Wolf Blade: Chains of the Vampire

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Wolf Blade: Chains of the Vampire Page 3

by Marco Frazetta


  Water splashed on my face. Soldiers laughed. Once my eyes were done blinking away salt water, I noticed an Imperial soldier standing there with a metal bucket in his hands. “Wake up, Dog of War!”

  The name startled me. “I have not been called that… in a long while.”

  “It won’t matter what anyone calls you soon. You won’t have a mind to care.”

  “Enough, soldier.” An Imperial captain’s cloak rustled near me. I turned to see it was the same dragon-helmed captain who had been at the King’s Hall. “I do not want the creature in too ugly of a condition when we present him to the general.”

  “Yes, captain.”

  My arms were bound behind me, and even tighter this time, with bitter True Silver. I looked about me, searching for a figure resembling a general, but all I saw were Imperial sailors at the ready, standing at their posts while a dozen or so soldiers surrounded the captain who stood observing something in the distance, observing an island it seemed. Perhaps in my delirium I had missed the entire voyage to the Black Tear. But I could swear we were still within sight of Skaldean land. The Imperial sailors scuttling about did not wear the armor of Imperial soldiers, but instead wore charcoal cloth uniforms sharply trimmed with blue embroidery. The only metal on them were black shoulder guards and long tapering helmets that made them look like birds of prey. And as always, a red gauntlet was on each of their right hands. As members of the Imperial Military, they were the extended hand of the Emperor himself.

  A golden chair came humming slowly to us. Zyman looked down at me from his seat a few feet from the ground, a light wind caught in his black hair. He came close enough that he could speak to me barely above a whisper. Somehow, even with the strong seawinds around us, I had no difficulty hearing his soft words. “We are on an Imperial runner, Rothan, not yet on the head warship of the Imperial fleet.”

  “What point in boarding a warship now? Already, I can see the island of Black Tear on the horizon.”

  “That is no island. That is the Dominion, first ship of the Imperial Fleet, Conqueror of the North Seas.”

  I gazed back to the shape on the horizon. I could see pyramidal towers rising from it, which I had taken to be the towers of some fortress. “By the gods, you speak true.”

  “At least we know our voyage will be safe from storms and pirates.”

  As our ship came closer and closer to the Dominion I could see its outer hull, its sleek, sharp surfaces. “The tales were true. It is a ship armored in metal, like a warrior knight of the sea.”

  “Indeed, it is a marvel of lost magical science, recovered and made functional by the greatest magic wielders of the Empire. It is crewed by five hundred and able to carry several thousand Imperial soldiers. It has other weapons more fearsome still.”

  As I breathed in the salty sea air, my mind began unfogging. “The Dominion… yes, it razed the cities of Goulaccan and Elamyr to the ground...wiped them from the face of the earth.”

  The dragon-helmed Captain turned to his men. “All hands on deck! Prepare to bridge with the Dominion!”

  “Tell me, Zyman,” I muttered, “who commands the Dominion?”

  “The General who commands all Imperial forces occupying Skald. Commander of the Third Legion, General Eschellion.”

  I realized suddenly that this very general was the one who had commanded the Imperial forces in the War of the Cold Crown, the war where I had been captured and lost my brother, Gannon. It was this very general who had personally commanded the Imperial forces at the battle of Hofgrail. He had given the order for my brother to be executed… even after he was already unarmed.

  The Dominion’s gleaming bronze-colored hull loomed larger and larger until it dwarfed the runner we sailed on.

  An Imperial sailor shouted into the salty air, “Bridge in five, four, three…”

  A metallic hissing sound rent the air as a large metal platform unloosed itself from the hull of the dominion. It hovered in the air just as Zyman’s chair. It floated twenty feet above the roiling waters until it latched onto the deck of the runner. A rail wall surrounded it, and a section of it lowered as if a drawbridge, connected it to the deck our ship.

