Wolf Blade: Chains of the Vampire

by Marco Frazetta

  The Chancellor was a tall, bony man who wore a close-fitting green tunic that came down to his ankles. He stepped forward now in his soft golden shoes, holding a scroll in his long-fingered hands. He unfurled the scroll and spoke through his massive mustache which drooped over his chinless face. “Your majesty, there are many witnesses to Rothan son of Gustaff transforming into a bestial creature and murdering some three dozen city watchmen. In addition, he is believed to have started a fire which burned much of the inner city. He escaped capture by returning to his home Jarldom of Wolf Rein. While he did slay many Orcs on campaign in Ironrise, this was only out of bloodlust and savagery, as many witnessed him slaying many men and women alike. Not only this, but these witnesses tell how Rothan son of Gustaff fed on the victims’ flesh without hesitation.” Several in the crowd suddenly shouted in disgust. “We have several of those witnesses here.” The crowd was stirred to worried, outraged murmurs.

  “These are grave charges, unlike anything I have witnessed in this hall.” The king turned to me. “Rothan, surely you were not under your own will, not under your own control when… if you committed these atrocities. I know you to be noble of mind and heart. Surely, there must have been some foul magic at work if this is true. How do you answer?”

  Words did not come as I stood there. I only gazed up all around me, to the nobles who stared at me as if I were an archer’s straw man about to be pierced with arrows. In a corner of the room there was a retinue of Imperial soldiers I had not noticed before. Their faces were mostly shadowed by their dark tapering helms, but their mouths were visible in their serious tightness. They were in their charcoal armor, bone white cloaks and single blood red gauntlet of every Imperial soldier. Surely these soldiers were there to take me to the Black Tear to be mind flayed, should I not follow Zyman’s advice. I looked for the young wizard now and found him standing beside the young Jarl of Ironrise who I had not seen in years. Zyman stared at me eagerly. ‘Remember my counsel’ his eyes said to me.

  “These are grievous charges!” The Chancellor’s long limbs became taut with agitation. “Does your silence mean you plead guilty?”

  “Answer him, Rothan.” The King waved a many-ringed hand toward me. “Surely there is an explanation for these atrocities.”

  My thoughts roamed everywhere. How men could turn on someone no matter what service they had rendered them. What would happen should the Orcs invade. My thoughts turned to my father, my younger brother, Bellabel, Kyra, my good friend Quistainn. There was so much that had to be done, and yet here I was imprisoned by the very people I would save from a terrible fate.

  “Answer, Rothan.” The chancellor’s wrinkled cheeks quivered. “You are before your King!”

  “Your majesty, I will answer,” I stood tall, my chains clinking together. “But first I must see to a higher duty even than my own fate, and that is the fate of my homeland. The fate of all of Skald. There is a far more horrid thing than tales of a flesh-eating wolf man, and it is approaching all of us. There is an Orc horde larger than we’ve seen in centuries and it will descend down on us any day, any night now!”

  The crowd burst into an uproar. Fear and anger mixed into venomous shouts.

  “I speak the truth! You have all witnessed the Orc invasion beginning! Ironrise, an entire Jarldom, has fallen to them.”

  “My armies gather to take Ironrise back as we speak! It will not be in Greenskin hands for long.” The King’s face turned red as he spoke, his wispy white hairs shaking with the vigor of his words.

  “The Orc warlord, the one they called Ghazrak, he has been defeated by my troops.” The king gripped his armrest tight. “Some say you were even present at the battle. So surely, you must know this threat is gone.”

  “Ghazrak is dead. It is true. Men from all over Skald banded together to meet stop him. I slew him myself. But Ghazrak was not the true Orc lord. The one who truly commands the gathering horde is no Orc. It is Deralag, the great serpent under the earth. I will accept any imprisonment you wish for me, but first you must permit me to slay it, your majesty! I will gladly give myself to whatever fate you see fit, but please, for the sake of our land, first let me counsel with the court wizard of Wolf Rein and let me face the dragon serpent who seeks to destroy us! You must!”

  The crowd was hysterical with outrage.

