Argantyr’s strength ebbed while visions of his past life flooded into his brain: His parents and friends gathered around a bonfire—singing—someone made a jest—laughter—running through the grassy fields with his best friend, Bessa; she was a beautiful little girl—they were only months apart in age.
Klak moved in and swung his sword at Argantyr’s head; Argantyr brought his sword up and deflected the blow as he arced back around and stabbed into Klak’s thigh with the tip of his blade on the return. Klak’s leg buckled.
More visions from Argantyr’s past: A village left in smoking ruins. Argantyr was now an orphan; he looked upon his mother’s and father’s funeral pyres. His father had fought valiantly, but there were too many of them. His mother had been defiled and viciously slaughtered like the rest of the women of his village. He saw little Bessa lying on a bed coughing as the fever took her after what the men had done to her. Argantyr gritted his teeth and, as spittle flew from his mouth, he shouted, “No more! I buried you all! I buried you and myself with you!”
Argantyr sprang like a tiger and rained blow after blow of steel so fast that the stunned Klak barely managed to counter his enemy’s assault in time. Argantyr’s head momentarily filled with visions of his family and tribesmen growing dim as they waved to him from the bank by the creek where his home had been in what was another life. He shook his head and dealt blow after blow, each one faster than the previous attack. Klak was gasping for breath and bleeding heavily, but Argantyr had never felt as alive as he now did—the blood pumping through the iron sinews that gripped his steel. Klak tried one last desperate attempt; marshalling all of the strength left in his battered body, he struck a quick blow at Argantyr’s head but was still far too slow for the panther-like reflexes of his adversary as Argantyr stepped back and brought his own broadsword down on Klak’s weapon, breaking Klak’s blade in twain. Argantyr wasted no time in bringing his sword back through and slitting Klak’s torso open. Blood frothed from Klak’s mouth as he dropped to his knees and looked up at Argantyr. Argantyr kicked the hilt and shard of broken steel jutting out of it towards Klak and growled at the man, “Pick it up! Pick it up and fight, Wolf!”
Klak held onto his stomach in an effort to prevent his innards from tumbling out onto the ground as Argantyr bitterly stated, “It wasn’t so long ago that I was on the ground due to you and your concubine’s treachery. I at least gave you a chance to fight. It appears as though the Norns have woven out the final thread of your wyrd, Klak.” As soon as Argantyr spoke the last word his sword flashed in a deadly silver arc that sent Klak’s head flying from his shoulders and rolling on the ground.
Klak’s dead face looked up from the ground in horror. Arju-Lao ran and dropped at Argantyr’s feet, clutching at the man’s legs, groveling and crying, pleading with him. “The terrible things they made me do. They hurt me so badly! They told me they would kill you if I didn’t go along with Klak’s plan. That is the only reason that I did it! Argantyr! You have to believe me. I could love only you. Tell me you believe me! Tell me, Argantyr!”
Argantyr breathed deeply and clenched his jaw; he squinted—eyes full of pain. He looked down at the girl groveling before him and helped her get to her feet. Arju-Lao wrapped her arms around Argantyr, and he slowly raised his arms to return the embrace. She clung to him tightly and for several moments. Finally Argantyr whispered to Arju-Lao, “We must be gone now.”
“But where will we go?” Arju-Lao asked, realizing for the first time that the course that her life had been on had changed significantly.
Argantyr responded, “I need to go see some… friends. I have to complete a bargain that I made.”
Arju-Lao looked all around the smoking battlefield. The wagons had all burned and all of the horses that were left living had long ago fled. She said, “It will take several days on foot to reach civilization. How far away is our destination?”
Argantyr was watching the sky. Arju-Lao cast her gaze aloft and saw what Argantyr had been staring at: a horned and winged creature bathed in the light of the moon. The thing’s appearance reminded her of the stories in her homeland of the legendary dragons of Jade-Chuan-Kune.
“Traveling on foot won’t be necessary,” Argantyr said quietly. He waved his sword in the air, threw back his head and shouted, “Ho! Æbbath!” The flying beast acknowledged Argantyr’s call by dipping its head and plummeting earthward.
