Belly of the Beast

by Warren Thomas

  BELLY OF THE BEAST

  By

  Warren Thomas

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Rollicking Dragon Press

  Copyright 2021 by Warren Thomas

  Cover by Willsin Rowe

  Cover Art by Vanette Kosman

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and locations within either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental. All characters in this story are 18 years old or older.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  List of other books by Warren

  About the Author

  Belly of the Beast

  Tane Kyleson lifted the glowing length of steel and eyed it critically. The blade was almost the right color for the final ritual to give the sword life and a good temper. The barrel of blessed bear’s blood sat to his left, with his father beside it watching him and the blade with a critical eye.

  “Steady, boy,” Kyle said. A little pride crept into his stern face. “Patience.”

  It felt good to see the pleasure in his father’s face. Kyle Raymondson was the greatest swordsmith in the region, swordsmith to princes, dukes, and barons. And Tane had to admit, the blade in his gloved hand was the finest he had ever made.

  A hero’s sword, for certain, he thought.

  It was a regular enough looking sword, nothing ornate like the nobility wore, but had a double fuller instead of a single. And if he ever decided to sell it, Tane could dress it up with a fancy hilt.

  “And there it is!”

  The color of the blade was perfect. Without hesitation Tane thrust the glowing sword all the way into the deep red bear’s blood, until his arm was immersed halfway to the elbow.

  Tane named the blade, “Bearclaw!”

  The blood hissed and boiled, foul smelling steam erupting up into Tane’s face. The whole shop suddenly reeked of cooking bear’s blood. The blood quickly rose in temperature as it cooled the precious blade at just the right speed, while he listened intently for that telltale ting that said a blade cracked during the quench.

  Nothing, until the very blood began to glow. Tane felt hot and cold flow up his arm. He almost released the blade.

  “Something wrong?” his father asked.

  Tane pulled the blade out and laid it across the shop’s small altar to Kamain, God of the Forge and Smiths. It remained perfectly straight and unblemished.

  “No. I just…” he said. “It was nothing. My mind wandered for a second.”

  His father leaned over to look at the sword. “It’s a beautiful blade.”

  “Thank you. I worked so hard on it.”

  A big grin spread across Tane’s face. I did it!

  Quickly removing the heavy, blood-soaked glove and wiping his bloody hands on a waiting towel to clean his fingers, Tane began drawing the Leltic runes of victory, bravery, and strength in the blood along one side of the blade while chanting the required prayer. Then flipping it over, he used a clean finger to write the sword’s name on the other side.

  “A good name, Tane,” Kyle said. “I, too, named my Master Blade after Kamain.”

  The bear was sacred to the God of the Forge and Smiths, and was His animal manifestation.

  A noble beast, Tane thought with a smile of pride, And my Master Sword is just as noble.

  Reverently carrying the blood-dripping blade over to the forge, Tane placed it in a wrought iron stand over the fire. The qualities inscribed in the blood would be imbedded within the steel once the sacred bear’s blood dried. Then Tane would clean, polish, and test the blade.

  “Thank you, Kamain, for guiding my hand and blessing my work,” Tane said, bowing to first the small altar, then the sword. Finally, he grinned at his father, “And I finished just in time for dinner, if my stomach and nose are any judge.”

  Kyle took a deep breath, smiling contentedly, “Smells like roast pork. By Kamain’s Hammer, I swear that woman can cook! And your uncle said I was crazy to marry a wild forest born Lelt! His civilized wife makes him do the cooking!”

  “I haven’t heard him complaining much,” Tane said, grinning just as fiercely as his father. “To hear him tell it, he doesn’t let her cook.”

  “Ha! No wonder,” Kyle laughed. “I ate her cooking once. I was sick for a week. She can’t boil water without detailed instructions. And adult supervision.”

  Tane chuckled as he stripped off his leathern apron before the rain barrel and began washing the blood, sweat and grime off his face, arms and bare upper body. Like his father, he had short-cropped brown hair and blue eyes, and the stout body and musculature of a long line of smiths. At six feet, he was a six inches shorter than his Jarlander father. His father’s side of the family always clicked their tongues woefully and lamented on how his “dwarfish” stature came from his Leltic mother’s blood. Then everyone would grin and wink at her.

  His mother gave him his pug nose and right to bear the sacred tattoos of her tribe and clan. Tane had already earned all he was allowed. Blue geometric t
attoos encircled both wrists and the upper arms halfway up from the elbow to make him strong and brave. A vertical bar of intricate, interlaced geometric designs and oak leaves ran the length of his spine to give him the strength and pride of the mighty oak, with a final circle of the same design tattooed on his chest to protect his heart from demons. He was not a warrior, so was denied facial tattooed by Tribal custom.