  “Come, men,” the Captain said. “We board the Dominion.” His cloak fluttered as he pressed on, dragon helm leaning into the wind. A soldier shoved me from behind and I began stepping to the bridge. While from a distance it looked taut as a bowstring, as I stepped on it I noticed the bridge was swaying in the strong winds. I continued the walk, and peering down between the metal slats of the bridge, I could see the swirling green water of Evergrail Bay. The Captain and several soldiers were in front of me, while Zyman, counselor Dupree and several more soldiers were behind me. Our boarding party made a trail along the metal bridge, one by one making it onto the other side. The other end of the bridge did not connect with the deck of the Dominion, as this was much higher than the deck of the runner. Instead, the bridge connected with one of the lower levels of the massive warship.

  We entered into a dimly lit corridor within the Dominion. Even here her surfaces were metal. All this metal meant her crew was free from the fear all other crews at sea: fire. Moving along the dark corridor, we came to a stairwell. Our steps resounded on the metal stairs as we climbed. I had to squint for a moment as I emerged onto the Dominion’s deck and the sunlight reflected off its metal surface. It had three large superstructures that rose into the sky, like sharp abstract sculptures of some bygone cilivziatioin—and from Zyman’s words, indeed they were. There were rows of archer slits all along their surfaces, like whale teeth. Though perhaps the ship’s orignila builders wielded other weapons through those narrow windows.

  As the rest of our party surfaced behind me, the dragon-helmed Captain walked across the deck to a line of soldiers standing at attention. Standing before them was a figure who could only be General Eschellion. He was tall, powerfully built, long-limbed. His beard was trimmed short like freshly reaped wheat. His hair flowed back from his furrowed forehead like waves of black water. His eyes were narrow, with long sharp eyebrows angled in a state of concentration. He wore a brocade jacket with designs of dragons and leaves. He had a sash made of finely wrought gold links that resembled the sharpened spine of a demon. On his chest there is an ornate insignia that must have taken a master metalsmith a year to craft with all its intricate detail of swirling dragon wings and seashells. Over this inner garb he wore a great leather jacket, black and trimmed with red. And upon this great jacket there are two massive epaulets with thin tassels hanging from them.

  The Captain kneeled and brought his right fist to his left shoulder. I believed kneeling with the Imperial military salute was only reserved for the Emperor, but then again what did I know about Imperial etiquette?

  “I see you have brought me prized goods, Captain. Well done. Ah, but what is this, a stowaway?” General Eschelion studied Zyman and his elaborate gold chair, rapping his knuckles against the chair as if it were a trinket. Though the general’s disposition was dour, there was a hidden smirk on his lips. He moved about as if he were the elder brother of every man he came across. I would guess that even were he in the presence of the Emperor himself he might ruffle his hair then make a jape to his men about it. “This chair of yours is quite a marvel, young man. I’ll trade you this ship for it. What do you say?” His men chuckled and he grinned, pleased with himself.

  “I thank you for your reception, General Eschelion.” Zyman bowed his head, ignoring the japing. “My name is Zyman, Court Wizard to Jarl Gmarr of Ironrise. I am here as an envoy and diplomat of his majesty, High King Albrecht IV of Skald.”

  “Then you are one important personage indeed, my mage friend. Tell me now, as you were advisor to the Jarl of Ironrise, how does that fair Jarldom fare these days?” General Eschellion smirked.

  “It does not fare well, General. Orc hordes have invaded. The Jarldom is in chaos.”

  “I see. Well it seems whatever brilliant counsel you gave to your Jarl has been marvelous indee
d. I’m sure his Divinity the Emperor will be in sore need of such wisdom in his relations with Skald.” Zyman felt silent at that. Eschellion walked to me. “And what of this one here? Shall I call you Wolf Blade? Fenrir? Dog of War?” I did not answer but only stared into the eyes of the man who had killed so many Skaldeans, warriors and innocents alike, my brother among them. “I see. I do not blame you. Had I been humiliated so many times over, I would not want to open my mouth either.” He turned then to the Captain. “Captain Muuravos. Thank you for delivering these… prized goods to me. Now return to the Star Dagger, it needs you at the helm.”

  “At once, General Eschellion.” Kneeling once more, the Captain and a pair of guards descended back into the stairwell from where we had emerged.

