Wolf Blade: Chains of the Vampire

by Marco Frazetta

  “A blood fountain,” I remarked.

  “It is said Sombrala dips goblets and drinks from here often.” Vixerai looked to and fro as the hallway led to two different doorways. “That is the treasure room to our left, the weapons room to our right.”

  “I’ll look for the gem. You look for the weapon Sombrala fears.”

  We each dashed in opposite directions. I opened the door at the end of the hall and peered in.

  The room glittered with color of every precious metal, every gem. I slid inside and closed the door behind me. There were tables brimming with precious artifacts, rings, necklaces, goblets, chests. The room sparkled. I tread carefully, something about such riches here put me on guard. Then again, I had to hurry. I began searching for the mind gem. It should not be too difficult to find. All Tiloshar’s mind gems looked identical in shape, triangle cut, violet in color, near identical to amethyst. I began peering at the various gems encrusted into these treasures. Opening chests and searching their contents. I studied everything that had any gems resembling purple. I found none that matched Tiloshar’s mind gems, and kept exploring further down the shadowed room. I stepped through another doorway and searched yet another treasure trove. Gold coins and shining jewelry scattered as I searched frantically.

  Sombrala must have the gem. Charlotte did not have it. She and Sombrala were the only two here in Malfeon who would have had any connection to Tiloshar. I made my way through another doorway, then another, and found myself among still more treasure.

  “Where is it?!” I muttered as I tossed a solid gold chalice aside and shoved untold bracelets and necklaces off a table. Then, I caught sight of something. A tiara, placed on a sculpted head of a beautiful woman. I walked to this bust, which stood on a pedestal, set apart from the rest of the treasure. Encrusted in the tiara’s center was a purple triangle-cut gem. I dug into the metal around it with my claws and plucked the jewel off. I studied it carefully, peering deep into it with one eye. It scintillated beautifully, but I was no wizard—so could not see or sense whether it had any memories or not. “This has to be it,” I muttered to myself. There were no other gems like it, and it only made sense that it was encrusted onto a tiara, where it could be placed on the sculpted head’s forehead, precisely the spot on her body where Tiloshar brought the mind gems to absorb or give memories.

  I felt a rush of triumph as I gripped the gem in my palm. But I could not celebrate, not when leaving this place alive was still a toss of the dice.

  I slipped the mind gem into a pouch on my belt and hurried back through the nearest doorway, then stopped abruptly. The next doorway was illuminated brightly. Perhaps some guard was upon me. I scuttled back and crouched behind a table laden with treasure. After observing the doorway a long moment, I neither saw nor heard any guards coming. I slowly rose. That doorway’s light was truly strange. It seemed almost like daylight. Had I made a wrong turn somewhere? I turned about but saw only the doorway that led back to where I had found the gem.

  My steps were slow and careful as I walked to the brightly lit doorway, my hand on the ax haft at my back, ready for any surprises. As I neared the bright doorway, I was speechless. The doorway led to green hills, to grasses under a small breeze. What madness was this? I glanced back at the treasure chamber. It was the same as before. I stepped into this bright greenery. Perhaps I had found some route out onto the surface of the sky island. My feet were glad to be on grass and soil—a reprieve from the haunted stone I had been treading for what seemed like days now. Even the air seemed fresher as I kept walking further on this hill slope. By the gods, this was strange. The sky here was not red at all. It was blue.

  Reeling in confusion, I snapped back to find the doorway I had come from, but it was gone, nonexistent, the only thing about me was a green countryside. “Vixerai?” I called out, but only had the wind running on grass as reply. I walked about, taking in sight of the hills, the trees that dotted them. Off in the distance: flatter land, a valley dotted with farm land, and past that, more hills, taller than the ones I stood on, with a massive keep sprawling on the tallest of them in the distance. Its towers shined with fortitude as they rose into the sky.

  Then a small herd of creatures, shaggy oxen, came roaming up the hill I stood on, being led by a farmer herding them. Those shaggy oxen, the twisting trees dotting the hills, the keep in the distance. I knew where I was. I was in Skald. I was in Wolf Rein.

