Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem

by Marco Frazetta

  Enjoy the Tale, great hero!

  Reference the world map anytime by finding it on the table of contents.

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  Enough. Let us make haste! For battle draws near!

  And now…

  Wolf Blade

  Oath of the Slayer

  Marco Frazetta

  1

  I stood in my chamber, its arid stone walls and iron door a constant reminder that I was a prisoner. There were tapestries and weapons on my walls, a fine woman who warmed me at night, great feasts that fed me, yet there were metal bars at my entrance, a guard at my door.

  The metal helmet in my hands stared at me, taunting me. Its short snout and drooping ears were meant to match my gladiator name in the coliseum: the Dog of War. Here in the imperial entertainment city of Kenessos, it was the ringmaster who named me, the ringmaster who commanded me, the ringmaster who owned me. But three days from now was my last show, my last battle. One more dance of blood and I would win my freedom. Being captured in battle by the Imperials then sold to this coliseum was a humiliation I carried with me for five years now. But soon things would change. Soon I would rejoin my father, my people, and I would show the imperials what a dog could do when truly angered.

  “Rothan, you will win your freedom,” I heard a voice behind me say, its desertland accent coloring it. I turned and beheld Bellabel, the one thing that was worthwhile in this city, this spider nest of imperials and lecherous crowds. She was dressed in the soft finery of a concubine, my concubine. A hip scarf that draped between her legs and betrayed her lithe dancer hips, a red lace choker encircled her neck. There were many bracelets upon her arms and coin adornments all about her garb so that she jangled softly with her every move—my walking treasure chest, I often teased her. Though I had spent many a night with her, Bellabel’s lithe copper colored body, her maple syrup locks, her large exquisitely curved eyes, all still ignited my blood. “I saw something in the sacred fires,” she went on as she neared me. “I believe you will be victorious. I believe the gods are with you.”

  “The gods can eat dung.” I set my helm aside on a large oak table that was covered with weapons. “All I need is this.” I gripped a battle ax in my hand. True, it was a dulled training weapon, but I could still split a man’s skull with it.

  “I will pray for Akaraxis to give you victory.” She ran a finger on the bare flesh of my chest.

  “You are sweet, Bellabel,” I said as I towered over her, “but even if I believed in prayers, your gods are not my gods.”

  “Perhaps not, but one thing I do know…” She crouched and began unbuckling my thick leather belt. “...Is that my desires are your desires.”

  I felt her warm hand caress my inner thigh, felt her fingers brush against my manhood even through the fabric of my kilt. Desire stirred in me, yet I shook myself awake from its spell.

  “Woman, what are you doing?”

  “I would think you would know by now,” she said with a grin that made my manhood suddenly tense. I clenched my jaw, fought back the urge and raised her to her feet.

  “Bellabel, I have training to tend to. And Ringmaster Pelleo will be here any moment.”

  “Forgive me,” she said, blushing. “It’s just that I know these will be our last days together, and who knows what man…or men Pelleo will give me to. I want to enjoy… every moment of you.”

  Her words touched me. I worried I had shamed her, and ran my hand through her thick locks while holding her close to me. “There will be time for that.” Standing there, staring at the longing and warmth in her eyes, her slender shoulders easily encircled by my arms, some strange humor came over me. She was a war captive just like myself, she was good hearted, though all she had lived in her life gave her no reason to be. Perhaps in that way, she was stronger than I. This strange humor turned to longing of my own, to defiance, to an eagle’s heart. “Bellabel, these are your last days of captivity too.”

  A long silence.

  “What?” Her eyes widened. “Tell me what you mean by that. Oh Rothan, what do you mean by that?”

  “I…” What had I done? This was not something to jest of. In truth it was something I had secretly longed for, to leave this wretched place and take her with me, but it was not a prisoner’s place to negotiate for the freedom of other prisoners. I could not let her see the truth of this. I had spoken, and I must own my words. “You... will see, not only will I win my freedom on thrice morrow, but I will win yours as well.” There was a wet gleam in her eyes as she beheld me. She thrust her arms around me, pulling herself tight against me. Her body was warm as melting candle wax.

