Wolf Blade: A Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Harem

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by Marco Frazetta


  19

  Leaves crunched under my feet as I hopped and rushed through the woodland. It had been some time since I had been completely alone for a long stretch. There was something about the absence of speech, the only sounds that of birds and gurgling streams that was soothing, and allowed me to focus entirely on searching out my prey. It was not difficult. The Orc warband made no attempt to conceal their tracks, but instead left whole trees toppled over, dead carcasses of animals they had fed on, burned firewood. Hundreds of heavy Orc boots and dozens of wheeled war machines had left deep tracks as they stomped their way through grasses, mud, shrubs, streams. I had moved quickly, and knew that the rest of my band could not keep this pace. They were still moving North, however, and once given word from me they would move all the quicker. If I could simply find the route the Orcs were taking this would tell me where they intended to cross the river, and we could find a quicker route there and intercept them since our band was much smaller and therefore would move much more quickly.

  And perhaps, I thought as I felt the vial One Eye had given me still in my pouch, I could end it all myself.

  I moved more and more quietly as I neared their scent. I was a shadow among the trees, clutching their rough bark as I strode. Stalking up a rise in the woodland, I perched so that my chest was to the ground. There, down below, I could spy a mass of Orcs. Wagons stuck in the mud, a smattering of snaps and shouts in the Orc tongue. They were like a swarm of black beetles in their dark armor, with long cruel spears rising up from them here and there. There was the machinery that Anvir had mentioned. They were massive steel-wheeled catapults, demon-faced battering rams and other things I did not recognize. Farther in the distance I could make out some ungodly creature moving about. This had to be the spider mount Kyra’s brothers had told me of, and on it, a faint shape in the distance, I could see what must be Ghazrak riding atop it.

  Soon… soon I would have that Orc’s head, and my father would be released and the great horde waiting in the north would lose courage and scatter. Perhaps Siv might even see me in a different light after I vanquished such a foe. I could not be so brash to say it openly, but I knew should I prevail, they would write songs of this quest.

  The Orc warband was not moving. Nightfall was coming and as I could tell this was the spot they chose to make camp. Tents made from massive bones and dried skins were set up, fires were lit, helms came off.

  This was my chance.

  I stalked down the hill under the cover of night. I kept my cloak covering as much of my body as I could.

  As I reached ground level where the Orc camp was, I took cover behind a sprawling tree and observed. If only One Eye were here, he might be able to get us close enough to Ghazrak, then one strike of a poisoned blade and Ghazrak would fall writhing to the ground. Perhaps I could not kill and flee as unseen as a shadow, but if I killed him and died in the process, it would still be a victory for Skald. My own warband would eventually come across these Orcs, but it would be a much easier battle for them facing a horde without a lord to lead them.

  Fur slowly covered my face as I shifted to my beast form. I was stronger, faster this way, and if it came to it I could make a suicidal charge on Ghazrak.

  Torches flickered here and there, and I kept my distance from them. There were still some Orcs and goblins moving about. I could hear their raspy foot movements, their grunting, cackling speech.

  I crept closer to a tent, moved alongside it, staying close to its leathery surface to give me cover. I moved to the next row of tents. There was an Orc breathing heavily nearby. He was outside the tent. I could spot him exactly just by his scent.

  I readied my claws for him, my ax still slung on my back.

  A loud barking tore through the air. Damn! Dogs. They had dogs with them, and they had as good a nose as mine.

  Suddenly I felt the Orc that was nearby moving, his armor jangling, his footfalls heavy on the ground.

  My cloak swirled as I took cover behind a tent. I crouched low. The dogs kept barking. If they kept at it the whole camp would be on alarm soon.

  I readied to kill the Orc, but then realized how foolish that would be. They would know there had been a scout among them. My companions’ lives would be at greater risk if the Orcs expected an attack and were ready for it.

  I made a dash around the tent I was hiding behind.

  It was cowardly, but it was the best thing to do. I went pouncing into the tree line, and back up the hill.