  “Do you think the sword will be enough to gain me a place in the Royal Smithy?” Tane said as he cleaned up.

  There were rumors of war, and the king had even called for all the village levies to begin training in earnest. Tane saw it as his big chance. If he could join the Royal Smithy as a swordsmith for the king, he would gain both status and wealth. Status, for only the finest smiths were employed by the Royal Smithy, and wealth because the king paid in good gold by the sword produced. If the war lasted long enough, he would have the reputation and means to set up a forge anywhere he wanted.

  “If you can avoid the army,” Kyle said, frowning.

  Tane nodded sagely. His father had been “inducted” into the army to produce swords in his youth. He received soldiers pay, and bad rations. He spent half his time welding together broken blades after battles. The latter had been the worst part, for he knew the poor souls who were issued those defective blades were as good as dead.

  “I’ll be careful,” Tane said, remembering the disturbing dreams he had recently endured.

  In the previous night’s dream, nightmare really, he was slaving over an impossibly hot forge, on the most splendid blade he could imagine. Only a Royal Smithy could produce such swords, and only for the highest nobles and generals, so he knew where he had to go. But there was an oppressive presence hovering near, threatening blackest death and despair. The blackness was closing in, closer and closer as he worked more and more frantically. Somehow, he just knew he had to finish that particular sword before.... And that’s where he always woke; never knowing what was threatening him. Tane believed it was a sign from Kamain that he was needed in the war, so he was going to the city of Kestsax to serve King Borric.

  “Ashtar strike me down if that isn’t the handsomest man I ever did see!” Aunt Mercia cried as she and Uncle Calvan came in off the street, trailed by their six towheaded daughters. She stumped over to Tane on her peg leg and gave him a fierce hug. “And just the way I like my men, half-naked!”

  Tane blushed bright, casting quick eyes back toward the door into the house. His mother never approved of Aunt Mercia’s loud and brazen ways, even though everyone knew the ex-warrior was harmless, and intensely loyal to her beloved husband.

  Uncle Calvan had met and fallen in love with the friendly, golden-haired Amazon while serving as a mercenary with her in the western Jarlands. They had campaigned together for five years before Mercia lost her left leg at the knee, ending her soldiering days forever. Once Calvan finished his contract, he and Mercia returned to his home village. He bought out the village farrier and he and Mercia made a life for themselves.

  “Auntie, you’re looking good today,” Tane said. Then he looked at her in mock shock, “Auntie Mercia, where’s your sword? Who is going to protect your helpless daughters from all those graspy men?”

  The younger four girls giggled, but the two eldest gave Tane stern looks of defiance. Jessica, the eldest, and just two years Tane’s junior, even jutted out her jaw challengingly.

  “We can fend for ourselves, cousin,” Jessy declared, bright green eyes flashing. “We’re warrior-born.”

  “And I hear you are as fierce as a cornered boar, Jessy,” Tane said, winking.

  “Jessy whipped the miller’s son yester-eve,” the youngest declared proudly.

  “I heard,” Tane said, struggling to keep his smile. Jessy wouldn’t be the least bit flattered if she knew how close he came to going over and stomping on that bastard himself. The nerve of Deke asking Jessy to do that! “I also heard that old man Heddwyn wanted your Pa to horse whip Jessy for it.”

  “Pa laughed,” Jessy said, grinning at the memory.

  “Man can’t fend for himself, it’s pretty pathetic to expect others to do it for him,” Calvan said. “Besides, Jessy wasn’t the one I would’ve horse-whipped.”

  “Oh, Pa,” Jessy said, rolling her eyes, but grinning all the while. She looked at Tane smugly, saying, “Ma’s been teaching me sword and spear, and how to ride war horses.”

  “Yeah? Well, if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll teach you humility,” Tane said, causing the assembled adults to break up laughing.

  Jessy just simmered.

  “Now don’t you be talking so disrespectfully to a lady,” Tane’s mother said from the door, a tiny smile threatening to steal away her stern look.

  “Oh, Aunt Mattie,” Jessy breathed dramatically.

  Tane hugged Jessy, and then turned her toward the door. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and led the way into the house. Everyone quickly filed in and took their usual place at the long oaken table. Kyle and Mattie’s family was on the north side, with Calvan and Mercia’s family on the south. The adults sat in the middle of their children, to better serve the little ones, while as the eldest children Tane and Jessy sat at the ends.

