Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  Pratyi spat over the outside edge of the cart. “Yes. She can influence creatures—‍”

  “Like sea dragons, yeah, we learned that not long ago.”

  Pratyi nodded, a grave expression on his face. “It’s probably how she knew you had arrived at the palace. No one would think to notice tretyidnfukl flying high overhead.”

  “We should have,” grumbled Meuhlnir, climbing out of his own cart. “She used similar tactics during the war.”

  “Yes,” said Freya. “She succeeded that time, too.”

  Meuhlnir looked away and walked toward the fire.

  I followed him and stood next to him, though standing in the heat of a blazing fire was the last thing I wanted. “Do I sense an issue between Freya and Pratyi and the rest of you?” I whispered.

  Meuhlnir grunted, wearing an expression as if he’d eaten something sour. “Can’t discuss it here,” he whispered back. “But think back on Kuhntul’s warning.”

  I looked at him askance. “Betrayer?” I whispered.

  His gaze flickered to mine and away. “We’ll find time to talk later.”

  “How do we know that the Dark Queen isn’t watching us now?” I asked in normal tones.

  “She’s limited by the creatures she co-opts. If the tretyidnfukl didn’t suspect the caravan—didn’t follow it—the Dragon Queen has no idea where we are. She’s not omnipotent, though she does a good job of appearing so.”

  I nodded. “So we’re okay? Until she spots us again?”

  Meuhlnir nodded and stretched his lower back, his vertebrae crackling. “No more hiding in the carts.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’d never have thought I’d look forward to spending a day astride Slaypnir’s back, but after today…”

  “Yes,” said Meuhlnir. “Perspective is everything.”

  Once everyone had disembarked from their carts, we stood around watching Lottfowpnir’s crew setting up a comfortable looking campsite, complete with chairs near the fire and large tents for us to sleep in.

  We sat at the table, to a chorus of groans, and the thralls began to lay out the meal. We dug in as if we had done more than lie in the back of a cart all day, and it was good, but nothing compared to Yowrnsaxa’s camp cooking.

  Lottfowpnir’s crew ate in silence—awed by the presence of so many Isir. They ate with none of the banter I’d expected, often staring surreptitiously at one of the Isir women, Jane included. After catching me watching them, Mothi caught my eye and smirked.

  “So, Aylootr…any plans for the evening?” he asked. “Breaking the legs of people ogling your wife, maybe?”

  “Why, do yours need breaking?” I asked, mimicking his tone. After that exchange, the thralls kept their gazes on their plates.

  The sun set while we were eating, leaving us bathed in the gloom of early evening. Lottfowpnir stood. “Guests, would you join me by the fire?”

  We moved to the fire and sank into the folding wooden chairs that the thralls had set up earlier. They were something akin to Adirondack chairs, and as such, were comfortable, but I didn’t think I’d ever get back out of mine.

  It was a warm evening, made even warmer by the blazing fire, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. We sat in companionable silence for a while before Lottfowpnir cleared his throat. “Yarl Aylootr, it is common practice in these caravans to pass the evening with stories. Would you tell us a story of Mithgarthr?”

  “Didn’t we agree you would call me Hank?”

  Lottfowpnir glanced at his thralls but nodded. “Yes. Forgive me.”

  “What kind of story? A myth? Something from my life? What would you like to hear?”

  Lottfowpnir shook his head.

  “I could tell you a tale of my ancestors. It involves a rich king, a young hero, a demon, and the demon’s mother.”

  “Ug, Dad. Beowulf? Really?”

  I shrugged. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Aylootr, tell us about something from your life there,” said Mothi.

  One of the horses screamed before I could speak, and, in the space of a breath, they were all squealing. Something growled in the darkness beyond the horses. I’d grown up with dogs, and as an adult had raised several Rottweilers and the growl that came out of the darkness sounded big and angry.

  Veethar was already moving, ducking under the tongue of the cart near the horses. I struggled up and out of the chair, along with everyone else. Sig started toward the carts, and I pointed at him. “No, sir. Don’t you dare.” He looked at me, a blush creeping up his cheeks, but he kept his mouth shut.

