The beast surged in me and I became fast as the wind. I leapt and swerved around fallen bodies and clanging weapons. I leapt straight over Quistainn. The mounted Orc was aiming for him with a black lance. He did not expect a hulking wolf man to come raining down on him out of the sky. My ax plunged into heavy plate. The sheer force crushed the armor, caving the Orc’s chest in and sending him reeling off his mount.
The ground was moist as I touched down, breaking my fall with a quick flick of my arm. I was crouched when I saw the fallen Orc’s mount was snapping at me, and I quickly swung up and caught its throat. A great gash opened on the reptilian hide and it poured out its life’s blood. I saw a half dozen more riders riding up on me, glistening wet as they emerged from the river.
“Quistainn!” I called to him. “Take care of the riders! I’ll deal with Ghazrak.”
“As you command!” Quistainn reached his hand out and his hammer came flying back to him, locking back in his grip with a sizzle of gold energy.
I made for the damp rise where Ghazrak was commanding his horde to rally around him. His spider mount lay at the base of the rise, now completely collapsed and dead. I rushed toward the Orc warlord. He reached out with his skull scepter and the writhing gray lightning shot out toward me. I had enough speed to dash for cover behind the spider’s corpse. The giant arachnid shuddered as it took the gray bolt. I smelled something like tar burning as the spider’s flesh was seared by the dark energy.
“You hide behind runt goblins, spiders and this evil lightning!” I shouted, keeping the spider’s body between us. “I thought Orcs thought themselves great warriors, not petty sorcerers!”
Perhaps I wasted my breath as the armored hulk might not speak the common tongue. Yet soon I was proven wrong.
“It is you who hiding.” He laughed. Ghazrak’s voice was gravely and cold. It was clear the common tongue was not his first language. “You hide behind spider. You hide behind wolf mask. Come out then shaggy dog man. Come out. Taste my steel. I not need lightning.”
Comparing me to a dog suddenly brought back my days as the Dog of War. I had stood before a thousand warriors, across battlefields, in arenas, I had always triumphed. And this time would be no different.
I stepped out from behind the spider. My great ax was in both my hands, resting against my thighs as I stared at my rival. I was relaxed, cold as an executioner.
“I’ve slain near half your army, with just a handful of men you Orcs think so weak. And now I stand here, barely any armor, a single ordinary weapon, but you still can’t stand face to face. You hide behind your helm.”
He stared back at me, his eyes narrowing through the slits of his helmet. “I not afraid… of a dog man. You afraid. You should afraid.” He latched his scepter onto his belt, and took his helmet off with his free hand. As he did I saw his face. Yes it was an Orc’s, yet it was red and leathery, just as the ones I had seen earlier. It had scars all across it, and one ear that had been torn off. Old wounds these were, ancient even. His eyes were a faded gold, pale, almost ghostly. I had never seen an Orc face so old; they seemed to age as humans did. His skin had shriveled so that I could see the contours of his Orc skull. Yet unlike humans, they seemed to lose none of their strength or ferocity. At least, this one didn’t.
“Will you tell me now, face to face, why you broke the peace between men and Orcs? It had served both our people for half a century. There was bloodshed between us, yes, but not open war. And you broke it by killing men, women and children alike. Burning fields, putting everything in your path to the torch. Even for Orcs, it was pointless slaughter. Why? Why do this?”
He merely stared back at me, face unmoving. “It was time. It was the command.”
“Command by who?”
He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming any feeble attack from me. “By Thousand Fangs.”
He was truly arrogant to speak of himself by his own name. “Ghazrak. If you won’t talk sense, I’ll tear the answers from you, along with your head.”
“You cannot fight majesty of Thousand Fangs.”
“Majesty?” I grinned. “This poor shriveled-tomato-looking bastard think yourself majestic. I once faced a thing calling itself an Orc,” I said, a calm between us while battle raged on below. Using my best sleight of hand as I spoke I took the vial One Eye had given me and poured it on my ax blade. One blow, one blow was all I needed. “This Orc, he was about thrice as tall as you, and four times as wide…” My forearms flexed as my grip on my weapon tightened. “But he wasn’t half as ugly.”