  22

  “Lummoc! Farmer Lummoc!” I called out recognizing the farmer leading his oxen. He stopped, squinted the eyes on his long, stubbled face. Suddenly remembering I was a blood soaked, armored wolf man with a giant ax on his back, I raised my hands to put his fears at ease. Yet, when I caught sight of them, my hands were my own pale flesh. I had no gauntlets, no armor, no fur. I was my human self, in a simple tunic, trousers and boots. “What has happened to me?” I muttered.

  “Do I know you? My sorries if I do and don’t recall. A lot of people I meet all over Wolf Rein,” Farmer Lubbock replied, taking his cap off a moment and running his hand through his curly brown hair, which I remembered to be more gray.

  “What jape is this? Of course you know me,” I said, walking to him. “My family has been buying your milk for decades.”

  He looked me up and down nervously. “I sell milk to a lot of people. My apologies. I mean—I think I recall. You’re, you’re…”

  “Rothan! Son of Gustaff! Come now, Lummoc!” I felt a wide grin on my face.

  “But, sir…” He gripped his cap nervously, then did his best to laugh. “Oh, good jape, sir. Of course, haha! You’ll make a fine bard, if that’s your trade, a fine one you’ll be. Fine day to you. I must be on my way.” He began driving his oxen along, those great white shaggy beasts.

  I was in confusion. “Tell me then, why do you think I jape? Tell me truly. Perhaps my wits are leaving me.”

  “Well sir, you must know, Rothan is just a boy. You are a full grown man. If you’d like I can recommend you to a fine healer. Iona, who lives on the outskirts, by the bright stream. Then there is Red Tusk, a fine healer and priest of the wood gods, he is.”

  “You say Rothan is a boy…” I lingered in thought.

  “Well, yes. Gustaff’s first son.”

  “Thank you, Lummoc.” I hurried down the hill, leapt over boulders and gnarled roots. I ran past gawking villagers and quiet stone homes. The breath burned in my lungs as I made my way through Wolf Rein, until I came to Red Hill, where my family manor stood. I climbed up the path to our home. As I came in through the front door, the great statue of Fenris greeted me.

  “Father!” I called out as I roamed the house.

  Eliette, our servant came to the room, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked much younger, her face smoothed, so that she was a modestly pretty woman of middle age. “What is the meaning of this?! This is Red Manor, home of Gustaff, Hammer of Wolf Rein!”

  “It’s me, Eliette! It’s Rothan,” I said. By her confused stare, I knew she wouldn’t understand. “Father!” I paced through the main hallway, peering into rooms. My feet froze as a little boy peered out from a doorway. I recognized his sandy blond hair, his button nose and hazel eyes immediately. “Gannon?” I felt my voice choke. “Gannon!” He was only nine, ten perhaps. I went running to him, startling him. He recoiled back and I slowed.

  “Gannon, I know it will sound strange, but it’s me, Rothan. I’m your brother.” He still seemed startled. I raised my hands and did my best to calm him. “It’s me. We grew up together. Your favorite food is raisin cake with butter. You once stole the neighbor’s dog and didn’t want to give it back, remember? And Father had to give the man two silvers to let you keep him, and you two spankings.” I felt my chest throb as I laughed. “And you like making little statues, out of wood and other things. To play with.”

  He kept staring at me.

  “You believe me don’t you, Gannon? No one else does, but I know you will.”

  He nodded, a wounded look on his face. “But
you always break my statues.”

  I suddenly remembered that I did. He would show me something he had made, a toy soldier, a horse, and moments after playing with it, I would find some way to break it, by accident or not. “I know. I know I do. I’m sorry. I won’t break your toys anymore. I promise, Gannon. I promise.” I knelt down and hugged him tight. I pressed his little torso to my chest. I was overcome with emotion, as I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I held them back, as to not startle my little brother further. All I wanted, all I cared for in that moment was to be in his company. “Come, show me your statues.”

  He led me out the back of the house to a little shed that father kept for spare tools. He opened the door and light seeped into the dark little room. He kneeled and dragged out a box from beneath a shelf.

  “Your hiding spot?”

  He nodded. “So you won’t find them.” He took off a cloth from the box.

  “You won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  He reached his tiny hand down into the box and pulled out a figure. He handed it to me. It was some ten inches tall, a wooden warrior who bore small metal bits to suggest armor. He was well sculpted, far beyond what a child should have been able to do. “That’s Osminor, the king’s champion.”

