“We’ll find a healer. There must be one among the men,” I said.
“Rothan, there is no healer here,” Tovir said, solemnity sounding strange on his voice.
“Then we’ll get him to one. If we can just make it to one of the homesteads south of here…”
Kyra turned, her eyes peering at me through her fallen locks. They were wet with tears. “No healer can return life from death.”
20
Graves were dug by the surviving men. We had lost over half of our force, and so there was much work. We had moved up into the hills, where the river would not flood into the graves during the rain season, and past the haunted giant bones, where their spirits would not haunt those of our brethren.
I stood by Kyra and Tovir, in my human form now, as the grave was finished for their brother.
“My lady,” Quistainn said, stepping to Kyra, a bandage over his leg. “I cannot offer much, but there is a prayer among my priesthood… I do not know it well, but if Thrawn looks kindly on it, it is said it can preserve bodies. So that you might bury your brother in Wolf Rein, that he may rest there where he was born.”
She gazed at him for a long moment. “Thank you, cleric, but no.” She turned back to her brother’s body, laying there on a bed of cut river reeds. “Perhaps another would have wished such a thing, but I know my brother. He was truly a soldier. He would have wanted to rest here, and not be treated any differently than the rest of the fallen.”
“But surely, would it not be better for your family to be able to bury him?”
“My father and mother hardly sought him in life, what good would it be to seek him in death? No, he should remain here.”
“My sister’s right, shiny man,” Tovir said, “my brother was the serious type. He would’na liked any flowery funerals or nothin’ like that. He’ll be at peace here. He liked the quiet anyway. Besides, nothin’ against your god, but that wasn’t no god we followed. We follow the gods of the North, and Fenris most of all.”
I looked to Quistainn. He wanted to insist, but caught my look. “Yes, of course.” He bowed his head, and was silent.
Bellabel handed Kyra a handkerchief, but she did not take it. Instead she wiped her tears with her bloodstained forearms.
The men were all buried, and those that remained were patched up and ready to move out as best they could. A soldier with an improvised bandage over his forehead limped along. Another was helped to mount a horse despite his broken leg. Still another had lost an arm and had endured fire and boiling salt wash to seal the wound. Despite this, we were triumphant. We stood on the very rise where I had slain Ghazrak Thousand Fangs. Armor glittered all around me as men crowded together. There were blood stains all over them, healing wounds as well.
One of the men brought six prisoners forward. They were all tall, fierce Orcs.
“Lord Rothan, these Orcs refuse to speak anything but insults and foulness. All they know besides that is that they were supposed to gather with the “big giant horde” in the far north. They’re useless to us and the men will not want their stench and hungry mouths with us along the ride home. Permission to put their heads on spikes.”
I gazed at the prisoners. Their features were flat and brutish, their foreheads slanted, with massive, hungry jaws. Their bare chests were all green muscle. Their eyes had little true hatred, more the anger of a caged beast. “Release them.”
“But commander Rothan, these are dangerous—”
“You heard me. Release them. They will be too much of a burden to take with us, and execution of war captives is not done. Not by us.”
“But Rothan,” Tovir said, “these damn creatures will go on and join the horde again. Soon there’ll be war clubs in their hands and they’ll be raiding and pillaging Skaldeans again.”
“That may be. But it may be that they go back to the horde, and tell how the fierce humans who destroyed a horde five times their size and beheaded the great warlord Ghazrak Thousand Fangs, were also merciful. Perhaps those Orcs and goblins who value their lives will not want to waste them fighting a people who do not hate them.”
“Gah! That’s soft!” Tovir shook his head. “That’s soft.”
“Men,” I turned to the armored crowd. I raised a clothed bundle. “This is Ghazrak Thousand Fangs’ head, the head that I broke with my bare jaws! Am I soft?” Shouts of no came resounding back to me. “This is his blade, which I took from his broken, mangled arm. Am I soft?” My men cheered once more. “Go, greenskins. Tell what tribes you belong to, that we wish the old peace between us restored, but that we also do not fear war. That should you all invade once more, there will be no mercy from the wolf, nor from his blade. Green heads will line the roads from Jarkandur to Cloudspyre.”
