Scion of Two Pantheons

by Ted Striker

  Bryan tore into the carcass. The Beast in him growled menacingly as the two red-furred Wolves joined him, but Bryan quelled his primal territoriality and moved over so they could all partake of the steaming feast, ripping and growling as they bolted gobbets of red flesh.

  Finally sated, Bryan went to a nearby stream where he drank deeply and cleaned up before Changing. Then he walked up to the campsite and clothed himself. When he had belted the Soul Sword around his waist, he felt a sense of relief. With a start, he realized that the feeling wasn’t his own; it came from the sword. “Miss me?” he murmured.

  His sense of being targeted alerted him just too late. He heard the warning whirr! of a crossbow bolt and felt the sharp bite as it sank into his butt. Strange warmth permeated him together with an incredible sleepiness. “Aw, shit!” he said. “Not again!”

  Chapter 28

  “Wake up!” came a voice from afar, seemingly on a beach, half-smothered by the pounding surf. Suddenly, the voice was too loud and too near, and the surf was the blood pounding painfully in Bryan’s head. He squinted up into a too-bright light that guttered red and yellow and slowly resolved itself into a dim single torch across the chamber. He swiveled his eyes to look at the speaker. It felt as if someone had stapled his eyes shut and he had to tear them open to look around. He was suspended by his arms, hanging inside a cage in a dungeon.

  The voice called again, so loudly that it seemed to echo. “I said, wake up!” A slap accompanied the call, jarring his head so Bryan thought the top might pop off like a champagne cork.

  “Try not to scream at me that way,” he complained.

  “So the potion didn’t agree with you, eh?” The grating voice sounded amused. “Well, I’m just glad it didn’t kill you. The dose was for a Wolf, not a Man. Ulfric was an idiot to shoot you.”

  “What?” said Brian. His head felt thick and fragile at the same time. “Who the hell are you?” He forced his eyes to focus on the stranger.

  This man might have been a Norseman. He was tall and well-muscled with blonde hair plaited into several thick braids. His blue eyes looked intently into Bryan’s face, and his lips curved in a nasty smile. “I am Leif Henrikkson, Guardian of the Innangard Way.”

  “He is a Laignach, a traitor!” said Neit from off to the side. The wiry redhead was hanging from ropes in his own cage. He spat on the ground.

  “No,” answered Blondie emphatically, “I am not a weakling Laignach. I am Úlfhéðnar.” He lifted his chin in pride as he spoke, and Bryan saw the reason for the raspy voice; a twisted scar that ran around the left side of his throat. Someone had done a messy and incomplete job on Henrikkson. Too bad they hadn’t been able to finish what they started.

  {Úlfhéðnar is what the Tierkrieger call themselves. They are another branch of the Laignach,} reminded Perkunas.

  {Thanks for the heads up,} replied Bryan bitterly.

  {Don’t blame us for your inattention,} said Perkunas. {You’re the driver.}

  “I was hired to hunt Laignach by King Porvir,” said the Tierkreiger. “Imagine my delight and surprise to see you, a Man in the company of Wolves, for the King offered a hefty reward should I find such a one and bring him here.”

  “So you choose to serve the enemy of our kind for gold, is that it?” Neit voiced his outrage.

  Leif grinned. “That’s it,” he admitted cheerfully. “As long as the good king pays, he is my friend, and those he points out are my enemies. As long as they are as easy to sneak up on as you, I am perfectly happy.”

  “When we get out of here, you may not be so cheerful,” said Bryan. He considered strangling the Tierkrieger with his legs. If the fellow Changed, though, that would make for an awkward situation. He flexed his fingers to keep the blood circulating in his hands as best he could.

  Leif noticed the movement. “Do you think you will get out of those ropes? I tied those knots myself. No one has ever escaped me.”