  Having left no dead bodies behind, I hoped the Ghazrak would simply assume his Orc was a scared fool and that his dogs had simply smelled some common beast wandering near the camp. I hoped that I was not trying to convince myself that I had not just doomed our hopes of a surprise attack.

  I ran all night, eventually losing my beast form, but continuing to run even then. I had to make it back to my warband, and we had to catch the Orcs before they forded the river. It was our only chance.

  Morning broke. My legs scrambled as I raced down the rise and into the woodlands once more. It was some hours as I rushed through it, that I came upon a stream. I knelt down to slake my thirst there, among the moss covered glistening stones on its banks. I tasted the water, that sweet clean taste only north waters had. I breathed in and drank, knowing this might be the last moment of peace I would enjoy, for days, perhaps ever should this rush to battle Ghazrak prove a fool’s errand.

  “Rothan, son of Fenris,” a voice spoke and I scrambled back, water splashing as I shoot up and reached for the sword at my hilt.

  “Be at peace,” the figure said to me. He was a man, in the prime of his life, golden skinned with a golden robe, and gold hair. I was more astonished as I realized, he hovered over the stream… with wings at his back. They fluttered lazily, and yet they held him aloft. A golden aura was about him. And I knew not whether he was mortal or god. He held a hammer before him with both hands, but he held it not in a threat, more like a traveler would hold a staff.

  “Who are you? Are you a… wizard? A god?”

  “I am a fist, a doorway, a patron of men.”

  “I… don’t understand. Why do you come to me? Do you come to help me in my quest?”

  “I am forbidden to interfere, but am only to tell you a message. Not one that concerns this war, but a divine one. Should you ever betray your friend, you will bring a great darkness upon this realm, and it will spread to every corner of the world.”

  “Betray? Why would I do such a thing? What friend would I betray?”

  “Your greatest friend.”

  “I would never betray a friend, much less my greatest.”

  “None ever think they will.” He raised his hand for silence as I went to reply. “Mortals must make their own choices. The gods can only witness and react. Such is the law. Even this message is a grace I cannot extend longer. Farewell, son of Fenris.”

  With a flash of light like a mirror suddenly catching the sun, he disappeared, and where he had been was only a flock of white birds, fluttering and chirping. They scattered in every direction. I splashed water on my face, trying to bring myself out of whatever madness had come over me. What queer things were at hand, that I would see such a being? He knew my name, called me a son of Fenris. Had he truly been a god, a vision, a delirium?

  I had no time to waste on such things. Water splashed as I leapt across the stream, and the woodlands became a green blur around me.

  “They march slowly—we can reach them!” Sweat poured from my face as I spoke. I reached my warband not an hour after crossing the stream where I saw the strange sight.

  “Lead the way,” Anvir replied, straddling his horse in one swift motion.

  “Finally, I get to crack Orc skulls again,” Anvir said, hoisting his twin battle axes.

  “Which route did they take?” Kyra asked.

  “The furthest West, they’ll ford at the Skullgrave Cross.”

  “Good. We can reach them.”

  “But have the men rested enough?” Quistainn asked.<
br />
  “They’ll have to rest once Ghazrak is dead,” I answered.

  “Or once they are,” Kyra said, her face grim.

  “Come.” I shot her a glance. “We move out!”

  We rode hard, but stayed at the edge of the wood, deciding only to cross once we were about to engage the enemy. I rode beside Bellabel for a moment.

  “You are quickly becoming a good rider.”

  “My body does not enjoy becoming a good rider.” She frowned.

  “You get used to it.”

  “Yes, I see now why you have such strong hips.” She smiled, and I drank the sight of her beauty for a fleeting moment.

  “How are the toads doing?”

  “They do not tire. They have fed enough to last them years.”

  “Good. They will be our artillery. As for you, I want you to stay back from the enemy this battle.”

  “But you will need my fire.”

  “The toads will do.”

  “No they won’t, Rothan, you know this. You need every last person.”

  “Very well. But if the Orcs see you can channel fire, they will come after you like they did in the canyon, so you will always stay back, and flee at the first sign of danger.”

