The Thirtheenth Fang, Chapter 5 (Patreon)

The broad, silt filled waters of the River Reik stretched for nearly a mile after the Bogen joined it, with the banks of the river leading to wide forests or populated flood plains to either side. At various points, islands sprouted in the river, and at some points the river ballooned to several miles across. The river itself was deep enough to allow ocean going ships easy passage, and whenever Titus looked out over the broad waters he could see dozens of ships of various sizes; from massive four masted ocean traders to narrow dinghies poled along the banks by locals.

The barge they were on was the Summer Breeze, though the low barge was not exactly a pleasant smelling or pretty sight. It was a fair enough ship, but Titus and Freya’s horses were far from the only ones aboard, and there were several dozen other passengers as well. Most of them were huddled in the hold in a large common area, though Titus and Freya had a small cabin to themselves. That along with the various chickens, pigs, and several cows aboard the ship that provided both food and served as cargo meant that the ship smelled more like a barnyard than a pleasant wind.

Captain Holtmann knew his trade, and his rowers and the large square rigged mast kept the Breeze moving along at a pace faster than a horse could have walked as they went along with the sluggish current. Titus enjoyed the first day away from his family inn, relaxing and enjoying the breeze. Freya spent her time reading and scribing notes, maintaining her disguise through the use of a bonnet Mama Rann had given her.

On the second day, Titus could have sworn he saw Heidi aboard a fast river skiff not 100 yards distant, but that surely wasn’t the case. If he’d had a spyglass perhaps he could have had a better look, but the skiff pulled away too fast for him to be really certain.

The first night was rather awkward, with two narrow cots and a small space not providing much privacy. It wasn’t the first time Titus had shared a small room, but it was the first he’d done so with an elf. Or, for that matter, a beautiful woman who wasn’t his bedmate. Freya was all blushes and stammers, batting her eyelashes coyly at Titus.

“I must change for bed, Sir Titus,” she informed him, taking out a rather thin nightgown, if one that was perfectly modest and probably something Titus’ own mother would have worn on a summer evening.

“I’ll just wait outside, knock when you’re finished,” Titus told her. “I’ll change under the covers.”

Freya looked vaguely peeved at that, and Titus hoped he hadn’t offended her sense of propriety, but it was hard enough to tell with a woman, let alone a she-elf. Still, he slept well enough, the gentle rocking of the boat as it lay at anchor for the night soothing him to bed.

On the third day, Titus became restless. Sitting and staring out at the passing boats was all well and good to pass the time, but Titus was used to being more active. He supposed he could have attempted to keep watch for pirates or bandits on the shore, but with the large amount of traffic they’d have to be fools to attack in daylight. There were plenty of pirates upon the River Reik, but they struck at night, when most ships dropped anchor. Unless the two moons were full, or near enough, most captains misliked braving the waters in the darkness, as while the Reik was broad and deep, there were still rocks, shoals, and of course large numbers of other vessels.

So, Titus got out his sword. He was wary of showing others his blade, but he figured scholars of dwarfish runes were rare enough that it was a small risk. And besides, Freya cast a small charm on their door each night to alert them if someone attempted to enter, and to make doing so rather harder than a simple bolt would have made it.

There wasn’t much free decking on the barge, but the prow of the ship had a small space where he could swing his sword about for a bit, for exercise if nothing else. He took off his shirt, stripping down to his britches as it was a fine sunny day, and set about going through the various forms his uncle and later his captain had drilled into him over the years. On the field he was more used to fighting with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, but the long runefang seemed fit to be wielded two handed, though it was surprisingly light enough to easily use with one.

As soon as Titus started, Freya grabbed a stool and hurried over, taking out her notebook and smiling as she studied Titus go through the forms. He frowned and thought she was simply writing, until he paused after ten minutes and went to look at what she was doing. To his surprise, she had drawn a fairly decent likeness of himself, though his hair was somewhat longer, and he didn’t think his chest was quite that well muscled.

“That’s a fair drawing, Lady Freya,” Titus observed, smiling slightly at the overly flattering image of himself.

Gasping, Frey hastily shut her notebook, trying to hide behind it as she blushed and peaked at Titus. “Ah, I was just…”

“Do you need a better look at the sword? I assume this is to catalog it,” Titus said, holding up the blade.

Freya slowly lowered the book, then a mischievous smile spread over her lips. She nodded, biting her lip. “Ah, if you could stand just there, and perhaps, work the blade forms? To, ah, show the blade to best effect, of course.”