  “I would like to know how you expect to escape, as well,” came a jolly voice from the stairway. It was Porvir, full of glee now that he had the Wyrg-lover in a cell. “You will leave this place only when I have finished with you, and then only as far as my castle wall, where a spike is waiting for your head.” The king came down the final steps, leading a woman as tall as himself. Her light brown hair was up, supporting a thin gold tiara, and she had a pretty oval face set with striking blue-gray eyes; but the thing about her that struck Bryan most was the fact that she was holding the Soul Sword. She looked at him with some interest as she and the king moved toward the cages. “Look, dear,” he said. “I know that you’ve heard the stories of how a Wyrg, a Man, an Elf, and a Centaur sent my best warriors running. Well, here’s the Man. The others will face my justice soon enough.” He moved closer to the cell, pulling the woman with him. “Do you think he’ll escape, dear Ayabis? I don’t. Iron bars, well forged, make a solid cage, even for the Wyrg. Perhaps I’ll put you both together in a cage with no food until the Beast devours you out of sheer hunger. Or perhaps you will face each other in my arena, eh? Give me the show that I should have had this month past.” He snapped his fingers. “That is the very thing! Only this time, I have my own paid Wolves to see that there is a show, after all.”

  Leif bowed. “A pleasure to serve,” he rasped. The king waved the Wolf away, and he went lightly up the stone steps. Porvir turned to his queen. “I think that we should also retire to plan the spectacle, milady. A pity that Lieutenant Shimshon could not extend his stay to see how I get my revenge against those who would make light of me.

  “And do not think that your exhibition will be the end of my revenge, Wolf-lover.” Porvir stopped at the bottom step. “None escape me. When I find your she-wolf, I will have her drawn and quartered.”

  Porvir’s wife lingered after the king had ascended. She stared at Bryan, twisting the sword in her hands. “You seem rather unimpressive to be carrying a sword such as this,” she said softly. “Did you steal it? Perhaps you robbed the barrow of an ancient king and found this treasure.”

  There was something in the woman’s manner and soft tones that made Bryan pay attention. He suspected that there was more to this woman than she was letting on. “As a matter of fact,” he replied, “that sword was a gift to me. Take care of it, because I expect to have it back in as good a condition as you received it.”

  “Who would give this sword to you?”

  Bryan merely smiled.

  The woman seemed about to speak again, but Porvir’s demanding voice rang down the stairwell. “Ayabis!” She hesitated for a moment longer and then followed her husband.

  After making sure they were alone, Bryan asked Neit, “What about Aodhan?”

  “Escaped.” The Laignach grinned crookedly. “You never saw a Wolf run so fast. We saw the bolt take you and knew that one of us had to get out of there. He’s probably back at Balstow by now, getting help.”

  “You didn’t escape. What’s your excuse?”

  Neit’s grin widened. “I’m the lucky one that got to stay.”

  “But why?”

  “Someone needs to keep an eye on you. Besides, you don’t think that we would leave you alone to these bastards, do you?”

  “Thanks.”

  {How good it is to have faithful companions,}Mebd’s feelings were warm, as well. {It brightens the darkest of circumstances.}

  {Rather would I be drinking with faithful companions than incarcerated,} growled Perkunas.

  Bryan grimaced. “Well, my friend, unless you want to hang around here some more, let’s take this party elsewhere.”

  “I’m agreeable,” answered Neit, “but how will we get out of these ropes?”

  Bryan grinned this time. “No worries there,” he said. “I’m good with rope.”

  Chapter 29

  Ayabis could not do as she wished and go directly to the hidden room that adjoined her bedchamber. The stranger’s sword awaited her there, but before she could verify her suspicions about it, she had to dine with her husband
and listen to him alternately vilify the prisoner and crow over the cleverness which had led him to hire a group of mercenary Wyrgs to capture the man.

  Finally she was able to slip away from the bout of drinking that dinner had devolved into and retreat up the stairs to her tower room. She bathed and prepared herself and her tools for the ritual, then unsheathed the Soul Sword and laid it across the table together with a silver pitcher of water, a large silver bowl, and several crystals. Already upon the table was her athame, a black-handled ritual dagger, but that probably would not be needed. She put two crystals, a rose quartz and an emerald, into the bowl and added water. She muttered a series of phrases over the bowl, and returned the now-enchanted water to the pitcher. She dried the bowl and crystals thoroughly with a piece of silk, returning the crystals to their nest. Then she took up the naked sword and held it point-down above the bowl while carefully pouring the enchanted water over its black blade so that the bowl collected every drop of the liquid.

