Wolf Blade Read online

  I arrived at the other end of the courtyard, where Zurkin the Pale Mask, and Gullivar of Heston Vale were practicing combat, spear against sword. Zurkin peppered Gullivar with flickering blows of his Sarathean spear, while Gullivar did his best to deflect them with his shield and close in. Zurkin’s agile frame made him look like a dancer as he took bold, quick steps, his long braided black hair swinging here and there. It was frustrating to even watch Gullivar as it was apparent how difficult it was for the short muscular Midlander to close in on Zurkin. I watched them for a time and Gullivar never came within three sword lengths to Zurkin. I had come to the right man.

  “Good effort, Midlander,” Zurkin said as he leaned against his upright spear, his resting pose practically that of a dancing girl. “A few more practice days and you come within five paces.”

  “Ya mock me, ya braided girl-footed craven,” Gullivar said, shaking his head as he walked off, though from what I could tell he meant no true insult.

  “Northerner,” Zurkin said, turning his cinnamon colored face and piercing black eyes on me. “You come try your luck as well?”

  “I’ve come to gain luck.” I stepped closer. I wondered how he was not suffering from the heat in his black boiled leather armor and fur trimmed copper greaves.

  “I be careful, you might try cut my foot off. Wear it around your neck like a rabbit’s.”

  “It is nothing like that. I… need a teacher. I want to learn spear fighting.”

  “Why, northerner? You almost done with all these combats.”

  “One more combat is still a gulf between life and death.”

  “Ah, you right. But why I do this favor for you? You never do favor for me.”

  “True, but I have also never done you ill. And are Saratheans not godly people? A good act like helping me will win you favor with your gods.”

  “Oh, you suddenly believer of the gods?”

  “Not really.”

  He looked at me for a long moment with sharp eyes... then guffawed, raising his hand to cover his laughing mouth. “You make me laugh northerner. I will help you for a reason.”

  “What is that?”

  “I think even more laughing to see a big man dance.” He grinned and flicked his spear at my feet. I hopped away.

  “Hey!”

  “Watch how I do,” he said, and went on flickering his spear at me.

  After an hour of demonstrating how to attack, he let me actually handle the spear, began teaching me some elementary stances, thrusts, parries, slashes. I had fought in campaigns as well as one on one combat since I was a child, so I was a quick learner.

  “Better. Better,” he said as the sun was beginning to slant. “We practice even better tomorrow.”

  “Aye.” I nodded as sweat stung my eyes.

  “Ey Dog,” I heard a voice say from a few paces away. It was The Cock. He was wearing a lighter version of his regalia, which was unique to say the least. He really went all in and wore a helm in the shape of a bird head, with great red plumes rising all along its crest. A violet jerkin he wore over his mail had the crest of a rooster. “If you like playing with long sticks so much, I got one for you right here.” The Cock, true to himself, grabbed his crotch and laughed.

  “I think you play with it enough,” I said.

  He sauntered closer along with three of his gladiator allies, all hulking, brutish men. “What happened northerner, your whore Bellabel convince you to become Sarathean? Is that why you suddenly want to be a spearman?”

  I squared my stance to face him, tossed my spear to Zurkin. “I don’t need a spear, or any weapon, to make you bleed, so Cock, you keep her name out of your mouth.” My eyes narrowed. Felt blood pumping in my veins. Several other gladiators on the grounds had approached to see all the commotion.

  “Oh don’t worry Northman, soon you’ll be gone and she will be in my mouth quite a lot... and I will be in hers.” He grabbed his crotch again, and I swung. Even with his helm on, my fist crashed into his head and knocked him over. He staggered up, his reflexes a lot quicker than I expected. A dagger flashed through the air as he swung. I reacted quick enough to duck back, but not before it left a red line of blood on my cheek. I stepped back frantically searching for my ax to end this once and for all.

  Zurkin’s giant spear suddenly sliced the air between me and Cock, and I took a reflexive step back to avoid it hacking my nose off. “This no good for any of us. No fighting.” Zurkin said, looking calmly between me and The Cock.

  “Hey stop this!” I heard Timor say, who was now drawing me away from the conflict. “Come on, Rothan, you’re almost out of this place. Don’t throw your freedom away just for an idiot in a rooster costume. He loves this place, you don’t. You need to get back to your homeland. Remember it. Remember that chill north air you always talk about, your kin, your maidens.”

  Coliseum guards suddenly stood alert up in their watch towers, and I knew Timor was right. “Gah! You speak true, Timor.”

  I nodded to Zurkin and began walking away.

  “Ey dog!” the Cock called to me, still spitting his venom. He lifted his visor. His pale eyes always seemed too wide open. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with her when you’re gone.” The smile lines on his face showed as he grinned. “At first.”

  3

  It was early the day after next that I sat in Pelleo’s reception room. There were two long tables in the room and purple finery along the walls. Guards stood at each corner of the room. Four wealthy merchants ate lavish food and made jaunty conversation at one table. Their bright robes, dyed plumes and jewelry would have made them more women than men back in the north, but I had grown used to this kind of dress here in the South. I imagined they were here to see the men my father had sent for me, to see the northern barbarians for their own amusement. Perhaps they might even make business propositions of some kind. Though my father was not the Jarl of my home Jarldom, he was the Hammer of the jarl, which made him his right hand man, commander of the military and powerful in his own right.