I charged. My ax blade sung as I slashed, three, four, five times. All were mighty blows that would have cleaved a horse in two. Yet he parried them with his dark blade, stepping back each time as neatly as a soldier marching. This close, I could see that his blade was made of some dark, smoke colored metal and all throughout it were streaks of green that seemed to pulse. I kept on slashing at him, and he went on parrying. Once I pushed him back to the very top of the rise, he stopped and gave no more ground.
“You try poison,” he laughed, laughed at me like I was a child. “I go now. Show you real fighting.” He said this, staring straight into my eyes. He raised his sword, which suddenly flared with arcane green fire all about its black blade. It came barreling down on me. They were green thunder strikes, his blows, and I gave ground hurriedly. He took great strides each time he swung, to not give me any breathing room. He moved much too fast for such an age and such heavy armor. Clang! Slash! Clang! Our weapons resounded.
His blade crackled as it seemed to come alive, a strange kind of wailing coming from the green fires that licked its black sharpness. He reached back, gathered his strength and slashed at me with such force that it felt as if he shook the ground merely by swinging. I put up my ax to parry. Even my steel-rimmed haft could not take the force of the blow. His steel, ancient and possessed of magic broke right through my ax haft. The green-black blur of his blade carried through the splitting handle, and bit into me.
“Graaargh!” I howled out as steel tore into me. I reeled back from the impact, tumbled down the rise. My back felt the jagged stones as I fell. The pain of the cut was even worse. It left a cold burning on my chest that I imagined was dread embodied. I looked for what remained of my ax, but saw that Thousand Fangs was crushing it under his steel boot.
Weaponless.
Bleeding.
Burned.
Frosted.
Entangled.
Even I could only take so much.
Staggering, I somehow rose to my knees. My clawed hand gripped the ground to steady myself. Breathing itself was a stabbing pain and I felt blood pooling on my long wet wolf maw.
The heavily armored Orc was walking toward me, his metal boots breaking bones of stray corpses and weapons under their weight.
This seemed familiar. Just as things had ended for me in the coliseum. My body no longer had fight in it. I was cornered. A massive opponent nearing me, walking me down, about to swipe the life out of me.
The Orc’s scepter crackled as he took it in hand.
He stopped nearing when he stood only a few paces from me, gazed down at me on my knees.
“I took mask off,” he grumbled, his scepter beginning to glow. This near, I could see that the skull on his scepter was some strange elongated shape, almost human, but with fangs and eyes that were longer. “And now you, dog man. You take mask off. Underneath. You are just man. You are not even dog. Dog strong. You just man.”
Aye. It was just like last time. Just too much punishment that I had taken. Too much blood spilled. My shoulders rose and fell as I breathed, reaching for something, anything. It was just like last time... Except for one thing.
“You know,” I said, blood dripping from my jaws, “there was another man who called me dog. A fat man he was... is. But the thing is, he was wrong, I am no dog. I am a wolf.” I began to rise, just slightly, just staring up at him.
He smiled. Raised his sword above his head.
“And you s
ee, Orc, you are wrong too. This you see, this is no mask. It is the human that is my mask. This wolf, this is my true face!”
I sprang up, lunging on him as a wolf on a wounded elk. My jaws snapped on his sword arm, at the juncture of the elbow where the armor was weakest.
“Raaaaargh!” he roared out as my fangs bit into him, bit into steel and flesh alike. These fangs were not wolf fangs, these were the fangs of Fenris. He was not just a wolf, he was the first wolf, the first hunter, all the might of predators everywhere, one who could hold the very lightning of the sky in his jaws. Fenris was to a wolf what the sun was to a candle. He was the cold of the north, the instinct to kill and to survive in all life in this world.
My jaws kept digging into the arm. I had never clenched down on something so hard. I felt the very plates of metal of his armor bending, crunching under the force of my bite. He writhed and screamed, moving to toss me off. But I stayed clamped on him, my arms holding him, turning this into a wrestling match. My fangs kept digging in until I felt flesh ripping and bone breaking.