  After the last drop had pinged! musically back into the silver bowl, Ayabis took it up and gazed into the reflective depths. As she watched, the surface of the water darkened until it was such a deep red it appeared to be black. Lightning flickered inside the bowl. She stared into the dark depths for a long time, viewing the story told there with mounting incredulity.

  When she raised her eyes, she was looking into the luminescent blue eyes of the sword’s owner. He stood just beside the closed door, half in shadow, watching her. Panic flared inside her chest. How long had he stood there? What had he seen and heard? Did he know? Ayabis cried out and fell over backward in her surprise. Two strong hands caught her upper arms before she could tumble to the stone floor, even though the man had been three long paces away. Her breath caught in her throat, and she was suddenly all too aware that she was naked in the hands of her husband’s enemy, who had somehow escaped from the dungeons. “How did you escape?” she asked breathlessly in an effort to distract him while she groped on the table behind her for her black-handled dagger. “Is it because you are the Defender?”

  Bryan was taken aback. Mebd let loose a hoot of laughter, and Perkunas roared, outraged, {What!?!}

  Ayabis grabbed the ceremonial knife and brought it around in a swift disemboweling thrust.

  Instead of feeling the razor-sharp blade rip into his body, she felt a stinging slap! on her dagger hand as he deflected the edge away. A slight tug on her wrist sent her stumbling into the door. The impact was such that she saw stars for a second. Then the dagger was plucked from her suddenly weak fingers and the stranger’s relentless grip pulled her against him. Ayabis expected the grip to transfer from her arm to her throat, but Bryan instead helped her to a seat on the couch. He dropped the athame to the table beside the pile of jewels, well within her reach, and tossed her a discarded robe. “Why do you think I might be the Defender?” he asked.

  Ayabis took hold of her courage with a deeper breath and said, “No. Tell me how you escaped first. Where’s your companion? How did you get in here?”

  “Your guards aren’t very good, and the locks on the doors aren’t much better,” said Bryan. “My friend is long gone; I’m just here to get my sword. Answer my question.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You ask too many questions.” He had actually followed her scent to her to this room, but he didn’t want to share about being a Wolf. “I went through a few rooms before I found the one that had to be yours,” he said. “When you unsheathed the sword, I felt it. So I came here. I saw most of your ritual. What did you learn? Is that why you think I’m the Defender?”

  “The water I enchanted, when poured over an object, shows the history of that thing. This sword,” she gestured to the Soul Sword, “took the soul of the Defender while you held it. It also took the souls of several of my husband’s men, and a part of Afixio’s soul, as well as those of some Wyrgs. If you have the Defender’s soul inside you, doesn’t that make you the Defender?”

  Bryan was impressed. This was the first time he had seen magic performed in order to obtain information. “That is a useful trick,” he said sincerely. “But I am not the Defender.” {Am I?}

  {. . .} Silence.

  {Okay, we’ll talk about this later.}

  Bryan picked up the Soul Sword and sheathed it. “Thank you for taking care of my sword.” He turned to go.

  “Wait!” cried Ayabis. “I want you to take me with you.”

  Bryan turned his full attention to the woman. “What?”

  “My life is in danger. I need to escape. North Keep is my prison and my husband is really nothing more than my jailer. He abuses me, he allows me to be the toy of the Imperial officer who collects tribute, and if I remain I will surely be killed.”

  “What makes you think that you’ll be any safer with me?” {A little help, guys!}

  “You are different. That is what I saw in you down in the dungeons,” answered Ayabis. “Porvir hates you because you helped that wolf woman escape him. I will be safer with you than I am here.”

  {This one is obviously a very discerning woman,} offered Mebd. {She has skill in the magical arts, and she may have other knowledge that can be helpful to you. Perhaps you should take her with you.}

  {Run her through with your sword, that will end your problems, and hers,} said Perkunas flatly.

  {His ego is still stinging from that ‘Defender’ remark of hers. Ignore him.}

  {About that –}

  {Let it go.} Perkunas’ presence winked out.