“Yah,” one of the Orcs growled. “We understand. We know the wolf and blade are sharp now.”
I nodded to him, and soldiers untied their bindings. They scampered down the hills, thick arms clumsily outstretched, searching for balance.
“Skaldeans,” I said, feeling a light wind on my face. “Fenris was with us, and he lent us strength to overcome a host five times our size!”
“Waaaargh!” the great cry rang out from them.
“We fought, not as Wolf Reiners, Ironrisers, or Goldwaters, but as Skaldeans. The word will carry to the rest of the Orcs and across the lands. The Orc horde to the north will disband in shock for the loss of their warlord.” A rumble of agreement and confidence went through the human force. “But in time, another warlord may rise up. We have seen their numbers now, and must be prepared. Tobias,” I looked to a soldier with long thin features, hair the color of dark pine wood. He wore the gold encrusted helm and a tattered red cloak of Goldwater, the king’s jarldom.
“Yes, commander Rothan,” he said to me, awaiting orders.
“You will return to Goldwater with all the men here from your Jarldom. Report all that has happened to King Albrecht. Council him that the Orc horde may still gather once again under a new warlord, that Skald should be prepared. Take him this.” I handed him the cloth bundle which contained Ghazrak’s severed head. “I send this as a trophy to him. The victories’ of all Skaldeans, are his majesty’s victories. And one day, we, his warriors, will hand him the victory we all seek, freedom from the Empire. Now go, all of you from Goldwater, to serve your king once more.”
Tobias took them, a look of disbelief on his brown eyes. “I will… do as you say, commander.”
“Rothan, son of Gustaff!” I voice broke out from the crowd, and an old soldier emerged from it. I recognized him as Old Keld, a veteran of many wars. “Forgive me, but I cannot follow this order you give.”
“And why is that, soldier?”
“I have served now for two and forty years. You see how my beard has become frosty. My skin like pale Oak bark. Yet I still have the strength of a northman. In all these years, I have thought to one day witness Albrecht take upon him not just the mantle of king, but the mantle of Skald. To truly fight as a northman, to worship the north gods again, to no longer bend the knee to the Empire or to give patience to cruel northern nobles.”
A hush fell over the crowd.
“I will not betray my king, but as for my sword, I lay it before you. You are the sword I follow now. You are whose orders I take. You, Wolf Blade!” As he drew his sword and lay it before me a great shout went up from the men, and swords, axes and spears were lain before me. “Wolf Blade! Wolf Blade!”
“I have heard you!” I responded, and another cheer rang out. “And here is my first order as your lord: return to your Jarldoms, report to them. And you Goldwaters, report to the king. I will not have you commit treason and begin a war here among our own people.”
The crowd grumbled. “Tell me this, my fellow Skaldeans,” a soldier emerged from the crowd. His short black hair was tied back, and dark stubble covered his rounded thick features. “Is there slavery in Skald?” Shouts of dissent replied back. “Was that not one of the terms of the treaty with the empire, that we would pay homage to them,
but that slaves were neither to be bought or sold here on our soil?”
“Yeah! Aye! Aye!” the replies came back.
“Then our Jarls do not own us, not even our king does! We are free men, and we can go and follow who we please!” The crowd cheered this rather sharp witted soldier.
“Tell me your name, soldier,” I said to him.
“Calbon.”
“Calbon, do you have a wife, children?”
“I have a wife, with a child on the way.”
“I see. Do children eat?”
“Aye, they do. But—”
“You are right, we Skaldeans are free men, yet even free men are still bound. We are bound by oaths, by honor, by duty, by necessity. I have heard you, and it is true that Wolf Rein could use fine soldiers. So I will proclaim this. Those of you who have no wife or children, I allow you to come to Wolf Rein with me. There, you will serve under my father, and in time, should the gods see fit, under me when I become Jarl of Wolf Rein.”
“You speak true, and with honor,” Old Keld said, nodding. “And thank the gods, all my children are grown. I believe the King will hardly miss my sword.”
