Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem

by Marco Frazetta

  5

  Everything was still, silent. Everything was perfectly, sweetly dark.

  This darkness slowly turned to a night sky, brilliant with stars. Gusts of clouds drifted like billowing curtains. I was walking in a wood, a path through a wood. The path was beautifully winding, hemmed on each side by an endless thicket of pines, the pines that only grew in Skald, in my homeland.

  I kept walking, feeling the chill air on my entire body. Gazing down at my hand: it was whole, bleeding no longer. I felt my fingers and could move them. My whole body shone with health, strength, vitality. This must be death.

  The path called to me, to keep walking it—I knew this must be so. I breathed in the forest musk. I knew a joy, a peace I had not felt since I was a child.

  I felt something moving toward me on the path, and it made me curious. In the distance there was some figure, illuminated by the full moon above. Who it was I did not know. As it moved closer, I thought it was Eric and was glad, but then I knew it was not. It was my father, no, Kyra my first love. Her blonde locks shining. No. Was it my fallen younger brother, finally here to make me forget that day I was bound in chains and saw him die? I hurried toward the figure, and it went on walking toward me. And then it emerged from the shadow of the trees, and I saw it: a wolf.

  It stared at me with eyes that seemed all knowing, and its silver mane shone with all the majesty of winter. It radiated the fecundity of all the hunts since the world began.

  Without speaking it, I knew who he was.

  Fenris.

  We looked at each other for a long time, and neither of us were afraid.

  He turned his muzzle to my left, and I saw that there was a wooden shack there by the side of the road. I could see a torch was lit inside, and heard voices speaking.

  “By the gods, you don’t want to look at this old dog,” a voice from inside said.

  “Oh I know, I seen him. Almost feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

  “Ey at least his head’s still on. Maybe Pelleo can get something from his father after all.”

  “Heh, that’s Pelleo, kill your son and make you pay for his body. But I don’t know if that’s going to work see, some of the Northeners got away. You know they’ll rat. People says this could start the whole war all over again...”

  “Ah, that’s horseshit…”

  Fenris looked back at me, and snarled. He leapt at me in two quick bounds, and I saw his jaws open and engulf my heart. As his fangs sank into me, I felt a bliss that swept my human form away.

  I opened my eyes. Something covered my face. Black. Cloth. Suddenly I felt pain, wounds all over my body, broken bones, torn muscles, dried blood.

  “Those northerners got licked in the last war, they can’t go starting somethin’ all over again. Besides, he was a gladiator, they die all the time. They’ll say he just died fightin n’ doin his job. S’nothing suspicious.”

  “Yeah but those northerners are proud folk. Some could come after Pelleo at least.”

  I felt something strange welling up in my chest, a cold fire. I actually felt the bones in my broken arm move. They were made whole again, like a mason joining stone to stone. Where the dried blood had been, I felt it burn away like melting snow. Where I had gaping wounds, I felt them close and turn to solid flesh again, like water turning to ice.

  “S’not our problem,” I heard the voice say, “Come on, let’s chuck ‘im in the wagon. There’s fine whoring tonight—half price, ya dirty scoundrel heheh.”

  “Fine, but he’s a heavy bastard.” I felt a hand reach under my arm—I snatched it in my grip.

  “Daargh!!!” came the man’s scream. I lurched up, the black sheet sliding off my face. As I sat up, I saw the man’s face, gaunt and whiskered. It turned from fright to utter terror as our eyes locked, and I snarled. I tightened my grip on his wrist and heard bones break. As he screamed I swiped my other hand at him and raked his face open.

  “D-demon!” I heard the other man cry as he ran from me and to the door. Nothing he could have done would have made me more eager to kill him as some predator instinct possessed me. The black sheet billowed over me as I covered the distance of the room in a single leap. I came crashing down nearly on top of the man and snatched his back collar. I hurled him back into the room, where he slammed into a wall and crashed to the ground.

