Claw and Crown Bundle

by Richard Lunch

  “All hail King Varghoss! Long may he live!”

  I blushed and laughed. They raised their cups and repeated.

  “All hail King Varghoss! Long may he live!”

  Chapter 11

  Ulfvaldr

  The villager had made no changes to their routine over the course of the two days we had watched them. I moved away from the brush and to Deswarvn, who sat watching us, resting, waiting. He was a black wolf. His hair, now, seemed to reflect almost no sunlight. We had been...something when we were younger. His green eyes had enchanted me, but now, they held only friendship. Now, he was one of my best hunters.

  “Deswarvn, what think you?”

  “Either that prince of yours lied, or he did not make it back here from Wolfholm. I do not smell him around here...much. At least nothing recent.”

  “No, I don’t either. It is the third day. Tomorrow, at dawn, we attack.”

  “We should come at night.”

  “The first lightening of the sky is best,” I did not say that I wanted to give Varghoss more time.

  “You know best, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Your prince is not here.”

  “I know.”

  He looked at me. I turned and peered at the villagers through the leaves. Varghoss was right. They looked so peaceful. None of them knew we were here, ready to upend their lives into a pit of chaos.

  “Will you wait for him?”

  “The other wolves are impatient.”

  “They are only hungry. They would follow you anywhere. They would follow you until their flesh rotted and bones turned to dust if you asked.”

  “I am afraid that is what I am asking of them.”

  Deswarvn nodded.

  “We will wait until dawn. Tell the men to rest. There is nothing more to learn. We will attack the castle. These villagers pose little threat.”

  Irlor was walking towards us through the brush. I smelled him. I waited until he appeared from behind a tree. The sun was hanging low behind him, but his wild hair and beard were unmistakable in profile.

  “I count no less than four-score of Fundinn’s men capable of carrying arms in the castle.”

  “We have twenty and three.”

  He shrugged, “I could rip three apart with me teeth at once.”

  I smiled at his pride, “We are wolves. We knew we would have something like these odds. Tell the rest of the pack to rest. We attack at first light.”

  I ran my hand down the marks on my body, the tattoos that told the story of my fathers, the greatness that was before, of bears and wolves and gods. This new dawn would be different. This winter, we would have our kingdom back. I scented the air. No sign of Varghoss. I would look for him after the battle was won. If I died, well, then I was glad to have had him if only for a moment.

  Chapter 12

  Varghoss

  “Can you not make the ship go faster?”

  “There is no wind, yer highness,” Thannen held his arms out.

  The air was still. Out to the east, the purple spread over the horizon, tinged with rose. The sea splashed cold saltwater spray up over the sides of the ship. No wind, but the sea seemed unsettled. I returned to sharpening the sword I had found in the captain’s quarters. It was a strange thing he had hanging on a rack - as a decoration, but the hammered edge was good, and the grip only in need of some oil. My men and I had on cloaks we found in chests. Most were fur, and seemed quite valuable. I had to laugh to think we would be bloodying these beautiful things. Mine was white, and I thought it might be a wolf’s fur. I ignored the implications and tried to plan our attack. The attack we would make if we ever got to shore.

  “It’s hopeless,” an older man said, “we need to beseech the gods if we’re to get anywhere.”

  “What does the god of the sea desire for sacrifices?”

  “Gold, drink - I’ve heard tell of desperate sailors sacrificing a woman.”

  “That does not seem necessary, besides, we have none.”

  “Yer highness, we have plenty of gold, and drink - and are but a few hours from the shore. Surely a little sacrificed over the side would make no difference.”

  “Not to one who stands to inherit a kingdom,” I agreed, “Let’s go.”

  The men gathered at the edges of the boat, kneeling, as I dropped a handful of coins and poured a cask of the best beer aboard into the sea, praying that the god hear us, and fill our sails with sea-wind.

  “I beseech you, for we have a battle to win today. If not for us, do it on behalf of your brothers, who need souls to populate their armies in the afterlife.”

