The
Jaws of Fenris
Episode
Five: Fenris
By John Outram
About
the author
MAN-LIKE IN SHAPE, it was
cloaked in thick white fur, the
belly and face barred with black stripes and smeared with gore. Long
iron claws dripped fresh blood. Donal, the Keldish merchant, gasped out
the name that was on all their lips:
"The
White Leopard."
Skalgrim was the first to break the spell of paralysis that had fallen
upon the wolf-hides. He snatched a spear from the nearest guard and
flung it with all his strength. With one fluid motion, the White
Leopard
caught the spear in flight, turned it around and flung it back – not at
Skalgrim but at Gidian!
Even as the spear-blade sheared through his bonds, Gidian recognised
the face beneath the leopard-skin hood, beneath the soot-black and
blood-spatter, behind the feral blue-glitter of battle-fury. This was
Kavlar, but a Kavlar he had never quite seen in the young pack-handler
he had hired in Bjornby. This Kavlar was the White Leopard, the leader
of the Monadar Waren renegades, the terror of the wild hinterlands, an
enemy more fearsome than any wolf-hide.
"What's it to be, Skalgrim?" Kavlar sneered, facing the wolf-priest.
"Hand over my sword and I promise you a quick death – and unlike some,
I keep my promises."
"And I promised you the chance to join the Sons of Fenris," replied
Skalgrim. "And you shall do so – through the jaws of Fenris!"
Skalgrim drew the stolen sword and launched himself at Kavlar. With
four six-inch steel claws protruding from each clenched fist, Kavlar
crouched to meet him. Wolf and leopard collided in a clash of metal and
animal snarls.
Kavlar was a strong youth and his blood was up, but Skalgrim was as
wily a wolf as the forest knew. He misjudged the speed and skill of his
opponent for a moment; the steel claws raked him and, but for the steel
mail under his wolf-skin tunic, he would not have left Kavlar's embrace
with his liver intact. But he learned his lesson. Breaking free, he
used the extra reach of his sword to keep Kavlar at bay. He did not
risk another full-blown attack on the youth, but with feints and
challenges he managed to prevent Kavlar from closing with him. The
other wolf-hides came quickly to his aid, and soon the White Leopard
was ringed with swords and spears.
Gidian found he could work his hand loose and get a grip on the spear
that Kavlar had thrown. In a moment or two he had cut his left hand
free. A deft touch with the spear-blade had just about worked him free
when the wolf-hides spotted him. Like Kavlar, he found himself
surrounded by gleaming blades.
Through the trees came a dozen grey ghosts, white fur and blond hair
glistening with a pale light as the first signs of dawn began to
lighten the eastern skyline. Swords and spears were in their hands.
They saw the wolf-men gathered before their altar, and without
hesitating they fell upon them from the forest, their war cry echoing a
hatred older than the trees themselves. Renegades they might be, but
they were still Monadar Waren and the wolf-hides were their ancient
enemies.
Gidian saw the renegades burst from the forest, and he saw his chance.
A moment's distraction was all he needed to take one down with a neat
spear thrust, and as the man fell he wrestled the sword from his dying
grasp. He was loose, with a good weapon in his hands. Towering over the
fur clad Northmen, Gidian smiled. They had encountered Gidian the
travelling scholar, drugged and bound. Gidian the Warrior-Priest now
faced them. A little under seven feet tall, Gidian's gaunt build masked
a strong and agile frame, and with a sword in his hand he was a match
for any wolf-hide bandit.
Outnumbered, the Monadar Waren put up a fierce fight. Kavlar went down
under a mass of wolf-hide bodies, but his companions rushed to avenge
him, and in a few bloody minutes they had slain twice their own number
for the loss of three men. Gidian, too, did good work with his stolen
sword, and managed to find time to cut Donal and one of his grooms
free. And out of the forest behind the Waren renegades came a huge
black dog – Gulo had tracked down
his master at last. He launched himself among the wolf-hides,
and soon his jaws were dripping blood.
The battle ebbed back and forth, the wolf-hides finding their
confidence again as more of their comrades ran in from the forest edge,
the Monadar renegades and the freed captives counter-attacking with
renewed vigour. In the end it was the wolf-hides who had the worst of
it. Skalgrim and a handful of men drew back to the cave to make a
stand. The rest slunk away into the forest. Gidian, Donal and nine
Waren warriors closed in on Skalgrim's group, waiting to see what they
would do.
"Do you want to kill him, Gidian, or shall I?" asked Donal. He
clutched a spear and glared at the wolf-skins with murderous vengeance
blazing in his eyes.
"Oh, this is my fight," replied Gidian. "By Mitra, Skalgrim, I gave you
every chance to come to terms with me in peace. I offered you the
chance to be my ally. Now you will know what it is to be my enemy."
Skalgrim's reply was to throw back his head and howl like a wolf. His
eyes rolled back in his head and saliva dripped from his lolling
tongue. He hurled himself at Gidian, swinging Kavlar's sword in a
two handed stroke that needed all the Rangeman's strength to parry.
Three more wild swings followed in quick succession, driving Gidian
back a step. The wolf-priest cackled madly and growled like a dog as he
fought. If he had sprouted fangs and turned into a werewolf there and
then, neither Donal nor Gidian could have been any more
surprised.
But wild, wolfish fury was not enough. After
withstanding the first few moments, Gidian was able to counter attack
with fast, well-aimed strokes, and Skalgrim made a fatal mistake. To
lever back Gidian's attack, he gripped the sword in both hands, by hilt
and blade, and pressed forward. It was a well-known trick among the
Northmen, who liked to wield a sword by the blade and use the hilts
like a hook to pull down a foe. But Kavlar's sword was as sharp as a
razor, and sliced through Skalgrim's fingers to the bone where he
gripped it. Gidian's next stroke crashed through his mail and ribcage.
