He scrubbed his chin with his hand and went on. “We escaped with Eric’s body, as yours had been dragged out by guards. They were too many for Riggis and I to match, and so we fled. We came to the docks and I had the ship on alert. I told them I would signal with flames, and if they did not hear from me by the night’s end, to sail away without me. With my bow now in hand, I entered the city gates once more, to see if by some small chance, you lived. This eye that Dorgramu gave me, I swear sometimes it shows me things. I kept seeing you in this eye, rising with your ax in hand and the fury of a beast on your face. So I entered the labyrinth of hallways inside the outer walls of the complex, was sure I spotted where some men had taken you.”
“I hid as I roamed the hallways, and had to strike a guard in the back as I made my way to you, but when I arrived at the chamber, all I found were two guards, torn apart as if by some beast. As I looked for you, I realized someone inside the walls was causing a carnage. I realized… it must be you… somehow you lived, and had the strength to kill guard after guard all on your own. All northerners have heard legends of the wolfblooded, and I guessed you must have become one. I knew I must give you whatever chance I could to escape, so I tossed torches down from the walls, and sent flaming arrows down to whatever rooftop I could. It did not take long before they began catching fire and spreading. That’s when the city fell into a panic.”
“So they opened the main gate, for people to flee.”
“Yes, and so I knew that whatever chance I could give you, I must call the ship back. Without it all would have been for nothing. So I ran across the city, hailed the ship. That’s when I met you at the docks.”
“I could not have run any longer, and would have been killed by that mob if you had not come.”
“Pitchforks and torches. Just would not have been a right way to go for a soldier like you.” One Eye adjusted his black leather gloves. “Now tell me, how is it that you live though the Black Orc broke you like dry wood?”
“I was at the gate of death, and then… Fenris appeared.”
His single eye widened. “It is one thing to be wolfblooded, it is another that you were chosen by Fenris himself.”
I looked on in silence. “But why? Why was I chosen?”
“You’ll have to ask a wiser man than I. And I must see that you do.” He walked up the stairs, and left me with my thoughts.
Two more days passed with me in bed, Bellabel tending to me. The fare on ship was simple: northern tack, dried fish and wine, some hard cheese. By nightfall, food, drink and rest returned my vitality. The beast was completely silent within me, perhaps exhausted or hibernating, I did not know. One Eye did not say much as he had a ship to captain. What he did tell me was that Jarl Bardawulf was infirm, bedridden most days, that there were talks of finding him a successor as there was no male heir. His brother Dren Klauser was technically the next in line, but I could not imagine him sitting on the Jarl’s seat at Wolf Rein. Dren Klauser had gone to the traitor Jarldom of Skorrad to serve as its Hammer. Skorrad was only nominally a part of Skald any longer. Having surrendered to the Imperials in the war of the Cold Crown rather than slowing them that we might hold Hofgrail Pass, they had doomed the rest of us with their cowardice. Now with a legion stationed in the Jarldom at all times, most Skaldeans felt it was more Imperial territory than our home soil. King Albrecht, ruling all of Skald from his own Jarldom of Goldwater, would hardly interfere with who took the seat of Jarl in Wolf Rein. Generally Jarldoms resolved succession themselves, and in this case King Albrecht would especially not want to interfere with Dren Klauser’s claim, as he was aligned with the Empire by being the Hammer of the traitor Jarldom of Skorrad. King Albrecht was just, but he was also shrewd and would not provoke conflict with a power he had just lost a war to. These were times of tumult for all of Skald, and especially my home Jarldom of Wolf Rein. It had been one thing to hear news now and again from home, during the five years I had been captive in Kenessos. It would be entirely different to see how my homeland had changed with my own eyes.
One Eye became incredibly tense as we approached the Godbelt Pass, a strait that was only nine and thirty miles at its narrowest point between the continents of Skald and Dumos. Dumos was the massive continent, home of the Empire, where the city of Kenessos was located.