Titus complied, with Freya calling a few directions to him. He eventually ended with his back to her, and worked a few sword forms until his muscles started to ache and sweat poured down his face and back. That was when he heard the giggling, and spun about to see what was happening.

Freya had been joined by nearly a dozen other passengers, all of them women, ranging in age from a gangly girl of twelve or so, to a toothless grandmother, who whistled appreciatively at Titus. There were at least two goodwives there, with their husbands glaring angrily over at him. Freya was beaming and showing her illustrations, which elicited more giggling and some rather raunchy remarks from the grandmother that Titus would have expected from a wagoneer commenting on a comely tavern wench, and not a withered old lady.

“My husband used to look like that,” the elderly woman said, sighing and tapping her walking stick on deck. “He was a blacksmith, you know. Big shoulders. Why, I used to run my hands over his muscles when we were abed together…had twelve children, you know. And my, that young man there makes me wish I had a few more in me! Course, we could do it now just for fun.”

“Oh stop it, Mother Mathers, don’t go poaching in another woman’s henhouse,” one of the other women, a goodwife in her middle years said, but she preened and smiled at Titus herself.

Far from being bashful, Titus leaned on his sword and smiled at the women. “Do make sure she captures my good side, my goodwomen. Perhaps one of you would care for private lessons some other time?”

That got all the ladies to titter excitedly, save for Freya, who went suddenly stone faced. She stood up, setting down her notebook, and nodding to Titus’ other sword, which was with his tunic and jacket. “Perhaps you would tutor me, Master Rann.”

Titus blinked at that. He’d meant a very different sort of lesson, but the other women were cackling and urging Freya on. The men who were watching were frowning at him, obviously taken aback. Feeling his pride slightly stung, but deciding it was harmless to play along, Titus bowed. “I’d be happy to show you or one of my beautiful audience my sword any time.”

Freya stalked over and jerked Titus’ old sword out of the pile, then flicked it out of its sheath. She kicked her shoes off, then tossed off her hat. The women all blinked, then gasped, as her long pointed ears were now clearly visible. She saluted Titus, holding the sword flat forward before her, then struck a high guard position, her gaze far sterner and more detached than it normally was.

Immediately, Titus grew wary. Though she was still in a dress, Freya was moving with cat-like grace, and her stance was excellent. He rose up on the balls of his feet, raising his sword in a two handed grip before himself. For a moment, he eyed Freya, who seemed completely relaxed. Their audience had gone silent, and all eyes seemed to be on the two of them.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Titus said softly with a somewhat nervous chuckle. “I’d hate to embarass you. I was simply flirting with your friends.”

“Oh were you,” Freya said, her tone frosty. Then she attacked.

Freya moved like lightning, and struck like a serpent, her blade lashing out far faster than the eye could track. Titus reacted by instinct, hours of long practice having drilled into his muscles the counter. After that, the two of them battled in the narrow confines of the prow, dancing back and forth.

While Freya was a wizard and scholar, she was also more than fair with a sword by Titus’ estimation. She would surely have found a home in the Wolves of Ulric, if not for, well, her gender and race. Still, she was fast and precise in her movements, though Titus detected that she wasn’t quite as practiced with a sword as he was. She more than made up for it with natural grace and dexterity, both on offense and defense pulling moves that Titus or any other human would have found impossible.

As they fought, the runefang began to grow warm in Titus’ hands. He felt the sword leap to certain counters, as it were guiding his hands. It was a strange sensation, and not one he was used to. It was as if his weapon was a living thing with a mind of its own, and he struggled against Freya as he tried to grow used to the weapon. As he fought, he also began to sense a hunger within the blade. As if it knew what foe it faced, and desired blood.

Before Titus knew what was really happening, Freya over extended slightly. She’d nearly done so several times, but her speed and strength meant that she was able to recover too fast for Titus to take advantage of it. This time, however, Titus' sword lept forwards, opening a gash on Freya’s arm. He felt his muscles go for the killing stroke, a heart blow that would end her life. He pulled back, but ended up catching his own arm on Freya’s blade, making a long cut there as well.

There were gasps of horror from the onlookers, as well as mutters about “wicked she-elves.” The men hurried forward and gathered up their wives and daughters, save for Mother Mathers.

“What have you two young fools done now?” she demanded, and stopped forward, even as both Freya and Titus gasped for breath and looked at one another in horror.