  With the last drop of beer, mixing in with the sea foam and turning it brown for just a moment, the sails fluttered. The men around me stirred. They were looking around while trying to keep their heads bowed.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The wind picked up. The sales inflated and the ship nearly skipped over the waves. The wind became a gale.

  “All hands to the sails, to the rudder!” I called.

  “Hail our King!” Thannen shouted, “Blessed by the Sea God! He will lead us to victory!”

  “Hail!” The men called as they grasped rope and rudder and prepared to sail the ship through the blustering wind and choppy seas.

  “Fundinn, king-killer, woman-murderer, false-father, I am coming for you,” I said and I think the wind heard me, for it pushed at the sails with the fervor that can only spring from sympathy for vengeance.

  Chapter 13

  Ulfvaldr

  There was light. There was no holding back any longer. We gripped our swords, our spears, our daggers and shields. Shirtless, ready for war, sharp teeth bared, my wolf pack stood around me.

  “For our fathers!” I called.

  We ran. The sound of our feet, no longer quiet, filled my ears along with the clang of metal and the hiss of breath. I smelled the dust we kicked up, the salt of the nearby sea, the fear of the villagers who already stirred, running from us. We made it to the first gate and cut down the two guards there, and we were inside the first ring of defenses. A bell rang from the top spire of the castle.

  Two men, I counted, three-score and eighteen to go. They flooded out then, men armed and armored, fear and anger in their eyes. Fundinn was nowhere to be found.

  “Surrender your false king, and we will spare your lives,” I called.

  Some stirred. They seemed tempted. One man, burley and dark-haired, came forward.

  “And what army have you come to challenge us with? Is this a hunting party? Is it that you are in need of clothing that you annoy us this morn?”

  “We need not armor, nor clever words to defeat you. However, when the true king sits on the throne, it would be best if we had at least a few men left to serve him.”

  “And who is the true king. Surely not you?”

  “I am king of my people, and you know who is king of yours. His name is Varghoss, and he is the rightful heir.”

  “I am Kilfa, and I accept no such man as king,” said the man.

  Some of the men behind him looked to each other, and two, one with red hair and another with a scar across his face, slipped away unnoticed by their commander.

  Kilfa raised his sword. My muscles tensed. I jumped out of the way.

  The world became a dizzying swirl of screams and blood. Steel met steel. I could hear my wolves snarling, their teeth sinking into flesh along with swords. The vengeance of my ancestors coursed through my veins like fire. I could feel the transformation beginning, the heat of the battle tipping me over the edge. My back prickled with the hair raising. My bones thickened, my limbs grew longer. I let out a howl. The wolves around me returned it. A man screamed, “Monsters!” and ran.

  Something flew past my ear. There was a whimper. I turned. A dark wolf turned back into a man, an arrow pierced through his heart. Deswarvn!

  I went to his side, and looked up. The wall above us was lined with archers. I let out a cry. I needed to order my men to ge
t up above. I ran for the stairs. There were three men with spears blocking me. I snarled and lashed at them, but could do nothing more than avoid their jabs. Another arrow flew just over me.

  There was a scream followed by a crash. Dust flew up around a man who had fallen down next to me. More screams and yells, and the sound of steel on flesh.

  I looked up. A man, silhouetted against the morning sun, held a sword aloft and shouted to a flood of men coming over the wall behind him. More ropes with hooks flew over the stone wall, followed by more men. I stood mesmerized as they took Fundinn’s men and tossed them to the ground.

  There were no more arrows flying. Two men I did not know ran past me and cut Fundinn’s spearmen down. They moved on into the fray. The man giving orders moved to the top of the steps. The wind blew his scent down to me. It was Varghoss.

  I transformed back. I couldn’t help it. It was my heart. I put a hand to my chest and looked up to him. He had not looked like a king before this moment, but there he stood, white fur cloak billowing in the cold air, sword in hand, men following him with devotion and righteous fury.

  He saw me. His face broke from his stern expression to a smile, from command to affection. I could not bear it. I ran up the steps, ignoring the battle around me. I met him, face to face, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him into a kiss.