“We have used whatever magics lay on the ship, now it is only our cunning we are left with,” One Eye said as the sun set and the ship made its way through the strait silent as an assassin’s dagger. Sails were down, and only the rowers were in control. We took the passage through dangerous waters, where jagged stones called Serpent Horns jutted out from the waters, ready to rip into a ship’s hull. Still, this was better than being spotted by imperial vessels.
“By now word of our escape has reached the imperial stronghold here in the pass,” One Eye muttered in a low voice, almost as if a ship somewhere could have heard him if he spoke too loud. “Our one hope is that we covered so much sea our first night that they will not be expecting us crossing now, but will be searching for us further south. If we’re truly lucky pirates will be keeping the fleet too busy to bother with a ship carrying a single escaped prisoner.”
One Eye thought he spotted a ship in the distance, but whether it was a Skaldean, an Imperial or something else, we passed by it unnoticed. As we made our way through the Godbelt Pass, the ship raised its sails once more and we sailed on until dawn.
As the sun rose I spotted the Hag’s Needle, the old tower that marked the spot of Bloodletter Bay, where Northern fleets had sailed forth and returned to for centuries uncounted, until it was usurped by Newspyre as the principal bay in Skald. We made our way past the yellow and white sails of Goldwater ships, the pale green of Skorrad, even saw a violet sail of the Thrawn Priesthood, the black of a Nightrunner ship, and neutral trading vessels of every size. Still, we pressed on.
I found it strange that we did not seek harbor, and was eager to feel solid earth under my feet.
“Why do we not anchor, One Eye?”
“Imperials will not make their presence as obvious as having their ships docked and running their sails. If you were an Imperial captain intent on capturing a fleeing vessel what would you do?”
“I would wait at the harbor, hide men all along the docks and wait for the ship to anchor.”
“If you thought if it, they have too. There is a better spot up ahead. The Wink, it’s called, used mostly by smugglers and pirates. Few know the waters well enough to tread it, or find it worth the risk if they do.”
It was another day and night’s sail as we reached the Wink, a curved inlet that could only be threaded by the best of sailors. The ship moored in the morning.
“Riggis,” One Eye called to the horn-helmed ship hand, “see the ship to Bloodletter Bay. Without myself and Rothan on board, you should have no trouble.”
“Aye, captain,” Riggis answered and passed word to the other men.
Bellabel, One Eye and I disembarked and headed to shore on the ship’s tender. The boat was just large enough to fit three of us as well as a pack mule. A tightly wrapped package was on the mule and I knew that it was Eric’s body. What glory I was arriving with to Wolf Rein, but a dead youth.
We made our way from the bare stony shores, into bright green woodland.
Despite the somber air of carrying a body home, it felt good to see the green hills and sprawling trees of Skald once more.
“It took five years, and now I have returned,” I said, almost to myself. “Somehow, I return alive.”
One Eye looked at me as we walked. “When I ventured back into the city though it seemed you were slain, I thought of your father. He is not more vengeful than any northman, but I don’t know that I could have brought myself to face him having lost your life. Your father is a hard man, as a Hammer must be. Unfeeling, unstirring, but believe me when I say that he may not show it, but he will be glad above all others to see you once more. ”
I thought for a moment if that was true, and wonder
ed how Kyra would take to seeing me once more. Would she still have the same look in her eyes when she looked at me. Would I to seeing her? My thoughts turned back to my father once more.
“The men on ship spoke of growing Orc raids to the East,” I said as I guided the mule up a twisting path and ducked under an overgrown tree branch. “They told that King Albrecht summoned men from all Jarldoms to repel them. Will my father not be out warring among them?”
“No, he won’t.”
“How can that be? He is Hammer of Wolf Rein, and seeks battle the way drunkards seek drink and lechers seek whores.”
“Jarl Bardawulf has commanded him not to lead Wolf Rein’s forces into battle, nor to travel outside of Wolf Rein for any reason. He is only to train men, help in the preparations for campaigns as well as the defense of the Jarldom itself. The Jarl does not want him leading men into open battle.”
“But why? That is what my father does. That is his life. His duty.”