“Making swords is all well and good I say, but using them just leads to cutting yourself. Young woman, what were you thinking? A lady like you picking up a sword just leads to nonsense,” Mathers declared, then forcibly grabbed both Freya and Titus, leading them over to several crates and sitting them down before taking out needle and thread from her belt pouch.

“Ah, I thank you, good lady, but…I am not as young as you may think,” Freya said, giving the woman a nervous smile, and self-consciously pulling her bonnet back over her ears.

“I saw the ears, missy, but unless I very much miss my guess, you’re a young thing away from home for the first time, eh? Let this scoundrel here talk you into some fool adventure or some such nonsense. Well, you’re liable to get your heart broken as well as your head, if you keep on with that business with swords. Let the men folk butcher one another I say: women have better sense,” Mathers declared.

“Ah, well, perhaps, but I am no child,” Freya said, scowling at Mathers and trying to pull her arm away. “I am nearly one hundred and twenty, and-”

“-and act closer to twenty, with not a single gray hair on your head! Tell me, how many children have you raised, hmmm? I thought so. Now sit still and let me sew. I raised twelve children, all dead now, Mors grant them peace. Buried my husband too. That’s my grandson over there with his wife scowling at us. Out live them both too I suppose.”

“I…thank you, Mother Mathers,” Freya mumbled, her eyes misting over slightly. “I shall take your wise counsel into consideration. Though among my people, it is not so odd for a woman to take up a sword.”

“And that’s what comes from trucking with elvish nonsense and magic! Curdles your brains it does. Oh I know the elder race is supposed to be wise, but if they were so wise, they wouldn’t have to be waving about their swords so often, now would they?”

“There are many foes, of both elves and men in the world,” Titus said, watching as Mother Mathers expertly sewed up Freya’s wound. That looked like it hurt, but the gash was somewhat deep, and did need tending too. Mathers even took out a small bottle of brandy, and after taking a swig, poured it over both Freya’s and Titus’ wounds, making them both wince.

“I suppose, I suppose. Can’t argue with goblins and mutants and Sigmar only knows what else. Still, the two of you had best do the rest of your sword fighting under the covers, and not on deck for everyone to gawk at!”

Mathers cackled at her own joke, even as Freya blushed and Titus winced, though that was more from her seizing his arm and getting to work with the needle.

After that, Freya and he both retired to the cabin. It was growing late, and Freya was earning hostile and suspicious looks from most of the passengers, though the crew seemed ambivalent. Elvish traders and merchants were rather common sights on the Riek, and the Summer Breeze and likely carried an elf and their cargo before.

“My apologies, I should have been more careful with my blade,” Titus said as Freya examined her wound while sitting on her cot.

“Hmmm? Oh, it’s nothing.” Freya muttered something, her fingers twisting in complicated patterns. A green glow passed over her arm, and her wound miraculously knitted, the catsgut falling to the deck. She smiled at it, flexing her arm. “I could have done that earlier, but I didn’t want to stop Mrs. Mathers. It’s rare enough for someone to show me such kindness. Here, let me see your arm.”

Feeling a twinge of worry, Titus gave Freya his arm, wincing slightly as she spoke her spell. To his surprise, it didn’t hurt at all, instead washing away his pain, though the wound did itch for several minutes. There was hardly even a scar on his arm, though there was an obvious one on Freya’s.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she said, examining her new scar. “It seems your blade’s wounds do not heal so well! Hmm, I wonder, is it that grudge rune that seems attuned to asur? Hmm, it interfered with my magic before…Titus, could you cut yourself with it? I want to see if it’s hard to heal you, or only me,” Freya said eagerly, nodding to the sheathed blade.

“Ah, I will have to decline that,” Titus said, shaking his head.

Freya looked mildly disappointed, but took out her book and eagerly wrote her observations. For his part, Titus lay down on his cot, and stared at the barely visible line where the cut had been. Traveling with a wizard. It was strange and terrifying, but also wondrous. He thought back to the way his blade had behaved, and shivered slightly. To have nearly cut down Freya like that…unthinkable.

His thoughts drifted to the way she had handled her own blade, and he smiled absently. Perhaps Mother Mathers was on to something. No. No, best not to offend his wizard and travel companion. Freya, it seemed, would be more than useful in a fight. He looked over at her, biting at a bit of her hair as she furiously wrote by the light of a glowing golden orb she’d conjured. It was easy to forget she was an elf, even if she hadn’t remembered to put her bust enhancing spell back on. It seemed the cut from the sword had quelled that bit of magic, and she hadn’t noticed yet.