  I strode out of the circle of firelight, awkwardly climbing over the tongue of the cart Veethar had ducked under. There was a scent in the air—something wild, something predatory with a distinct charnel edge.

  The cart horses were squealing, tugging against the high line that held them, at the edge of panic. My hand dropped to the butt of Kunknir, and my mind inexorably brought up the ever-diminishing number of rounds I had left for the pistol. Until we opened the preer again, those rounds were the last rounds in the universe.

  Slaypnir stood tall amongst the panicking cart horses, head up, nostrils flared. He stared at a point in the darkness, blowing hard through his nostrils. He pawed at the ground and swished his tail. Skaytprimir snorted next to him, something I’d never heard him do unless he was running full tilt.

  “What is it?” I hissed.

  Veethar, standing next to the horses, shook his head. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, but his lips moved without sound.

  “Au noht,” I said, remembering that first fight against the harriers with Meuhlnir’s family. During that fight, Yowrnsaxa had said the words, and like that night, a cold, soft pressure encircled my head, and my eyes began to sting and water. But after I wiped away the water, I could see as if it were daylight.

  I looked where Slaypnir was staring. A huge, yellow-eyed canine shape stood in the trees fifty yards away. Its pelt was shaggy and black, and its tail was rigid and straight up in the air. Its eyes tracked to mine, and when our gazes met, the thing snarled deep in its throat.

  It looked like a wolf, but it was too big to be one. Its shoulder was as high as my waist, and it appeared to be close to three hundred pounds. It was thin-hipped, but wider in the chest, with long, narrow legs. Its ears laid back against its skull, and its lips curled, showing its long fangs.

  “It’s a wolf,” I whispered. At the sound of my voice, the wolf stepped forward, stiff-legged and snarled louder.

  “Yes,” said Veethar. “And no.”

  “Bring spears,” called Lottfowpnir. “Yarl Aylootr says it’s a wolf, and where there’s one, there’s another.” Thralls bustled out of the camp, bearing spears and shields, and the wolf glanced at them but snapped its eyes back to mine. It took another threatening step toward me, growling all the while.

  I put my hand on Kunknir, and the wolf’s eyes followed my movement. I couldn’t afford to go around spending bullets as if they were plentiful. Only about fifty rounds remained for Kunknir and a little more than that for Krati. “We can’t let it get at the horses.”

  “No,” said Veethar.

  Meuhlnir, Mothi, and Pratyi came to stand nearby, and I didn’t see them, but I knew my Alfar tutha verntar had to be close by. “How do you fight a wolf?” I asked.

  “Your guns won’t be effective?” asked Mothi.

  “Ammunition is…scarce.”

  “Lottfowpnir has the right of it in that case,” said Meuhlnir. “Spears.”

  While we spoke, the wolf’s eyes danced from one to another, following whoever was speaking. Its growling was a constant undercurrent of our words.

  I stepped forward and raised my arms. “Get out of here!” I yelled at maximum volume. The wolf tensed, and its growls turned into snarls, but it didn’t back off. “Go on! Get moving!” I shouted, using my Cop-voice and putting as much volume into it as I could. The wolf’s tail dropped until it was horizontal and held stiff. On a whim, I snarled back it.

&n
bsp; “Yarl Aylootr!” called Lottfowpnir.

  I glanced in his direction, and he tossed me a spear. It was six feet long and tipped with a nasty-looking barbed metal blade. I caught it but fumbled it a moment before getting a good grip. I lowered the spear to point at the wolf. “Get gone while you still have a choice!” I yelled.

  The snarling wolf took a stiff-legged step to the side.

  “That’s right! Go on!”

  The wolf’s snarl deepened, and the beast crouched, like a Rottweiler who was about to jump.

  “This isn’t—‍” As soon as I spoke, the wolf hurled itself through the air, straight at my throat, mouth wide.

  I didn’t know how to use a spear, but instinct took over. I planted the butt of the spear in the ground at my feet, angling the point up to catch the leaping wolf on its tip. The weight of the beast buckled the spear’s haft, but not before the wolf impaled itself on the blade. Even so, the weight of the huge wolf slammed into me, sending me reeling to the ground, the wolf on top of me. It was still growling deep in its chest, and it was snapping its teeth, but its movements were weak and getting weaker by the second.

