst a battle, but instead was in a large stone room with tall mirrors all along the walls. It all came back to me now: I was in Sombrala’s floating island of White Tear. What a damn fool I had been. I felt the wound on my neck, saw the blood on my black gauntlet’s claws. The dagger had been real enough. Now I gazed up and saw that same dagger being wielded by a figure in a large gray cloak, a cloak that was now catching fire. The figure did its best to put out the fire as it frantically flew through the air. It was some kind of hag, a witch as I could tell from her haggard features, her pale flesh green, goblin-like. Vixerai gave chase, but the hag slashed at her with her dagger, letting out black tendrils from its blade that Vixerai recoiled from.

  “Don’t let her get away!” Vixerai cried.

  The hag was flying straight for one of the mirrors in the room. I willed my ghost hand alive and slashed. Spectral claws raked the hag. She squealed and was slowed enough in her flight that I aimed my chain claw and whipped it at her. It latched onto her neck, and I retracted it, yanked her to me as she choked. I held her in my grip, the black claws of my gauntlet nearly snapping her neck. “Did you enjoy getting inside my head?”

  “I was only serving my queen,” she whimpered.

  “I see. Well, it’s only fair that I get inside your head, and see what you have in there. Trouble is… I only know one way!” I summoned the beast within me, letting it transform me to a Fenrir once more. I opened my jaws and heard her screams as I went to bite her skull open.

  “Rothan, wait!” Vixerai called to me. Her wings rustled and she was perched next to me an instant later. “She can
still be of use to us.”

  A growl rumbled in my throat as I looked between the hag and the succubus. “Grah! I hold my jaws then, only a moment. What use can she be, Vixerai? I’m not of a mind to be merciful just now.” The thought that the hag knew so much about me, by delving into my mind, was gnawing at me.

  “These mirrors,” Vixerai said, gazing about at the tall reflective panes all throughout the room, “you can travel within them, can’t you?” The hag nodded. “You see, Rothan, she can take us to Sombrala, without us needing to travel to her through the winding halls of the castle.”

  A growl rumbled in my throat as I resentfully realized that she spoke well. Not having to travel to Sombrala through her halls would save us time and the risk of being caught. “Aye then.” I turned to the hag, gave my chain some slack so she could walk. “But any sign of betrayal from you, and I’ll see the inside of your head after all.”

  The hag gave a shuddering nod as she groveled, “Yes, I will serve you! I will serve you! Only, spare me! Spare me, mighty wolf of the black claws!”

  I turned to Vixerai. “I know not how long I’ve been lost. After I found the mind gem, I was caught in some kind of enchantment... in my own memories.”

  “As was I. I relived.... terrible things. But I was helped that I have lived in the White Tear, and so have built a resistance to much of the magic of those within it. With much effort, and using some of my arcane power, I broke free of the spell.”

  “I’m glad. Did you obtain the weapon?”

  She shook her head. “All that was within the chamber, was this…egg.” She reached into her bag at her waist, held out to me what seemed a bird egg. I held it in my hand. I could feel a mellow warmth coming from it, as if a mother bird had been laying upon it. It had a golden hue, with streaks of ochre running through it and brilliant spots of white.

  “Are you sure this is it? This is what Sombrala guarded so closely?”

  “There was nothing else. Perhaps there is some creature within it. A dragon?”

  “Perhaps. It would explain why she guarded it so. Hag, do you know?” I pulled on the chain, yanking her closer to me.

  “No, great wolf! I do not. Sombrala never let any servants within that chamber, not even her most trusted.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Vixerai nodded. “When I lived here, all spoke of how jealousy Sombrala guarded that room. Even from her own guards and attendants.”

  “Was there not another hag there, crafting the mind enchantment you were caught in? Perhaps she knows.”

  “The hag I encountered had a mirror room that was separate from the egg’s chamber, though adjacent to it. I had to slay her in the frenzy of battle.”

  “An unborn dragon will be of little use to us, but we have no time to continue searching,” I said and slipped it in my pouch. “Our companions are surely in danger by now. Come, let us face Sombrala once and for all.”

  Vixerai turned to the hag. “You can travel through these mirrors, to nearly anywhere in the castle, anywhere with a mirror within it. Take us to Sombrala. She is receiving guests now and should be somewhere in the Halls of Mirth.”

  “The Halls of Mirth, what kind of damned place is that?” I grunted.

  “The most… luxurious part of White Tear, where Sombrala spends most of her time, especially with company.”

  “If she is there, then take us, hag!”

  “But, Queen Sombrala will be angry.”

  “I’m angrier still,” I growled. “Now take us to your queen!”

  The hag shuddered, chittered some kind of groveling. She walked to one of the tall mirrors, waved a glowing finger and the mirror came alive with magic. She stepped into the mirror, my chain still binding her to me. The mirror felt cold as my nose touched its rippling substance. I took a step through, into the silvery liquid.

  23

  We were in the mirror realm for only an instant, yet this moment was stretched out in a long, slow silence, as if time itself had been caught in tree sap. The hag led us as we floated through a scintillating mosaic of mirrors floating in endless shadow.

