Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem

by Marco Frazetta

I nodded in reply, my head down.

  My father had spoken of the Jarl jealousy guarding his seat and his daughter. It was why he kept my father defending the castle rather than warring where he could win glory and the loyalty of men. It was why Siv was secluded away, hardly ever speaking to a man, much less courted by one. He truly did not see that death would reach him as it reaches every man, and that if he did not let go of his seat and his maiden daughter, that death would snatch them from him. But now, now he had given me a choice: be a coward and break the codes of honor that had been upheld for untold generations, or throw myself into a quest that seemed to have no beginning and no end... save that of my life.

  I looked to my father, but his face only showed defeated grimness, to Siv but all she held was a numb resolve, as if this had always been her life. Why did men do this? The Jarl knocked on death’s door, he had to see this. And all who would take his seat were outsiders—including his brother, whose reputation was cruel where Bardawulf’s was mad. If an infirmed mind like the Jarl’s could bring suffering on the people, what could a vicious one do? Why should some waiting noble, a distant noble who saw Wolf Rein as a trophy, as a stepping stone, why should they rule here? Why not the Hammer’s son? I had served Wolf Rein, and surely he had to know I always would. Why should I keep my head down? Why should I let feeble men cower me?

  I felt something stir in me, remembered the dozens of times I stood on battlefields, on arenas circled by thousands watching me avoid death and deal it—I felt my jaw clench and the beast gnashing its teeth inside me. The beast hungered for blood, for mates, for glory, to rise to the top of the pack and bend all those underneath him to his will. Who was this old, weak man to cower us?

  “Here is my response!” I shouted so loud I felt the veins thrumming along my throat. I lifted my sword high into the air. “I will slay the Orc warlord!” The people all over the hall cheered, exulted, swelled with pride and hope. “I will slay this Ghazrak Thousand Fangs! Orc, man or beast, demon or god, I will slay any that stand before me until I have fulfilled this oath! I will do this by my own hands! No help will I seek from the army of Wolf Rein! I will turn back the Orc hordes! And I will claim your daughter for a wife!”

  The Jarl was overcome with a coughing fit so violent I thought a wet rat would come leaping out of his throat. The crowd raged with excitement once more. I caught sight of Siv’s eyes. I had never seen a face be so shocked, and yet so unflinching. Her face was tense, but she did not look away.

  “You realize your feat is impossible, son of Gustaff?” Dorgramu said, leaning on his staff. “Please! Listen to reason. You are a great man, with great pride, I know, but sometimes even great men must set aside their pride. Do you not see the madness in this? Don’t throw your life away! It is far too valuable! The Orcs are fierce, their number are untold, and you will be alone on this quest!”

  “He won’t!” I turned and saw Kyra stepping out from the crowd, her golden locks shining as she hurried to stand near me. “I will go with him! I will aid him in his battle with the greenskins. I will search for my brothers in the Orc lands, as no one else seems to have the courage to do so. I will find them, or avenge them with a thousand Orc heads at my feet.”

  “Kyra!” a portly man stood at one of the tables at the other end of the hall. “Ya’r soon to be muh wife! I won’t let ya go on adventuring with some beastman.” I could tell by his hulking, hairy forearms, expensive coat and big gut that this was Dak Ash Hands, who Kyra was promised to. “Did ya not just hear the wizened wizard say no one could help ‘im?

  “He said no man of Wolf Rein could help him. Do I look a man to you?” Kyra shouted, and laughter rippled through the hall. “I will go. You are not my husband yet, so I can still break a few bones of yours and not be a bad wife. So come try to stop me, I’ll start by breaking your jaw!”

  “How dare ya—” Dak began to step forward, but two guards crossed spears in front of him.

  “Order,” the Jarl coughed out. “Order! You’re worse than rats!” He wiped spittle from his lips with a handkerchief. The crowd settled some. “That is fine, maiden. You make a clever point, however much you leap into a pit of spikes.” He looked about, a long eyebrow raised. “Are there any objections from her kin?” Kyra and I both looked to her father, but he was in another world as his face was buried in his table, some dozen empty mugs littered all around him.

  “There are none,” Kyra answered, a mix of anger and sadness in her voice.

  “Very well then, it seems, Rothan, Gustaff’s son…” The Jarl smiled as he coughed. “You have a companion.”

  “He has another, your grace!” the young man with the brilliant gold tunic stepped down from the dais where he had stood next to the wizard. He came next to me, faced the jarl, and kneeled.