The look suited her, Titus decided. Then he rolled over and faced the wall before he did anything truly foolish.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Heidi heard rustling in the darkness, and instantly came awake. She hadn’t been sleeping particularly well during their brief voyage, not enjoying her time on the boat at all. While she personally didn’t get sea sick in the incredibly gentle ride, Vicini had, and the dwarf had managed to make everyone around him purely miserable. If it wasn’t for the large amount of gold he’d paid Jorgen to hurry them up the Riek, she suspected the skiff’s poleman would have dumped the dwarf into the murk and gone back home.

“Good. You’re awake. Come,” Vicinic’s voice growled in the darkness.

Getting up slowly, Heidi fumbled around, pulling on her shoes before exiting the tent. The skiff was tied up along the bank, as it was very unwise to pole a skiff down the river in the darkness. Plus, Jorgen needed time to rest. She could hear his soft snores from the boat, where he’d erected a small tarp to sleep under. Vicini had firmly insisted on pitching a tent onshore, claiming that it was unnatural to sleep on water.

They were camped near the forest, with the dark trees loaming as black voids that swallowed the sky. Swallowing, Heidi took a lanturn and made to light it, only for Vicini to growl at her.

“Not here. Wait. Come.”

After leading Heidi some distance into the trees, Vicini allowed her to light her path, which was good, as she’d already nearly fallen and twisted her ankle on roots and shrubs several times, and had a few scrapes from low branches or thorny bushes.

“What are we doing?” Heidi asked suspiciously, fingering her belt knife and looking around uneasily at the trees.

“You know my business. I must have that blade. And I intend to get it,” Vicini said, turning and walking along a deer track deeper into the woods.

“But the sword is back on the river,” Heidi said, hurrying to keep up with Vicini. “Why do we need to go into the woods?”

“Will the owner give up his sword for gold?” Vicini demanded, not taking his eyes off the trail. The dwarf seemed to have no need of a lanturn, and his eyes glowed an eerie red in the darkness. It was like looking into a cavern of endless flame, and it made Heidi shiver slightly.

“Probably not,” Heidi admitted. “We’ll have to steal it.”

“There was an elf with him. A wizard. Do you think we can steal from them?”

Heidi considered it. “No. Probably not.” She felt a slight pang. That just left…

“So, tonight we find out: will you be sacrifice, or slave?”

That made fury erupt in Heidi’s breast. She aimed a kick at the back of Vicini’s head with her good thick boots. The dwarf was heavier than she’d expected, but then again, so were her brothers. She took the dwarf completely by surprise, and he stumbled. She slammed another kick into his leg, and he went down on one knee. Drawing her knife, she put it to Vicini’s chin.

“I’m not a slave or a sacrifice. I’ll be your partner. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you understand, short stuff?” she spat.

Vicini looked at her, his expression calm, and perhaps slightly amused. “You’re a fool. You should have killed me when you had the chance, if that is what you intended.”

Heidi felt a prick in her abdomen, and looked down to find a wickedly curved knife poking her own stomach. She swallowed. “Draw?”

Vicini grunted. “On three.”

They both sprang back on three, and Vicini had a new respect in his eyes when he regarded Heidi. “Treacherous. Tricksome. Not what you appear to be. Hmm. Better than I thought. You will make a good slave.”

Heidi bristled at that again. “I said-”

“Be silent. We have found them,” Vicini said, and turned to the shadows.

A chill ran down Heidi’s spine as she heard a branch snap, and she spun with her lantern, illuminating the shadows. Hideous, malformed faces grinned back at her. One was a man with overly large ears and a slit of a nose, big eyes giving him the appearance of a bat. Another was a woman with a hunched back, and webbed hands that gripped a rusted wood axe. The most terrifying of all was a bare chested man who carried a spear, but with a face that had a snout like a dog’s, and a lolling tongue that drooled slightly.

“Mutants,” Heidi hissed, taking a step back and raising her knife.

“Well, well, what’ve we here?” the hunchback woman cackled. “Meat for the kettle, eh?”

“There is a man on the boat. You may have him,” Vicini said, his expression blank. “The girl and myself take to your leader. We must bargain.”

The dog-man barked and lowered his spear, then charged. Vicini watched him come, then calmly drew out a pistol, its grip made of iron, barbed spikes on the end. He fired it, blowing the leg off the dog-man.