  He staggered up pleading. The fat on his cheeks shaking as he held a sword out half-heartedly. “No, no, I didn’t—”

  It was too late for him. In the moment, I was not a man of civilization, but a beast. I ran to him. My hand found his throat, fingers tearing into it, ripping out chunks of flesh, blood spurting all about. Another swipe and my fingers tore through chainmail, wool and flesh. What next I did, I did not myself understand, as I found myself pouncing on the dead man’s body, and tearing into him with fangs, with my jaws. I tore out cuts of flesh from him, hardly chewed as I ate, felt blooding trickling down my throat. After some moments, something of my mind came to me and I recoiled so that my back pushed against a wall as I sat shaking.

  I held my hand up and saw that it was clawed... and furred. The dream… Fenris, by all the gods. I picked up one of the dead guard’s polished helms and looked into it. There in the reflection was my face, ash grey fur covering it, ice-blue eyes, fangs protruding from my mouth, a wolf’s head. I shuddered. “What.. gam… rrr.. am... I..” I found even speech difficult as my throat and my mouth were shaped differently. I stood. Looked about at the carnage in the room. My human mind tried to push through the beast.

  I had fought in the arena… I had been killed by that fell beast… Eric! No, Eric…

  I brought my hands to my face. Confusion, panic shuddered through me. What was I going to do. One Eye was probably killed too. The rest of the men likely dead as well. As I pulled my hands away I was shocked yet again. They were no longer furred and the claws were receding. My body was human again. What was this demon sorcery…

  Bellabel. The thought came to me and I felt a rush of rage surge through me. I felt claws and fangs growing, but I restrained myself, breathing deep. I had to maintain my human mind or I would never find her. Pelleo would not have killed her. She was no threat, and valuable to him. But that did not mean, he would not do other things to her, or let them be done.

  I grabbed the fallen man’s sword and crept to the chamber’s door. They had removed all my armor save my greaves and a gauntlet, so I was shirtless and wearing the tatters of a kilt. I sliced a whole in the black bloodsoaked deathcloth, draped it over me, fastened it to myself. I would find her, then look for any Northmen that remained. The men I just killed had said something about some getting away.

  The door creaked open, and I peered into the stone hallway. It was nearly dark, as the closest torch lighting the path flickered some thirty yards away. I walked carefully, staying close to the shadowed edges of the path. The entire city had seen me die, and would not be looking for me. But it would only be a matter of time before someone found two half eaten corpses and called an alarm.

  I tried to orient myself. Bellabel would likely have been taken back to my own chamber or to the pleasure chambers, but where was I now? The coliseum was part of a vast complex of interconnected buildings all within the inner city's massive walls. Finding my way to her was easier said than done.

  As I made my way through the hallway, I came to a chamber with smooth stonework on the ground, torchlight flickering from its doorless entry. I stayed close to the hallway corner, where I hid and observed the entry. Some chatter broke the silence in the chamber. A guard. He must be speaking to at least one other.

  My footsteps caressed the stonework as I crept closer. The scent of their sweat filled my nostrils. Strange. Why did these men smell so strongly? There were three distinct smells, one from each guard. It did not matter, as one of them approached the entrance. I caught something of his muttering as he walked: “if we miss out on the whoring, we should at least be treated to some of that seasoned duck that the kitchen was—” I did
not let him finish. The improvised cloak billowed around me as I burst out of the shadows and charged at him. My sword sliced through air, chainmail and limbs as his body was cut open. Blood spurted. Without hesitation I leapt right over him, into the center of the chamber, which I could see now had a long opening on one wall that had a view of the coliseum complex. Shock registered on the other two guard’s faces. My sword flashed and a head leapt from a body like a salmon leaping from a bloody river. The second managed to draw a gladius, but my sword blade flickered and chopped his arm off at the elbow. As he began to scream I drove my blade with both hands straight into his throat. The blow came with such force that I skewered him and drove him some five yards straight into a wall. There was a loud snap as the sword blade broke on the wall’s masonry.

  I looked back to the carnage where I stood. Looked at the broken blade in surprise. Now and then I had broken swords in battle, but this had been well kept castle-forged steel and the blow had driven a man in middle weight armor clear across the room, and still bitten some six inches into the stone wall before snapping.

  Something was different about me, even now that the fur and claws had left my body, I had still acted differently, moved differently, my movements more fluid, more potent, more sure of themselves even than before.

  The rusty smell of blood filled my nose.