  “You taste of blood,” he said when we pulled back.

  “What do you propose we do?”

  “We call for surrender.”

  “We have not Fundinn.”

  “To the castle, then. Will you go with me?”

  I nodded.

  As one, we descended the stairs and pushed our way past the battle and in through the front doors of the castle. The halls were silent. The people who lived within these walls had to be in hiding.

  “Where would he be?”

  “Wherever he thinks he is safest,” he stopped in the center of the main hall, “Or with the thing he loves the most.”

  “What is that?” I asked but received no answer from Varghoss.

  I let my claws grow out, felt my teeth sharpen. We came to a great set of double doors, the likenesses of kings and gods carved on it. A few wolves carved in relief caught my eye before Varghoss kicked the doors open. Ten men stood in an arc, weapons raised, in front of a throne. On the throne, sat Fundinn, clearly drunk, a crown tipped over his brow and his sword swinging from one hand.

  “You’re no king,” I said from behind clenched teeth, “Before you die, you should make right with those you killed, lest your soul be torn apart in the hereafter.”

  “This is MY THRONE!” He screamed, red rising in his face.

  “I will not fight over a chair with you like a child, if you would have this throne, then I am happy to kill you on it. I will be taking my kingdom.”

  With those words, Ulfvaldr stepped forward.

  A scuffle among the men stopped me from attacking right then. The red-haired one and the one with the scar had stabbed two of the men near them. When the men turned to see what was happening, they cut two more down before any realized what was wrong. I looked from man to man with a great grin. Varghoss seemed more than pleased with them.

  That dark-haired man, Kilfa, stepped forward from among them.

  “Is this how you repay your king,” he addressed Varghoss with such disrespect it made my claws grow another inch, “By bloodying his castle with the hands of other men. What’s the matter? Don’t want to stain your furs?”

  Varghoss took the bait. He stepped forward.

  “Me and you,” was all he said.

  “Varghoss,” I whispered.

  “Stand back, Ulfvaldr, this one has had it a long time coming.”

  “Have I?” Kilfa twirled his sword in his hand, “Here I always thought you were in love with me, secretly, of course.”

  Varghoss swung. Kilfa deflected. The room filled with the clang and crash of swords. I could hear Varghoss’s breathing, his rapid heartbeat. They were well matched. Kilfa may be filth, but he was good with a sword.

  “Take him, Varghoss. You are King, favored by the gods.”

  Varghoss’s mouth twitched like he was about to smile at my words. Kilfa picked up speed. Varghoss matched it and then some. Their swords swung in a blinding dance of light on steel.

  A sharp sound rang out from between them. There was a clatter. The blade of Varghoss’s sword spun across the stone floor. It was broken down near the hilt.

  “What now, eh?” Kilfa asked, raising his sword high.

  Varghoss leapt at him. He barreled into Kilfa’s stomach.

  “Ooomf!” Kilfa’s eyes bugged from his head, and he coughed.

  Blood trickled from his mouth. Varghoss held him in a tight embrace, one arm holding Kilfa’s back to him, and the other, pushing the broken blade in through Kilfa’s unarmored side. Varghoss twisted the blade, and then withdrew it. Kilfa dropped to the floor, his blood pooling out around him.

  “KIIIILL HIM!” Fundinn shrieked.

  “If you surrender, you’ll have nothing taken from you,” Varghoss said to Fundinn’s men.

  The men threw their weapons to the ground. Fundinn let out a drunk and bitter cry. The redhead and scarred man looked to Ulfvaldr for permission. With a nod, they moved the surrendered men to the center of the floor where they knelt, their hands in front of them.

  “You’re coming with us.”

  Varghoss strode up the steps to the throne and grabbed the sword from Fundinn’s hand. He tossed it to the side. We each took an arm and dragged Fundinn from the throne room, kicking and flailing out to the castle yard. When we emerged, the sun glinting off of Fundinn’s tipped crown, the last of the fighting paused. Men gawked.

