The rest of the Jotens were scattered throughout the camp, their mood somber and sad. They looked more like an army defeated than one that had just won a major victory. He knew it was more than his father’s wounds that ate at his people’s soul.
Muttering a quick prayer to Gaul, he unfastened his baldric and pulled out an ancient medallion he hadn’t worn in ten years. Holding the medallion in one hand and his baldric in the other, Grunk took a deep breath and stepped into the firelight.
* * * * *
Geiryon was old. He was approaching his seventy-fifth winter and was the oldest serving warrior in the Joten army. He had served Thantos’ father as an aide-de-camp and had seen the slow downfall of this once proud army. Looking down at his Jarl, it was obvious that Thantos was dying. Not so much from the wounds inflicted by the barbarian leader but from the humiliation at the hands of an ally. Thantos had lost the will to live.
Watching the witchdoctor place leeches and maggots on his Jarl’s wounds was almost more than the proud warrior could stand. Turning away, Geiryon stepped out of the stuffy tent and into the cool night air and breathed deep. On this night he felt the years as they lay heavy on his shoulders. With Thantos dying and his sons lost, Geiryon knew that a bloody civil war was in the future for his people.
He paused in his reflections as three guards approached with pikes lowered. They were herding a heavily armored Joten warrior before them. Geiryon felt his pulse quicken as he did a double take; the warrior held the ancient crest of the Jarl in his hands. Other than Thantos, Geiryon knew of only one joten alive that bore that crest and he had been exiled for over ten years by the Jarl.
* * * * *
Grunk tried to relax as the guards escorted him with pikes lowered to the tent of his father. The angry words spoken by both of them kept replaying in his memory. He knew it was a gamble to attempt to see his father, one that could cost him his life.
An imposing figure stood in the dim light of the tent entrance. Dressed in battered chainmail, the armor had seen better days yet had been patched with pride. Where Grunk’s skin was coal black like his father’s, this Joten’s skin was more of a dark reddish hue; like that of a hot burning coal. When he spoke, his voice was deep and held the aura of command.
“You should not be here Grunk.”
“It is by Gaul’s will that I find myself here Geiryon,” Grunk replied. “It was not my choice, it was my calling. Who am I to deny the gods?”
Geiryon stepped into the firelight. “You know it is punishable by death to speak his name.”
Grunk shrugged. “I know it was the law of the Jarl, my father and his father before that. It is not the law of our people nor is it my law.”
“I could have you killed just for speaking the name of he who should not be named.”
Grunk shook his head. “I know the law Geiryon. Only the Jarl can order summary execution and unless my eye deceives me, you are not wearing the medallion of the Jarl.” Grunk waved his pendant slightly for effect. “Therefore, my father still lives and I demand to see him.”
Geiryon bowed his head slightly. “You are correct. You bear the medallion so I cannot refuse your request.” Stepping aside, Geiryon gestured to the entrance. “You may enter. Just leave your weapons at the door.”
“Do you think me a fool? No Joten warrior is ever without his weapons.” Grunk laughed and thought he caught a glimpse of a smirk on Geiryon’s face before the stoic facade snapped back into place.
Geiryon bowed again. “As you wish. Your father lies within; go to him.”
Stepping into the darkness of the tent, Grunk had no idea what to expect. The last time he had talked with his father it had been far from cordial. In fact, it had been a full blown argument that cumulated with the palace guards rushing in on them after his father had thrown a table against a wall.
Yet even in his anger, his father had been so strong, so vibrant and so full of life. The broken, leech covered body lying before him was nothing like his memories.
A heavily robed figure moved into view and hissed. “The Jarl is dying. You of all people should not be here.”
Grunk slowly removed his helmet before fixing his one red eye on the smaller cyclops. “You can leave now.”
“I am the Jarl’s physician. I answer only to him.”
Speaking slowly, Grunk set down his helmet. “You have two choices; walk out of here now or I will throw you out.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You’re right, there is a third option. I kill you where you stand and have the guards remove your corpse at my leisure.”
