The Thirteenth Fang, Chapter 6 (Patreon)

After a few nights on the boat, Titus slept soundly, the gentle rocking and sounds of the creaking ship about him did more to soothe him to sleep than turn his stomach. On the cot next to his, Freya slept as well, her own breathing far softer and gentler than the loud snores of the men he’d had to share his quarters with over the years. While he didn’t quite not have a care in the world, this portion of the journey at least seemed peaceful and uneventful, and with the door locked, he was content to drift off to sleep as the Summer Breeze rode at anchor.

He was dreaming of fencing with Freya again, his sword burning hot in his hands. To his horror, he kept aiming for her heart, and whenever he looked up at her face, it wasn’t Freya, but some sort of demonic witch. It was all wrong, and Titus knew it was a dream, trying to force himself awake. His blade slipped, and he was just about to skewer her when-

Sitting bolt upright, Titus realized that he could hear screams and shouts, along with pounding feet on the deck, and the familiar clash of steel on steel. He jumped out of bed, grabbing his sword from his bedside, and ripping it out of the scabbard.

“UP SWORDS! MEN TO THE BANNERS! UP SWORDS! ENEMIES UPON US! UP SWORDS!” Titus howled, tacking on a blood curdling wolf’s howl at the end.

He was about to kick open the door and join the fray, when Freya screamed and sat up herself. A golden wind seemed to rage around Titus, and his night shirt ripped and tore as invisible hand’s clawed at him. They seemed to find no purchase on his skin however, and he held up his blade, the runes upon the metal glowing brightly.

“What is it?!” Freya gasped, stumbling to her feet, her hair a golden halo around her head. A ball of flames filled one hand, while the other tried frantically to wrap her blanket about herself to preserve her modesty. She was apparently not used to waking suddenly and violently to fight, while Titus had needed to do so many times. Ordinarily, he was a far lighter sleeper, but the peaceful boat trip had lulled him into a false sense of security.

Before he could answer Freya, there was a pounding at the door, then the sound of splintering wood as an axehead forced its way into their room. Titus immediately used both hands to ram his blade all the way to the hilt through the door. There was a scream on the other side, and Titus yanked the blade back, red blood coating it now.

“We appear to be under attack,” Titus gasped, and flipped open the latch, then with a mighty kick, slammed the door open. He found the body of a horribly misshapen mutant on the other side, with large bat-like ears, and hands that had large flaps of skin hanging from them. The creature's lifeblood was spilling out onto the deck, its eyes rapidly glazing over as it feebly tried to crawl away from him. Titus ended the thing's struggles by kicking it sharply in the twisted head, and the thing lay still.

Freya let out a rapid stream of what Titus assumed were elven curse words, then dropped the blanket and stepped out onto the deck beside Titus. A moment later, she threw the ball of flames across the ship, where it caught another mutant that had been about to skewer one of the Summer Breeze’s sailors with a rusty cutlass. The thing screamed in pain, then threw itself backwards into the water. Though the dark depths bubbled and hissed as it plunged in, Titus could see it burning even as it sank below the waves, the magical flames unquenched by mere water.

“Mutants,” Titus spat, looking across the barge. There were several small boats tied up alongside the ship, and he could see more dark shapes bobbing towards them across the narrow channel between them and the shore. Dark figures swarmed about on the far bank, and the smell of blood and terror filled the night.

“Pirates,” Freya agreed, conjuring up another ball of flame. Titus winced, and nudged her with his bare shoulder.

“Ah, perhaps not fire on the ship? I appreciate the magery on our behalf, however…”

Freya gasped, then hastily threw the ball of fire over the waters. It impacted on the shore, and several of the dark shapes screamed as the caught flames, running about and setting the grasses on the shore ablaze.

“Ah, yes. We would not wish to burn the ship out from under ourselves. Well, fortunately Aqshy is far from the only wind that blows strongly this foul night,” Freya said, giving a nervous laugh. She muttered a spell, and the blade of ice once more appeared in her hands. “Well, Sir Titus. Shall we?”