  Joseph, Tane’s younger brother by two years, sat between him and their father. Ten year old Kandy sat between her parents, while five year old Oscar sat on the other side of their mother and refused to eat a thing. Seeing his father had his hands full with Kandy, who was playing some childish word game with her cousin Sara across the table and didn’t want to eat any more than Oscar, Tane watched them wistfully. Until that moment, he never believed he’d miss such mayhem.

  “I should be the one going to Kestsax tomorrow,” Jessy declared down the table. “I’m the warrior, after all. But Ma and Pa won’t sign for me to join the army. Ain’t fair. I’ll be sixteen next month, and got my full growth. I’m a grown woman.”

  “You’re still a child, so shut up and eat your peas,” Mercia said, then shuttered. “I was sixteen when I joined the Amazon Imperial Army, and quickly came to wish my Ma and Pa had refused to sign for me. Armies are not nice places for young girls to be.”

  “Ain’t going to matter much,” Jessy said. “War’s coming to us. That’s what I heard in the village green today. So I’ll just fight here with the levy, instead of with the Royal Army where I could do the most good.”

  “Who said the war was coming here?” Tane said.

  “Merchants. Said the roads south of here are full of refugees,” she said. “Word is they’re hounded by zombie monsters and undead fiends.”

  Memories of his nightmare returned, filling his head for a long moment.

  “Bah! Rumors, that’s all,” Calvan said, dismissing it all with a wave of the hand. “Every war I ever fought in had rumors like that. They always seemed to have some evil wizards and such going around and bespelling nice folks like us, or raising the dead, to make them do terrible things. Never happened in all my years of campaigning, not even once.”

  “That’s right,” Mercia said. “When we finally came face to face with the enemy on the field, they were just folks like us. They all died real good, too.”

  “I don’t know,” Jessy said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Those men seemed awful spooked, and they were Tyrians, too.”

  Everyone stopped eating, staring at her in surprise. Tyrians never got spooked. They were utterly fearless, or so Tane had always heard. Then he recalled his dream, of the soul-numbing feeling of doom and despair slowly descending upon him as he worked frantically to finish his swords.

  When Tane glanced up, he saw his mother staring worriedly at him. She didn’t want him to go, had argued against it from the beginning. She was afraid for his safety, fearing she’d never see him again. Tane had dismissed it as typical mother-worry. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Well, if there really is an army on the march, and heading our way, then the king will need a good swordsmith,” Tane said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Cha
pter 2

  Bracklin was still sleeping when Tane stepped out of the only home he had ever known. The two-story half-timbered house was the only one lit at that early hour, with the houses crowded in to either side and across the street eerily dark and quiet. Only a lone wolf in the distance broke the silence of the pre-dawn.

  Tane wore new-made trousers and tunic of good cotton, with a thick woolen cloak draped over his thick shoulders. He wore the hunting boots Uncle Calvan had given him on his last birthday. The night air was unusually brisk for early autumn. It looked to be an especially rough winter.

  His sword, Bearclaw, rested in its scabbard on his left hip. Tane was still getting used to the weight and feel of it. Smiths didn’t carry swords, not even swordsmiths. It felt strange, though vaguely comforting.

  Tane lovingly caressed Bearclaw’s bright steel pommel. He had stayed up late finishing up sharpening and polishing the blade. The neighbors would probably have a few curt words for his father later this morning about all the noise they made testing it. He felt guilty, it being past midnight and all before the sword was finally ready for the test. But Bearclaw didn’t break, and polished up brilliantly.

  “Wait’ll they see what I can do,” he muttered with a grin. “Master Tane of the Royal Smithy sounds pretty good, and oh so right, to my ears.”

  “And mine, too,” his mother said, startling him.

  “Ma! You scared ten years off me,” he cried. “Pa’s right. We need to put a bell around your ankle, or something. Always going around sneaking up on folks.”

  “Be careful, Tane,” she said, for once not rising to the bait. “I’ll miss you.”

  Oh, Kamain, save me, he thought. She’s going to start crying again.

  “Don’t worry, Ma,” he said, stroking her back. “We both know swordsmiths are too valuable to risk. I’ll stay safe and sound back in Kestsax while the army goes out and smashes the invaders. Please don’t worry.”

  She nodded teary-eyed. “Now you be careful of those nasty city girls. They are wanton, and only want to steal your hard-earned pay. Totally amoral, I tell you. They’ll break your heart, and laugh at your tears.”

  “Oh, Ma. Please, I’m a grown man.”

  Tane sighed wearily. He had been hearing that same speech every day since announcing his intentions of going to Kestsax to serve the king.