  The others rushed forward, kicking the wolf off me. “Are you injured?” asked Mothi.

  “Sif, get your bag!” yelled Meuhlnir at the same time.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said. “Not a scratch.”

  The wolf lay to the side, its flanks heaving as it tried to breathe. Blood trickled out of its maw and pooled beneath its chest. Even dying, its yellow eyes tracked my every movement.

  “This is strange behavior for a wolf,” I muttered.

  “That’s no wolf, Aylootr,” said Mothi. “That is a varkr. See the size of it?”

  “What is a varkr if not a wolf?” I murmured.

  “It’s related to a wolf,” said Mothi. “But it’s different.”

  “Think of it as a primal wolf,” murmured Veethar. “An ancient species from the start of time.”

  “A primal wolf? A dire wolf?”

  Mothi shrugged. “It’s a varkr.”

  “Are all varkr as aggressive as this one? A wolf should have run away when I yelled at it.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m bigger, louder. Scarier.”

  Mothi shrugged. “Well, this is a varkr, not a wolf. They don’t run, they attack.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  Mothi grinned and slapped me on the shoulder, and I winced.

  Something moved in the underbrush beyond the dying varkr. The brush parted, and two varkr pups stumbled out and trotted to the adult, sniffing the air as they came.

  “Brave little guys, aren’t you?” I said. One pup stopped and stared up at me, challenge in the lines of his body. He growled at me a moment and continued to the adult’s body. The pups sniffed the dead varkr before throwing back their heads and yowling as if they were grieving, and it broke my heart. “Come away from there, pups,” I crooned. “Lottfowpnir, may I have the leftover scraps of meat from dinner?” I asked.

  The karl squinted at me, his head tilting to the side, and I thought he would refuse me for a moment. He might have, I suppose, except for the ironclad rules of the caste system. In the end, he snapped his fingers, and a thrall darted off, returning a moment later with a plate full of gristle and meat scraps.

  I nodded my thanks to Lottfowpnir and bent to the task of winning the pups over. “This may take a while,” I said over my shoulder. “And will be easier if there’s nothing to distract or startle them.” They left me then, walking back into camp, all except Veethar, who stood still as a statue, watching me.

  The two pups watched me with the intensity of a lion watching a gazelle. I picked up a strip of meat and tossed it in front of them, far enough from the adult varkr that they would have to leave its—her—side. “Come on, fellas. It’s yummy meat.”

  “Give them a moment,” whispered Veethar. “They are uncertain.”

  I nodded and waited, letting the aroma of the meat do the seducing. Though they were pups, and young ones by the state of their fur, the young varkr stood about a foot at the shoulder already. The larger of the two waddled a short distance from his mother’s body, eyes glued to mine the whole time as if he were daring me to move.

  When he reached the meat, he stood for a moment, staring at me before the puppy in him took over. He dropped his front shoulders almost to the ground, wagged his tail, and yipped at the piece of meat. After a moment, he pounced on it, grabbing it in his teeth and shaking his head.

  The other pup gave their mother one last look and trotted over, looking at me with an expectant expression on its little face. I got another strip of meat and tossed it at the puppy’s feet. The pup sat and cocked his head to the side, staring at the piece of meat. His brother swooped in and grabbed the meat and ran a few steps away to eat it.

  “Hey there, Greedy, there’s plenty to go around,” I crooned and tossed another piece of meat to the smaller pup.

  “You will need names for these two,” whispered Veethar. “Keri means ‘the greedy one’ in the Gamla Toonkumowl.”

  “Keri,” I said. “I like it. What do you say, little fella? Is Keri a good name for you?” The pup who’d stolen his brother’s meat looked at me and quirked his head to the side. His little tail came up and wagged back and forth a time or two. “There it is, then.”

  “Yes,” murmured Veethar.

  The other puppy finished its morsel of meat and sat back, staring at me. After a moment, he raised a paw and scratched at the air. “Hungry, are you?” I crooned. I tossed him another bit of meat, and he fell on it like he was starving. I glanced at Veethar, who squatted, his face filled with delight. “Well, Veethar, how do I say ‘hungry one?’”