They had taken no more than one or two steps when a trio of hideous mutants bearing rusted scythes and chipped blades rounded the side of the cabins and spied them. One was a hideously bloated woman with a blotchy face that glowed red in the firelight of her torch, another a short man with a piggy snout and almost orcish fangs, and the last one of indeterminate gender with unnaturally long limbs and a second head on its left shoulder.

“There they are! That’s them! Get the elf bitch!” the woman roared, spittle flying from her mouth as she raised her scythe and pointed it at Titus.

“Behind us!” Freya gasped, as more mutants lept aboard as their small skiff touched the side of the boat.

“I’ll take these!” Titus shouted, and sprang forward to the attack as behind him Freya conjured up spears of ice to hurl at her foes.

The pig mutant came at him first, swinging a long, pitted blade artlessly at Titus’ head. He ducked, then slashed the thing’s arm. It squealed much like a pig as the hand and sword hit the deck, but the sounds ended with Titus following up the cut with a slash to the neck. The thing dropped, gurgling wetly as it died.

The other two came on together, the bloated woman using the long haft of her scythe to swing at Titus’ legs while the gangly mutant swung two shorter hand scythes at his head. He was forced to step back, then swing at the long scythe as it came at him again. The cheap metal of the old farming tool screamed, then shattered as the blades met. Titus felt shards of metal tug at his ragged shirt, and grunted as one bit into the flesh of his left bicep. He didn’t let that slow him down, however, stepping in to thrust his sword at the long armed mutant’s face.

The creature stepped back, wailing in a long, ululating cry. With a snarl, the fat mutant thrust a meaty arm at Titus, her triple chin wobbling with the force of the effort. He dodged to the side, but grunted as the heavy glow glanced off his shoulder. He still managed to bury the point of his sword in the things belly, and grinned triumphantly.

To his horror, the creature simply grinned. “Got you now!” she advanced, and Titus tried to draw his sword out. The folds of fat wrapped around the blade, and he found himself unable to withdraw the blade as another blow caught him alongside his head.

Ears ringing, Titus gave up on trying to draw the blade out, and jumped forward, driving the sword as deeply into his enemy's gut as he could. She howled in pain, her flabby hands pawing at Titus. He growled, then drove his face into the bridge of her nose. Blood and mucus splattered his face as the mutant groaned, then toppled over, the sword now buried to the hilt in her gross stomach.

Titus had no time to enjoy his victory as the gangly mutant attacked again, driving forward with both its scythes, lank brown hair obscuring the eyes of the upper head, while the lower leered at Titus evilly. He scrambled back, until his heel touched something behind him. Realization dawned, and Titus dove for the deck as the scythes cut the air over him. He grabbed the long rusty blade, then shot up, driving it into the mutant’s head.

Both heads howled in pain and the thing shambled back, dropping one scythe. The other, however, swung for Titus, and he dropped the blade and scrambled for the howling body of the fat woman. He gripped the hilt of the sword in her gut with both hands, and instead of pulling, wretched it upward. With a shower of gore and intestines, the blade swung free, releasing a hideous stench as it sliced. The tip sliced into the swinging arm of the gangly mutant, mostly severing it so it hung only by skin and tendons.

Titus finished off both of the hideous creatures, then turned. He found Freya raining ice upon the river, spearing several more boats that had been attempting to ferry more pirates aboard. Several were shattered and broken now, while others had bodies with great icicles piercing them draped about them. Freya was panting, breathing as though she had just run a marathon, a fierce snarl on her lips as she shouted out incantations. She brought down one hand in a slapping motion, and a wave of ice rushed forward, smashing two other boats.

Moaning, Freya staggered, and Titus hurried forward, supporting her in his gore slicked arms. “Are you alright?”

“I have not…I never…” Freya gasped, shaking her head. “I have used magic for decades…but never so much, so quickly…my mind…I tire…”

Grunting, Titus nodded. He had seen mages exert themselves before, and often after only a few spells they behaved as though they had fought in a melee for hours. What Freya had unleashed just now was the equal or superior to any human sorcery he had ever borne witness to before, and far outstripped the goblin shamans he had seen with their weirding spells.