  She gave a slight nod. “I will obey then, Rothan.”

  “Tovir, Anvir, lead on!” I called to the twins. “I must tend to something, but I will catch up to you!”

  “Aye, commander!” Anvir shouted back, always a good soldier.

  “Kyra, with me.” I signaled for her to follow me and we rode to the side of the woodland path, until we reached a small forest clearing.

  “What is it?” She said between rushed breaths. “Why do we pause?”

  “Just follow me.” I dismounted and walked a ways into the woods, so that we were away from our traveling warband. “There is one last thing Dorgramu gave me.” I took out a sealed fur pouch.

  “What is it?”

  “Worad.” I opened the pouch. The inside was the bright blue of the war paint used in ancient times. “It will bring out all my strength for battle.”

  “Worad… you will paint yourself like Skaldeans of old?”

  “No. I want you to paint me. In ancient times it was a warrior’s woman who would paint him, if she were near enough. It is you who should do this then. A true Skaldean woman. My Skaldean woman.”

  Her eyes widened as she considered that, then they narrowed in thought. “But I know not how.”

  “You do. It is the same as writing the ancient symbols on parchment. Only, on me.” I held out the open pouch to her. She dipped two fingers, then looked tentatively in my eyes. “Go on. Worad is of the gods. Fenris will paint me through you.”

  The paint felt wet and cool on my skin as she traced along my face, my chest, my left arm. Her eyes were full of relaxed concentration. It was the calmness of a brewing storm.

  “There. You are finished.” She stood now, looking at my body as if she had sculpted it herself.

  When we looked in each other’s eyes, I felt the electricity I felt many years ago. All these years, it had not waned but had somehow waxed to a thrilling fire. My arms snapped around her waist, and brought her into me so that our bodies met. Her arms instinctively wrapped around my neck. She let out a surprised pant under her breath just before our lips met.

  We pulled away and I took some of the overflowing paint on my chest, and drew a line under each of her eyes.

  We joined the rest of the warband and we all pressed on, our horses’ hooves digging into soft soil, clattering against hard stone, snapping twigs and leaves. The woodlands here had grown over the centuries, over the ruins of a once great city, which was said to have existed even before Skaldeans came to rule over the land. Here and there a toppled pillar, a chiseled stone block covered in vines, spoke of this forgotten past.

  As we neared the spot where the woodlands narrowed and the river neared, I raised my hand for a halt to our warband.

  “Tie the horses here,” I said to Kyra and her brothers, and they passed the word in hushed tones to the rest of the men. We gathered into a single group then and began pressing on.

  “Silence,” I whispered and raised my hand, signaling to the rest. I began stalking through the woodlands, looking for the high ground that we might engage the enemy with the advantage.

  As I crept through the woodlands, I breathed deep, picking up the heavy Orc scent in the air. They were near. Finally, this foul creature that had been wrecking Skald, massacring, burning, pillaging—finally, this creature would die. He and his horde were near.

  We skulked up the winding path on the rise, and came upon the reason this ford was called the Skullgrave, for as the woodland held ruins old beyond reckoning, this river crossing held the ruins of beings who once lived among them, or perhaps had died besieging. Giant skulls the size of a small house dotted the landscape, their giant rib cages large enough for a man to stand in, their bones strong enough to have made for beams in a hall. These were said to be old frost giants who had perished in some great battle here, and all, human, Orc, fae, all left them be lest they disturb such spirits from their rest.

  I reached a good overlook, a sheer drop of some forty feet, down to a strip of land that sloped down to the river itself. And there, there was the mass of the 1,000 or more Orc warband. Dozens had already entered the river, and looked like moss covered stones wading through the water from this distance. I raised my hand, waving for my band to come nearer. Those I knew best, I kept closest to me.

  “Kyra,” I said and she neared. “You and your brothers will lead our men down to attack from our left. She nodded. “Once you engage, make a slow retreat toward that cluster of stones.” I pointed to a spot to our far right. “It’s important that you don’t let yourselves become surrounded. Tovir, Anvir, make sure you protect either of the flanks.”

