The Chronicles of Caylen-Tor

by Byron A. Roberts

  “You are overmatched,” the Serpent King growled exultantly.

  “We shall see,” replied Caylen.

  Roaring an oath, Caylen loosed a flurry of mighty strokes against Sauruuk, his silvern steel blazing like a bolt of storm-born lightning. Each strike was met disdainfully by the serpent’s serrated sword and the two warriors locked blades, their weapons grinding and keening in a primeval test of raw, martial might.

  “Why do you risk your life for these savages, human?” slavered Sauruuk. “They mean nothing to you.”

  “They are my kinsmen, regardless of their tribe,” rasped Caylen through gritted teeth. “And I shall not suffer them to die beneath the cruel yoke of an inhuman tyrant!”

  “How valiant of you,” gnarred the Serpent King, his forked tongue darting forth from between his grooved fangs. “And how foolish.”

  With preternatural strength, Sauruuk then proceeded to push his foe back, raining a series of pitiless blows upon the beleaguered clansman. Caylen met each strike desperately, his bones shaking from the naked force of the juddering impacts. Slowly, the Wolf-King was driven towards the edge of the calescent trench, his axe weaving an instinctive and fulgent web of defence against the unyielding onslaught of blackened steel. Finally, Caylen stood teetering upon the gaping precipice, scarcely one step from a headlong plunge into fiery oblivion. Hammering a final withering blow against his enemy’s resolute guard, Sauruuk hooked his sword’s jagged quillons behind Caylen’s axe haft and wrenched the weapon furiously from the clansman’s grasp. The mighty wolf-axe tumbled from Caylen’s hands, spiralling gracefully down into the incandescent chasm until it struck the roiling lava with a strident hiss where it was swiftly reduced to little more than scintillant slag.

  “Damn your ophidian eyes!” seethed Caylen. “I liked that axe!”

  “Join it then,” Sauruuk sneered, drawing back his serrated blade for another blow. “Allow me to grant you the solace of death, as I smite your ruin in the black mountain’s fiery blood!”

  Dropping instantly to one knee, Caylen dragged his sword desperately from its scabbard and rolled clear of the trench’s parlous edge, clambering swiftly to his feet once more in the centre of the grim arena.

  Sauruuk slowly turned to face his foe, his yellow eyes narrowing malevolently. “I have toyed with thee long enough. Prepare to die, manling.”

  Vaulting forward with startling speed, the Serpent King directed a devastating strike at Caylen’s head, but the clansman lithely ducked beneath the black sword’s cruel arc and drove the searing edge of Wolf’s Tooth against Sauruuk’s lamellar cuirass, sundering the eldritch armour and opening a grievous wound in the snake-lord’s scaly flesh.

  A discordant wave of shocked gasps and fully voiced oaths surged through the assembled ranks of the watching armies and a ragged cheer abruptly arose from the tribesmen of the Black Mountain.

  His ophidian eyes wide in surprise, Sauruuk glanced down at his abdomen to see a great gout of viscid green blood erupt from the dire wound. “Deftly done, human.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up,” smiled Caylen, wiping sweat from his furrowed brow. “Your thralls have just learned that you’re not a god after all.”

  “Bah!” roared Sauruuk, hefting his sword and advancing once again upon his foe. “This paltry rabble I now command is as nothing compared to the glorious legions of elite serpent warriors who once marched beneath my banner! I was marshalling invincible armies in battle when your puling ancestors were still foraging from the branches of trees!”

  “I’m sure,” smiled Caylen coldly.

  Sauruuk bared his gleaming fangs. “I find your surfeit of faithlessness disheartening.”

  Once again, the two blood-clad monarchs traded pitiless blows, their spell-forged steel ringing with the timeless clarion of struggle and slaughter. Sauruuk’s envenomed sword found its mark once more and another red testament of war became etched into Caylen’s corded thews. In return, the Wolf-King’s blade bit deep into the serried hide of his ancient nemesis and the snake-lord’s flesh grudgingly yielded its viridian ichor.

  “I cannot be bested, manling,” rumbled the Serpent King. “All for which you now strive shall be in vain, this I promise you.”

  “Your hubris will be your undoing, Sauruuk.”

  “Is it hubris to seek to ensure the survival of one’s own people?” snarled Sauruuk. “My race fades inexorably from the face of creation. The handful of surviving brood-queens are diseased, afflicted by some nameless, insidious malady. Each spawning season, fewer and fewer of the royal eggs hatch successfully. While your cursed kind breeds in abundance, infesting every corner of the globe, spreading like a simian plague!”