  I sat impatiently, silent, trying my best to read the contract I had just signed, the one that gained both mine and Bellabel’s freedom should I slay the Black Orc in the coliseum show. Even written in Common, I could only make out half of it. Reading was not something northern warriors prized much.

  Approaching footsteps and conversations rang out from outside the room. I lurched up.

  A guard opened the door. “Ringmaster Pelleo enters!” the guard announced as several men stepped in through the door. Pelleo entered, flanked by four guards. Walking beside him was a face I instantly recognized but had not seen in years: Karlstaff One Eye. He was lean and muscled as I remembered him, had long hair which was salt and peppered as his stubble was. He got his name because one eye was covered by a metal device which had been fashioned for him after he lost the eye in battle. He wore black leather and a blue cloak over his shoulders which was clasped by a brooch of a wolf’s head grasping a lightning bolt in its fangs. This was the symbol of Wolf Rein. Wolf Rein was one of six Jarldoms in the North, which was otherwise known as the kingdom of Skald. “Ringmaster Pelleo and emissaries of Skald!” the guard announced again.

  “We do not speak for all of Skald, only for Wolf Rein,” One Eye muttered to Pelleo.

  “Oh forgive my guards, they are not as geographically educated as you Northmen,” Pelleo chuckled.

  One Eye spotted me and strode toward me. I noticed now that he was accompanied by three other Northmen. One Eye clasped my forearm, and I his. Now that he was close, I could see the lines on his face more clear, they were all in sharp angles of concentration, alertness, but suddenly eased as our eyes met.

  “One Eye, to see a man standing tall and wearing that insignia…” I gazed down at the wolf and lightning brooch. “I feel strengthened just by the sight.”

  “It is good these years have not made you forget your home.”

  I nodded, then noticed two of the Northmen who were with him. One was Tor the Pale, the other Riggis. I remembered both men, though I did not know them well. I did remember Riggis had famously hunted a great she-bear when I was a youngling. They were both solid, reliable warriors, their furs and beards contrasting sharply with the silks and velvets of the merchants who sat observing us. The third northman accompanying One Eye was much smaller, slimmer. He was hardly a man at all.

  “Eric?” I blurted out in disbelief.

  “Aye, Rothan! It’s me!” the youngster said back to me, then strode forward, clasped my forearm and embraced me. I embraced him in return, though for a split moment I leered at the chuckles from the seated merchants.

  “You were just a boy last I saw you.” I gazed at his shaggy brown locks and the lightest peach whiskers on his face.

  “Aye, but I’m fourteen now,” he replied, “Uncle wouldn’t suffer me to come along, but I told him I was a man grown and—”

  “Enough, Eric,” One Eye said. “We must carry along and bring Rothan home.”

  I nodded to One Eye. “Yes. I hunger to fight for Wolf Rein, and for Skald once more.”

  “Good, your father will expect nothing less when you return.”

  “If he returns,” Pelleo said with a grin. One Eye tensed. “You see Mr. One Eyed…” He sauntered over to the table and picked up the contract I had just signed that morning. “The Dog of War here has signed this legal document, under the witness of my four associates there, one of who is a great legal scholar of most distinguished repute. Freedom is certainly a possibility for Rothan, but so is death, though I suppose, not to be too philosophical here, but death is also a kind of freedom as well, is it not?”

  Pelleo held the contract out and One Eye snatched it from his hand. His eye ran over it. “One more fight in the coliseum… the Black Orc... This can’t
be legal. This is some trickery you have cast over Rothan. He did not agree to it.”

  “Not agree to it? Mr. One Eye, the whole thing was his idea.”

  “You take me for a fool, you fat worm?” One Eye scowled.

  “Such language,” Pelleo chuckled, “and from an emissary no less.” I heard the commotion of several conversations springing up in the room.

  One Eye slammed the contract down on the table in front of me. “Rothan, this man claims—”

  “It’s true.” I spoke the words and the room fell silent. “I requested that he give me one more battle… with the Black Orc. He is the champion of another ringmaster.”

  “Even we know of the creature,” One Eye said. “We heard tell of it in city taverns along our way. Why would you agree to such madness?”

  “I have my own reasons.”

  One Eye was dumbfounded. His eyes ran over the contract. I knew he would see the truth of it as he read and tried to beat him to it. “There is a Sarathean maiden, you see. She is a captive, as I, and…”

  His single eye rounded as he read the parchment. “A concubine?” Words seemed to drown on my tongue. “You have done all this for a concubine?”

  For a moment I only stared at One Eye, then I felt a cold hand of anger grasp my chest. “She is not just a concubine. She is a woman. And I have made her mine.”

  He stepped closer to me, his tone more quiet. “Rothan, do you know how much favor your father has curried with the Jarl to bring all of us here to return you? Do you know the resources the Jarl has staked for this? There are twenty more men on the ship. You are the last war captive of the war with the Empire. You returning alive is important for Wolf Rein, for Skald. Your life is not yours to gamble with!”