“There are still mutants aboard. Can you stand?” Titus asked, even as he heard frantic screams and shouts.

“I can manage,” Freya agreed, managing to get back to her feet, though she kept her arm around Titus. She still had her sword of ice, and raised it as a scrabbling sound could be heard on the roof above them. Titus barely had time to look up as two mutants leapt down at them. Freya’s icy blade wove an intricate pattern, and blood and gore rained down upon them, then bodies of their would-be attackers splashing into the water and pattering off the deck.

“Yes, yes I think I can stand quite well,” Freya said, and straightened up completely.

“Sharp, for frozen water,” Titus laughed, raising his own sword. He could feel the madness of battle upon him, but he cared not. While he was no berzerker, he felt a vicious joy now, in the midst of the fight. Later, he would be sick, and perhaps even have nightmares of the destruction he had borne witness to and caused, but for now he took righteous pleasure in the slaughter of the misbegotten foes of mankind.

It was the only way he could stay sane, and still strike down living beings.

Hearing a nearby scream, Titus and Freya hurried forward, finding several cabins that had been broken into. Several bodies lay on the ground, most of them their fellow passengers or several sailors who seemed to have been taken unawares. Swearing, Titus hurried forward, only to hear another scream. There was a loud clang, and a mutant stumbled back out of one cabin, clutching a bleeding gash on his forehead, from which sprouted two goat’s horns.

Titus ran him through from behind. Fairness was for a game of cards or dice. Not for a fight.

“Come on, you ugly old monsters. Come and get a taste of my pan! It’s a goodun, made with the finest Rieklander ore!” a quavering voice called.

Titus blinked, then shared a shocked look with Freya.

“Madam Mathers?” Freya called, stepping closer to the cabin door, but not entering.

“Oh! Is that you, Mistress Freya?”

The old woman poked her head out of her cabin, dressed in a woolen nightgown, her hair covered with a nightcap. In her gnarled hand was clutched a large and sturdy cast iron frying pan, one that now had several fresh stains on it. There was another mutant that lay comatose on the deck, and Titus stepped forward, ramming his sword point into its neck to end the pathetic creature’s life.

“Those demons tried to break in and harm my grandchildren!” the irate Mathers said, shaking her frying pan at Titus. “Gave them a good what for, I did. Hmph! Sigmar blesses the righteous, and this is MY hammer!”

“You have done good work, it seems,” Titus said, peering in to see the pale faces of her granddaughter and the woman’s husband. The man clutched a belt knife in trembling hands, while his wife held a rolling pin in hers.

“This might serve you better,” Titus said, and picked up an axe one of the mutants had carried.

Old Mother Matthers snorted. “Don’t know how to use one of those. I’ve wielded a frying pan before, I tell you. I was quite a looker when I was younger, you know. Some men tried to get handsy when I didn’t want them to! Gave them a good licking with this same pan! Of course, there were some I didn’t mind so much. Them I took into a hayloft!”

“Grandmama!” her granddaughter gasped.

“What? I had six children, you know! Didn’t get that way by keeping my legs closed.”

Before the rather surreal conversation could continue, four mutants appeared around the cargo crates on the deck and charged. Titus and Freya spun to confront them, even as the misshapen howling creatures came on, wielding a motley collection of weapons. Titus took one in the neck with a sharp stab to the neck, the other he parried the clumsy blow of a wooden cudgel, then followed through, slicing the man’s scaly leg off at the knee. Even bone parted like soft green wood at runefangs swipe, and the creature fell over, skidding across the deck to land at Mother Mather’s feet. Her frying pan descended sharply, and the mutant’s pained hissing ended in a wet sucking sound.

“Where did they all come from?” Titus gasped, panting and glancing at Freya. She seemed not to have moved a muscle, but two headless bodies lay on the bloodied wooden deck at her feet, and her icy blade was dark with blood.

“The woods, I imagine. Though…” Freya shivered, looking pale as she glanced down the deck.