  Caylen’s brow arched. “Perhaps you must simply accept the fact that the time of the serpent has passed and the age of man has dawned.”

  The fires of a righteous rage flared suddenly within the Serpent King’s eyes. “Never! This world was beautiful once… a terrifying and primal paradise. Now it is nothing but a filthy charnel-pit of chittering apes!”

  Sauruuk suddenly charged at Caylen with renewed vigour, his black blade awhirl. A fearful flurry of blows pelted pitilessly down upon the Wolf-King as the two titans waged their dire struggle in the brooding shadow of the Black Mountain. Neither warrior sought quarter in the harrowing exchange of strikes, nor gave it. The strident clash of steel echoed throughout the clearing and the surrounding verdure as the trenchant swords of serpent and man met time and time again in a resonant thunder-song of rage and unshakable resolve. Fulgent showers of sparks blossomed from the dire discourse of the blades as the iron-thewed champions of their peoples wheeled and leaped in that martial dance of death and bloodlust.

  Slowly, the withering toll wrought by the jungle’s torrid clime and the ineffable might of the enraged Serpent King began to weaken Caylen’s defence. Each juddering blow sent a lance-sharp surge of pain coursing through the clansman’s rippling muscles as his hulking adversary tirelessly pressed his unwavering attack. The serrulate blade of the war-frenzied Serpent King inexorably continued to exact its sanguineous price from Caylen’s thews as the reaver’s guard increasingly yielded to the insistent onslaught, and a litany of vivid crimson furrows became etched into his storm-coarsened flesh. Finally, a bone-shaking, calamitous strike dashed Caylen to his knees and the Serpent King loomed over his faltering nemesis, his ophidian eyes bright with fury. Half a heartbeat later, the great saurian liege exultantly drew back his great notched blade to deliver the deathblow. But in that fleeting instant, Caylen struck, driving his northern steel mercilessly into Sauruuk’s armoured abdomen. The wolf-blade bit deep, cleaving through the lamellar scutes, rending flesh and muscle to sink a full ten inches into the Serpent King’s mighty, squamate frame. Bellowing with primal rage and shock, Sauruuk stumbled backwards as Caylen dragged his sword free amidst a fountain of bright green blood.

  Rising to his feet, the Wolf-King vaulted towards his wounded foe just as Sauruuk surged forth in a final desperate, pain-maddened attack, his jagged blade poised to deliver a cataclysmic blow. The rune-etched steel of Wolf’s Tooth parried the devastating strike with a stentorian din more deafening than any tempestuous peal of thunder and Caylen instantly spun the sword with a deftness honed by innumerable duels to hack into Sauruuk’s scaly forearm. In a scintillant flash of pattern-welded fury, the broad blade sheared through sinew and bone to cleanly sever the fibrous limb of the Serpent King. The taloned hand and the serrated blade it held tumbled to the earth as viscid, viridian blood pulsed freely from Sauruuk’s riven stump. A deathly silence abruptly enshrouded the ashen arena, nary a sound fleeing the gaping mouths of the rapt and enthralled watchers as they found themselves compelled to solemn wordlessness, humbly aware that they were mute witnesses to a confrontation the likes of which no living being had beheld for nigh on two millennia.

  “This ends now,” rasped Caylen, painfully brandishing his dripping blade. “You are finished. The day of your dethronement has dawned!”
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  Drawing breath in short, ragged gasps, Sauruuk slowly fell to one knee, his crimson tongue lolling from his maw. “Never, human!” The bulging, scaly folds of the Serpent King’s throat abruptly swelled outward and from Sauruuk’s jaws erupted a viscid cascade of hot, yellow venom. The scalding ichor spattered Caylen’s face and neck, its blistering touch bringing with it a rush of searing pain. The clansman stumbled backwards, desperately striving to wipe the foul and caustic discharge from his eyes and lips. Seizing his opportunity, Sauruuk cast his gaze suddenly toward the assembled ranks of serpent warriors, swiftly extended his remaining hand. Instantly, the mounted snake-man who held the Serpent King’s cobra-staff hurled the gnarled sceptre aloft. The sorcerous stave spiralled gracefully through the air, but before it could reach Sauruuk’s waiting grasp, the blade of Wolf’s Tooth flashed in the sunlight, intercepting the weapon at the height of its arc and shearing the black haft asunder. With a viridescent explosion of arcane energy, the crystalline head of the ensorcelled staff abruptly shattered into countless, miniscule shards. Cold, guttural laughter suddenly welled in Sauruuk’s throat. “Well played, sirrah.”