Chapter VII
The Sinister Talisman
Arju-Lao was seated across from Argantyr in the candlelit dining room, watching him savagely tear into the roasted boar as he grabbed a loaf of freshly baked bread with his other hand. He had not eaten anything in two days, and he was famished. Arju-Lao delicately pecked at a plateful of roasted potatoes and vegetables cooked in herbs. The dish reminded her of the food of her homeland, but in place of the rice, there had been potatoes.
Their hostess had been absent only briefly when she returned to the dining table with a glass of red wine and set it before Arju-Lao. Still chewing a mouthful of the roasted boar, Argantyr burst out enthusiastically, “This is Bunduica’s special wine that I told you about, Arju-Lao! The best in these parts! Fit for a princess!”
Arju-Lao forced a smile at Bunduica seated on the end of the table. Arju-Lao didn’t like the way Bunduica’s cat-like eyes shone like fiery green emeralds, cutting through her as though she could see every secret of her soul and was privy to every wicked thing Arju-Lao had ever done. Arju-Lao noticed that there were four plates set at the dinner table, but only she, Argantyr, and Bunduica were present. Arju-Lao’s almond eyes squinted, looking as though they were nearly closed. “Bunduica, where is this other person who is to dine with us?” she asked.
Bunduica responded in a voice as smooth as silk, “Oh, he is out hunting. He is a hunter.”
“What does he hunt?”
“Gods,” Bunduica answered with a wry smile.
Arju-Lao pretended to giggle like a young girl at Bunduica’s jest. “He-he! Gods!” There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as Arju-Lao’s feigned laughter stopped as quickly as it had started.
Bunduica’s gaze shifted to Argantyr’s eyes and back to her own wine cup when suddenly Argantyr boomed, “You haven’t tried the excellent wine yet, my love.” The words almost choked Argantyr to say and prompted him to empty his own vessel and put it back down. Bunduica lifted her cup and thrust it forth, silently toasting Arju-Lao. Arju-Lao wrinkled her tiny nose at the sanguinary liquid and quaffed deeply, half-emptying the cup in one drink. The wine immediately went to Arju-Lao’s head. It had a sweet taste going down, like a burning amalgamation of chocolate, caramel, and liquid flowers. Made uncomfortable by the silence, she finished draining the cup as an excuse to ask Bunduica for some more, just to get the woman to leave the room. No sooner had Arju-Lao brought her wine cup back down and set it on the table than her head followed the vessel to the table with a thump as the young woman became unconscious and her brain swam in a sea of primordial darkness.
* * *
A blast of light becoming a single source of illumination in the darkness that was before the beginning—and would be there when all had ended… The light was a sun shining in the night that radiated rays of runic shapes from its core.
The light receded and became smaller as the woman drew back with her candle from where Arju-Lao lay on the cold black stone altar. Arju-Lao could hear voices. But where was she? The last thing she remembered was dining with Argantyr and his friend, Bunduica… and the wine. The wine! She had been drugged.
As if they could both sense her realization of what had happened, Bunduica laughed and Argantyr said, “I guess this makes us almost even now, Arju-Lao. You put powder in my wine, and now we have put powder in your wine. Though, I don’t think that you are going to be faring as well as I have in the aftermath.”
Arju-Lao tried to move, but her limbs were bound by red vines—supernatural tendrils that were much stronger than she was. She tried to let out a scream, but her mouth hel
d a gag to prevent any sound from issuing forth.
Bunduica gruffly chuckled, saying, “I would have liked to have heard you, Arju-Lao—it is exciting—but your lover told me how he loathes to hear a woman scream. He said it brings back bad memories of when he was a child.”
Arju-Lao tried again to move her limbs, but her resilience availed her not, for she was much too firmly bound.
Bunduica had placed a pillow under Arju-Lao’s head so that the woman could witness what they were doing in the room. For the first time, she noticed the demon in the darkness. His skin was alabaster, and his long hair was red as blood. His large muscular frame lolled on the ebon throne he sat, and he breathed laboriously. Something was wrong with him. He was the one on the battlefield. The one who destroyed Klak’s army and brought Argantyr to kill her true lover, the Wolf.
Tears welled up in the girl’s dark almond eyes and she began to tremble with fear as her brain tried to correlate all that had happened and simultaneously started to speculate on what was happening at that moment.