“They wanted you, for some reason,” Titus said. “We’ll have to drive them off.”

Leaving Mother Mathers, who assured them that she would “see to these blighted fools,” Titus and Freya made their way back along the other side of the cabins towards where the captain and crew stayed. There were still sounds of fighting, and they encountered several other mutants who were ravaging the passengers and crew alike. They proved to be no match for Titus’ blade, or even Freya’s, and they hastened to aid the surviving crew.

They found the captain and a few bloodied sailors held out against a dozen mutants of various shapes and sizes, led by a hunchbacked woman with a black pirates cap on her head, and a large cutlass that was less rusty than the others.

“Slaughter the fools! They cast us out, now offer their souls to our master!” the hunchback howled, raising up the cutlass.  “Offer their souls to Tzeentch!”

Titus felt his blood run cold. He had heard that profane name before, on the lips of beastmen as they howled out the name of their dark gods in battle. This was more than a simple piracy then: This was a raid by the twisted followers of one of the great evils from beyond the world.

“I should have known,” Freya growled, raising her blade. She bellowed out a challenge, glowing golden orbs appearing in the air around her. “Servant of the Weaver of Lies! A magus of the Tower of Hoeth stands before you! Let your evil perish in the light of the Lord of Wisdom!”

Titus groaned. While flowery speeches sounded good, giving them in the middle of a fight was a poor plan. Even as Freya spoke, two of the mutants raised slings, and let fly with stones towards Freya. A stone took her on the side of the head, and she collapsed, her display of mystic power sputtering and dying.

“There she is! The elf! The elf! Seize her, and her treasures! That’s what the dwarf wants!” the pirate leader ranted.

Several frothing mutants charged, and Titus had to duck and more sling stones whizzed through the air. He had no time to check on Freya. He met his foes in a clash of steel and fury, howling like a crazed wolf in the battle cry of his old regiment. He cut down one man with antlers like that of a deer, then stabbed a woman with needle sharp fangs and claw-like nails. A large man with a rusted mail shirt attacked him with a huge club, spittle dripping down his misshapen jaw, a third arm stabbing at Titus with a spear. He slashed at the man’s belly, and the rusty metal parted like rotted cloth, spilling the man’s guts at his feet. He desperately tried to grab his entrails with all three of his hands, until another blow lopped his head from his shoulders.

Despite Titus’ skill, he grunted in pain as one attacker came at him from the side, a stone tipped spear catching Titus in the leg. He stumbled slightly, and barely fended off another attack from a short man with reptilian eyes and pointed teeth. He thought he was done for, until a spike of ice took the man through the throat. He managed to stab the frog headed mutant with the spear in the leg to return the favor, then clove the amphibian head in half, even as he was forced to kneel.

Blood streaming over the left half of her face from a gash in her scalp, Freya staggered up to Titus.

“Drop your sword,” she slurred, holding up a glowing green hand.

Reluctantly, Titus set the blade beside him, gasping for breath as the mutants fought off another attack from the remaining crew. Freya set one hand on his leg, chanting a short spell. The wound closed, and the muscle knitted, before Freya retched and staggered to her hands and knees.

“You should see to yourself, that’s a nasty head wound,” Titus said, hastily picking his sword back up.

Wordlessly, Freya shook her head, then pointed to the fight before Titus. He saw Captain Holtmann go down, the pirate leader’s cutlass in his guts. For a twisted hunchback, the woman was spry, cackling as she attacked the beleaguered sailors.

With another howl, Titus surged forward, only stumbling slightly on his tender leg. He took out a hairy mutant with the muzzle of a dog with a savage blow that nearly sliced the thing in half, then confronted the pirate captain.

“I AM DAMNATION, QUEEN OF THIS RIVER! I WILL HAVE YOUR SWORD AND SOUL, AS OFFERINGS TO THE CHANGER OF WAYS!” the hunchback cackled, and chopped at Titus’ still weakened leg with her cutlas.

He parried the blow, then sliced at her head. She ducked, but his blow caught her hat, and sent it sailing off into the darkness.

