Bunduica spoke. “I must now leave you. Come back to the house—to the spot that I showed you near the black stone. There you and Thorn will find Æbbath. You… Thorn will know what to do.” With these words, she turned and made her way out of the cave.
As Argantyr buckled on the last piece of armor and slipped the helmet over his head, he felt an incredible surge of power starting at the top of his head and moving down into his forehead, through his throat, through the heart region, into his groin, down to his feet, and then into the ground. He felt heat moving through his body; then at the base of his spine, he felt the power spiraling back up toward the base of his skull. When it reached his head, he heard strange music as he had never before experienced. The agony and the ecstasy of the experience brought him to his knees. Glimpses of another life flashed before him. He was wading knee deep through serpent-men as he hacked and slayed his way to a destination that he didn’t remember. A naked barbarian queen screamed behind him as the serpent-men clutched at her to take her away to their breeding camps. Long daggers shot out of Argantyr’s gauntlets. He spun around and threw a dagger with each hand as one found its way into the heart of one serpent-man; the other blade went into the second reptilian’s throat. Argantyr quickly turned to face a serpent-man rushing upon him with a battle-axe. He hacked into the monster’s belly with his mighty broadsword and the greenish-yellow reptilian ichor sprayed into the air before him and spattered his armor.
Argantyr could feel his body changing. He was growing in both girth and stature. He tried to rise to his feet, but screamed in agony and fell to his knees again as horns sprouted from his head—horns that curved down and jutted back up in defiance of the heavens. His hair turned red as blood and grew even longer to fall down over his swollen, rippling muscles. Argantyr rose to his feet, standing nearly seven feet tall. The suit of armor had all melded together forming one piece. As Argantyr looked down and flexed the mighty sinews of his arm, he saw that the armor had molded itself to fit his body like a second skin. Argantyr grinned a razor-sharp smile, baring the elongated fangs of the vampire in realization of what he had become—he had now merged and become one with the Rune—Thorn; God—Demon—Witch Maker—King and Warlord of a strange empire that existed in ages undreamt of by man. Time was merely relative. Thorn had been here before man, and he would exist long after man was no more.
More visions came to Argantyr: Beings with long triangular heads formed of opaque crystal surrounded Argantyr—Thorn. The beings were cloaked in white robes and they ordered Argantyr to kneel before a god made of white light sitting upon a throne before him. Argantyr heard himself laugh; gruff booming laughter that sounded as if it issued from the throats of ten hellhounds. A host of tendrils shot out of Thorn’s weirdling armor and penetrated the light-god’s very core, draining it of its essence as the temple dimmed to darkness and started crumbling around him. Argantyr realized that these memories belonged to Thorn and that both he and Thorn were now two entities sharing one physical body. Argantyr could feel Thorn’s thirst for sustenance as the Rune sensed Argantyr’s yearning for vengeance, and Thorn answered him, “We give strength to one another. I will grant you vengeance, and you will, in turn, bring me the Talisman that will give me life in this domain—for I have stayed far too long here and am beginning to fade. Once you have faced your greatest adversary, and we have the Talisman, our bargain will be complete.” They turned and left the cave.
Chapter V
The Battle Commences
Æbbath burst forth from the ground. The colossal creature’s skin looked as though it were cut from a polished red ruby. Its membranous wings spread as dirt and rocks exploded into the air and trees were uprooted. Thorn charged in and jumped on the creature’s back, getting a hold of its horns, and then shifting his grip to the reins that Bunduica had fashioned from the hide of a young child. The beast flicked its forked oily black tongue out of its mouth like a serpent. Argantyr knew that Bunduica had made arrangements for their swift travel, as Klak’s ever-growing army was rapidly marching hundreds of miles to the north of Aroon-Joon; but Argantyr hadn’t known the specific means of travel that she had planned for Thorn and Argantyr. Thorn shouted commands as Æbbath took to the skies with the armored giant on the back of the Hel-born creature. Maybe Bunduica thought that Argantyr would fear Æbbath, but at that moment Argantyr heard his own cry of jubilation issue forth from Thorn as the Rune threw his head back and roared Argantyr’s battle cry—the battle cry that Argantyr thought that he himself would never raise again. Thorn and Argantyr raced out on the winds of dusk on the back of Æbbath as the beast dipped its elongated neck and screeched its own awful shout to mimic that of its rider.