  “And you,” General Eschllion turned to Dupree, a tall fat man with an elaborately razored beard—patterns razored into it in the style of Gongol rather than Skald. “I remember you…”

  “Yes, general, at the accords of the Cold Crown, I represented—”

  “Whale mustache.” The General suddenly recalled. “Yes, that was you. Always a pleasure.”

  At the taunt Dupree’s chins trembled and his mouth became a slit.

  The General to some armor-clad soldiers. “Soldiers, see the two diplomats to the luxury quarters on the fourth level. See the Wolf Blade to a prisoner cell on the second. And loosen his chains, he will hardly be able to hurt anything in a cell lined with True Silver.”

  The thought of my Beast constantly being tortured by the metal made my guts churn.

  “At once, General,” a soldier replied then grabbed me by the arm and began leading me away.

  “Do not worry, Rothan,” Zyman’s voice came to me so clearly, that it startled me. I jerked about in such confusion that the soldier was annoyed.

  “Move it, you damn fool!” The soldier yanked on my arm.

  “Do not worry, Rothan. I speak to you indeed.” It was Zyman’s voice again, clear as day though he was barely within sight now as I was pulled away from him and the captain. I understood then, why it had seemed that he always knew what I was about to say a split moment before I said it, and why I always felt what he was thinking when he wished it. His abilities in Psionics allowed him to communicate with his mind alone. I did not know the exact nature of his power, but I was sure Zyman could read minds and speak to them. His mind’s voice was calm and sure as he spoke, “I have a plan.”

  4

  The days passed in anguish. I was holed up in a cell fit more for a sheep than a full-grown man, much less one my size. The silver lining along the walls and the silver chains on my wrists kept my Beast locked away in a state of feverish nausea. The meals brought to me by the Imperial guards became the only reprieve from my suffering. The southern spices of saffron, black pepper and cinnamon reminded me of my days in Kenessos, but now their flavors and odors made my stomach turn. What days they had been, fighting and feasting combined with the bitter irony that for all the glory I won, my fame spreading far and wide, I was still a prisoner. And here I was, a prisoner yet again.

  The day when I first saw Bellabel came to me. Her glowing beauty shone radiantly in the arena, a dozen gladiators armed with cruel weapons thirsting after her. Something about her trembling, about the way her nostrils flared and the hair fell against her cheek as she tried to maintain courage, something about her made me want to protect her, to make her mine. And Kyra, Kyra who I had known since childhood, only to return from campaigning with my father and spot one night in the glowing glades of Wolf Rein and see that she had become a woman truly. How were they faring now? Surely word that I had been handed over to the Imperials would have reached them. And Quistainn. He would be praying to Thrawn for the means to find me. By the gods, all I wished was that they would forget me and carry on. There was nothing they could do now. My fate would be decided by me alone, and the crippled wizard who had become a kind of ally to me.

  Days passed without sign of Zyman, nor did I hear any other mental whispers from him. Perhaps his plan had unraveled.

  “Wolf Blade,” a guard’s voice called to me as the metal bars of my cell slid open. “Come. You are summoned.” The guard led me up several flights of stairs until we reached a level with a thin deck that surrounded cabins in the ship’s hull. The guard led me inside a chamber. Though small, it was comfortably arrayed. Its furniture was covered in soft white fabric and rust-colored walls decorated with bookshelves. Inside, Zyman was waiting. The guard stepped outside.

  “Come in, Rothan. Are you unharmed?”

  “The silver is slowly draining the spirit from me. But I suppose I am still alive.”

  “Listen,” he whispered into my mind. “I have been studying General Eschellion, and I think I know what kind of man he is. His mind is difficult to probe. His is an iron will, and he keeps me at a distance from him no matter where he moves around the ship. But I believe I know how I can convince him to spare you from The Black Tear, but in a way that he will still get what he wants from you.”

  “If you can do this, then I will owe you my life.”

  “You will owe me nothing. Remember, I am in debt to you.”

  “Tell me truly, Zyman, why do you aid me?” I spoke openly now. “This is not a small risk you take.”

  “I believe helping you is key to the fate of Skald. And you remind me of my father. He was honorable to a fault. He was also betrayed by those around him, and paid with his life. Everything, his kingdom, his family, was taken from him.”