  “When you first won me as yours that night, I was horrified that I was in the hands of a brute, a barbarian—some Northman with pale hair, ice for eyes and an even colder heart. But you didn’t force me, though you could have. You have never harmed me, though you could have. Now I see that you are full of honor. I thank the gods you have saved me from a fate of being handed from man to man like a goblet of wine.” Seeing this much hope take hold of her twisted a knot in my entrails. Bellabel turned as she heard footsteps approaching. She stepped to the oak table, and picked up my dog helm. She handed it to me. “Show them. Show the imperials what a northman is worth.”

  Just as I took the helm from her hands, the iron door opened with a rusty creak.

  “Northener,” the guard at my door said, his half helm shining like a polished coin, “Ringmaster Pelleo is here to see you.”

  I nodded in reply. Ringmaster Pelleo stood at the door, flanked by three guards, a goblet of wine in his hand. Bellabel glanced at me as she headed for the door to leave the room. As they passed each other, Ringmaster Pelleo gave a long thirsty look at her backside.

  “Rothan, Rothan, Rothan,” Pelleo said as he walked toward me, his fat gut swinging behind his velvet tunic. His mustache was like two squirrel tails on his fat face. He still had the lecherous smile and raised eyebrows from ogling Bellabel as he ruffled my snow-blonde hair like he was an uncle of mine. He had to stretch his arm to even touch my head, but it was still humiliating. “I can already hear the crowd chanting it. ‘Dog of War! Dog of War! Dog of War!’” He turned, took a seat on a leather chair, took off his gloves, all the while staring at me like I was an exotic animal in a cage.

  “Just remember, thrice morrow is the last day I will be your dog,” I replied, feeling the weight of the ax in my hand.

  “Ah yes, yes of course. What would become of my entertainment enterprise if I did not honor contracts? Don’t worry yourself, my good boy, your father’s men are arriving in the city shortly. As long as they honor the agreement, and you perform with your usual sterling qualities, you will be on your way home.”

  I wrapped the leather thongs around my forearm, preparing for the day’s training. “There is one other thing,” I said, “I want to take my concubine.”

  He chortled, sipping from his goblet. “My innocent dog, have you not been taking her every night? You do know what a concubine is for, don’t you?”

  I ignored the jape. “I want to take her with me to the North.”

  He spit out his wine. “What?”

  “I won her in the tournament of Lions. She is mine to do with as I please.”

  He stood now. “Listen to me, my good boy. You are a natural warrior, a natural entertainer, but you are no businessman. You must understand, this is show business. You, the concubines, the gladiators. You are all actors, you are all props. Thi
s desert girl, Belabia,”

  “Bellabel.”

  “This desert girl, the curves, the luscious hair, the sun-kissed skin, the eyes—oh the eyes—imagine how much she will motivate my gladiators, to be the next to have her as their personal concubine. Or say I merely rent her out, imagine the profits such a sweet young jewel of a woman will bring in. It’s true, in the Tournament of Lions you were glorious, even more than usual, and you won her as yours alone... for a time. But if you live through this next day of fighting, you will be gone, and she will stay. You will have plenty of northern women to choose from, I’m sure. A war hero, a colossus of a man like you.”

  I slammed my ax into the table with a grunt. The guards in the room immediately raised their spears and shields with a clatter of metal. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. I stared at Pelleo, feeling murder in my eyes.

  “Master Pelleo!” a guard said as he threw the door open along with another of his comrades. Their spears were at the ready. How many guards did this coward need?

  Pelleo only held a hand up to all of them in sign of pause, without looking back. “It’s quite alright. I applaud your eagerness but you guards should know by now that it’s normal for dogs to bark now and then.” He chuckled, amused with himself.

  The guards shot me suspicious looks. I lifted the ax and they flinched, but I was only putting it back on the wall. “It’s alright,” Pelleo said, “you can leave us.” The guards left the room, though I could still see the ridiculous plumes on their helmets through one of the slits in the door.