As if in answer to the questions that raced through Arju-Lao’s head, Bunduica broke the silence. “Yes, Arju-Lao, Thorn is the demon who destroyed Klak’s army. With help from Argantyr, of course. Thorn has stayed too long in this world that we inhabit tonight. He is weak. The synchronicity of Thorn and Argantyr in Thorn’s suit of armor lent strength to both men temporarily. The curse that you helped Klak put on Argantyr is now completely broken, but I made a deal with Argantyr, and there is one last thing he needs to do to fulfill our bargain.”
Arju-Lao strained at her bonds on the altar as tears rolled down her face onto the cold black stone beneath her.
Bunduica continued, speaking as if she were in a dream, “Once… ages ago, I was the daughter of a proud queen. Her name was Bodicea. My father had died and left Bodicea as the ruler of a wild race of warriors known as the Iceni. There was a mighty empire to the east called Rome. Even before my father Prasutagus had died, there had existed, at best, an uneasy peace between the Iceni and the Romans. One day, the Romans came… They came and took away my mother’s governing rights. They tied her up and whipped her. Made us, me and my sister Vodicea, watch while they did it.”
Bunduica had raised her voice to a crescendo, and her piercing emerald eyes gleamed with madness. Arju-Lao’s heart was pounding as though it could burst from her chest at any moment.
Bunduica looked at the floor and fell silent for a moment. Lowering her voice, she regained her composure and turned her head to the side and continued, “They raped me and my sister. Both of us. Over and over again. My sister, Vodicea, died shortly thereafter; but I survived on the hatred in my heart alone... I went to the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, and I opened up corridors that, it is said, that no human being should open. One night, I made the ultimate sacrifice that a mother can make. I sacrificed my own son in a ritual, and Thorn came. Thorn came, and he destroyed all of those who’d had a hand in our downfall; and he made them suffer; and O they did suffer for aeons! But he didn’t stop there; he knew that I loved him like I could never love a man, and he took pity on a poor broken girl whose only reason to live was the vengeance in her heart—and now that that was sated… what was left? I will tell you! He taught me the secrets of black arts that no wizard on this earth knows. He showed me wonders that no other human eyes have looked upon. But now he is weak and dying, because he has spent so much time with me here, in the House on the Edge of Time, and has been long absent from his kingdom of Hel-Valha. He needs the sustenance to open doors that only he can open and return himself home; and the last object that I need for the spell is in you; and it has to come out!”
Bunduica drew a long dagger and, holding it flat in both hands, offered it to Argantyr. The dagger was etched deeply with runes like those on Thorn’s armor. Bunduica cast her penetrating gaze upon Argantyr and said, “It is time to fulfill your part of the bargain.”
Bunduica raised her arms and chanted, “U-u-ur! U-u-ur! Come forth from the Land of Castles where the towers spiral into forever and timeless-time where time and space have no meaning. Come forth, cause of all causes. Origin of all creation. Origin of immortality! Origin of all law and of chaos. And origin of all vibration in which the great secrets of truth abide! Come forth, thou ghosts of the Runestorm, and heal the one who is stricken with torment and fading into the darkness that was here before time and surely will be here when time is no more. For he is of your essence, though he manifests in matter. U-u-ur! U-u-ur!”
Argantyr stood over Arju-Lao, both hands clutching the hilt of the long rune dagger as Bunduica’s incantations heightened to a fevered pitch. Arju-Lao saw weird angles opening and tumbling in the air all around her and she screamed into the cloth that muffled her cries. Bunduica shouted, “Tree-Micalazoda Yom-Gurd! Ho-dag nona nu nak no! Deesmees! Jeshet! Bonedose! Feduvema! Enttemoss! Open wide the Gates! Manifest Ur!” Bunduica screamed as loud as she could, “Now, Argantyr! Bring forth the Talisman! Do it now!” Argantyr drove the dagger down with all of his might into Arju-Lao’s breast. Blood jetted up, and the angled openings in the air about the room shot forth a glowing green light that coalesced and was absorbed by the rune dagger. Argantyr gritted his teeth and shifted the blade of the dagger around, deep in the dying woman’s chest. He then reached into her bloody breast and pulled out her heart—still beating due to Bunduica’s sorcery. Argantyr turned and handed Arju-Lao’s heart to Bunduica, saying, “Our deal is finished, witch woman. You now have your Talisman.”