“Anyone else?” Vicini demanded, drawing forth another pistol, and pointing it behind himself. “Or must I kill more? I have come to bargain, in the name of your masters.”

“We have no masters,” a new voice growled, and out of the shadows a large, fat man with a face like that of a rodent appeared, beady eyes squinting in the darkness. He was dressed in a ragged and rotting naval uniform of some sort, dark stains of unspeakable origins marring the once fine fabric. His gut poked through the fabric, and on his hip were two cutlasses, with a bicorn hat with the image of a leering misshapen skull painted in red on it. “Who are you, dwarf?”

“Are you the leader?” Vicini demanded, holstering his spent pistol, and raising the other. “I will bargain with no other.”

There were snickers, and the rodent-like man straightened, pounding his gut with one hand. There was a loud thwack, and Heidi saw the man had a beaver like tail sticking out of the rear of his sagging trousers. “I am Captain Damnation of the Reikland River Pirates. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? We are the most fearsome band of buccaneers from here to the Sea of Claws!”

There were dozens of shouts and cackles of laughter, and Heidi realized they were surrounded by mutants. She had known the forests were home to the cast offs of society, the rumored worshipers of dark gods and twisted abominations sought by witch hunters. She’d seen hanged men with strange malformations before, but this was beyond what she had imagined. She found it horrifying, but also strangely intriguing. What was Vicini doing? Were they to slaughter these misshapen aberrations? The dwarf seemed to have sought them out somehow.

“I have. Which is why I seek to employ you, Captain Damnation,” Vicini said. He produced a gold coin, and held it up. “I have some of this on me. More if you do a job.”

“Oh, we’ll just take that, and have your fat for bacon!” Captain Damnation declared, his hand going for a cutlass.

“Do it, and we kill you and your crew,” Heidi spat, glaring at the captain. “Work for us, and there is treasure beyond measure for you. Within easy reach.”

“Why should I work for you, little girl?” Damnation demanded, grinning at Heidi.

In response, Heidi hurled her lanturn at Damnation’s fat belly. The pirate captain swore as the lantern shattered, and burning oil spilled over his body. He screamed in pain, and Vicini’s pistol went off. Heidi sprang forward, sticking her knife in one of Damnation’s eyes, then yanking out his cutlass. She cut down a mutant that came at her out of the dark, then shouted. “Right! Who’s next in command!?”

There was sudden silence, save for the weeping of a few wounded. She glanced at Vicini, who had out a hatchet, and was standing over two bleeding mutants. Glowing red runes had appeared on the hatchet blade, and his hat had fallen off. Something dark was poking out of the hair on the dwarf’s head, gleaming in the light of the still burning corpse of the former pirate captain. Vicini bent down and replaced the hat on his head, glaring around at the mutants.

“No one touches my hat. Understand?”

There was a shuffling of feet, and then the hunchbacked woman stepped forward. “I’m next in command! I’m the real Captain Damnation!”

“Fine.” Heidi picked up the hat from the bloated corpse, and tossed it to the new captain, who eagerly placed it on her head. “So, you’ll take the job?”

“Depends on what it is, sweetling. There’s still more of us than you, and you’ve only the one lanturn,” the mutant woman cackled.

“True. But you haven’t heard of the treasure, which isn’t far from here. There is an elf, transporting several tomes of unspeakable power,” Heidi lied, thinking quickly of that ugly bitch of a she elf. “With her is a knight. He is of no concern, though he stole a sword from my family, and I would have it back in revenge. The books, however, are the real prize, and we will pay for you to get them back.”

The mutants sniggered, obviously deciding they’d take the books for themselves. It was unlikely any of them could read, so they wouldn’t be able to tell a grimoire from a cheap novel.

“The boat is moored not far from here,” Vicini said, looking around the forest. “Kill all aboard. We require only the books, and perhaps the sword if you find it. And we will pay. Five gold marks now, fifty if you give us what we want.”

“Hmm. And the meat on the boat you came from?” Damnation demanded.

Heidi briefly hesitated. She knew Jorgen, known him most of her life. He was a few years older than her, and she’d let him kiss her on feast days at times. But it was him, or her life. And, well, Heidi knew which she’d pick.

“Kill him. He’s of no use to us now,” she told the mutants.

Damnation grinned, and stuck out a webbed hand. “Then our bargain is struck.”