The Sword of Morning Star (9 page)

Even so, it was a long while before someone called from within, timidly, “Who’s there?”

“Two weary travelers seeking a night’s rest.”

The door cracked a bit, but a chain secured it still. A squinting eye peered at Helmut, then widened as it saw the iron ball on his right hand. “The morning star!” the eye’s owner gasped. Suddenly there was the rattle of the chain and the door flew open. “Come in, Sir Morning Star!”

The innkeeper was a paunchy man with the intelligent eyes and sad face of a bloodhound. Excitedly, yet with deference, he stood back as Helmut entered. He could not keep his gaze off that iron fist.

“You’ve heard of me, eh?” asked Helmut.

“From the South come rumors,” said the man. “Tales of a knight with a morning star for a fist who, in single combat, slaughtered a dozen brigands all at once. And—” He hesitated.

“And what?” Helmut’s voice was sharp. “Go on.”

“And who comes back to Boorn to save it,” the innkeeper finished in a kind of frightened wheeze, as if he’d said far too much.

“So Boorn needs saving, eh?” Helmut looked him in the eye.

“Your lordship misunderstands me. I did not mean to imply—”

“Never mind. Bring us wine and meat. I myself shall see to my own horse, lest he give your hostler difficulty. We have also a bear and two wolfhounds to feed; all three are well trained and will give no trouble so long as they are not molested. They shall sleep here.” And he indicated the public room.

The innkeeper bowed low. “As your lordship wishes.” Then he hurried off.

When Helmut had returned from stabling and feeding the great white stallion, there was bread, cheese, cold meat, and white wine. He and Sandivar ate voraciously, the only guests in the place. Around a mouthful of cheese, Helmut said, “Business is not so good, eh? Why do the villagers shun your tavern?”

“No one wishes to be out at night, your lordship.”

“Wolves?” asked Sandivar; and at the sound of the word, the great hounds, lying before the fireless hearth, whined.

“Aye. Wolves and half-wolves.” The innkeeper lowered his voice. “And of the two, the latter are the worst. Replacing men as soldiers in every garrison, they vaunt themselves and swagger and oppress us brutally. Yet so great are their numbers that we, poor peasants and unarmed, cannot fight back. Should we so attempt, hordes of them would come to punish us. Meanwhile, wolves prey on our flocks unchecked; and quite as bad, we are plagued as well by bears and wild swine.”

“Bears and boars? Now they are plague too?”

“Indeed.” The innkeeper gestured. “That way a couple of dozen leagues lies the Frorwald. In there, the wolves swarm in numbers unbelievable; and the wild boars and bears who once found safety and sustenance in that forest have been driven out by the sheer numbers of the wolves. And so they have migrated hence and feed upon our crops and flocks and add to the plagues besetting us.” He checked himself, then went on, almost a touch angrily. “Perhaps I talk too much. Nevertheless, I am at rope’s end anyhow, and so are all of us. At least you are a man and not a wolf, and if there is any substance to the rumors—”

“Perhaps there is substance to them. I think you may count on substance to them,” Sandivar said encouragingly. “We intend—”

He broke off, as there was a ferocious hammering at the door, and Death and Destruction sprang to their feet with manes abristle.

The innkeeper’s face paled. “Oh, Gods!” he whispered. “That will be the watch of half-wolves making its rounds—Captain Fang and his company.” As the hammering continued, fit to break down the door, the innkeeper leaned close. “You have your papers? Since Albrecht became king, everyone must now carry papers to go about.”

“We have no papers,” Helmut said.

“Then you must hide. Otherwise—”

“The Gods blast you, Chandel, open up this door and let us in, or we’ll chop it down!” From without that came in a half-wolf howl. Quickly Sandivar went to Death and Destruction, knelt between them with a hand on each, and appeared to speak something in their ears. Astonishingly, they dropped into positions of repose before the hearth, and as Sandivar gestured to an aroused Waddle in another corner of the room, the great bear sat down heavily, and a placid look crossed his face. Meanwhile, Helmut smiled coldly at the innkeeper.

“Fret not,” he said. “Let them in.” And something about the tone of his voice put starch in the plump man’s backbone. Chandel even smiled a little as his eyes met those of Helmut. “Aye,” he said, and plodded to the door.

The minute the chain was loosened, the half-wolves, all uniformed, crowded in, clawed hands on sword hilts, manner arrogant and swaggering. Chandel was pushed aside roughly by their captain. “Hell take you, man, the next time you’re so slow, your head will occupy a stake at the public bridge, as warning to the rest of the dolts—Now, give us wine, understand you?” There were ten of his kind with him, and one at his elbow nudged him now, so that he turned and saw Helmut.

“Well,” he growled. “What have we here?”

Helmut had dropped his right hand beneath the table at which they ate. “By your leave, Captain,” he said evenly, “only strangers passing through.”

“Strangers from whence?” Then Fang saw the hounds. “Are these cursed brutes yours?”

“Aye, Captain. But have no fear. They and the bear are well trained. They will not attack except on my command.”