* * *
“Do you think that I am pretty?” Arju-Lao taunted the girl in the cage. The prisoner did not respond to Arju-Lao’s question, though she understood what her tormentor had asked her. The caged girl had yellow hair that had been made much lighter by the sun since her days in captivity. The prisoner couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old.
Arju-Lao’s face split into a sinister grin, and her dark almond eyes pierced through the girl. “When we get you out of this cage, you will talk plenty once the Wolf squeezes those firm little breasts of yours hard and feels you up with his manhood. I think that will be more than you can take; and I am going to help him.”
The girl’s heart pounded, and she felt as hopeless as the rest of the prisoners who had survived Klak’s last few raids. The Wolf had heard that the auction blocks in Quan-Kara would pay nicely for young female slaves, and these unfortunates who were in Klak’s captivity were bound for a life of servitude to the cruel, wealthy merchants and nobles of the city. The young men who yet lived were made to march along behind the cages. The males were used for labor until the whole army had reached the city—there, the prisoners would be put to the sword once they had served their purpose.
Tarac had been taken in the raid with his younger sister, Taren. He was a few years older than the yellow-haired girl that Arju-Lao took much pleasure in tormenting. The heat and long days of marching had finally taken its toll on Tarac and he dropped to the ground. A soldier immediately kicked the fallen boy and yelled, “Get up!”
Taren gripped the bars of the cage so hard that her knuckles turned white as she cried out, “Tarac!”
Arju-Lao laughed, “You do know how to speak, slave girl.”
One of Klak’s men rode his horse to the back of the line and told the mercenary who was kicking Tarac, “Go ahead and cut his throat. Klak says his sister should see this, so that she will learn how to behave, if she knows what is good for her.”
The soldier reached down and pulled Tarac up by his hair. Taren was in tears and screaming hysterically. As the mercenary brought the long knife up to the boy’s throat, a demonic screech issued from the sky; and the monster swept down into the ranks of Klak’s men. The men scattered, taken by surprise. The armored demon riding the winged creature swung his battle-axe and severed heads from the bodies of several men while Æbbath sped through the host of Klak’s army. Æbbath and the rider were again borne aloft while the soldiers fell back. “Archers, forward!” Klak ordered. “The rest of you, fall back! Bring the beast down and hack it to pieces with your swords and axes! I want that rider taken alive! He is to be made a hymnar; he is to be shorn of his arms, legs; his tongue cut out. I will carry the torso in a box to show men what happens to those who dare to defy Klak, the Wolf!”
No sooner had Klak made his boasts than the beast plunged downward again. The bowmen let loose with their volleys, but the creature quickly flew upward and out of the reach of the arrows and then rapidly plummeted again, landing to the rear of Klak’s army. Thorn leaped from the beast’s back and crouched down, one knee touching the earth. He pressed the palms of his armored hands on the ground, and flames exploded from where his hands touched the earth and raced out into the ranks of Klak’s army. The men screamed in torment and rolled on the ground in an effort to extinguish the fi
res that singed their flesh and burned them to death. Wagons burned, and the men were in disarray. Thorn was already among the soldiers—hacking and slaying with his battle-axe. His axe whirred and whistled, singing its song of slaughter; and Æbbath took to the skies with a man in his clutches as the soldier’s sword and helmet fell to the earth.
A mercenary met Thorn with an axe. Thorn leaned back as he heard the wind whistle off of his adversary’s weapon. The Rune immediately retaliated by bringing his own battle-axe over his head and splitting the man’s skull. His enemy’s helmet was shattered in twain, and blood spurted up as the man’s brains seeped out onto the ground. The runes embedded in Thorn’s armor glowed with a hellish red luminosity as he felled foe after foe with his battle-axe.