“Yes. But his first duty is to obey his Jarl. And Jarl Bardawulf has not been the same man since Skald lost the war of the Cold Crown. A sickness befell him shortly thereafter. It has infected his body, as well as his mind. He worries that he has all manner of secret enemies seeking to usurp him. He nearly began a war with the Jarl of Alfheim when he executed a noble seeking his daughter’s hand. He had a maid stripped and flogged in public because the dish she brought him made him bloated. He has imprisoned his own high advisor for merely suggesting money be spent to erect a new temple to Thrawn to seek the priesthood’s favor in matters of state. He has outlawed mirrors in his keep, for he says they are windows for enemies to spy on him. Be glad that he has only restricted your father’s warring, and not done worse. Perhaps if he did not think the soldiers of Wolf Rein were so loyal to your father, he would have already.”
“But for my father to be a prisoner in all but name, that is an injustice!”
“Be careful who you say that to in Wolf Rein. Remember that Bardawulf is still your Jarl.”
I gripped my sword hilt tight, wondering how Wolf Rein could have fallen into the rule of a once great man, now turned mad.
Near nightfall we reached the village of Ettin Spring. A farmer there sold us two horses and a night’s sleep in his barn. Whether he did it out of choice or because he knew One Eye was in service to my father, I did not know.
We left the farm, now all on horse. My traveler’s cloak went from a charcoal color to black as a Northern rain began falling. “Be ready, Bellabel, the north is a beauty, true, but it is a cold and wet beauty.”
She turned to me, her hair and face sparkling with rain. “Fire could not separate us, neither will water.”
One Eye’s gloved hand raised, motioning for us to halt. “Perhaps the Orc fighting has reached these parts,” he whispered. He drew an arrow from his quiver. My hand slid along the pommel of my sword. Our horses’ hooves clopped in the mud.
“What is it?” Bellabel asked.
I motioned with my hand for her to be still. I keened my senses, my nostrils flaring, eyes piercing into the distance. The odor of unbathed men came to me, the rust of steel, the soggy smell of wet furrs. And a foul smell, like rotting meat. I could hear the sound of feet breaking small twigs as men moved slowly, the faint clink of metal.
“They watch us, One Eye,” I said in a low tone.
“Yes, but are they Orc or human?”
“Human. There are some dead. Days old I think.”
He nodded. “There’s no sense in all this then. Be ready, if they are bandits, we shall make short work of them.” He yelled out, “Show yourselves! We travel in the name of Jarl Bardawulf of Wolf Rein!”
I saw a red-bearded man peak his head out over the rise. “One Eye?” the man asked.
“Lukas,” One Eye answered, the two clearly knowing each other. “What are you doing here, should you not be campaigning for King Albrecht?”
“We were,” Lukas answered, as two then three others joined him on the small rise to take a look at us. They were all northern men, and one of them bore the dark blue shield of Wolf Rein. Lukas hopped down the muddy path. As he neared, I could see that he was rather small for a northman, thin, nearly gaunt, though his hands were thick-veined and sinewy. “The Orcs overwhelmed us at Hurstin Pass until an army from Goldwater arrived to help us. Even then we only fought them to a stalemate, and both sides retreated. These Orcs fight savage, One Eye, more than any man can remember. It’s like they’re possessed. And their numbers, they’re like swarms of fire ants.” He furrowed his dirty brow. “There were more battles north and east. Almost all of Ironrise has fallen. Its Jarl and his court still hold out in the Anvil Keep, but there is an enormous Orc horde laying siege to it.” One Eye and I glanced at one another in disbelief. “Not only that, battle goes on thick in Alfheim, Jarkandur, and is even spreading into Goldwater, if you can believe it.”
“I did not think it was this bad,” One Eye said. “I’ve only been on voyage two moons.”
“King Albrecht calls the stalemate a victory, but we lost some 12,000 men in the last month. No one thought the Orcs had the numbers they do. Like ants out of holes they’re coming, One Eye. Out of old places. Broken places. They’ve been breeding worse than rabbits. It’s the strangest thing, they do not fight with no purpose it seems. They just go about like a madness is on em. Like crazed creatures, One eye. No objectives, no battle plans, nothing. Just running out in hordes, killin like they’re crazy. And they have others with them, some say, allies of some kind that are not Orc at all.”