“Your dark gods have no power here! Ulric guides my blade!” Titus bellowed, and howled again, pressing his attack.

His opponent parried, once, twice, then attempted to do so again. Titus aimed his blow for the center of the cutlass, and this time, he caught it dead on. His blade sheared through the metal with a grinding shriek, and his attack carried on through, slicing through the woman’s face. She gurgled in pain, her nose flopping over, and stumbled back. Titus drove forward, raising his sword in another massive overhand blow.

There was a sharp report, and pain flared in Titus’ side. He stumbled, looking stupidly down. A wound had opened up, a bloody hole that had blown a chunk out of the side. He wheezed, then sank down.

“You’ll pay for that,” the woman spat, and raised her broken cutlass.

With the last of his strength, Titus shoved his sword forward, right into the parted nose of the mutant, and into her brain. She froze, and Titus jerked his blade free. She toppled over, dead.

Propping himself up with the sword, Titus’ vision swam. He looked to the shore, where he saw the gleam of a golden smile. He collapsed to the deck, feeling his life blood leak out of him. The last thing he felt was hands on his body, dragging him away. A moment later, he was airborne for a brief moment, then he rocked back and forth. Something was pressed to his side, and the pain was hideous. Titus passed out.

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The carnage aboard the barge was deplorable. Heidi felt sick as she watched the few remaining mutants mutilate corpses, even cutting away sections of flesh and eating them raw, blood running down their jaws. She ignored the screams of several women who had been dragged below decks by laughing mutants, and steeled her resolve. When one rat faced little mutant tried to grab Heidi, she used the pistol Vicini had given her, and blew the disgusting thing’s head off.

“Good shot,” the dwarf grunted. Then he raised his voice. “THIS ONE IS MINE! TOUCH MY SLAVE, AND YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT!”

The rest of the mutants backed off, and Heidi hastily reloaded the pistol as they walked, spilling a bit of black powder onto the deck. “Are you sure you got Titus? That was a long shot.”

They’d been on the shore, watching the attack take place. Vicini had killed a mutant who suggested he lead the attack, growling that he was “no slave to lead the charge.” A sensible position, from her point of view.

“I don’t miss,” Vicini grunted.

They found the body of Captain Damnation, though not her hat. Vicini looked around, to where two mutants were stripping the bodies of the dead captain and his sailors, looking for valuables. “Where is the elf and the man with the glowing blade?”

“Dead, or in the drink. Who cares? We have the ship!” one mutant cackled.

“Wrong answer,” Heidi said, lowering her reloaded pistol and cocking back the hammer. “Answer the question better, or I’ll kill you and find someone who can.”

The mutant flinched back, a nictitating membrane flashing over his cat’s eye pupils. “Don’t know! Don’t shoot! I can look, I can look! Maybe they tried to hide in the hold.”

“The man was wounded. I hit him in the side. He’ll bleed out soon,” Vicini growled. “Go. Search the entire ship. I don’t care about the bodies, but I want what that man and elf had on them.”

A brief but frantic search took place, and an older man with a steel blade was dragged up from the hold. His sword arm now ended in a stump, where his hand had been lost in the fighting.

“Sigmar curse you all! What treachery is this, that one of the Elder Race betrays us?” the man gasped, spitting in the face of Heidi and Vicini.

“That him?” Vicini demanded, turning to Heidi. “All humans look the same to me.”

Heidi picked up the sword, earning a squeak of protest from one of the mutants. She examined the fine Reikland steel: the sword was a rapier, and well made. Then she plunged the tip into the man’s chest. He coughed up blood, and slumped in the grip of the mutants.

“No. That’s not him,” Heidi said firmly. She turned to the mutants. “And the elf trollop?”

“No elves, we can’t find them,” one of the captors said, looking down at the dying man and licking his lips. “Can we eat this one?”

“Suit yourself,” Vicini grunted, and turned away.

Heidi hurried after him, blocking out the dying rasp of the man as he was eaten alive. She examined her new sword. She rather liked it. She’d always wanted a sword. It wasn’t as nice as Titus’, but, well, it was a place to start.