Argantyr watched as Bunduica walked over to the demon sitting on his throne—dying. As Bunduica held up the Talisman, she said to Thorn, “Here, my love, the still-beating Heart of the Betrayer torn from her breast by the one whom she betrayed; the Talisman needed to restore you to life so that you can open the corridors leading back to Hel-Valha.”
Bunduica put her arm around Thorn and held the heart up to him, slowly feeding him the delicacy, a treacherous and evil heart sustained by sorcery, the sinister Talisman that gave him life.
Chapter VIII
Road of the Lone Wolf
The four soldiers sat at their foaming jacks and wine cups around a table at the Wolfshead Inn. It was a crowded tavern in Horan, being one of two that hadn’t been burned to the ground in recent years. One of the men at the table slapped Taren on her behind and gripped it as he chuckled through rotten teeth. “How much for a night’s pleasure, serving girl?” he inquired. The man sitting next to him laughed at the girl’s silence.
The innkeeper saw Tarac’s face turn red and knew the boy seethed with rage at the expression of fear and humiliation on his younger sister’s countenance. As the young man reached for the knife at his hip, the portly, balding barkeep shot Tarac a disapproving glance. “Not if you want to keep your job—or your life,” he said. “I gave you two a place to stay and the means to make an honest wage when you came here begging for food and shelter, and telling your story about being taken in a raid on your village, but I sense trouble, and I would wager that the two of you are hiding from the authorities somewhere. If you are going to live in this city, then you are going to have to obey the laws of this city. I see no harm in charging a small fee for them to sleep with her. We could split the pay, say, sixty-forty. That would be sixty percent for me and forty percent for you and your sister—split between the two of you, of course.”
An old one-eye sitting at the table of the soldiers chortled with a phlegmy drawl. “Now, hold on, barkeep. Who said anything about money? You know what you just told them youngsters about obeying the law. Well, we are the law; and we say what is right here.”
Another man sitting nearby spoke. “If we knew you was going to be selling those kinds of sweets, we would have done had our turn with her, barkeep. I’ll offer you good money for that.”
Suddenly, a man who had been sitting in the corner for some time listening to the conversation got up and walked over to Tarac and his sister. “I have a better deal for both of you than any of these pigs can
offer you.” He placed two sacks of jewels on the bar and nodded to the two siblings. “Go ahead, take them and leave this pig-sty. You can buy ten dung heaps like this one with one of what is in that sack.”
The whole room fell silent as Taren looked at the man and picked up the bag; her brother followed her example. The man who had given the jewels to the youths was an imposing figure, dressed in black accoutrements fit for a nobleman and wearing knee-high leather boots, silk breeches, a shirt of fine dyed wool, and a cape of black silk lined with red. He gestured toward the door of the tavern and solemnly commanded Taren and his sister, “Now, get out, and don’t come back here.”
As the two siblings exited the tavern, the old one-eye sitting at the door was the first to break the silence. “Who are you that comes in here and interferes with the law, dog? Your neck could be in a noose as soon as I say it.”
Without turning to look at the man the stranger replied, “There has been no law here since Count Dagnus’ head was set on a spear in front of his house in Horan, and Klak and his men sat feasting at Dagnus’ table; and even at that, there wasn’t much law before then. The whims of a few cutthroats do not concern me any more than I value their lives.”
The one-eye nodded to the other three men at the table. The room exploded as the soldiers’ table was overturned and flashing swords came out of their scabbards while the barkeep ducked behind the counter. The first man to rush forward caught a dagger in his chest. As the stranger drew his sword, he threw his cape over the next soldier rushing him while his steel met another mercenary’s sword and came back around and slit the man’s throat. He threw another dagger into rotten-teeth’s thigh, and the wounded man dropped to the floor as the soldier with the cape over his face worked free; but it was too late for the man, as the stranger drove his cold steel into the man’s guts and the mercenary dropped to the floor—blood gushing from his mouth, and his intestines spilling out onto the floor.
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