The witch doctor blanched when he realized that Grunk wasn’t kidding. Muttering to himself, the witch doctor decided that he had somewhere else to be, collected his pouches and departed.
Grunk sat down and began to remove the leeches from his father’s body. Studying the wounds with an experienced eye, he realized that none of them should’ve been fatal. So unless he had been poisoned, which he doubted judging from everything he knew of the barbarian leader, he should recover. However, the witch doctor had said that his father was dying and as much as Grunk despised the wretched creature he knew the ways of medicine.
Placing his hands on his father’s chest, Grunk called on one of his daily spells granted to him by his deity. Muttering a brief prayer, he felt the magical energy flow through his hands and into his father’s body. It wasn’t technically a healing spell but one designed to infuse the recipient with extra energy and vitality.
A moment later, Thantos opened his eye and looked around until he saw Grunk sitting beside him and he stopped. His voice was soft when he asked, “Am I dead?”
Grunk shook his head. “Nay father, not yet. I still live and I have returned.”
Thantos took a deep breath and closed his eye. “Have you returned to gloat?”
“Nay father, I have returned to ask your forgiveness for the words I spoke in anger all those years ago. I was young and reckless.”
“I too spoke in anger. I’m sorry for so many things and it seems you were right after all. My choices have led our people to ruin.” Thantos looked around the tent. “Where is Geiryon?”
Before Grunk could answer, the old warrior stepped into the tent. “I am here my Jarl. What is your command?”
“You shall act as my witness.” Turning his eye back to his son, Thantos grinned. “I lift the ban passed by my father on the worship of our racial deity.” Turning back to his aide-de-camp, Thantos grinned. “Let all who follow Gaul do so openly.”
Geiryon swallowed heavily but said nothing.
Thantos turned his attention back to Grunk. “I’m dying. I know that, I can feel it. I only ask three things from you before I leave this world.”
“Command me father.”
Thantos’ voice was getting weaker as Grunk’s spell was beginning to wear off. “I wish to be buried in Jotenhiem with our ancestors.”
“Done. What else?”
“That you assume the mantle of Jarl. I believe you will lead our people back to their rightful place in history.”
“As you wish father, what else do you require?”
Thantos’ voice gained strength briefly as he said, “Vengeance!”
Grunk was taken aback by the venom in his father’s voice and believed he knew but felt compelled to ask, “On the barbarians?”
“Blackfang.”A shudder wracked the Jarl’s body as he closed his eye for the last time. With that last word, Thantos the twenty-second Jarl of the Jotens died and Grunk assumed the throne.
Geiryon knelt at Thantos’ body for a moment before reciting the ancient prayer. “May Gaul gather your soul and keep it close until the day of the great destruction.” Turning to his new liege he asked, “What is your command my Jarl?”
Grunk stood up. “Pass the word, we march before dawn.
“Where to my liege?”
Stepping out of the tent, Grunk looked off to the southeast. “Home.”
“As you command my Jar
l.”
Chapter 4
The Kingdom of Darkmoor had been carved out of the bones of the mountains which bore their name over the last two millennia by the chosen of Bromios. Each generation of dwarves expanded and enhanced the underground kingdom until it was one of the most wondrous cities in all of Terreth.
It was also the most secure stronghold of the realm. Not taking into account that the majority of it was underground with only three known entrances, ninety percent of all the dwarves on Terreth filled its majestic caverns. It was their homeland. It was their pride and joy. And as the three companions had discovered, they fiercely guarded it from all outsiders.
To Khlekluëllin’s recollection, it had been nearly a millennia since an elf had set foot inside these hallowed halls.
Unfortunately for Khlekluëllin, he couldn’t see the wondrous stonework of the dwarves due to the blindfold the guards had placed over their heads. Their protests, including those voiced by Rjurik, cousin to the King, had been answered by the crack of a whip. And so, the three companions found themselves walking for an untold time in complete darkness. The only sound they heard was the shuffling of feet.