  “Quistainn,” the wizard said in chastisement, “this is folly. You are forbidden by me to do so, as your father! You are also forbidden by custom—other men of Wolf Rein may not aid the Boaster. Did you not just hear?” This young lad was the wizards son. I had indeed seen him growing up then. But I always thought his son’s name was Jebban.

  “Father,” Quistainn answered. He carried a one handed warhammer, which he used to rest his hands as he took a knee and spoke. “I call you that with affection, it is true, but I have joined the Thrawn priesthood, and so I am no longer truly your son, nor a man of Wolf Rein. I have forsaken all claims to family and home, forsaken all desires for women and gold, all titles, debts owed and owed to me, all praise and all sentences against me. I only seek to prove myself that I might be raised from cleric to priest in my order. Thrawn is greatest among gods—”

  The crowd booed and flung a chicken wing or two at the young man in gold and purple.

  “Thrawn is greatest! But Fenris is an ally to him in his war to bring order to the realm of the gods. And so this quest to destroy a vile demon-worshipping orc and protect the realms of mankind serves Thrawn also. What greater sign could Thrawn send me, than for me to be here in my childhood home to hear of such a quest?”

  The wizard grit his teeth but did not speak, clenching his staff like he was trying to break it—I could tell being at a loss for words was not something he was used to.

  “Well enough, let the golden boy flail himself for his god,” the Jarl said, waving his hand as if he was losing patience. “Rothan, you have a woman and… a half man as companions.” The crowd chuckled, with a snort here and there. “I will allow this.”

  “But Jarl Bardawulf,” Dorgramu said, “Quistainn may be of the order, but he is still my son.”

  “You just heard him,” Jarl Bardawulf answered, “his reasoning was true enough. Thrawn Priests are not sworn to any Jarl. He’s no longer of Wolf Rein. So he’s no longer under our laws and no longer of our concern.”

  The wizard furrowed his brow in frustration. “Please, my Jarl—this is madness!”

  Bardawulf only looked away, flicking a hand toward him like he would at an annoying fly.

  “I grow tired of all of you,” Jarl Bardawulf said, making a trembling effort to stand until Twin Blades helped him up. The crowd broke into a hurricane of conversation as the Jarl began the slow march to his chambers.

  I looked to Kyra, whose green eyes were aflame with an anger that she had held back for what seemed years, then to Quistainn, who was kneeling toward me as if I were a liege lord, looking at me with an eager, hopeful grin on his face.

  “This is quite the army I’ve gathered,” I muttered to myself

  We walked out through the castle gates, throngs of townsfolk yelling cheers as well as giving us suspicious looks.

  “We’re with you Rothan! Fenris protect you!” mixed with “You’re mad fools! Shame! Shame!” and the like.

  We walked in silence until Red Hill was in sight.

  “I didn’t ask either of you for your help,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to them. “This was my quest, and mine alone to fulfill or die trying.”

  “You’re truly a cow’s ass if you think I
’m doing this for you,” Kyra snapped. “I go to search for my brothers. You will be going into the heart of the battles with the Orcs, to Ironrise—that’s where my brothers were last seen. This oath of yours gave me a hole in the law that I might leave this place.”

  “And I do this for Thrawn!” Quistainn answered, “and for my brother priests, that they might look upon me as an equal and let me serve the order in still greater ways. Though, I gladly follow you you as our leader, great hero.”

  We walked up the path to my father’s manor, and I thought on ways to rid myself of them, especially Quistainn who though a few years older than Eric, reminded me of him all too much. I turned to face them as I stood at my father’s door. “You know, I could swear that you were a different person before. Were you not a scrawny kid who would follow me around, many years ago? Jebban, I think his name was. What ever happened to him?”

  “He…” Quistainn thought for a long moment, “he found Thrawn.”

  “Why do you go by Quistainn then?”

  “They take new names, oh brilliant leader,” Kyra said as if this were common knowledge. “When they join their stupid order.”

  “Yes. We take new names, and take new lives. We break all ties, all claims to families and titles, to crimes and honors. In truth, this is the first time I visit Wolf Rein since I joined the order. I wanted my father to see me as an cleric, before I left again, perhaps not to return for many years. Or perhaps ever.”

  “You wear shiny armor…” I said, looking him up and down, “Quistainn, but have you ever even seen a battle? Have you seen men die and bleed around you while dozens, hundreds of bloodthirsty bastards hack at you trying to take your head?”