  “He’s not hungry—he’s ravenous. Fretyi means ‘the ravenous one.’ I’d use that.”

  “Well, little guy? Is Fretyi your name?” Fretyi yipped twice and bounded over to me, sniffing the air, looking for more meat. I put my hand out and let the varkr pup sniff my fingers. He wagged his tail and nuzzled my hand. “Amazing he’s willing to be my friend after I killed his mother.”

  “His memory of her is already fading. They are young, and now that you are providing for them, in their eyes, you are their parent.”

  “Thanks for not saying I’m their mother. How smart are these varkr?” I kept doling out the meat, keeping my two new dependents happy.

  “They make excellent companions when captured at a young enough age. After they have developed to a certain point, they will always be wild and unpredictable. These two are young enough.”

  I glanced at him as that was the most I’d ever heard him say at one time. He smiled and shrugged, and his eyes drifted back to the animals. He moved his lips in silence, and the air had the heavy feel to it I associated with Meuhlnir’s vefnathur strenki. “These two are young enough. They are binding their spirits to your own, Hank Jensen. See that you are worthy of it.”

  “I will.” I turned back to the pups, trying to entice Keri closer by tossing his chunks of meat closer and closer to my feet. Fretyi had moved to sit next to me, leaning against my leg and taking meat from my other hand.

  “Dad?” called Sig from the camp.

  Keri crouched, ears back and growled his puppy best. “It’s okay, Keri. That’s your big brother.”

  “I’ll go,” said Veethar, rising to his feet and walking away.

  “Now, little dorks, let’s get back to making your tummies fat.” I tossed more meat toward Keri, getting him a few steps closer each time.

  Fifteen

  If I’m honest, I’d forgotten what life with a puppy was like…and now I had two. We’d slept with them inside our tent, curled around our feet, and early in the morning while it was still dark, they reminded us that they were there. Jane gave me her patented “I’ll kill you for this” smile and tried to take the two puppies out of the tent, but they wouldn’t have it. I creaked and groaned my way up off the ground and took the little bastards outside. They were hungry, so I fed them mor
e of the meat scraps from the night before. After they ate, they wanted to pounce around at the shadows of the trees in the moonlight, rather than do their business and let me get back to sleep.

  I took them outside the circle of carts, around to the opposite side of the camp from the horses, and found two sticks. We invented a new game: I threw the sticks, and they stared at me a moment before attacking my feet. They frolicked and romped, growling and yipping at the shadows, never straying more than a few feet from me. It seemed to me that they’d already grown an inch.

  When the black shadow detached itself from the trees on the other side of the road, Keri and Fretyi came to me and stood, one on either side, tails erect, ears up, and eyes glued to the black shape. Growls rumbled from deep in their chests.

  “Are you going to tell the Dragon Queen where we are again?” I asked.

  Kuhntul solidified out of the shadows, a beautiful woman dressed in black armor and a black cloak. “Why do you accuse me of this?” she snapped, eyes blazing.

  “The last time we met, we got a visit from her not two days later.”

  Kuhntul snorted. “Two days? If I were in league with the Black Bitch, she’d have found you that very night, back on the beach, and you’d never have seen me. I told you: I do not serve her. I serve the Nornir.” She cocked her head to the side, and her pale green eyes roved my face. “You have eluded the Dragon Queen. For now, it remains to be seen if you will continue to do so or squander this advantage by acting the fool.”

  I sighed and bent to rub Keri and Fretyi behind their ears, trying to settle them down. “My pups don’t seem to approve of you, Kuhntul.”

  “Animals,” she said as if that explained everything. “Tell me, Tyeldnir. What is your plan? To where do you travel?”

  “Why would I tell you? For all I know, you wish me harm.”

  She cocked her head again and gazed at me for a protracted moment, reminding me of the way the pups cocked their heads when I said a word they liked. “Why would you think that?”

  I gestured at her armor, her cloak. “You are wearing black.”

  She shook her head, a wry smile dancing on her lips. “Do you accept everything your Isir cousins tell you?”