  “It pains me to kill a man so incapable of defending himself. But this man - he deserves it. I list his crimes.”

  I looked at Varghoss. Was he truly going to do this? Something in my heart fell. He was a warrior, not an executioner. The men and wolves in the yard ceased their fighting and turned to watch.

  “He killed a woman, my mother, he killed a king, my father, he expelled our friends, the Wolf Tribe, and ruled under falsehoods. He offends the gods, and he rules without compassion. For these, and numerous other crimes, I sentence Fundinn to death,” he rounded on the man, “What have you to say?”

  Fundinn opened his mouth, and I was there. I tore out his throat with my teeth. His last words were only gurgling. Varghoss gawked at me. I spat out Fundinn’s bitter blood.

  “Now your hand is not sullied,” I whispered.

  “Thank you, Ulfvaldr, for carrying out justice. My men, my people, throw down your arms and let us forget this ugliness.”

  They did. It was like a sigh of relief went up from them all. This was not a glorious battle, but a sad one, where sons of men and wolves who were once kin had slain each other. I would shed tears for Deswarvn, and for the others. We moved to tend to our wounded and our dead.

  Chapter 14

  Varghoss

  The women came out of hiding and dressed wounds. The men that could manage it made pyres for the dead. Side by side stood pyres for freed slaves, and wolves, and the warriors of my kingdom. The sun had long since set. We gathered outside the castle walls, the villagers too. Thannen and Finli lit a fire in front of us. I took a torch and put a hand up, though all were so quiet we could hear the crickets and frogs in the trees.

  Fundinn’s pyre sat apart from the others, and was no king’s pyre. It lay lower than the others, and his body was wrapped in a simple cloth. Ulfvaldr had hold of his crown - no, my father’s crown. My father’s sword, I recalled from asking when I was a child, had never been found. It was lost in battle. Ulfvaldr had offered his sword, gotten from his father, in its place. I had demurred, saying he should keep it. I drew myself up and faced my people.

  “All fought bravely today. There are men here who were slaves, who in fighting for us, fought to be one of us. There are men of the Wolf Tribe here who fought against a false king, against he who t
ried to exterminate them. There are fallen warriors of our kingdom, who fought bravely, even in the service of a false king. No doubt, they did so to defend you. Finally, there is a pretender to the throne, a drunk, a murderer, and a coward. He did not fight. He died without honor. He will not go to Valhalla.”

  There was silence, the people looked from the pyres and back to me. Ulfvaldr stepped forward.

  “We pray for their safe passage to the afterlife, and tonight we will feast in their honor. But I have one more question for you all, will you see me crowned as king?”

  “No other!” shouted Finli quickly.

  There was a murmur from the villagers.

  “Aye!” The cry came up from among them. It was old man Vlegnar. I smiled.

  “Crown him already,” Thannen shouted through cupped hands.

  “A King can crown a King,” Ulfvaldr said to me, “Kneel, Prince Varghoss.”

  I looked at him and knelt before the crowd. This time, the kneeling was different. There was no supplication in this act. It was an honor to kneel. He held the crown above my brow. His words were simple.

  “In keeping with the laws of your land, in front of the gods, both yours and mine, I crown you King of this kingdom, as your father was, and as your heir shall be.”

  He placed the crown on my head. When I stood, I realized why kneeling felt different. To kneel and accept a crown was like stooping to pick up a burden. My head was weighed down by gold, and by the knowledge that I was now responsible for the well being of the people and this land from this moment, until my death. I took a torch and lit it. I moved from pyre to pyre, lighting them, and tossed the remains of the torch into Fundinn’s pyre.

  I raised my arms, “Tonight, all are welcome in the castle yard for the feast. It is a funeral feast and a coronation feast. It is a feast uniting kingdoms, and a feast thanking the gods. Join me. Three days hence, I will make announcements regarding the ruling of this kingdom. Until then, do not engage in labor but what is essential. Rest, and regain your strength for the days to come. I will see you at the feast tables, my people.”