  Caylen strode slowly toward his fallen adversary, still clearing the vile and acrid poison from his mouth. “That was a sly and devious trick, Sauruuk. I am fortunate indeed to have been rendered immune to your foul venom.”

  “More than you shall ever know,” rumbled Sauruuk, an ever-widening pool of his own viridian blood gathering beneath him.

  “Now you present me with a quandary,” growled Caylen, lifting his sword. “Your defeat has been witnessed by every man and serpent present here, and they all heard you swear your oath to me.”

  “Cease your prattling and slay me, if that is your intent,” hissed the Serpent King, clutching the dire wound in his abdomen.

  Caylen smiled mirthlessly. “Do I deliver this final blow in mercy or in vengeance? Or shall I spare your life? Is living out the remainder of your days burdened with the knowledge that you were bested by a mere human penance enough?”

  Sauruuk’s lip curled and his cranial ridges flared a deep shade of scarlet. “My life is not for any man to give or take!” he snarled furiously.

  With astonishing speed, the Serpent King suddenly lunged forward, embracing Caylen in an iron grip and barrelling him brutally from his feet. The two warriors crashed to the earth and scudded towards the edge of the wide trench, the Wolf-King’s sword spinning from his grasp. Sauruuk’s curved talons raked Caylen’s chest as they tumbled as one over the rim of the lethal precipice. Instinctively, Caylen grasped the side of the jagged furrow, his fingers digging painfully into the rocky surface to which he then clung in grim desperation, flailing perilously above the mortiferous chasm. But Sauruuk was not so fortunate, for the Serpent King’s momentum carried his great bulk over the edge of the pit and he tumbled headlong into the fiery abyss to ultimately meet the sea of rutilant lava which seethed and roiled pitilessly in the searing depths below.

  Caylen slowly dragged his battered body from the rim of the trench, blood coursing freely from the myriad grievous wounds which he had suffered. He then climbed arduously to his feet and recovered his sword. Bone weary, he turned to face the waiting horde of the Serpent King. “Thralls of Sauruuk, now you must choose whether or not you shall honour your fallen master’s oath. Your king is vanquished! He fell before my steel in fair combat!”

  The assembled serpent warriors exchanged pensive glances, murmuring amongst themselves in hushed and sibilant tones. The human tribesmen within their ranks now appeared to wear dazed and bewildered expressions, gazing anxiously at their comrades as if they had suddenly awoken from a fever-dream.

  Caylen’s voice rang out resonantly as he addressed the gathering once more. “Men of this isle… return to your tribes, for your servitude is at an end. There shall be no more sacrifices to the snake god! Kinfolk of the serpent, you may flee unharried to your lairs within the jungle. I shall visit no retribution upon you, this I vow. But if ever you deign to move against the tribes of man, know that you will face my wrath, and be assured that the ire of the Wolf-King is a terrible thing indeed! Heed me when I say that the people of this island are henceforth under my protection. The protection of Caylen-Tor!”

  A thunderous and exultant cheer arose from the tribe of the Black Mountain as the army of Sauruuk promptly began to disperse. The serpent-riders grudgingly wheeled their hulking mounts and rode away into the dense verdure, gradually followed by the grim-visaged reptilian foot soldiers. Those of Sauruuk’s human warriors who hailed from the tribe of Akamai slowly began to cross the clearing towards their kinsmen, while the men of the island’s other tribes melted slowly away into the adumbral expanse of the jungle.

  Nalani and a group of tribal warriors leaped the span of the chasm and rushed joyously to Caylen’s side, their eyes bright with renewed hope and heartfelt gratitude.

  “You look like you’ve been mauled by a sabre-cat,” breathed Nalani as she firmly gripped Caylen’s arm and surveyed the innumerable wounds which were etched upon his ravaged flesh.

  “I feel even worse,” growled Caylen, wincing as the pain of his injuries surged through his body. “I’d give anything for a good horn of northern ale!”

  At length, Akamai appeared before Caylen and inclined his head in reverence. “And so, outlander, the prophecy is fulfilled. The dominion of the Serpent King is ended.”

  “Has Sauruuk’s black sorcery perished with him?” asked Caylen with a scowl.

  Akamai nodded. “The venom-magick will fade and the spell’s power will weaken. In time, the minds of the tribesmen he enthralled will be free of his vile influence.”

  “And will the Serpent King’s warriors truly go in peace, old man?”