  “You doubt I can defeat this thing?”

  One Eye let out a hot breath. “Let us say you do. What would the son of the Hammer returning to Wolf Rein with a Sarathean for a concubine be?”

  “What would it be? Jarl Otus and Jarl Couthbruuk have a dozen bed warmers. Biraiv the miller, Kurr, Bjorg the Unfair, Gurracan, Orted, Feystor, Merro, Dungast—all have handfuls of women! I cannot return from war with even one? In time she could learn our ways, she might even become my wife!”

  “Your father has been arranging you a wife, you damn fool!” One Eye whisper-hissed.

  “What?” I only stared. “Who? What…”

  “Do you really think it is my place to discuss it now?”

  I took a deep breath and felt the cold anger’s grip tighten on my chest. “Enough. I have been on the battlefield since I was twelve. Watching horses, tending fires, fletching arrows. I carried my father’s warhammer—I even carried your spear for you once. Then I was old enough to receive my own arms and fight in open battle. Ax, sword, warhammer, blow after blow I have reined on foes. I have fought and killed for my father, for Skald, for Fenris.” I pointed at the symbol of the wolf god on his brooch. “If he watches over all Northmen as our people claim, then he will watch over me, and I will be triumphant, and bring glory to Skald. And if not and I die... then to hell with him! To hell with my father, and with you!”

  I barged over to the merchant’s table, snatched one of their goblets and drained it, feeling the burn of the sweet wine down my throat. I saw them all flinch back out of the corner of my eye, saw the guards with their usual clanking of weapons and armor to alertness. Pelleo only chuckled. I threw the copper goblet at a wall, a guard ducking under it and raising a shield like he was being shot at by tower archers.

  “You speak blasphemies,” One Eye said in a quiet tone. “May Fenris spare you his bite.”

  “Ha! I neither fear nor need him, or any god. Whatever comes, I’ll face it by my own strength and cunning.”

  “Very well then, you have chosen your road.” One Eye straightened. “Slay this creature so we can all go home.”

  “I will. You will see. There will be tales sung of it.”

  “We will prepare our ship.”

  “Oh about that,” Pelleo interrupted, looked between One Eye and the merchants, “my associates here understand that you brought some goods on behalf of the Jarl. They want to be sure to obtain them—sooner is always better in the world of trade.”

  “Right. Yes the goods are on the ship.”

  “Here, let me introduce you.” Pelleo, One Eye and the merchants began discussing their wares. I sat brooding silently, my mind longing for the simplicity of battle.

  Eric scurried over toward me. “I know you’ll slay the beast, Rothan. You’re the greatest warrior in all of Skald. You never lose a fight.”

  A memory flashed in my mind: my arms and legs bound in chains, having to watch as imperial soldiers drove a sword through my brother’s heart. “I have lost a fight before, young Eric. All men have.”

  He contemplated that for a silent moment, but went on hesitantly. “Still. You’ve won a lot more than you’ve lost. And you’ve been fighting so much here, all the gladiators. Anyone else would have died a long time ago. I mean, you’re famous now! Not just in Skald but now even in the Empire. The Dog of War, they call you, even seen some rogues painted an image of you in an alley, you with your helm and everything—wrote your fighter name under it is how I knew. And maidens were telling tales of you, swooning for you in the taverns—though Riggis says they’re not maidens at all, but still!”

  Eric made me grin. I laid a hand on his shoulder. “They always rumored your forefathers to be fay blooded. Perhaps that’s why you’re so damn merry all the time.”

  Pelleo and One Eye walked to me.

  “Well, everything is settled happily then!” Pelleo said, lifting a goblet in my general direction. “You’ll give your best, Dog of War, as you always do. It will be a glorious night. And it falls on the night of Akaraxis no less. The whole city will be aflame with wine and passions.”

  “The city could simply be aflame for all I care.” I nodded to him, still grim.

  “Rothan,” One Eye called, “I must see to the ship and trade goods. Eric requested that he see your training here, and your father and Jarl Bardawulf consented.” I paused, looking between his eye and Eric’s eager smile. “He said it would be good for him. After all, he is nephew to the Jarl and must be a learned man if he is to serve Wolf Rein. He is to spend the day with you.”

  “Are the gladiator quarters really a place for such a youngling?”

  “But I’m a man grown, Rothan,” Eric protested. “You said yourself that you were on battlefields when you were twelve.”

  “Pelleo, will you really allow this?”

  “I’ve already agreed, so long as I am not held accountable for his safety—some of my entertainers make no distinction between women and young men,” Pelleo chuckled. “He is free to board with you.”

  “Pelleo has approved,” One Eye said, “and the Jarl wishes it. I see no reason to interfere.”

  I looked over at Eric, his face too young to be here.

  Eric and I emerged from the dark passageway, into the sunlight of the training grounds.

  “This is amazing,” Eric said, taking in the sight of the gladiators training, “so many kinds of fighters. It’s like the whole world is at war here.”

  “It is something like that. You should observe as I train, but don’t speak unless spoken to, understand?”

  Eric nodded and I walked to where I saw Zurkin polishing his spear blade.