  “I have seen battle. My order are not just priests, but warrior priests. I have fought alongside them, not just against men, but against foul creatures of many a kind. Which is why I will be of great service to this quest, as I will not cower from Orc or man, beast or demon. Just as you won’t.”

  “Is that right? You know how to use that hammer you carry?”

  “Thrawn wields it through me!” As he spoke he unslung it from his belt and raised it to the sky. It shone with a brilliant gold light.

  “Alright, put it back now!” I said, squinting.

  He did so, and kneeled. “I Quistainn, cleric of the Thrawn Priesthood, am honored that you accept—”

  “Enough of kneeling! Stand and be at ease already.”

  He did as he was told, adjusting his mail as he stood, somewhat flustered.

  I turned to Kyra, a mix of beauty and defiance on her face I did not think possible. I sighed and spoke: “Arguing with you is a waste of breath, isn’t it?”

  “You’re damn right.”

  “Very well.” I opened the doors to my father’s house and entered. “Come on in, companions.”

  11

  I checked the sharpness of an ax’s blade as I sat in the weapons chamber.

  “This will do,” Kyra said, turning to me with a sword in her hand. “I can have it?”

  “Aye,” I said, “what’s that in return for your life?”

  “I don’t plan on dying, Rothan. Though I won’t stop you if you do.”

  “Kyra, we are venturing to strange lands, to Orc lands and perhaps beyond. This is no elk we’re hunting.”

  “You think I don’t know? You think I’ve been here in Wolf Rein these five years, pining for some man. Pining for you?” She stepped closer to me, the sword blade close to her waist. As I gazed up at her hips, the expanse of strong, smooth flesh, I felt my beast stir. My breath quickened. “Well snap out of your dream. I’ve found many excuses like this oath of yours, and ventured far since you’ve been gone. Into Ironrise, Goldwater, even Jarkandur—and I’ve hunted more than elk.”

  “Alright, enough, you’ve made your point. I would want to run away too if I had to marry a local oaf.”

  “You jape when you know I search for my brothers?”

  “Ergh…come now, I did not mean to—”

  “Rothan!” I turned and saw Quistainn enter the room agitated. “Your maid servant, the foreigner. She worships some alien god!” He pointed to the lithe figure of Bellabel walking behind him.

  “Akaraxis is no alien god! He is the god of fire and—” she lost her breath as she spotted Kyra standing a foot from me.

  “Did you know she worshipped this dark deity?” Quistainn went on, his lips taut.

  “Calm down,” I said, “you have nothing to fear of Bellabel, or Bellabel’s god—and she is not my maid servant!”

  The room grew tense with silence. I realized I had just spoken too much, but if Quistainn was truly coming on this journey, we had to trust one another.

  “Then she is…” Quistainn’s eyes roamed as he spoke.

  “She is… my concubine.”

  As I said this, there was a clatter of armor as Quistainn slumped to the ground.

  I stepped to him, but Bellabel beat me to it.

  “Cleric, are you alright? Are you ill?” She lifted his head off the ground.

  “By Thrawn,” he muttered, regaining his composure.

  “Why does this shock you, cleric?” Bellabel went on, “great men, warlords and kings have many concubines in Sarathea, and I hear some do so even here in Skald.”

  “Rothan,” Quistainn said as he stood, “this is not the way of Thrawn.”

  “Do you see gold armor on me?”

  “No… tell me at least she won’t come with us on our quest and bring the wrath of the righteous gods on us.”

  I looked to Bellabel. “No, she’s not, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “Rothan,” Bellabel said, “what do you mean? I go where you go.”

  “No Bellabel, this is different, we go off to war. It will be chaos, burning fields and swords.”

  “We came out of burning fields and swords, we came out together. You would leave me here, alone in a strange cold land? Have I displeased you?”

  I caught Kyra’s eyes looking between me and Bellabel with a shocked intrigue. For a second I thought of how different the two were, and of what she might be thinking.

  “I—I must retrieve my bow—” Kyra spoke hurriedly, “and ready my things. I’ll be at my father’s, come when you’re ready.” She stormed out of the manor.

  I looked back to Bellabel. “No, I won’t leave you here,” I said and saw Bellabel’s face brighten.

  “But Rothan,” Quistainn complained, “we will be traveling with a worshipper of foreign gods. Thrawn will not—”

  “Quistainn,” I gripped him by the shoulder, “I never asked for you to come, I allowed you to. You are clearly brave, and mean well, but I will not have you preaching all journey long—I’ll die of my head exploding before any Orc blades kill me! Now choose, either you accept that Bellabel travels with us, or you stay behind.”