  The king’s thin bottom teeth showed through his hoary beard. “I may? I must?” The king rose. He was nearly trembling. “I. Am. Your. KING!!!”

  The room fell dead silent.

  “You are.” My voice filled the room, near gentle in comparison to the mad royal bellowing. “You are my king. And I have done nothing against you or your laws. Those I have slain, I have slain in open battle or in defense...” The words had escaped me before I knew what I was saying. Somehow I felt Zyman’s gaze on me, then looked to him. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. ‘No, don’t go down that path’ he was telling me.

  The King’s eyes rounded with frustration. “You deny breaking any laws?” He shook his head. “Very well then, chancellor, bring forth the witnesses.”

  The chancellor waved to three men and a woman who were huddled behind a row of nobles. The four of them made their way through the lavish seats. They seemed out of place in their peasant garb, old leather shoes and torn clothing, amidst all the finery of the King’s Hall.

  “You two, come forth.” The Chancellor motioned to two of the men. They both shuffled forward. “You two were at the Battle of the Osko River Crossing, were you not?” The two men nodded. I studied their faces and knew they had not been. A mix of rage and pity began foaming in my throat. The chancellor looked between me and them. “Did you see Rothan slay or harm any besides Orcs?”

  “Aye,” a balding man, the taller of the two said, “when we were in the thick of battle, the worst of it I tell ya, he done gone and become a wolf man. He was a rabid animal he was. Killed all kinds of Orcs he did, but tore into a dozen men just the same—no, two dozen it was. None of us could stop im’. Even pricked im’ with my spear, I did. I swear it! Just like that—I pricked im’! But’s no use none ways. All’s I could do was run off and save my mate here.”

  “Ya did not save me!” protested the other man, who all together looked like a street urchin with a scraggly red beard that did not suit his protruding long-nosed face.

  “Do you confirm that Rothan killed Skaldean men, and feasted on their flesh?” The Chancellor looked at the urchin red beard in the eye.

  “Aye. But not the other part. Nobody saved me from nothin’.”

  “Very well, you’re both dismissed.” I stood there, unspeaking, knowing that I must be strong and heed Zyman’s counsel. I must. “Come, woman.” The Chancellor motioned for the buxom, wide-faced, squashed-nosed woman to step forth. “Tell of what you witnessed Rothan son of Gustaff do when he lodged at the town of Nevolruud.”

  “He stayed at our inn one night.” She stared down at the ground and squeezed the hem of her dress in her hands with her fat fingers. “Most of the men in the town had been killed or hurt in the Orc fighting. He came into the inn one night and he was a monster. Fur all over him, big sharp teeth and horns like a billy goat. He had two women, one in each arm. They were kicking, screaming for him to let them go. I tried to help them but he shoved me aside—slapped me a couple times too. I heard screaming and screaming and heard growling like a doggie. A big one. When I went up to the room, all I found was the bodies.” Tears were beginning to pour down her cheeks. “The women… their clothes were ripped off, and they had blood all over them and they were tore open. Tore open like hogs and one leg was here and an arm there—all eaten up!” The woman broke into sobs.

  At these lies I could not contain myself. My eyes widened as I stared at the woman. True Silver chains on me or no—I felt the great rage of Fenris begin filling me with strength beyond mortal bounds.

  “Next, come forth.” The Chancellor motioned for the last man to testify against me. “You were also present at the Battle of Osko Cross
ing, were you not?”

  “I was,” the man said. His face was half covered in thick stubble. He had greasy hair and a long tapering jaw. My stomach twisted when I recognized him. He had been one of the soldiers who truly had fought besides us at Osko Crossing.

  “And did you witness Rothan kill a man?”

  The man tapped his foot unconsciously. His hand trembled. The bags under his eyes shone as there was turmoil on his face. “Aye. He killed a man.”

  “How did he do it?”

  “I don’t recall.” The man looked about as if a noxious fume were upon him and he sought a way out.

  “Answer! You are in the presence of your king!”

  He gazed up to the domed ceiling and breathed deep. “He… he dug his claws into him. Bit into his throat.”