  “You have quite the feelings for this girl, don’t you?” Pelleo said as he stood. He paced while twirling his gloves in his hands. “Feelings, feelings indeed.”

  “I like her well enough. What does it matter what I feel? I am simply asking for her price. As you said, you are a businessman.”

  “Ah, but it matters a lot how you feel. Feeling is all there is. Think for a moment, what is it that the crowds come to trade their silver for at the coliseum, if it is not a feeling? What is it that makes men spend gold on whores, risk rotten dick on them if it is not a feeling? If you know how a man feels about something, then you know that thing’s price.” I only stood silent, waiting for him to go on with his prattle. “You see, you are a true northerner. If you could, you would settle this with that ax with which you so rudely injured my table. But how far has all that bluster gotten you northerners?”

  “Don’t insult Skald, merchant. Those guards do not frighten me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There you go again, taking it all personally. Remember I was not the one who captured you in battle. I was not the one who sold you.” I was silent at that. “You know why the city of Kenessos is still run by its four noble families though it is technically ruled by the Empire?”

  “No.”

  “Because the four families have always found a way to strike a bargain. Whether it was you northerners invading centuries ago, or whether it was this king or that king, or now his imperial majesty Septimus Rayac in all his powdered-faced, ruby-lipped glory, we always make a deal.”

  His jape about Emperor Septimus calmed me some. “Very well, what kind of bargain can we make?”

  He had put his gloves back on and was running his velveted fingers along his mustache as he thought. “I would say a longer stay here fighting in the coliseum but your father was very adamant about that in his negotiations—and besides, even the best acts run their course, for you do not feel the seats as you used to, my friend. More gold? I doubt your father has it. Even if he did, I can get gold from many places.” He seemed to be thinking out loud now, staring out my barred window. “No, I should get something from you that only you can provide. Well let’s see, you, winner of sixteen tournaments and countless combats, veteran of not three but four war campaigns before your fifth and twentieth year.”

  “Who do you want me to kill?” I said, cutting to the point.

  “Haha! You are sharp as your blades, are you not? But I am no assassin and neither are you, Dog of War. No, you are a warrior and I a merchant, but just as you have rivals on the field of combat, I have rivals on the field of business.”

  “Ribadeux?” He was another ringmaster in the city whose gladiators and entertainments were gaining popularity quickly.

  “Yes, yeeees, you catch on quick, my good dog. Ribadeux.” As he said the name his bulbous hands tensed. “That pompous fool with his exotic this and exotic that. Sarathean firebreathers. Whirling Trivosians. Mahlomar Wind drakes. Blue faced Nirmanites. Oath of war priests. And his prize pet, the Black Orc.” He raised an eye at me. “You know of the creature?”

  “I’ve heard tell of it in the city. Seen it in passing. Once when I was on the training grounds on the west district. I heard whisperings from some of the other gladiators. I saw through the rails of a corridor an enormous creature moving in the darkness. Massive chains were rattling and some dozen guards escorting it.”

  “Yes, that sounds like our gentle beauty.”

  “I have fought many Orcs, and that thing is no Orc. It seems more like a war elephantis that learned to walk on two legs.”

  “You could be right about that. Though from what I hear it is some kind of ogre from deep in the Gongolian Marshland. In any case, my dear Rothan, this Black Orc is making Ribadeux quite the ringmaster in the city. But you, you are no limp noodle yourself. You’ve lived through so many battles you make me want to believe there really are gods, and that they must favor you.”

  “I would not call fighting in a sideshow for years being favored by the gods.”

  “Perhaps you are right about not being favored by the so called gods, but you are no sideshow my friend. No, no no no no no. Picture this...” He grabbed me by the shoulder, motioned for me to turn and face a large tapestry on my wall depicting the crowds in the coliseum. His hand outstretched to paint a picture with his mind. “The show of the century. The Dog of War versus the Black Orc. North versus South. White versus black. Champion versus champion. Orc versus northman. Rising champions. Bitter rivals. The established reputable ringmaster versus the upstart. Half price on wine and whores! They’ll come in throngs, my dear dog! Like locusts they’ll come, but with much more gold!”