Khlekluëllin shook his head at the amount of noise the dwarves made in the tunnels. Rjurik’s step was surprisingly light when compared to the rest of the dwarves. He could tell that there were ten dwarves escorting them, not counting Rjurik. Each had a different gait that he could easily identify. After what seemed like an eternity, Khlekluëllin heard a small detachment break off and head down a separate tunnel along with the light footfalls of his friend.
After a moment, they felt the shackles which bound their hands removed but the hoods remained. With the clanging of a door behind them, a gruff voice broke the silence.
“You can remove your blindfolds.”
Pulling off their hoods, the twins looked around the small room. They were in a cell. Two comfortable-looking bunks lined one wall; while a table, two chairs, a barrel of ale, two tankards and a large leg of lamb lined the other. It was much nicer than the last jail that they had been held in but it was still a prison.
Mortharona rushed up to the cell door and looked through the bars. The dwarves were disappearing down the corridor. Undaunted, he shook the cell door and yelled, “Why are we in here?! We haven’t done anything! I demand to see the king!”
As his voice echoed down the empty corridor, Khlekluëllin’s calm voice came from behind.
“Relax brother; the dwarves are just being overly cautious. Rjurik will speak to the king on our behalf.”
Turning quickly, Mortharona’s face was contorted with rage. “But it’s not fair! We haven’t done anything!”
Khlekluëllin kept his voice calm. “True but the dwarves don’t know that. Remember what we were taught about the Dwarves of Darkmoor, they have always been a paranoid people but they do fight on the side of the righteous. Bromios himself came to Aurora’s aid in the final battle, not to mention his forging of the Three Blades of the Moirae.”
Mortharona shook the bars of the door once more in his frustration. “But we are princes of Elfholm. We shouldn’t be treated this way!”
“True but they don’t know that either. Trust in Rjurik. He will get us out soon. Now relax.” Filling a tankard, Khlekluëllin took a sip. “Have some ale, it’s extremely good.”
With a final shake of the door, Mortharona stormed over to the table. Taking the offered tankard, he downed it quickly. The nutty, slightly bitter liquid ran down his throat and immediately seemed to calm the enraged elf.
“You know brother, you’re right.” Sitting down, Mortharona filled his tankard again. “There isn’t anything we can really do at this point, so let’s get drunk and forget everything.”
Casting a wary eye toward his brother, Khlekluëllin didn’t say anything and raised his tankard in a mock toast.
* * * * *
Time passes slowly when you’re underground.
Hawkeye had lost count how many times they had stopped and hid to avoid roving patrols. The first time, he had held his breathe as the band of gnomes came within ten feet of them. But Kang had picked their hiding spot expertly. It was a steam vent from the not so dormant volcano above. The warmth from the vent was more than enough to mask their body heat making them virtually invisible to the darksight of the gnomes.
After about the fifth or tenth time they hid, Kang turned down a small side passage that was hardly bigger than the gnome and totally impassable for the tall barbarian.
Kang stopped and looked back. When he spoke, it was in a hushed whisper. “Can you squeeze through? It is only about two-hundred yards long and it has several twists and turns in it but it will bring us out in a second corridor, one that I don’t believe the Alliance is patrolling.”
Hawkeye winked. “I think I can manage.”
Calling upon Luna’s gift, he let the transformation from human to wolf come over him. A slight shiver ran the length of his body and there was a slight popping noise as his bones began to realign. Thick silver-white hair sprouted all across his body while his nose and teeth began to lengthen and his limbs shrank. In a manner of seconds, where a fur wearing barbarian once stood was a beautiful silver-white timberwolf.
Kang just stared in amazement and shook his head.
Turning back to the small passage, he led the way through. In his wolf form, Hawkeye was even quieter and traversed it without a problem until they reached the end. Kang stopped and looked at the twenty foot drop. He knew that they could survive the drop but once down they were stuck on that side. There wasn’t any way they would be able to climb back up. The gnome turned to ask Hawkeye’s opinion but noticed that a patrol of gnomes were poking their heads into the passage. They were too far away to be seen clearly but once an alarm was sounded, they would be quickly surrounded.