“Why do you return then—I can’t imagine King Albrecht would spare the men.”
“Most of the men are still out in the field. We’re just a small portion leading some of the women and children who survived to safety.” About a hundred yards behind him, I could see some two hundred cold and hungry peasants. “Our little vacation won’t last long. We’re to return with supplies, as well as 1,000 more men from Wolf Rein, armed and provisioned.”
“Why is the smell of dead men in the air?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, glancing back up the rise, “that would be the dead men.” He walked up the rise, and we followed, still on horseback. As we entered a clearing, we saw two wagons with some dozen bodies wrapped in linen and leathers, just as we had wrapped Eric. “Along with some new mouths to feed, we were bringing back some dead ones,” Lukas said, “Rich folk kin, even a kin of the Jarl’s. But we ran out of Black Salt, have enough for just the Jarl’s kin. It would have been nice for the rest to be burned with their final rites in Wolf Rein proper, but seems we’re going to have to do that here. At least we brought them back this far, onto home soil, and not left them out on the fields to be butchered—and gods know, even eaten—by the Orcs. That’s what a thousand other men from Wolf Rein had as an end.”
“I wish that we had more Black Salt,” One Eye said, “but our ship sailed on without us, and we did not think we would encounter bodies.”
“Ah, it’s alright,” Lukas answered, “rich or poor bodies burn the same.” He turned to a handful of soldiers. “Lads, set the pyres.”
As the days turned and the rain faded to a cloud spotted sky, I began recognizing the land more and more. There were the Whale Back Hills, the towns of Brismyr, Rokstead, Twelve Ox, Hutengrav, the Scaly Road. Then finally I began to see out from woodlands, hills rising, hills I knew the rise and fall of as one knows a melody of a favorite song. Crowning those hills was the city of Wolf Rein, and watching over the many farmsteads, shops, taverns and mills, was Stone Mantle, the castle where Jarl Bardawulf ruled from.
“How can five years feel like five centuries?” I muttered.
“The joy of your home would soon make you forget those years,” Bellabel said in a comforting tone.
I smiled at her, but wondered if it were true as I caught sight of Eric’s body wrapped in a tarp.
We traveled on the main road through the city, and soon onlookers began gawking. The bright yellows and browns of their hair brough
t me back to childhood. Maidens in wool dresses ornamented with relicry, tradesmen and smith with chiseled forearms, massive horses and oxen dragging foodstuffs and wares. The tall wood houses thatched with woven Hemweed.
It took only one town’s folk to recognize me before word spread in the streets.
“Look!” An older woman with a cook’s headdress stopped on the path holding a basket of fish. “It’s Rothan! The Hammer’s son. He returns!”
A young man who looked to be a smith’s apprentice stopped and stared. “Is it really him?”
Townsfolk, young and old alike began murmuring and shouting, “The Hammer’s son is here! Hero of Wolf Rein! Rothan the Cold Ax! Rothan the Hammer’s son! Hero of Wolf Rein!”
I said nothing in return, but only gave them the gentlest of nods. One thing I was not, was a hero. I could not save Eric, I could not save my brother Gannon, and I could not turn the tide of the war. We stepped off our horses, One Eye being dutiful enough to see them up the rest of the path while Bellabel and I walked freely.
“I will not bring this body to your father’s house,” One Eye said. “I’ll take the mule and deliver it. Go, be with your family. I will see you and your father soon enough.”
“You’ve seen me to my father’s house,” I said and clasped One Eye’s forearm. “Thank you, Karlstaff One Eye.”
“There is no thanks needed, Rothan. It was my duty.”
Soon Bellabel and I had climbed to the top of Red Hill, where my father’s ancestral manor stood.
The manor was a long wooden hall made from the sturdiest of pine, painted a dark red with two black lines all along the exterior. Above the main doorway stood a metal emblem of a hammer, which Jarl Bardawulf’s father gave to my father’s father Hostraff.
Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem Page 9