  And indeed it was, by the green bean that Gannon had glued to his helm, and the red he had painted his sword blade. Osminor the Bright Sword, the king’s champion before Platina, Osminor who was to perish in the war with the Empire. “It looks just like him.”

  Gannon handed me another, this one was of a heavyset man with massive armor around him and a round balding head. “General Forbas Firebeard!” I laughed. He had painted his beard red and given him his well-known scars.

  Gannon showed me several more of his sculpted figurines. “These are great works, Gannon. You should be proud.”

  “Father says I can be a smith one day. He says smiths are important. Without them, warriors don’t have any weapons.”

  “It’s true. Smiths are important.” I recalled father hinting at Gannon becoming a master smith, once service to his family and Jarl had been served. It would be a rather low position for one of our family, but it would suit Gannon.

  “But you always say it’s weak to be a smith, that I have to be a warrior like you’re going to be, like father.”

  “Don’t listen to that. Don’t listen to me.” I put a hand on his tiny shoulder.

  “Master, Rothan,” Eliette’s voice called from behind me. I turned as I sat there and saw that she had brought raisin cakes on a platter. “Forgive my earlier dull mindedness. It’s just that you look so... different. Here, you must have some raisin cake.”

  “Oh… of course.” I nodded. She dug a knife into the cake and slowly sliced off a piece. It was rather long for a cake knife, curved, almost a dagger. Something about the way she held the knife seemed strange. I looked to her eyes, and there was also something strange about them. Something unfamiliar. I glanced about me. There was some place I had been, some dream I had been having earlier that day, something about vampires, gems, a castle in the sky—I was not sure, but a wild, vivid dream it had been. Eliette’s eyelids were rimmed with red, as if she had not slept for days. Something about her stare was unnerving. “Perhaps... perhaps I’ll wait.”

  “But Master Rothan, you must have some. I baked it just for you.”

  “But just moments ago… you did not know me…” I muttered, then slowly stood. She did not take her eyes off me. There was something grim in them, something murderous.

  “Come, Gannon, let’s go find Father.” I reached down and grabbed hold of my brother’s hand.

  “But Master Rothan, your father is away.” Eliette followed us, the knife firm in her grasp. “He is far off serving the King.”

  “He couldn’t have gone too far! Do not worry yourself!” I shouted back, as I was now trotting through the house, out the front door and down the hill’s path. Gannon’s hand was firm in my grasp, as we scampered down our hill.

  “I don’t know what’s happening, Gannon. Something is amiss in our home. But don’t fear. I’ll watch over you. I won’t let you out of my sight.” He glanced up at me, silent with thought. “I know who we’ll go to, Dorgramu. He’ll surely know how to make sense of things.”

  We hurried through the streets of town, ignoring curious looks from townsfolk. “There it is, the wizard’s home!” We made our way up his stairs. “Dorgramu!” I shouted, banging on his door. There was no answer. I looked about and there was no sign of the wizard.

  Gannon was fiddling his fingers nervously. “Where are we going?” he asked in his child’s voice.

  “We’re to see Dorgramu, the court wizard.”

  “We’re not going off to war? Dad says we have to fight in wars when we grow up. Even if I’m a smith, he says.”

  I knelt down to him, cupped his shoulders in my hands. “We’re not going to war. Don’t worry about that. You still have many years before you’re a man grown. And even then, I won’t let you. I’ll hide you, in the reaches of the farthest north if need be. In the Frozen Anvil, in the Sarathean desert, in the Moon Isle—I’ll hide you wherever I must, but I won’t let you go to that wretched war!” I stood. Growing impatient, I opened Dorgramu’s unlocked door. Stepping inside, I found it strange how dark his home was. “Dorgramu! It’s me, Rothan!” I walked into the interior, seeing the walls that looked like cooled lava.

  Gannon was some paces behind me. “Come! Don’t fear, Gannon. Stay close to me.”