  My eyes scanned the room. There was another open doorway at the other side of the room, with stairs that led down into lower strata of the complex. I walked to the long viewing window in the room, making sure not to step on any of the fallen bodies. There were throngs of people below, they had gathered outside the main arena building, and were still feasting. Torches dotted the crowd. Effigies of the six armed god Akaraxis bobbed as they were carried along in a procession of revelry. I was somewhere on the outermost wall of the complex, and this was one of the watch stations all along it. I realized that there were other watch stations all across the massive walls, and they all faced one another. I ducked low. Though there was little chance they could see me at that distance, I was wary of any gambles past the ones I was already taking.

  I scuttled across the chamber, picking up a replacement sword from one of the dead guards.

  Reaching my way to the otherside of the chamber, my footfalls began caressing stone once more, this time slowly taking me down to the dimly lit stairwell. Down I went, down the shadowed, cracked surface of the steps.

  Up ahead and down some, the stairwell joined a hallway, where a torch flickered. The smell of cloth and sweat all mixed with that of burning oil wafting up to me. I heard footsteps, and talking. There was no jangling of armor, and they sounded female. I crept closer, making sure to remain in the shadows. Inhaled. Yes, these were women. Somehow, I knew the scent.

  “They’ve eaten all the duck, and we’re even running low on chicken now,” I heard one of the voices say.

  “I threw some horse into the stew—no one will know with how drunk they are.” They shared a laugh.

  Kitchen servants. I crept down the stairs until I reached the intersection. They had already passed, but I could still hear their voices trailing them some distance ahead. I stalked forward, torchlight oozing across my face and blade. Moving like this, following them, was stirring something inside me again, like that fleeing guard had. I breathed deep to contain it. I did not much want to kill these wenches, and it would not be useful regardless. They went down yet another flight of stairs, and yet another. We were descending down toward the ground level, which if I understood the layout of the complex correctly, was good, closer to the main courtyard. Still, I needed a way to get to the other side of the complex to where my quarters were, and I could not kill my way all that distance without alerting all the guards in the city.

  I heard a faint clunking as I observed their silhouettes. I could tell they were moving some empty cauldrons. They must have just carried some food to a chamber higher in the complex. As I followed them, scents began overwhelming me. Fish, frying oil, onions, garlic, clove, dill, beets, celery, mustard seed, beef, all manner of things mixed in a storm of smells. We were approaching a kitchen. They turned and entered a chamber that was well lit by the torches at its doorway.

  “Is it ready?” I heard the younger of the female voices ask.

  “Yes, good thing they’re drunk. No sober man would eat this,” a male voice replied. The voices almost seemed familiar. Yes, the female voice was a servant I had oft seen scurrying in the dining hall.

  I crept to the entrance, and spied inside. I had not seen this kitchen before. It was an absolute mess with pots everywhere, and the remains of vegetables here and there, dried up grease on the ground. There were two females, one older, one so young so as to be fifteen or so. I swept into the room like a living shadow. I quickly put my hand around the girl’s mouth, stifling a cry. I drew my sword and aimed it toward the man and the older woman’s throats.

  “Silence,” I commanded.

  The older servant’s face shook as her eyes were perfect saucers. As I looked at her I saw the curve of her nose then down at the girl’s; their forehead, their wavy hair, their curved noses. “Her mother, aren’t you?” She nodded at me. I realized, this was a whole family. “The lot of you, I have no wish to harm you. Do as I say and you keep your heads.” She nodded again, desperation in her pale eyes.

  “Load the cauldrons on the kart,” I said, and glanced at a hand kart, one of many that I had seen scurrying about the coliseum over the years, delivering food. The man servant loaded them on. “Now, tell me how to get to the dining hall, the one in the gladiator quarter.” If I made it there I knew the rest of the way to my chambers and to Bellabel.

  The woman spoke in a trembling voice. “You have to go turn left at the main passage, you take the second left, that takes you to the main courtyard. You stay close to the wall, walk to your right until you reach the East gate and then...”

  “I know the rest.” I took my hand from the girl’s mouth. “You all never spoke to me, understand? It’s as much for your own good, as it is for mine.”

  I hoisted one of the cauldrons, and made for the doorway.

  “Dog of War,” the man said, and I turned back. “It wasn’t right, what Pelleo did to you.”