  {He has gone off to sulk,} said Mebd. {Listen to the girl. Try not to let her kill you or render you unconscious.}

  {Thanks so much for all your help.}

  “All right,” said Bryan to the Queen. “Get your things together.”

  Chapter 30

  Outside the castle, the deepest darkness of the night reigned. Dawn was only an hour away, and the inhabitants of North Keep slept, most aided by drink. Ayabis led Bryan through the deserted corridors toward the bolt-hole, the escape hatch built into almost every castle. “How did the Wolf escape?” she asked as they entered the kitchen.

  Bryan laughed quietly. “Before I came to your quarters, we silenced the dungeon guards as well as the few patrolling the castle. Porvir isn’t the only one who will wake up with a sore head in the morning! My only regret is that we don’t have any forces outside the walls to take advantage of this windfall. That would be an entirely different headache for the king!”

  “The entrance to the escape tunnel is in the side wall of the fireplace,” she whispered.

  The giant fireplace was taller than Bryan and eight feet wide, and even though the fire was banked for the night, the heat radiating from the hearth was daunting. Ayabis lifted her skirts and edged around the side of the fireplace, then disappeared into darkness. Bryan followed, holding his breath against the smoke and heat. Suddenly he felt cool air on his right side, so he turned that way and stepped into the tunnel. He would have stumbled down the unexpected steps except for Ayabis’ supporting hand; she was surprisingly strong for a noblewoman. Now steady, he groped down her arm, found her shoulder.

  “There are a dozen spiral steps leading downward,” she whispered. At the bottom we can light a torch.” They got to the bottom and Bryan heard Ayabis strike the flint and steel together, saw the lightning brightness of the sparks, then the growing red-orange glow as the torch caught. He looked away, closing his eyes to regain some semblance of night vision. Then his new Wolf nose caught the scent of another Skin Changer: One of the Tierkrieger.

  Ayabis screamed.

  Bryan saw the glowing golden orbs that marked the Wolf’s eyes in the darkness beyond the reach of the torchlight. He stepped forward. “Okay,” he said to the Wolf, speaking calmly as if he were negotiating a surrender, “I don’t really want to kill you, and I know you really don’t want to die. I’m not worth the effort or the risk. You were paid to bring me to Porvir. If he can’t hold on to me, that’s his problem, not yours, right?”

&n
bsp; The Wolf took a stiff-legged step forward into the torchlight, a rumbling growl emanating from deep in his chest. His hackles were raised, his black lips drew back from his long, gleaming fangs as his snout curled up in a snarl.

  “Have you ever seen a Wolf take a Human woman?” came a taunting voice from the darkness. Blondie. “It is brutal. We’ll take our time with her. How she’ll scream! And then we’ll eat her. There are enough of us here to kill you, warrior! But we won’t. We’ll hamstring you and make you watch how the Tierkrieger deal with insouciance.”

  Bryan spoke into the darkness again, patiently, as if explaining to a child. “It would be better for you if you simply turned and went away.”

  How could he be so calm? Ayabis thought that she might go mad. She knew that she should be creating a spell to attack them, but all her brain could do was play out the horrific scene the Tierkrieger leader had painted so vividly. Then, incredibly, Bryan began to dance. “Are you crazy?” she whispered. He did not answer.

  The wolves were very sure of themselves. Bryan knew that what the speaker had said was right; his nose now confirmed the presence of at least four of them. They could engage him and probably flank him to get to Ayabis, and how could he fight effectively if she was being assaulted?

  The answer, of course, was not to fight. At least, not to fight their fight.

  He slid into a Horse stance, letting his concerns drift away on quick but thorough cleansing breaths. Grasp The Sparrow’s Tail. White Crane Spreads its Wings. Needle At Sea Bottom. Even though he was running through the kata quickly, the chi built again, wrapping around Bryan like a comfortable blanket of force. Fan Through The Back. Cloud Hands. Once more he was flowing in powerful circles, almost lost in the pulse and rhythm of his breathing. Almost, but not completely. Even as his hands moved into Strike Tiger, Right Side, Strike Tiger, Left Side, he was feeling for a purchase on the enormous ball of energy he had gathered, preparing to send it outward like a huge plug in a bottle. Or a bullet in the chamber of a rifle.