  A pair of guards arrived at the chamber. “Diplomat Zyman, General Eschelion will see you now.” Zyman looked at the guard a moment. The soldier then added, “General Eschelion will have an audience with the Wolf Blade.”

  Zyman looked to me and nodded encouragement. The shadow of his golden chair swam up the stairwell. I followed with a guard’s spear at my back.

  The sunlight on the deck was near blinding, as I had been in darkness for days.

  General Eschellion’s meeting quarters were on the superstructure that rose out from the center of the main deck. Two guards escorted us to the large doors emblazoned with the twin dragons of the Empire. The doors swung open and two more guards let us in.

  General Eschellion rose from his swiveling leather seat. He rose and walked away from his desk, which was littered with scrolls and tomes.

  “Have these reports finished by sundown.” He waved his assistant away.

  “Yes, General.”

  Eschellion turned to me and Zyman then and drew a fat cigar from a wooden box on his desk. “Well, the wizard diplomat and the outlaw. Here, have a cigar.” He held it out to Zyman.

  “Forgive me, General Eschellion, I do not smoke. My constitution does not take well to it.”

  “Figures.” The General flicked his gauntlet in some strange way and a tiny plume of fire danced from his fingers. I wondered if it were some magic, but upon closer inspection it seemed to be some sort of mechanical contraption that produced the flame. The gauntlet must hold some liquid fuel. I would remember that. The General noticed the way I looked at the gauntlet. He grinned. “You, Wolf Blade, You’re not afraid of a little smoke, I’m sure.” He held out the cigar. The leaves come directly from Partha, the finest in the world.”

  I only stared at the General as he enjoyed his cigar. If my Beast were not bound I would have ripped his chest open with my bare hands. this General who slew my brother and thousands more. Even now I wondered if I called on the last of my Beast’s strength if it would not be just enough. I had slain that man in the King's hall, even with guards and some of the greatest wizards and warriors in Skald all around me. There was only one guard here with Eschellion. My eyes flickered to the massive sabre in its adorned scabbard. It rested on his desk, off his hip. Could he reach it in time, before I wrapped the chain that bound my wrists around his neck?

  “That will do nothing for you,” Zyman’s whisper came into my mind. “The General is a military man, on guard at all times though he may seem at ease. You did not
heed my counsel back in Cloudspyre. Heed it now.”

  He was right. There was little chance I could succeed in my gamble. Perhaps I should trust in his abilities.

  “Well, what is this important diplomatic matter you needed to discuss, wizard?” Eschellion blew a plume of smoke as expertly as a dragon. “Out with it. I have a ship to run, a legion to command... and cigars to smoke.”

  Zyman brushed some hair from his eyes. “It is a truly sensitive matter, General. I should speak without any other soldiers but you present.” Zyman looked to the guard that remained in the quarters.

  Eschellion seemed unfazed and nodded for the guard to leave. He exited out the large twin doors. My heartbeat quickened as I realized that perhaps now, with no guards, my odds of snapping Eschellion’s neck were a lot better.

  “Don’t. That is madness. Stay with my plan.” Zyman’s mental whisper came to me as soon as my plans of violence began forming. Zyman then spoke aloud, in his scholarly voice. “General, I understand that we are sailing to the Black Tear, where the mistress of the island will proceed to extract Rothan’s mind from his body.”

  “That’s right, what of it?”

  “It seems to me that the Empire is at a disadvantage by not having mind flayers of its own. If it did so, it would not need to send such critical resources such as yourself and this resplendent warship to procure this service. Moreover, if the Empire had mind flayers of its own, it could develop this science further. Extracting minds from prisoners might only be the beginning of the possible applications of this branch of magic, which in wizardly circles is known as Psionics.”

  “Applications?” The general inhaled deeply and wisps of smoke danced from his nostrils. He seemed intrigued, though hardly betrayed it.

  “Yes, general. Just imagine: a psionic wizard on every Imperial ship, allowing your entire fleet to communicate instantaneously. Imagine imperial legions relaying commands and military intelligence to one another. Imagine building complicated structures, buildings, ships, not with the strength of labor, but with the strength of mind. The applications of psionics are limitless, General.”

 

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