“You gather an army around you,” Quistainn said under his breath.
We rode out. There were near a hundred of us now heading down to Wolf Rein, about two thirds men from other Jarldoms who had met my requirements and wished to follow me, pledging their swords to me.
Bellabel pulled up beside me. She was quickly becoming a swift rider.
“Will Kyra be alright?”
The blonde warrior had been in an understandably dark mood since the battle. She had even brushed off my hand went I went to lay a comforting embrace upon her. She blamed me for his death. “She’s strong. As strong as any.”
“People can be too strong for their own good.”
“She’ll be herself once more. Until then she has her brother Tovir.”
“And she has you.”
“That is not on my mind now. And I am sure that is not on hers.”
“I have told you, I do not mind. I want you two to have each other. Your joy is my joy.”
“Very well. Yes. She has me too,” I said, relenting. “But I do not know that she wants to have me, or anyone perhaps. And I will leave her be as long as she needs. The rest of her life if that is her wish.”
“You are too humble. What woman who has been yours would ever want to change that?”
“You southerners sure do fawn.”
“But at least I truly mean it.” She smiled and gazed at me with those large amber eyes. “Even your men compliment you. They call you Wolf Blade.”
I gazed back at her. “I did not come up with that—I promise you.”
“All I want you to promise me,” she said, and slid her hand up my thigh, “Is that you’ll pierce me with your other blade. And soon.”
She trotted off on her mount, only gazing back at me for a teasing moment.
Villagers began hailing us as we made our way southwest. Out from the forest steads, the hill countries, the meadowlands, they came, bringing us bread, water, wine, apples, fish, soaked roots, spiced beets. They were simple offerings of thanks, but we gladly took them.
As we neared Wolf Rein the crowds became bigger, until we made it to the city itself.
There were throngs at the castle gates. “Wolf Blade! Wolf Blade! Slayer of the Orc King!”
shouts ran through the gathering. The title Wolf Blade seemed to have stuck—and a king’s throne to the man who could make peasants forget a quick phrase once they latched onto it.
“Rothan!” a rider called to me, and I instantly recognized his voice. “Rothan!” My brother Yorbrand came riding on his gray spotted horse. He quickly turned his mount and rode alongside me. “By Fenris, you really did it! You really set out on your own, and broke an entire Orc horde!”
“I did not set out alone, I set out with three others. And as you can see from the riders behind me, there were many more who fought alongside us. But what’s that?” I saw that stubble was coming into his face. I rubbed my chin. “You growing a beard now?”
“Aye, becoming a real man.”
“Ey, I bet ya count yer chin hairs until ya can join yer brother in battle,” Tovir laughed. “Ain’t that right, count em’ on your crotch even! Bahaha!”
“That’s not so! I, I—that’s not so!” Even my brother’s horse seems flustered, as Yorbrand tried to rein him in.
“How fares father?” I asked. From Yorbrand’s mood I guessed father was unharmed, but I wanted to hear it. “Did the Jarl keep his word?”
“Father is well. He’s still imprisoned in the tower, but no harm has come to him. I make sure to visit him every night. You should know, Rothan, Jarl Bardawulf has fallen ill.”
“He’s been ill for years.”
“He is even worse. Bedridden now.”
“Serves the bastard right,” Tovir spat. “Should kick the bucket soon enough. He thinks he can—”
“Tovir, he is still our Jarl,” I interrupted, “and he deserves our due respect.”
“Says the man who’s going to ram his daughter and take his seat.”
“Our marriage will not be for the flesh. It will be for Wolf Rein, for its need of a proper leader.” I turned to my brother again. “How bad is the Jarl’s condition, Yorbrand?”
“The court healer says he has a moon left, perhaps less.”
“Looks like things are working out in your favor,” Kyra muttered. These were her first words to me the entire journey back.
“Enough, from both of you!” I glanced toward her and Tovir.
Kyra’s jaw clenched and she rode away from me.
“Forgive me, Kyra,” I said but trailed off as she rode away. Her somber mood was understandable, but she had turned to be rather biting in her comments, toward Quistainn who she called a Eunuch, to Bellabel who she called… a whore. And so on. I gave her much patience on account of losing her brother, but I was human too, and my beast had even less patience.