Without another word or thought, Kang jumped. Hawkeye followed. Landing gracefully, he immediately shifted back into his natural form and they studied their new surroundings.
The cavern was long and about fifty feet wide. There were two visible entrances, one at each end.
The luminous lichen he had been using to see by didn’t seem to grow in this area but it wasn’t dark due to the red light given off by the pools of lava which ran the length of the cavern.
Hawkeye wasn’t sure why but something about this cavern put him on edge and he drew his weapons. Glancing at his companion, he noted that Kang had also drawn out his dagger and short sword. They waited for a few moments but when no immediate threat appeared, they lowered their weapons and started moving. Picking a direction at random, Kang lead them down the cavern and into the unknown.
* * * * *
With the disappearance of Hawkeye, the remaining defenders of Itasca fled to the back gate. The few warriors of the Dark Alliance that immediately gave chase to the fleeing warriors were confronted by the bloodthirsty members of the boar tribe. The highlanders attacked first in full boar form. They charged down the ramp and bowled over the diminutive goblins and gnomes. Before they could reorganize themselves, the highlanders shifted into their hybrid shapes and literally tore their enemies apart with their bare hands.
Nilrem and Chewda smiled as they watched Odovacar and the boar tribe hard at work. Turning their backs on the carnage at the gate, they followed the remnants of the army to the staging area north of Itasca where Hawkeye had commanded them to regroup.
It was nearly midnight when Odovacar finally joined them. The three warriors met and silently gazed back at the burning city. It was painful to watch Itasca burn but they knew that it was the bitter price of victory.
Nilrem spoke first. “Any sign of Hawkeye?”
Both Chewda and Odovacar shook their heads. Silently, all three warlords gazed back at their lost home. Midach Bonecrusher, the dwarven liaison and leader of the small contingent of dwarves that had fought so valiantly in the defense of Itasca, joined them. He held up his right hand palm out and open. “Well met my friends, any word from the Wolflord?”
Midach scratched his beard. “He’s not here yet? Then something might’ve happened to him.”
Chewda nodded. “Agreed. But what happened and what can we do about it?”
Odovacar said, “Hawkeye is my friend, as he is yours and as much as we want to rush off to help him, we cannot.”
Nilrem nodded. “Aye. It is painful to admit but we have a responsibility to the survivors to get them to Sikya safely. I don’t believe Blackfang will just let us go that easily.”
Chewda clenched his fists. “You’re correct, dammit.”
Midach puffed up his chest. “Aye, you’ens do that. Me and mine will search the underground for him. If he still lives, we’ll find him, even if he has strayed into Subterrus.”
Nilrem raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Subterrus? What’s that?”
Midach gestured to the land around them as he spoke. “There is a whole realm below this, a land full of dark dwellers ready to prey on the unwary. The underground tunnels Hawkeye used to escape Itasca might not just lead out but lead down and into the dark places of the world.”
Chewda asked, “Do you think you can find him?”
Midach nodded. “I have traveled through Subterrus before, every dwarf has, but it is a dangerous realm for the unwary. Do not wait for us. When we find him, we will meet you at Sikya.”
Odovacar placed his hand on Midach’s shoulders. “Many thanks friend dwarf. Without you, one of us would have to shirk our responsibilities to our people to go and aid our friend.”
“No worries. We’ll find him or die in the attempt.” Turning away, he began calling out to his kinsmen in their native tongue. Within minutes, they were gone.
Nilrem smiled. “I envy him.”
Odovacar nodded. “Aye. Searching for Hawkeye is bound to be more fun than the hard days we’ve in front of us.”
Chewda looked up at his towering friends. “Come. We better get started before the first of Blackfang’s men make it out this far.”
Tales of the Wolf: Book 02 - Enter the Wolf Page 3