  “Aye, I’ll take the right side, and you can take left Anvir, ya left handed tight ass.”

  Anvir only glanced at his twin. “The flanks will be protected, Rothan, do not worry.”

  Bellabel, you and the toads will be hidden among that cluster of stones. When the Orc horde comes close enough, command the toads to rain down fire on them. Then flee. Stay as far as possible. All you must do is command them, as you are the only one who can speak with them.”

  “Yes, Rothan,” Bellabel answered.

  “Should the Orcs begin pressing upon you, you and the toads retreat. Quistainn, you will be with them as well. Send your hammer down to the Orcs as you do. Always keep yourself between the horde and Bellabel.”

  “I will guard her with my life,” Quistainn said, and for once it made sense that he was kneeling, as we were all crouched, trying to remain hidden. I placed my hand on the coolness of his shoulder armor.

  “I know you will.”

  “And what will you be doing through all this, taking a piss?” Tovir asked, a wide big-toothed, bearded grin on his face. A dog began to bark, but it was too late. We had the surprise on the Orcs, and they could not defend themselves properly with half their force already in the river.

  “Once you engage, it will draw Ghazrak out. He’ll want to crush whatever is ambushing him, he’ll want to crush it in one fell swoop. I can’t let myself get pinned down in combat, or he will be able to move freely, and inflict massive casualties on us before I have a chance to stop him. I’ll stay free. Once he comes to break our warband, that’s when I’ll be there. I’ll intercept him, and take his head clean off.” My ax glinted as I held it in two hands. The anticipation of battle, the thought I would finally feast on my prey, began summoning my beast. I gazed down the rise, away from the river, where all the men who had followed me into battle were waiting. The tension in their bodies was clear as they held sword and shield, mace, battle ax, bow and arrow. Those who were helmed had a piercing intensity through their eye slits. Those that were not had hardened faces contrasting with their hair caught in the wind. I motioned for all of them to move up. They did, the smell of their leather armor w
afting to my heightened senses, the glint of their armor and weapons flashing. As my archers notched arrows, and all took their positions, my transformation was complete, and I stood. We all stood.

  I raised my hand, and the archers nodded back to me, taking aim. I glanced to Kyra and her brothers, and they looked back. I could see into Tovir and Anvir’s eyes through their helms, the blue horse and the red bear, eyes blue and brown. “For Skald! For Fenris!” I shouted as Kyra unfurled the banner and our archers loosed. A volley of arrows flew at the unsuspecting Orc horde. They whistled through the air and sent up screams of pain as the arrows buried themselves in green flesh.

  Kyra and her brothers led the charge down the slope to the river crossing and the great horde of Orcs that was half in the water, half on land.

  “Gods be with them,” I muttered to myself as I forced myself to only watch as I scurried to the far left. I glanced back to spot Quistainn and Bellabel. They were following orders. They and the Fire Toads were sneaking away to the far right, toward the standing stones where they would have some cover from any return fire of the Orcs.

  I heard the first clash of weapons. “Gaaarrgh! Urghk!” Orc grunts and screams went up as they were caught unaware. I turned to see the banner rising out from the group of Skaldeans, their weapons flashing in the sun as they slashed and stabbed at greenskins. Orcs and goblins alike scrambled, falling one after the other, though it did not take long before they began defending themselves. Our troops were dealing them death after death, but the advantage of surprise would not last forever. I glanced up and saw that the archers were still firing down at the horde, though farther toward the river now to make sure they did not hit any of our own. Bellabel and the toads were in place now, with Quistainn standing before them, his cloak swaying in the wind, so stoic that he would have put guards in any castle to shame. I glanced back at the main fighting, where our banner was, and saw that they were still engaged. My men were hacking away, stabbing, swinging. Battle was engrossing above all else, especially while one was pressing the enemy. Some greenskins were driven into the river in panic. Before long the green bodies were piling up, but some were beginning to rally. I saw on the other side of the river that some mounted Orcs were wading back toward our side.

 

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