With his other arm he began swinging at me, somehow pushing through the pain of having his arm torn into. His blows matched his ungodly strength. The sharp metal of his gauntlets began breaking my ribs. I whimpered, as dogs and wolves do, and he finally managed to throw me off. As I rolled on the ground and came to a stop, I saw this his arm was twisted and mangled. Violet blood glistened on his armor. I managed to sit up on one knee.
“You…” he said, murderous madness in his eyes. “You try eat me. I will cook you. Eat you now.” He took his scepter in his good hand, and it began crackling with the fiery gray mist. “Now burn! Burn!!”
As he pointed his scepter at me, a lance of fire shot through the air. He spotted it a fraction of a moment before it struck him, and he turned his scepter on it. The red fire exploded as it met the skull scepter’s gray energy.
“Bellabel!” I shouted as she stood some paces from me, brow knotted in concentration.
“Where you go… I go…” she said, sweat shining on her brow as she focused to keep her stream of fire pouring.
Ghazrak swirled his scepter, wrapping the red fire around it as one wraps twine around one’s finger. He hurled the combined gray and red fires back at Bellabel. She put up a fire shield, but she was overwhelmed. She cried out as the stream of gray fire pushed her back, red cinders leaping in all directions.
“No!” I wanted to go to her, but some part of my mind realized I could do nothing by doing so, that she had bought me just a fraction of a moment.
I sprinted. The battlefield streaked around me as I moved with all my speed. Ghazrak saw me, when it was too late. I registered his shocked face, but I had to give him his due respect, there was no fear there, just shock. “Raaawrgh!” My jaws clamped down on his face.
As I had bit down until I crushed his armor, so did I bite down until I crushed his skull.
I felt the smoky, cold fire of his scepter scorching me, but I did not let go. I would have kept my jaws shut around his head until my heart melted if that’s what it took. The scepter gushed its fire on me for only a moment as Ghazrak quickly dropped it once he truly felt the pain of my jaws on him.
He reeled back, flailing in pain as I tumbled on top of him. I was kneeling over him, staring down at his mangled face.
He was twitching, but there was still some life in him. He was as stubborn to die as I was.
“Tell me now. I will give you a quick death. Tell me why did you do this? Why are you leading the Orcs on this invasion? Why?”
“Thousand Fangs….”
“Was it so important to show your might, to show your savagery ? To earn this name you’ve given yourself?”
Even now, as he was in his death throes he managed to leer at me with disdain. “Stupid dog man...” He coughed violently. “Thousand Fangs…” A seizure overtook him and he coughed out so much blood I thought his heart would follow. Then, the coughing stopped and he lay still.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bellabel’s skirt and hair blowing in the wind as she walked toward me, a cut on her thigh, but still standing.
“Are you hurt?” I asked her, and felt some of Fenris’ strength leaving me, as the battle had left me near dead. I lingered between my human and Fenrir form, with mixed traits of each.
She shook her head. “Are you?”
“I might die. That is alright. But I must get you out of here.”
There were batches of fur on me that were thick with drying blood. Mine and my many enemies’. There were other parts of me that were charred meat. “Fenris... will heal me.”
I gazed down at the battle, still raging, and did what had to be done. I snatched his own black blade. A strange feeling came over me as I held it, for this sword still crackled with an arcane power, a green corona that oozed all about its enormous blade. It seemed to echo some words, as a voice speaking just out of reach. I thought it a madness of combat only.
I stepped to the top of the knoll, Ghazrak Thousand Fang’s bloodied sword in my hand.
“Orcs! Orc hordes!!!” I shouted out, my voice booming so loudly heads shot up all throughout the battlefield. “Hordes of Thousand Fangs! I have slain your warlord! I give you his sword!” I raised the sword to the sky, and howled out. The howl rang throughout the battlefield and even into the river. Everywhere, man, Orc, goblin, beast, all seemed to cower and shudder at the sound of the howl which rang out from me. Why I howled this way, I did not know, but soon it turned to a thirsting roar, and I felt my body begin to fill with power once more.