  Akamai sighed wearily. “Perhaps. For now, they will crawl back to their nests. There will they seethe and brood, reflecting upon their lord’s defeat and perpetuating their age-old enmity against us. For a time, they will remain silent and unseen, but the day may come when they will once more gather their forces and seek revenge.”

  Nalani’s violet eyes sparkled, her hands tracing the contours of Caylen’s bloodied chest. “And on that day, Caylen-Tor will be there to meet them!”

  “Mayhap, lass,” said Caylen. “But it is still my intention to return to my clan across the sea. The Serpent King spoke of other mystic portals hidden beneath the mountains. I mean to find those sorcerous gateways and make my way home.”

  Caylen watched as a frown crossed Nalani’s elfin face, her delicate brow furrowing in despondency.

  “The caverns beneath this island are vast and fraught with peril,” mused Akamai. “The ancient carvings of the elders speak of hidden passageways which lead to the world below… the legendary realm of the undying sun!”

  “Then I shall delve into those caverns,” enounced Caylen. “Once my wounds have healed, of course. Mayhap I’ll raid Sauruuk’s vault first and take with me some of the jewels he was boasting about.”

  “But that is a journey for another day,” said Nalani. “For now, we must return to our village, and celebrate the victory of our king!”

  Caylen sighed, the trace of a wry smile touching his lips. “Very well. I shall tarry here a while, and honour the traditions of your people. The folk of this tribe are brave and noble souls, without a doubt. So, by the gods, I’ll damn well show them how a clansman carouses!”

  Smiling radiantly, Nalani took Caylen’s hand and led him swiftly from the shadow of the great black mountain.

  And so, Caylen-Tor remained with the tribe of Nalani for a time, presiding over the noble savages of the Black Mountain as he recovered from his grievous wounds and ruminated upon his destiny. At length, he bade farewell to the tribesmen of the verdant jungle and ventured deep into the labyrinthine caverns which brooded beneath the ensorcelled atoll, there seeking the mystic gateways which might bear him home to the grim and distant lands of his northern clan. His journey to the interior world of the Undying Sun was indeed fraught with i
neffable peril and matchless wonder, but what the Wolf-King discovered within that hoary and fiend-haunted domain is a tale for another time…

  Appendices

  CHRONICLES OF THE ANTEDILUVIAN WARS, Volume IX:

  Histories of the Kings and Queens of the Ancient World Before the Second Great Cataclysm

  Part VI: Caylen-Tor and the Empress Zyrashana (The Rise and Fall of the Witch-Queen’s Dominion)

  Military historians have conducted extensive research into the early life of the northlander king known as Caylen-Tor, although admittedly much of the lore gathered by their investigations has been derived from obscure clan legendry and the myriad sagas recounted by tribal skalds and bards. Born into the Clan of the Wolf in the wind-whipped, hardscrabble territories south of the Snow Jarldoms, Caylen was the son of the renowned tribal warrior Culain-Ulvur and the grandson of the infamous reaver Black Vargr, the Iron Butcher of the Tundra. His mother was reputed to have been a mysterious shamaness who held court in the shadowed depths of the eldritch Forest of Darkenhold. (The significance of Caylen’s ancestral connection to Darkenhold and the legendary Forest King of tribal myth is explored in a subsequent volume of the Chronicles of the Antediluvian Wars.) It is unclear whether Caylen’s far-famed epithet “The Wolf of the North” was acquired before or after his acquisition of the tribal crown, but the moniker was certainly already being widely applied to him during the period concurrent with his victory at Blackhelm Vale. As for the Wolf-King’s exploits prior to his tenure as king, it is known that Caylen ventured south during his early adulthood to seek adventure, swiftly learning the common trade-tongue spoken by most of the civilized nations west of the satrapies. Embarking on many perilous expeditions and quests in the exotic lands beyond his tribal borders, Caylen soon earned considerable renown as a sell-sword, most notably enlisting in the mercenary ranks of the Vyrgothian Alliance and seeing action at the siege of Gul-Azlaan against the Koord Imperium. Some years after the siege, Caylen returned to his rugged homeland and set about uniting his people under the aegis of a single tribal king. Initially being appointed chieftain of his own Wolf Clan after winning the tribal combat rite of holmganga, Caylen’s path to securing the unified throne was similarly fraught with copious amounts of bloodshed and battle. It is clear that his tumultuous rule of the newly united realm as the “Uth-Tor” (the One King) was ceaselessly harried by secessionist murmurings and the threat of outright revolt. There were many within the upper echelons of the disparate tribal governments who viewed the rule of an over-king as a direct threat to their own clan sovereignty and as a debasement of cultural and ancestral traditions.