The wolf-priest lay dying.
"This changes nothing," he gasped. "He is coming. Nothing will change
that."
Gidian drew out his bloody sword.
"You are fodder for the wolves…" hissed Skalgrim, and his eyes closed.
"We are all fodder for wolves or worms, one way or another."
Gidian turned. Struggling out from under a mass of bodies was Kavlar,
still in his leopard-skin cloak, bloody but unbowed. His forehead was
badly gashed and his right arm dangled awkwardly, but he was grinning
and he still had the iron claws gripped in his left hand.
Gidian smiled: "Did you always mean to ambush us with your renegade
band, Kavlar?"
"Did you always mean to lead us into this den of wolves?" retorted the
youth.
"It has not worked out as either of us planned," Gidian admitted. "I
would never have guessed you were the White Leopard."
"I always thought there was something about you that didn't ring true,"
retorted the youth. "Not enough packs. I said as much."
"I came here to find warriors for my cause," said Gidian, "and I have
found them. What do you say, Kavlar? I can promise you and your
comrades better reward and better sport than you would ever have on
this side of the Narwhal Strait."
"Damn you, Gidian!" Donal exploded, throwing down his spear. "You never
learn, do you? Well, you can deal with the last of these wolf-hides
without me and my boys. I'm off, before these Waren dogs turn on you
and cut your throat."
With that the Keldish merchant turned his back on them and stalked off
into the grey morning. Kavlar watched him go, then turned back to the
tall Rangeman.
"We are Waren clansmen, not mercenaries. We acknowledge no men as
master."
"I want your help, not to be your master," said Gidian. "The Keldish
raiders who burned our villages last year are your enemies as much as
mine. I am offering you the chance to cross the Narwhal Strait and
fight them there as you fight them here. Besides – you are all
renegades and exiles from the Waren clans. I can offer you a home among
the Rangemen – "
"By all the gods of the North!"
gasped Kavlar.
He pointed to the cave entrance where the last of the wolf-hides had
hidden. The men were gone. In their place stood six grey wolves, and
from behind them a seventh crept forward. It was black as night, its
eyes red like glowing coals, and it was without a doubt the largest
wolf that any of them had ever seen – maybe the largest wolf that had
ever lived. Fangs fully four inches long glistened in its red maw as it
paced towards them, slowly and deliberately, and not a man among them
could move for sheer terror. The Great Wolf led his brethren to the
feasting.
"Fenris the Wolf," muttered Kavlar. "We are doomed."
Then a dark shape launched itself from the forest. The wolves drew back
a moment as a huge hound drove among them, its open jaws aiming for the
Great Wolf's throat. Gulo, Kavlar's dog, hurled himself in berserk fury
at his ancestral enemy. Shaken from their paralysis, the men readied
their weapons just in time as the slavering black wolves were upon them.
Dog and wolf faced each other, close-kin though enemies more ancient
than Waren and wolf-hide. The wolf was longer and larger, but Gulo was
heavy and compact, with wide, strong jaws and sturdy limbs. The Great
Wolf slashed and tore at the dog with fang and claw while Gulo drove
the wolf backwards, trying to find a way to fasten his teeth firmly
into the creature's throat. A terrible bloody wrestling match
commenced. Fur and blood were strewn about, Gulo's powerful jaws
wreaking terrible injuries on the wolf, the wolf's huge fangs slashing
the hound again and again. Gulo seized his enemy's throat, foiled for a
moment by the thick fur but knowing he had a death grip if he could
only keep a hold of an opponent who twisted, turned, slashed and shook.
At last the Great Wolf weakened. His legs buckled and he slumped down.
Gulo was too feeble to press the advantage; battered and limp, his only
strength was in his relentless jaws. Blood poured from the fang wounds
in his sides, but Gulo held on resolutely, and would hold on to the
death.
Skalgrim witnessed the desperate battle, and saw the monstrous wolf
brought down even as his own schemes had been brought down. This he
feared more than his own death. With the last reserves of energy his
wounded body could gather, he hauled himself upright and drew the long,
iron dagger from his belt. One last blow for Fenris – the death of this
Waren hellhound to buy the life of the Great Wolf.
One well-struck blow was all that was need--
Kavlar's sword stood out suddenly a full six inches where it had been
thrust straight through Skalgrim's chest. Howling like a wolf again,
the wolf-priest rolled away, thrashing in agony, flailing out with his
knife, and then he lay still. The fight was over.
"I keep my promises," muttered Kavlar. "You gave me back my sword – I
gave you a quick death."
He slumped down by the bodies of priest, wolf and dog. Gulo had relaxed
his grip at last, but it was too late for the Great Wolf, whose eyes
stared glassily upwards.
"Mitra!" gasped Gidian. "Was it Fenris, do you think? And what happened
to those last six men? Did they really turn into wolves?"
"Who knows? Fenris was meant to be bound until the end of the world.
Maybe that has come," replied Kavlar. Wounded and weary, he pressed his
ear to the dog's side, desperate for the sound of a heartbeat.
"I keep my promises, too," said Gidian. "I doubt you will lack
adventure wherever you go, lad, but there is a whole world beyond the
Narwhal Strait. Come with me, fight at my side, and I will open that
world for you."
Kavlar ran his hands sadly through the hound's thick fur, but his eyes
blazed with a blue fire. He was young, he was strong, and he had a
world to see.