Thorn was like a lion surrounded by packs of hyenas. His axe moved so fast that it was a shining silver blur of death. One mercenary managed to get in and ram his sword into Thorn’s back, but the sword vanished when it was pulled through the eldritch armor and disappeared into another dimension. Thorn bashed the man’s head in with the butt of his axe handle and roared with laughter. A few soldiers were able to briefly move in and strike a blow here and there while their comrades died. Those who managed to use their swords in an effort to penetrate Thorn’s armor realized too late that no weapon could bite into the strange suit.
Argantyr remarked to Thorn, “It is easier making war than I had remembered.”
Thorn snorted, “The real struggle is ahead. To completely break the curse that was placed on you, you must fight Klak alone.”
“Fight the Wolf alone?” Argantyr exclaimed in wonder.
“No… Not the Wolf. Klak!” Thorn growled. “The spell preventing you from fighting is temporarily broken, and you are gaining some of your strength back. The potion closed off corridors in your brain that allow your skills in combat to surface. As long as you are in this suit and joined with me, those doorways are open. Do you remember what I told you about how we lend strength to each other?”
The voice that was Argantyr inside of Thorn’s body answered, “You told me that we are joined together by this suit of armor, and that we give each other strength.”
More blood splattered on the polished jet-black jewel-like surface of the fantastic armor, and the runes etched deep into the armor glowed as red as the freshly-spilled blood. Thorn grunted while he finished splitting one of Klak’s men down the torso, “Indeed, I told you that we lend strength to one another; but that is not all—the bargain must be finished by you obtaining the Talisman that will rejuvenate me, and you alone facing the man responsible for your binding, to finish breaking the spell of the potion.”
“But I am in a weakened condition outside of the armor, and Klak is more than a man. He is a werewolf!”
Thorn growled, “He won’t be for much longer!” as he quickly swung his battle-axe twice, decapitating the two men facing him. They were still holding their swords as their heads landed on the ground with a resounding thump.
Thorn had smote and heaped the bodies high as he waded through the dead mercenaries that had made up the Wolf’s shattered army. The remainder had fled; so had Klak’s prisoners who had once been bound for the auction block in Quan-Kara and a life of bitter servitude at the hands of cruel and perverse masters. All that was left were the dead and the dying, aside from a lone figure that stood leaning on the hilt of his great scabbarded broadsword across the smoking battlefield from Thorn. The man had tangled hair and a red beard, and he wore a large wolf skin that covered his back like a cape with the beast’s head draping over his own head. Klak and Thorn were separated by only a few stacks of dead bodies. The stench of charred flesh, freshly-butchered human meat, and death itself were overpowering.
“Who are you? What are you?” Klak asked as he looked at Thorn with both a sense of hatred and wonder.
Joined together as they were inside of the suit of armor, Thorn could feel Argantyr’s tension mounting as Argantyr hissed through clenched teeth, “Be careful—the werewolf!”
Thorn responded to Argantyr’s unease by turning the head of his battle-axe to the ground and leaning on the handle. Thorn’s face split into a hateful grin, and he growled in a voice that sounded like ten angry men speaking in unison, “I am Thorn, and I deliver your death to you, Wolf!”
Klak’s face wrinkled and moved uncontrollably, a look of uncertainty spreading across his countenance.
Thorn continued, “You do remember the man who saved your life on more than one occasion? The man who you thanked for his service by stealing his woman and trying to kill him.”
Klak looked away from Thorn’s gaze. Even with all of the evil that Klak had perpetuated, nothing could begin to approach the horror and agonizing insanity that he knew that he would experience if he looked into those burning red eyes. They held both that which is too good and that which is too evil for man and those two elements combined and created its own entity that entwined and swam in an eternal lake that was the beginning and the end.
Klak shouted, “It wasn’t me that wanted Argantyr gone! It was that slant-eyed whore that took up with us when we took Jade-Chuan-Kune!” Klak was biting down hard on his lower lip and mumbling something between his words to Thorn. “She wanted us—all of us to use her, and use her rough; but Argantyr was in the way!” Klak was frothing at the mouth as he mumbled something again in a language that was not intended for the human tongue.
“Incantations! This is how he does it—changes. I have seen it many times!” Argantyr put in hastily.
Thorn showed no concern for action as Klak burst into laughter and went on, “There she is now! Argantyr can have her back! You can take her to him, demon!” Arju-Lao sprang from behind an overturned wagon and started to run.