  I nodded, then pressed forward. I’m glad I did not have to kill them, and hoped for their sake that they would not speak of it.

  Down here there weren’t any guards that I noticed. Torchlight and shadow patterned themselves on my face as I scuttled through the dim corridor. Up ahead I saw a large entryway where the noise and light of the crowd was radiating into. The din of thousands of voices, the smells of wine, sweat, burning torches, roasted food and a thousand other things mixed in the air as I emerged into the main courtyard. Bodies brushed past me, wafts of smoke drifted into my face as I made my way through the crowd in its full revelry.

  I heard the blare of instruments, horns, drums and ringing bells. The night sky was overhead, and ringed throughout were the watchtowers with their glowing torches. Craning my neck up, I could even spot the one where I had left three dead bodies. I pressed on, my makeshift cloak shadowing my body and face. I stayed close to the wall as the servant woman had counseled, the kart ricketing along.

  Finally, up ahead I could see the east gate. It was guarded by several guardsmen. Their helms sparkled with the reflection of torches, and their stances were more relaxed than any guard’s should be. Several of them stared jealousy into the crowd, while another made conversation with a shapely woman, the two leaning against a wall. My eyes roamed, hidden beneath my makeshift cloak. I matched my strides with another, a woman who was approaching the gate. By the look of her, she was a whore who was plying her trade. She was a little old for her profession, with harsh lines under her eyes and mouth, but she still had enough of a body that a man would pay something, especially on a night like this, especially with what little she was wearing, a small blouse and woven skirt.

  As she began making conversation with one of the guards, I made my w
ay through the gate.

  “Hey, you there!” one guard said. I slowed my pace, turning enough to give my attention but not enough to show my face. “Where you going with that kart?”

  “Food. For the gladiators.” I kept my eyes shadowed, and bent over so as to appear like one of the brawny half-wits who hauled goods around the city.

  “Eh.... don’t the bastards have their own kitchen and mess hall?”

  “They run low,” I said stupidly. “Too many mouths.”

  He considered that for a moment. “Eh, off with you then!”

  I nodded and kept walking. “Sometimes I wonder if those gladiator bastards aren’t better off than us…” I heard the guard say to his comrade as I made my way through the massive arched gate. I entered another courtyard, much smaller than the one I had just crossed. This place was familiar now, I was in the gladiator quarter. I quickly made my way across, keeping my face away from the smaller crowd that was gathered here. They seemed to be a few of the merchant class, even a gladiator here and there. I left the kart against a wall, grabbed the two steaming pots and began climbing the stairs that would lead to the dining hall. From there I could break off to another path that would lead me to my chambers. If I was lucky, Bellabel would have fled there, at least, until someone came for her.

  “Halt!” I heard behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the glint of armor: two guards were at the base of the steps, both armed with crossbows. Twisting my shoulders, I hurled the cauldrons of steaming stew down the steps. One of them slammed into a guard’s shoulders.

  “Draagh!” he screamed as the stew scalded his face. As I sprinted up the steps I heard the twang and hiss of a crossbow bolt piercing the air. It tore a piece of cloth from my cloak—another two inches and it would have driven through my skull. My legs kept pumping as I strode five, six stairs at a time. At the top of the stairs I saw the steel tips of halberds rising. I grit my teeth, preparing myself.

  The shock on their faces told me I had the element of surprise on them as I entered the hallway. Two halberdiers and a crossbowman turned to face me. The crossbowman reeled back fiddling with this weapon like it was the first time he had handled it. I lunged toward the halberdier, twisted out of the way of his weapon then brought my sword blurring to his face, cleaving the top of his head off from ear to ear. Brains flew like a bowl of earthworms tossed in the air. As I neared the next I swiped at his halberd’s head with my own blade, striking it with such force that the clang echoed in the room and the halberdier nearly tumbled off his feet. His weapon turned aside, I lunged forward and drove the tip of my blade straight into his face, slicing and crushing through skin, cartilage and bone in a blink. As I drew my sword it flowed red and his body slumped to the ground with a clatter of his armor. A twang in the air. “Raargh!” I felt something pierce my shoulder, and looked up with madness in my eyes to see the crossbowman pissing himself, looking at me like he had no idea how he had just managed to shoot off his weapon.