The armored red Orcs did not cower like the rest, for as they beheld me above them they only seemed to grow more eager to slay me, their massive maces and greatswords ready in their hands. They began encroaching up the knoll, bringing many in their horde to rally around them, but I did not fear. I was lost in the shimmering green fire upon the black blade. Something within it called to me, called to a thirst in me I did not know I possessed, for suddenly war and bloodshed did not seem a conflict of good and evil, nor the desperate settling of disputes, nor even savagery. It seemed a glorious dance that would bring forth something in me, a will to achieve such a power that would make the very earth groan under my terrifying glory.
It was in this state that I called forth the the power of the blade, by some instinct in me which I had never known. Its green fire turned to an inferno, and I brought the sword swinging down, loosing its flames upon the clambering Orcs, a hungry grimace on my face.
The earth before me lit up as if the sun itself had turned green. This green fire blazed in jagged forked lightning, consuming the oncoming Orcs, bursting armor and bone apart as wood bursting under flaming catapult shots. Their screams were drowned in the howl of the infernal lightning. I watched them burn, and felt my fangs press on my lips as I smiled.
What Orcs and goblins remained began crying out and chittering with fear. “Greenskins!” my voice was the crack of a whip. “Your warlord is broken! Your vanguard is broken! And now, so are you all!” I could tell that much of the horde had already fled to the other side of the river. Now, those that remained began scattering. Some of the men still hacked them down, but most seemed more than weary of battle and did not go into the water to chase them.
As I saw the river water begin churning with bodies, some swimming for life, others floating face down, I knew that still more greenskins would die in their panicked river crossing. I laughed to myself, and began summoning more green fire from my blade.
“Rothan?” Bellabel stepped toward me, but saw something in my face that made her freeze.
I felt a cold sweat upon me, the light of the sword’s green fire reflecting on my face, its crackling turning to far away voices.
“Rothan,” she spoke once more. I glanced back and saw fear in her eyes. “There are many fallen. Kyra, her brothers. We still need you… come back to us.”
Bellabel’s frightened eyes brought me out of a kind of trance. I looked down at the sword. Strange runs dance
d upon its blade. “Cursed thing!” I grunted with the effort of one trying to wake from a dream. “You would…take hold of me…” I stepped to Ghazrak. It was faint, but there was still breath in him.
“It is your mad will that works through your blade is it not? I have made use of it. I return it to you!” I drove the blade, swirling fire and all, down through his armor, and into his heart. He shuddered his final death throes, the blade shrieking like a thousand swine being torn apart in a lightning storm. Then all was still. The fire upon the sword died, and the blade turned a dull black once more. Ghazrak breathed no more. I knelt there over his body, trembling, gasping, holding to the pommel of the sword.
“Victory!” I heard a man’s voice call out from below. “Victory!”
A great cheer rang out among the war clad men. I let go of the sword and looked upon them. Wolf Rein, Ironrise, Jarkandur, Goldwater, the Jarldom did not matter. Today we were all Skaldeans. Today this victory belonged to all of the North. The blue Wolf Rein banner was raised and swayed back and forth in the air. Yet it was not Kyra who held it, but a common soldier.
“Come,” I said to Bellabel, and dashed down to our forces.
I was glad to see Quistainn, weary, his armor cloudy with dust, grime and blood, limping, but standing. Men began gathering together, carrying the wounded and the dead to see who could be saved, and who would have to be buried.
“Kyra!” I called out. “Kyra!”
“She’s over there, my lord,” a Wolf Rein soldier said, a broken helm on his head and a torn cloak over his shoulders. He pointed me away from the river.
I made my way across men dragging human bodies and plunging swords into bleeding, fallen Orcs.
“Kyra!” I cried out. She was kneeling by Anvir’s fallen body, while Tovir and another pair of soldiers stood over them.
I went to her, my body still wounded and unable to move much more quickly than a staggered run.
I knelt next to her, but could not see her face—her blonde locks fell over it as she gazed down at her brother’s body.
Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem Page 24