  “And what happened after that?”

  “I’m not sure. The battle was fierce. I’m not sure what I saw.”

  “Speak. Surely you saw. You were near enough.”

  The man trembled. “He tore into him. With his teeth. Like a wolf. And he… he ate his flesh.”

  I had never felt such a heartbreak. Never had a man I had fought beside borne false witness against me. A great chill air fell over me and seemed to fill the room. It was the air of a winter bastard, or what we called the coldest of days in the North. Some of the nobles noticed, as they stirred in their seats and looked about in confusion. The Chancellor motioned for the last witness, the soldier, to step away.

  “These are several terrifying accounts, your majesty. As you can see, what is common among them is that this is no Fenrir, a righteous warrior chosen by the gods as tales of old tell, but rather this is a curse that Rothan suffers from. If he is not a monster himself then he becomes possessed by one, surely.”

  The King seemed confused, now feeling the chill in the room and looking about for an explanation—for suddenly it was as if we stood upon a great mountain peak rather than inside the thick warmed walls of Cloudspyre—but he went on with the proceeding. “Surely there is some explanation, some dark power that has come over you. I know there is still a noble warrior inside, whatever foul thing possesses you. Rothan, answer these charges. What have you become? What gave you this curse?”

  “My king, I will answer these charges…” I felt the bones in my face contorting. My face would have been a wolf’s in a split moment, but the True Silver chains seemed to hold the transformation back. Still, the growing rage inside me seemed to push fangs, fur and strength into my body, and a growing chill into the room. A few of the nearest nobles noticed my half transformation, and their chairs scraped on the marble floor as they scurried away. “When I was a prisoner at Kenessos, I was betrayed. I was sent to fight an enemy, but was poisoned by the Ringmaster of the Coliseum, given no weapons, sent to die rather than to fight. And die I did…” The air rang with confused murmurs. “And in that darkness of death, I saw a creature walking toward me…”

  “Yes, go on… what kind of infernal creature was it?” the King asked eagerly.

  “It was… a wolf. It was the Great God of the North, the first wolf, the one who wields lightning in his jaws and an endless cold in his heart! He saved me from treachery once, and will again this cursed day!”

  Saying this, I lunged into the crowd. Chaos erupted in the hall. Silk robes and brocaded jackets swirled about. Goblets clanked on the ground and wine splattered. Spears began closing in on me like sharks. Rays of pulsing magic shot at me and splintered tables apart. But I was too fast. Even with my limbs chained and my Fenrir strength suppressed, I darted about, leaping like a night panther. Over tables, between columns. I found my false accusers in the crowd.

  “Gods!” I heard the red-haired urchin say a split moment before I snatched his neck with the chain that bound my two wrists. The metal links quickly wrapped around his throat and one sharp tug squeezed it so hard he croaked out his life, his eyes nearly popping from his skull.

  “No, only one god comes for you this day! To his jaws I send—Glargh!”

  My scream tore the air as I felt what could only be a magical blast explode upon me. It was like a cascade of pure pain, sizzling violet light and a gale wind had all crashed down on me. My back slammed against a marble pillar, shattering its outer layer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two wizard siblings aiming their glowing wands at me, ready to deliver more pain. What little Fenrir strength I had been able to summon quickly left me as a bursting violet shock came over my body. My flesh softened and my fangs receded. My knees rasped against the ground as I tried to stand, but was unable. I heard the clinking of metal armor as Platina stepped to me and aimed her glowing spear.

  “Your majesty!” her strong, clear voice rang out. “Permission to put down this foul creature!”