“They’ve fled,” Vicini growled. “Escaped, somehow. Come.”

They boarded one of the small boats, and Vicini withdrew a black object with a short fuse attached to it. Once they were away from the barge, Vicini lit the fuse, then tossed the bomb onto the barge. A moment later, it exploded in a shower of flame, which raced along the barge, rapidly consuming it.

“Kill any that try to come ashore,” Vicini told Heidi. “No survivors, no witnesses.”

She nodded. “Wouldn’t mind killing a few of those disgusting creatures.”

Vicini grunted. “They failed. Such is the price of failure. Remember that.”

Nodding quietly, Heidi took aim at a mutant that was bobbing in the water, gasping for air and trying to strike out for the shore that was only a hundred feet away. She missed on the first shot. But not on the second.

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When Titus came to, it was in a comfortable bed, of all things. He blinked, then looked up to see Freya, snoring softly and slumped in a chair at his bedside. She had one of his hands in her lap, and was gripping it tightly even in her sleep.

A bit of drool was leaking down the side of her mouth, and Titus smiled. Groaning, he sat up, then used a corner of his blanket to wipe at her mouth.

Gasping, Freya jerked away, blinking rapidly. “Titus! The pirates! They- Oh.”

“Gone, it seems,” Titus said, laying back down on the bed with a grimace of pain. “Where are we? And why am I not dead? I think I was shot.”

“You were,” Freya said, grimacing. “You’re still wounded. Priestess Estelle managed to heal your wound enough for you to live; I am still rather drained. I’ll do what I can later, but for now my powers are spent.”

There was a large bandage wrapped around Freya’s head, obscuring one of her eyes, and Titus nodded slowly. They’d both been grievously injured in the attack. “How did we survive? The captain, the crew…”

“All dead. They found the remains of a burned out hulk yesterday. You’ve been asleep for nearly two days,” Freya said quietly. “Mother Mather’s grandson Richard hauled you to a boat, while her granddaughter Emlia helped me into the same. We managed to row away, and the current carried us downriver to this town, Barenfahre. They treated our wounds. We’re staying in the Temple of Shallya.”

“I see.” Titus thought on this for a moment, then shook his head. “Those mutants, they were after you. Why?”

Freya looked down for a moment, and Titus thought he saw tears in her eyes. “I don’t know! My family…they do not like me but…to hire servants of Tzeentch…even my mother would not go so far.”

“Ah.” Titus decided not to pry further in that direction; it obviously conjured up painful memories. “Well, perhaps they simply wanted you for ransom.”

That made Freya snort derisively. She looked up, a sad smile on her face. “Even with who my uncle is, I don’t think my family would pay much. Honestly, I have no idea. Perhaps they thought I was someone else. Or…”

Freya glanced at the sword, which was wrapped in leather and lay at the foot of Titus’ bed.

“That would be a treasure worth going after. But who would know I had it, much less that you were with me?” Titus asked. “I cannot believe Zelda or Max would tell, and the only other person was…”

“Who?” Freya asked, frowning at him.

“Well, my uncle for one, but he wouldn’t sell us out to murderous mutants. The other…no. I think Heidi saw, it, but-”

Titus trailed off as Freya’s eyes blazed with a sudden fury. “Her? You showed that chit one of the legendary treasures of the world?”

“I didn’t know what it was at the time! And I didn’t show it to her, she peeked under the bed!” Titus said defensively.

Freya stood, wobbling slightly as she got to her feet. “You need rest, and I do as well. I should be able to heal the both of us on the morrow, provided the winds of magic blow strongly.”

Sighing, Titus sank back into his covers as Freya hobbled out of the door. Some time later, a kindly priestess came and tended to his wounds. She was young and comely, but a part of Titus longed for another’s hands to minister to him. Strange as it was, Titus was growing fond of that She-Elf. A pretty woman was well enough, but one that could fight with such fury…

It was folly. No elf woman would look upon a man with favor, that much Titus was certain of.

Of course, he couldn’t hear Freya crying herself to sleep.