  “You would have me fight the thing in single combat?”

  “Well of course! Northmen fear nothing, right?”

  “Right.” I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath. “So I kill the Black Orc in the show. Ribedeux loses his prize attraction, you’re the one true ringmaster in the city again. I do this and Bellabel goes with me to Skald?”

  “I’ll put it in writing.” He grinned and slapped me on the shoulder. He gave me his back as he made for the door. “I believe I can get it all together in three days time. Be ready to fight quite the battle then.”

  “Pelleo, how do you know Ribedeux will agree to all this?”

  He stopped at the door, and grinned at me. “Weren’t you listening, my dear dog? A deal can be struck with any man, if you know what he wants. Haha!”

  With that, the guards opened the door for him and clanked it shut behind him.

  2

  The clatter of my longsword against a shield rang out in the training courtyard. The hot noonday sun glared off my opponent’s visored helm and olive skin. I grunted as I swung again, striking at his buckler. As he stepped back I lunged, threw him off balance with my own shield and drove my sword into his belly. Thankfully for my poor training partner, Timor, these were dulled practice weapons. Still, he grunted at the stab and dropped to one knee on the sand.

  “Are you trying to take out my entrails?” Timor asked as he gasped for air.

  I felt my hand jitter as it held my sword. “Come, Timor, I could have struck a lot harder.” I paced a step or two trying to calm myself.

  He took his helm off and squinted in the sun. He was lean, tall, nearly my height, with curled locks and a thin face that said he hailed from the southwest provinces of the empire. He had killed an imperial soldier for taking his sister
’s virtue and had earned prison time, then survived gladiatorial combat long enough to be given weapons and a name, Timor the Trident. His conflict against imperial rule meant I could see eye to eye with him, as much as I could with a citizen of the empire.

  “Your last combat really have you troubled, Rothan?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’ve survived more combats than any of us. Why would you be afraid now?”

  “Fool. You think I am afraid?”

  “Oh. Eager then?”

  “Let me pose a queer question to you, Timor.”

  He glanced around at the various gladiators training in the sun-drenched courtyard, surrounded by massive gray walls. “There are no queer questions when you can die the next day. Hold, I speak untrue: I’m sure Cock could come up with a queer question.” He grinned as we both saw the gladiator whose stage name was “The Cock” practicing in the courtyard. “Well then, what is this queer question?”

  “How would you kill a war elephantis, if you had to fight it in the ring?”

  “An elephantis? Is that gold-sucking whale Pelleo really having you fight an elephantis?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just mean, if you had to fight one let’s say. How would you go about it?”

  “Well my net and trident wouldn’t work. I suppose it depends. Could I use a bow?”

  “No, let us say valor weapons only.”

  “What about a mount?”

  “No, on foot.”

  “I know, a spear. The longer the better. I’d keep it at a distance, aim for the eyes and blind it.”

  I nodded. He confirmed my thought. “You answer well. A tankard of ale on me tonight.”

  “Ah, you know I only drink spiced wine.”

  “You provincials,” I said, shook his hand and walked away. I took off my helm. Even with my lightest armor, a boiled leather sleeveless shirt and studded vanguards and greaves, I had worked up a sweat. As I walked through the courtyard, past gladiators dueling with dulled weapons and light training armor, a plan began to form in my mind. If I really did face the Black Orc, I would use a spear. Sarathean spears were some twelve feet long, used to take down cavalry but were equally useful against infantry, could be used in ranks or in free combat. It was a flexible weapon both strategically and physically; its black cedar shaft had a slight give to it that masters of the weapon used with utter skill. It was not my preferred form of fighting, but I also had to be flexible. I would not need to use the spear the entire combat. Just enough to blind it. Even if the creature wore a visor or even a full helmet, I could wound it just enough through its exposed armor joints to slow it down. I wagered I would have the speed advantage even with the creature at full health, so the more I wounded it the more of a difference between us. Even if my skill with the spear began failing me, which it likely would as it was not a weapon I had trained much compared to others, I could switch to my preferred weapon against large foes, the battle ax.