  He shuffled to me. As I walked further into Dorgramu’s quarters, I heard a commotion coming from the winding stairs inside. There were flashes of light coming from the top of the stairs. “That must be Dorgramu at work on some spell or other.” I smiled reassuringly down at my brother. “Come.” We hurried to the stairs and began climbing. As we stepped, the flashes of light became brighter, and there was the sound of rolling thunder and people speaking. Perhaps Dorgramu had called on other mages to cast some spell. As I walked up to the second floor, I was astounded to see that I had walked up onto an ashy, barren plain. “Gods!” I shouted, as I saw hundreds of men, armor clad, wielding weapons, blood soaked, in the midst of the chaos of battle. These were Skaldean soldiers, holding off a pressing attack from Imperials. Flaming catapult stones sizzled through the air. One came whistling across the sky, then cracked the earth in an explosion of stone and fire. I threw myself to the ground, tasting ash and dirt in my mouth. “Gannon!” I turned my head to find him, but all I saw was the chaos of men dying, others running for their lives. “Gannon!” I rose in a panic. I tried to find the stairs I had emerged from, but all I saw was a crater where the catapult stone had exploded. “No! No!”

  I dug through the hot earth, but all I found were dead bodies and rubble. I looked all about me, to men fleeing, scurrying about in panic. I stopped one, nearly tackling him to get his attention. “You! Help! I search for my brother! He’s in Dorgramu’s home!” The man was Skaldean. He was bearded, armored. Through his silver helm I could see his frosty eyes.

  “You poor bastard! You’ve gone mad with panic!”

  He tried to shake my grip, but I didn’t let go. “I'm no craven! And I’m no mad man! I’m Rothan, the Hammer’s son! Help me find my brother, Gannon!”

  “Rothan? But where is your armor...why are you here?” He seemed confused as he looked me up and down.

  “Just tell me where he is!”

  “You damn well know where he is! He’s at the front, holding the pass, where you’re supposed to be, you damn craven!”

  He tried to shake himself free, but I held onto his blue cloak. “The pass?” Dread began sinking its claws into my heart. “Tell me its name.”

  “Hofgrail! Hofgrail Pass, you damn lunatic!” He shook me off then, and I let him go running off into the carnage of battle.

  “Hofgrail… where Skald was defeated by the Imperials…” I muttered to myself, looking at the Imperial legionnaires marching steadily through the havoc of battle, in their t
ight phalanx formations. “Where Gannon was…” I did not let myself finish the thought. My legs sprang alive as I ran. I scooped up a fallen man’s long ax and readied myself.

  I leapt into the fray, slicing my way through the charcoal colored armor of the Imperials, slipping away from their red, right-hand gauntlets as they stabbed at me with gladius and spear. My ax blade fell on Imperial after Imperial, cleaving into armor, flesh and bone. “Skald!!!” I shouted, rallying Skaldean men around me. Their furs and cloaks kicked all around them as they pressed into the shield wall of the Imperials, swords slicing, axes hacking, spears thrusting. My ax blade came smashing down on an Imperial helm, crumpling it and letting blood splatter out from its visor. I picked up the fallen man’s gladius, used my ax to parry the next soldier’s hack, then drove the short blade into the armpit gap of his armor. I picked up the dying man as I would a bale of hay and hurled him straight into the air, into the midst of his phalanx. It was chaos that I brought to their orderly phalanx. Skaldean men tread next to me, watching my flanks as I pressed into Imperial ranks like a spearhead. Finally, the orderly ranks broke into a melee. There was no front or rear, no flanks, no strategic maneuvers, only a sea of men killing one another.

  I picked up a spear and thrust it at a soldier who was running to intercept me, stabbed him right through the eye gap of his helm, into his skull so that I heard his death screech. I pressed on, dealing death until I made way out of the entangled masses. I ran up the steep slope until it became a near mountainside. Holding a gladius in my teeth, I climbed. I came to more level ground. I ran on into the pass, a small gorge that we planned to hold. But the Imperials were not supposed to show for another two days—Skaldean forces from the Jarldom of Skorrad were to hold them long enough that we were supposed to assemble a proper defense. None of that mattered now. I just had to find Gannon.

  I hurried on, running over the rugged, barren terrain of the pass. There were dead and dying men, both Skaldean and Imperial strewn all about. I ran past all of them and straight into the narrow gorge. My lungs ached as I raced. Finally, I came to the front of the pass, where it widened. There was a mighty Imperial force here, so many legionnaires lined shoulder to shoulder, in such an orderly phalanx formation, their charcoal armor glimmering, their white cloaks swaying in the wind, their red gauntlets gripping their weapons with the peak of discipline—as much as I hated them, the bastards were glorious soldiers. Row upon row of them stood at attention.