  “Hold!” King Albrecht stepped out from behind a marble pillar, surrounded by a half dozen guards. He trembled, straightened his robes as he took his seat once more. “This is still a country of laws, and I will have all people know it! Rothan son of Gustaff, I find you guilty of murder. Guilty of consuming human flesh. Guilty of defiling women’s virtue. Guilty of false claims to royal Fenrir blood. Guilty of an assault on your King’s Hall. Guilty of morbid things beyond speaking. The penalty for these crimes is clear: death.” The crowd, all standing now still in astonishment at the sudden outburst, shouted their approval. “Hold!” The King raised both hands to quiet them. “You must remember that though this is my sentence, we owe allegiance to our Emperor His divinity, the Emperor Septimus Omega, will be the one to dispense with you as he pleases.” The nobles murmured their pleasure, and the King grew in his conviction. “Rothan, son of Gustaff, I now hand you over to Imperial hands, to be taken to the island of Black Tear, where your very mind, your very soul will be torn apart and ripped out of you.” The crowd shouted this agreement, some howling with pleasure at my fate. “Captain,” the King said, signalling the leader of the Imperial squadron, a man with dragon wings on his helm. The armored squad of Imperials jangled as they surrounded me.

  “Your majesty, I would speak.” I was astonished to hear Zyman’s voice. So was the entire room as they all stared at him, hovering in his golden metal chair in the middle of the hall.

  “Zyman...the court wizard of Ironrise…” The King’s curiosity seemed to outweigh his impatience. “Very well, speak quickly.”

  “The ship which takes the prisoner to the Black Tear will ultimately arrive in the Imperial Capital and deliver the prisoner as well as his extracted mind to the Emperor.”

  “What of it?”

  “I ask that you allow me to travel onboard the ship as a diplomat. I cannot speak for of a future Orc invasion, but what is true is that Orcs remain in Ironrise and occupy its capital.” Jarl Gmarr stared in wonder at Zyman. “Grant this, that I might ask his Divinity Emperor Septimus for aid to Ironrise. All of Skald pays taxes to the Empire. It should be fitting that they lend their military strength to ours. In this way you will not have to spend valuable resources to lift the Orc occupation from Ironrise.”

  “You would speak on behalf of me abroad, sorcerer?” King Albrecht asked. “Your place is beside your Jarl, is it not?”

  “I can represent Skaldean interests abroad, your Majesty. I am no mind flayer the likes of those on the Black Tear, but I am skilled in Psionic Magic myself and perhaps can learn while on the voyage that Skald too might gain from such skills. Surely, Jarl Gmarr will attest to my abilities as a negotiator, as well as a scholar of magic, both Psionic and Arcane.”

  The King looked to Jarl Gmarr the Younger, who blanched. He stepped forward out of the crowd, a lot younger than all the other nobles, his thick bushy brown hair uncommon for a Skaldean, his skin a reddish pale. He wore dark clothing that was adorned everywhere with metal rivets, metal filigree, metal shoulder pads, the very fabric woven with the finest silver wire, for ore was so plentiful in Ironrise that it’s ruling families made whole outfits out of metalwork to display their wealth.

  “Zyman is my most trusted counselor.” Gm
arr was barely twenty, and so spoke with uncertainty to match his age. “And an imperial legion to aid Ironrise would be a benefit, a return on all the wealth we pay in taxes.”

  The king caressed his frosty beard. “Very well, Zyman the foreigner. You may travel under my aegis, but you must accompany my own diplomat, Dupree. I’m sure that the two of you combined will represent Skald’s interests before the Emperor.”

  “I am honored, your Grace.” Zyman bowed his head. His large golden chair turned in the air and hovered toward me. The squad of imperial soldiers, sabers at their hip, all marched upon me, took me by both arms and began dragging me out of the room.

  I resisted for a moment, just long enough to turn to the chamber and speak. “It is not I who you betray today! It is Fenris! It is your god!” I felt an Imperial gauntlet crash against my skull and I was dragged half-conscious from a storm of hatred swirling in the King’s Hall.

  3

  The silver chains, the exhaustion of being captive for days and the magic blasts in the King’s Hall had brought me to the brink of death. It was only through a haze that I was taken aboard an Imperial vessel, which sailed down the great river Namssar and into Evergrail Bay. As I regained some of my awareness, I looked around me and found the Empire’s greatest warship less than impressive. The deck was clean and organized, with a dark wood exterior and soldiers at their stations. But truly, I had seen larger, more fearsome Imperial ships. Why was I on deck? Should I not be in a prisoner hold somewhere?