“Should we not stop her?” Argantyr asked of Thorn.
Thorn calmly answered, “There will be time for that later, Argantyr. You are getting ready to fight a battle, and the prize is you get to reclaim your manhood.”
The change came on fast when the snout burst forth from Klak’s face and his body quickly covered in hair as he bared razor fangs and ascended in height. He had much experience at quickly changing to the giant wolf on the battlefield and the transformation, once it had started, had only taken seconds. The werewolf snarled and sprang at Thorn. Thorn quickly stepped to one side and tossed the Wolf to the ground. The werewolf rolled over and came up, baying its awful war cry, which Argantyr had heard many times just as a battle was brought to a close.
The werewolf leaped onto Thorn and tried to get its claws into the Rune’s throat. Thorn picked the Wolf up by one powerful claw of his own—the Rune’s mighty sinews flexing inside of the armored sleeve that clung to him like a second skin. Thorn slammed the supernatural beast onto its back and growled, “I could end this now, Wolf; but I made a deal and there is another who must see to your death.”
The Wolf leaped to his feet and stood up on his hind legs. Argantyr thought he saw a cruel and arrogant expression that looked like a smile. Argantyr braced himself for the attack inside of Thorn’s body, but before the werewolf could leap, tendrils shot forth from varying points in Thorn’s armor and penetrated the heart, throat, forehead, stomach, and groin areas of the creature. Thorn breathed deeply as he absorbed the very essence of the beast. The werewolf was being drained of its vital energies as Argantyr watched the coruscating colors: reds, blues, yellows, and greens, which were the very physical manifestations of the Wolf’s essence that were riding Thorn’s breath as he inhaled the energy into himself.
Thorn remarked approvingly, “A substantial morsel—for a minor god. Klak used the enscorcelled werewolf’s skin to invoke one of the Fenrir and become a werewolf—a manifestation of the Wolf God who devours worlds when they have come to their end. Except now he is the one being devoured. All that is left on your enemy’s back is the mangy hide of a dead animal now.”
Klak was kneeling on the ground breathing deeply. Thorn took one last deep breath as Klak, who was once called the Wolf, col
lapsed on the ground. Thorn removed the scabbarded sword from his side and let it fall to the ground as he said, “Reclaim what you have lost, Argantyr, and don’t forget your part of the bargain.” Thorn then stepped forward and left Argantyr standing alone. The armored Rune and Argantyr were again two separate beings, and Thorn was nowhere to be seen. Darkness assailed Argantyr as he collapsed on the ground a few feet away from where Klak lay.
Chapter VI
One Man Must Die!
A booted foot to the ribs nearly brought Klak off the ground as Argantyr growled, “Get up and meet your death, Wolf that is a wolf no more.” Argantyr had regained consciousness several moments erenow and was waiting on Klak to stand and draw his sword.
Klak coughed and a wicked grin spread across his face. He found his feet and barked, “Give me space, dog!”
Argantyr stepped back, drew his sword, and with a sweep of the blade, indicated that Klak now had space to prepare himself for combat.
* * *
Dusk was rapidly approaching under the graying sky while steel clashed on steel and curses and oaths were exchanged between the two men. Argantyr cautiously circled Klak. Though he was no longer able to change into the great supernatural wolf anymore, Klak was still a deadly swordsman and as formidable a foe as any Argantyr had faced on a battlefield. As the two men circled and parried, Argantyr caught a glimpse of Arju-Lao watching the combat between the two swordsmen. She quickly ducked her head behind a charred wagon that had been used to hold prisoners. The distraction of Arju-Lao nearly cost Argantyr his life as his sword came up at the last moment and stopped Klak’s sword from cutting his throat; the impact of Klak’s blade cut Argantyr’s face instead. Argantyr paid no heed to the wound that Klak had just dealt him; he had been scarred by countless such savage fights as this one. The two men winced as they strained iron sinews and, steel on steel, pushed away from each other. Klak came in again and aimed a disemboweling thrust at Argantyr’s lower torso. Argantyr managed to turn to the side as Klak’s sword raked his ribs. Argantyr could feel the blood trickling and mixing with his sweat.
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