  We emerged out of a mirror into a circular room, the base of a tower. From small stain glass windows I could see the red sky of Malfeon on the other side of the stone walls. There were four mirrors total in this circular chamber. The faint echo of speech resounded from further down a corridor. The designs upon the walls were much more joyous than the rest of the White Tear as far as I had seen. They were sculpted reliefs of doves, flowers, naked figures frolicking. As if to remind me where I was, there was a fountain in the center of the room, and it ran with blood.

  “You said you would take us to Sombrala, not some tower,” I muttered to the hag as I wrenched my chain.

  “This is the central mirror door in the Halls of Mirth,” she answered, shielding her face. “The Queen will be near. Please, let me go now!”

  “She speaks the truth,” Vixerai said. “I can sense Sombrala’s presence near.”

  “Guide us the rest of the way, hag. I will not have you warn her of our coming.”

  “Warn her? Great wolf, she will sense you coming. She likely already has.”

  “True enough.” The voice startled me, as suddenly it was Sombrala who stood within the circular tower. I had not seen her enter, nor had my ears or nose felt her coming. I gripped my ax tight, taking a combat stance, yet the vampire queen was relaxed, calmly smiling as if she were receiving guests for tea.

  “You have not treated our guest well, have you, Reshel?”

  “My Queen! My Queen, I was only protecting you—nraaa!” the hag could not finish pleading as with a gesture of her hand, Sombrala raised her into the air. She squeezed her long, powerful fingers into a fist, and as she did the hag’s head burst in an explosion of red arcane energy. Bits of skull and gore came raining down into the blood fountain.

  “Now she’s ruined our drink as well.”

  Sombrala turned to me and Vixerai. Her presence was unnerving. She was as tall as any woman I had seen, and now seeing her in the flesh her beauty was even more uncanny, her presence like a panther’s. Her face had the cunning wisdom of an aged monarch, yet she had not a single wrinkle, only smooth ivory features. Her breasts were so large that each passing moment threatened their escape from her regalia’s red bustier. She had enough crimson hair that she both wore it up in her elaborate crown as well as had it cascade down her back. Her dress hugged her thin, powerful waist tight, as well as her shapely hips, but then billowed out as it reached her legs. I recalled the shadowy figure next to Charlotte, the one in Tiloshar’s first memory. I began suspecting that it had been Sombrala, and that her intentions were no less than malicious.

  “Forgive my servants if they have been unkind to you; I assure you they are only… overzealous in their devotion.” Sombrala spoke with such precision and such satiny lust that it was entrancing.

  “We’re not here to play games with you, Sombrala! Give me Charlotte and One Eye… or die!”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vixerai’s wings were spread, ready to leap into flight, her claws tensed, subtly glowing with a fire within.

  “That is a shame that you do not enjoy games. A warrior such as yourself.” Her eyes ran up my body, sending a chill of desire through me, as if she were a viper that could pierce into me with fangs of lust. “Would be rather good at them.” She stepped to her fountain, dipped her finger into blood, and tasted it. “But truly, you misjudge me. I have been speaking with Charlotte. We had a great deal to relate to one another, as you can imagine.”

  “Like how you have been hunting anyone keeping you from her?” I growled.

  “Oh Rothan, you of all beings should understand me. You and I, we both stand above the people among us, stand above them as wolves over sheep. How can you deny it when your face reveals plainly what you are: a predator. Is that not so? I have slain those in the way of my goals, just as you have. I never slay unnecessarily.”

  “No, sometimes you torture
and twist the forms of those you take!” Vixerai said.

  “Twist? Why, I make things beautiful. Just as I made you beautiful. Look at you. What ravishing, primal beauty.” Sombrala smiled. “I sense that our wolf friend agrees with me. Do you not, Rothan?”

  “Enough of this! Take us to Charlotte and the rest!”

  “You do enjoy saving beautiful damsels, don’t you? And yet what of me, do I not deserve your chivalry?” She covered her mouth as she laughed. “Come then. I will take you to Charlotte and put your paranoia at ease. Will you be a gentleman at least and take my hand as we walk?”

  She held her hand out to me, but I took a step back. “The only thing I’m taking in hand is my bloody ax!”

  “Such fear is unbecoming a hero,” she laughed, then she took on a half-ethereal form as she glided down a corridor leading out from the tower.

  I nodded to Vixerai, communicating to stay on guard with a glance, and we followed. We walked down the corridor and came to a long rectangular reception room with a handful of ornate chairs before an alabaster throne. There were tall mirrors along the wall, and a door on the opposite side from where we entered. Sombrala was seated on the throne, as if she had never left the room, and there was an attendant by her side who seemed like a male counterpart to Vixerai, a male harpy that had been given bat demon wings, tall horns upon his head and a dark magical aura that hung about him, unseen but felt. He was an incubus, as the tales in Hourne would call him, with iridescent gold skin. The top half of his face was a dark brown, and strips of the same color along his ribs and thighs. He had brown leathery wings with black spikes at their joint.