  Quistainn’s eyes were downcast as he thought.

  “Rothan!” my brother Yorbrand called from the front door, “Father is at Dorgramu’s hold. They both call for you to come immediately.”

  12

  The inside of Dorgramu’s hold was near dark, the floors tiled in an intricate pattern. The walls were made of some strange material that had no individual stones, but was rather one continuous rippled surface, as magma that has cooled to solid.

  Amidst all his collections of flasks, strange skulls, candles and dusty tomes, there was a large oval table in the middle, its legs carved like that of a bird of prey. The old wizard stood there with my father next to him, and One Eye next to him.

  “Come you two,” Dorgramu said in his high, refined voice. “There is little time. The Jarl moves against us.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “There is no time to tell everything, but I will explain what I can.”

  Quistainn and I stepped forward out of the room’s shadows, closer to the brightness that pierced down on the table from a skylight.

  “There is no going back for you Rothan, without losing all honor. Not after yo
u replied to the jarl’s offer to undo your words with such force.” Dorgramu turned to the cleric. “But Quistainn, there is still a chance for you to leave this journey.”

  “Take it, Quistainn,” I said, “you have doubts.” I looked to him, his eyes still downcast. “That is no way to begin a journey such as this.”

  “This is true,” Dorgramu said. “Perhaps my… former son has some sense after all.”

  Quistainn looked up, met his father’s eyes, and slammed his hammer on the table. “Thrawn traveled with heathens on the road to Ibsilla, and prayed among them in Roas, so I will travel with all manner of sin to fulfill this quest. Thrawn wills me to go, and I heed his call!”

  Dorgramu breathed deep. “It was a fleeting hope.”

  “Let him go then,” my father said. “You must see him as a member of his order, and not your son.”

  “Will you see Rothan as a warrior on a quest, rather than your son?”

  “I have. Otherwise I would force him to take back his oath.”

  “Dorgramu, why did you not support my oath in the great hall? Why do you counsel me now, in secret?”

  “You want to make sure you can trust me?”

  “...Yes. I mean no offense, but why should I when your loyalty is to the Jarl?”

  Dorgramu looked at my father, then back at us. “Listen and I will cast light on the matter at hand. It is no secret that the Jarl guards his seat and his daughter jealousy. He was once a great and generous man, but the death of his wife and his sickness have twisted his mind, twisted his nature.” The wizard’s hands moved as he spoke, and they nearly glowed as the skylight illuminated them in contrast to the darkness in the rest of the room. “For years now there has been a growing faction wanting Gustaff to become Jarl, even to marry Siv to do so. The Jarl is deranged but certain of his faculties are still sharp and cunning. He has thwarted every plan for Gustaff to grow in power, short of killing him or taking his lands and title, which surely there would be an uproar over. It has been my duty to prevent an outbreak of violence, and seek a peaceful transfer of power to some worthy candidate. So I have done my best to counsel the Jarl to rule with a softer hand while he yet lives. I have also done my best to keep any of the rebellious faction from revolting. It has been a strenuous task lately, made only worse by the outbreak of Orc raids.” He sighed as if he carried large chains on his back. “The Jarl learned that Gustaff desired you to marry his daughter… from me, for he commanded me to spy on him—such a thing is easy when you can command wind spirits to watch a man for you. He consulted me, asked if arresting or even executing you both as traitors was a possibility. I have always seen you, Gustaff, as an ambitious man, but not a treasonous one. I have always maintained my loyalty to Jarl Bardawulf first, but have not sought to harm your father. And you Rothan, I have seen grow up, and know that you are honorable without question. So when the Jarl asked for my counsel, I devised a plan that would allow Rothan to simply take back his oath when he made it. Fighting one’s way through a horde and killing its leader would have been impossible for any single man, and it would have been no shame for Rothan to decline it. The Jarl would have kept his sense of security, his sense of identity as he would see Rothan and Gustaff backing down, and his daughter would still be unmarried. No one would fault Rothan for declining a mad Jarl’s outrageous conditions. This seemed the best outcome I could hope for. But I did not yet know that you were a Fenrir, Rothan, when I devised this scheme, and even when I learned of it, I imagined you would still decline, for even a Fenrir is no match for an Orc horde, much less a great one.”