“On your command, eh?” Fang, backed by a couple of his men, stalked forward. “And who are you? Let me see your papers.”

Helmut looked the half-wolf straight in the eyes, knowing that his kind could not bear the stare of a man for more than a few seconds. Involuntarily, Fang’s gaze moved away. “In sooth,” said Helmut then, with amusement in his voice, “we have no papers.”

There was the rasp of steel as Fang’s sword came out. “Then you are under the King’s arrest! Take them!” he barked to the pair behind him. “The rest of you—kill those cursed dogs and that foul bear. As for you, Chandel, jest becomes truth; I think indeed I’ll plant your head on a sharpened post—” Then he broke off as Helmut slowly and with a cold smile brought out his right arm and laid the steel mace-hand on the table.

Fang’s eyes blazed with surprise. For a half second, he stood rigid, staring at it. Then he howled: “Morning Star! Take him!”

At that instant, Helmut threw the table over. It caught Fang and his two henchmen at the waist and knocked them back. Rage leaped from its sheath into Helmut’s hand, and he cried, 
“Boorn and Victory!”
 and sprang forward, even as Fang and the others scrambled to their feet and the rest of the half-wolves drew sword. Sandivar gave a strange, wild cry, and at that signal Death and Destruction came up smoothly and launched themselves, and Waddle was suddenly on his feet and lunging forward.

Rage flickered and glittered, and steel rang on steel, as the three half-wolves struck at Helmut. Sandivar had drawn his own short sword, but stood back out of the fray, with Chandel cowering behind him. A half-wolf screamed as Death leaped in under his sword and knocked him backward, and another died without sound as Destruction’s jaws chopped shut. As Waddle had fought the mrogg, so now he fought the soldiers, huge paws swinging, his roaring terrible, and Helmut caught a glimpse of a half-wolf spinning away, head and helmet both crushed and half ripped off. In that instant, Fang lunged in, to what appeared an opening. His blade slid by Helmut, but Rage did not miss, and Fang lurched sideways, as neatly decapitated as if by a headsman. Then Helmut parried one sword thrust with the morning star and caught another on his blade. The rest of the half-wolves were scrambling for the door now, but Waddle was there before them, blocking it, and the two hounds coming at them from the other side. Meanwhile, Rage moved smoothly and killed another. The third, largest of the trio, was also bravest; Fang’s lieutenant, he was also the better swordsman. Coming at Helmut as the latter was off balance from the chop that had killed the second, he snarled triumphantly. Helmut turned just in time to let the blade slide by, but he was forced into a corner, and then it was sword against sword, man against half-wolf.

“Aye, Morning Star,” the lieutenant growled as their blades rang together, “I’ll drink your blood ere this night is over!”

“You think so, eh? And you have heard of me?” Helmut parried, went in; but the lieutenant was quick and warded off the thrust. With great strength he forced Helmut backward.

“We have heard—And were warned to keep an eye out. I’ll cut that thing off and present it to King Albrecht for a present.” He pressed harder, his long blade a glittering veil of movement. The clang of iron on iron as Helmut fended every stroke was like the hammer and anvil in a busy smithy. “Then Terro shall be captain and perhaps more than captain. There! And there!” He slashed in hard, and then with confidence made his thrust. His blade leaped straight for Helmut’s belly, but Rage sheered it off so that the cold steel slipped just past Helmut’s flank and embedded itself in the wooden wall against which Helmut had been penned. Too late Terro realized the gravity of that; as he pulled back, Helmut struck the blade a ringing blow with the morning star that knocked it from his hand, and in the same instant Rage thrust out and killed him.

Terro sank twisting to the floor, and Helmut leaped over him. The dogs had already wreaked great destruction, and Waddle, roaring terribly, was batting half-wolves left and right like ninepins. Into this turmoil, Helmut plunged, seeking more work for Rage and finding it. Blade and mace alike took their toll of the panic-stricken half-wolves, and suddenly the room fell silent, but for the panting of the dogs and the deep growl that rumbled in Waddle’s chest as he dropped to all fours. And Helmut stood alone among the corpses.

Rage whispered as it went to rest again within his scabbard. Dazedly, the innkeeper edged from behind Sandivar’s back, staring incredulously at the shambles that once had been his public room. “All gone…” he whispered. “All gone…”

Helmut strode to him. “Back to the world, man. Tell me, are more half-wolves in the village?”

Chandel blinked at him. His lips moved without sound. Then he whispered, “Only two, one at either end of the little bridge across the stream. No more than a dozen were considered necessary in a town so small as ours.”

“Only two,” said Sandivar. “No need to exercise ourselves concerning them. Death, Destruction—” And as the great dogs came to him, Sandivar dropped to his knees before them and whispered something to their bloody muzzles. Then he went to the door and threw it open, and the dogs leaped out into the night.

“Now,” said Sandivar to Chandel, “I think you had better call the men of the village together. These bodies must be disposed of ere dawn, and more than that, we have much to talk about.”