“She’ll be alright,” Tovir said. “Just needs to drink and wander the forest killing some things for a while.” He turned his horse and rode after her.
We continued riding and the crowd following us only grew bigger.
Once we were through Stone Mantle’s gate, I climbed the steps to the entrance of the main keep. I gazed down at the crowd of young and old, rich and poor. Guards had been gathering in the courtyard. Some looked upon us suspiciously, others with admiration. “People of Wolf Rein!” I shouted out, gathering everyone’s attention. “I present to you, the sword of the Orc warlord, Ghazrak Thousand Fangs!” I raised the black blade into the air.
The crowd sighed in awe, and cheered in victory and relief that they had not witnessed the blade at the front of a horde charging into our Jarldom.
“Captain,” I said to the leader of Jarl Bardawulf’s guards, “I wish not to disturb Jarl Bardawulf’s rest. Take me to see the Jarl’s daughter.”
“I… must ask if she will receive you first.”
“Do you really think she will not receive the hero of this people, the one who just saved the entire Jarldom from doom?” I held my hand out to the castle courtyard, that was packed so that people had to watch from wagons, from stairs, from battlements, all cheering, waving wreaths and weapons. “Do you hear that people of Wolf Rein? This guard thinks I will be unwelcome by my lady Siv!” The crowd shouted such malice at the guard—flinging food as well as insults—that though he was a trained soldier he seemed utterly overwhelmed and unsure what to do.
I looked him dead in the eye. “Take me to see my future wife.”
Quistainn and I walked down the arched castle hall, escorted by four of the Jarl’s guards. My cleric companion insisted on guarding me from any would be conspirators.
“It’s alright, Quistainn,” I said, “I am in Wolf Rein now, be at ease.”
Quistainn nodded and stood while the rest of us carried on. There was a look of unease on his face. I did not worry.
With the jarl even weaker, it would be Siv who the guards would listen to, at least as long as the Jarl lived. She could free my father, as well as bring order to Wolf Rein by entering into our pledged marriage.
I entered the luxurious chamber. Siv and her lady attendant Margaret were there, dressed in brocaded dresses. Various tomes and scrolls were laid out on tables.
“Guards,” I intoned, without looking back at them, “let me speak to lady Siv in private.”
“My lady,” the guard said inquiringly. She nodded her assent and the guards left the chamber.
“Lady Margaret,” I nodded to her as she made to leave the chamber as well.
“Lord Rothan,” she greeted me politely, a subtle smile on her face.
As all left Siv’s quarters, I turned to my lady. “Apparently I am a lord now.”
“And a Hammer, and a Fenrir, a... Wolf Blade, and perhaps soon you shall take the title of god too.”
“I did not come up with the title. My men did. It was after the battle at the Osko river crossing…Skullgrave... it is not important.” I stepped closer to her. “Siv, You should have received me before the crowd.”
“How dare I not receive the ‘Wolf Blade’ with garlands, feasts, a troupe of the finest trumpeters and bards.”
“You think I am that petty? You should have received me to win your people’s favor. Ruling together will require the people approving of both of us. For good or ill, they see me returning a hero; you shunning me like this only proves to them that you truly are how they see you: a self-absorbed lady who feels she is too above the common folk to mix with them, but remains locked up in her tower, trying on new dresses and sampling fine foods worth more than their homes.”
“Ah so that’s how they see me. You know what I’m doing here, Wolf Blade?”
“Will you stop calling me that?”
“This is what I’m doing here.” She paced over to her desk, brought back a scroll. “I am researching medical texts, to cure my father. Writing to healers all over Skald, and some even in the Southern Lands. And while my father is bedridden, I am going over taxes and expenses. I am writing letters to noble families, arranging for new trade routes, for resolving farming border conflicts, writing family birth records that we might have a census as the Empire does, studying the common law and finding ways to improve that which is too archaic and impractical—did you know a man can be beheaded selling quidfish with five fins instead of four?”
Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem Page 25
