Wolfslayer's Revenge

by The Werewolfking

The dancing Northern Lights in the foreboding sky entertained the blond-haired children seated around the crackling bonfire. It warmed the saga-tellers square within the frozen-over seaport. Wrapped in their furs, they begged the gnarled hag, perched on her chair before them, to make the long, cold nights more enjoyable.

"Tell us another story, Granny!" shouted one flaxen-haired girl, her mouth stained by dried huckleberries. The teenagers were impatient for more thrills from the woman who enthralled them with her recollections of Brynfyrth raiders who plundered the Ninevah coasts, murdering everyone who resisted them and enslaving those worth selling to the olive-skinned traders from Sparonia.

The arthritic matron sighed and sipped another swig of willow-bark tea to ease her painful joints. Her mind wandered back many years ago to the time when she was chief priestess here. She thought about Princess Freyda Eriksdotter, who terrified the hated Ninevahians.

Tears misted the crone’s fading eyes when she also remembered the brave Wolfslayer. They laughed when she spoke that the wolves howled on the day the young warrior died. They ridiculed her when she imagined Freyda and Wolfslayer, garbed as Valkryies in shining armor, riding over the battlefields on their white stallions.

"What would you like to hear now, Gretchen?"

The buxom maiden rose to her feet, shouting, "We women are tired of sagas about men. Tell us about the shield-maidens and sword-sisters who also sailed across the North Sea to raid Ninevah." The boys hooted derisively at her, but she stared them down.

The hag asked her grandson, Ragnar, to fetch her a flask of mead to prod her memory. She gulped a deep swig, wrapped her bearskin around her shivering shoulders, and commenced her saga. The girls clutched each other, fascination glowing in their eyes.

Her story began with Melinda, a young Ninevahian shepherdess who minded her father’s flocks. One spring day, she spied smoke billowing from her town. She climbed an oak and anger clouded her blemish-free face when she noticed a warship beached nearby. "A dragonship!" she shouted at her sheep. She grabbed her bow and arrows and raced down the mountain.

Panting, she arrived just as the invaders had battered down the meager stockade. The clash of steel and the moans of the dying forced her into the nearby woods. Tears filled her eyes when she saw her parents hacked to pieces while fighting at the gate. Then, her village was torched, and the few survivors were shackled and whipped outside.

Melinda’s anger made her careless. Taking careful aim at a dog-faced warrior, she loosed an arrow. The pirate wheeled, grabbed his back, and pitched forward. He pointed at the woods before dying. His comrades interrupted their plundering, howled, and rushed towards her.

She skewered one more before they ran her down like a rabbit. They beat her and ripped off her clothes. She closed her eyes, awaiting rape and a lingering death. She dared to blink her eyes a few minutes later when nobody molested her. A sharp point pricked her neck, forcing her to be still. Standing before her now was a statuesque woman.

The warlord was dressed in leather buskins like the rest of the swine who had pillaged her village. An engraved eagle adorned her steel breastplate. Her beautiful yet stern face peeked from a plumed helmet. Gold armbands revealed her wealth. An expensive broadsword was buckled to her waist.

A bear’s head, painted on the oaken shield borne on the left arm of the woman warrior, glared at the prisoner. Melinda moaned, realizing that the murderous daughter of the one-eyed, Brynfyrth king had captured her. The prostrated girl gulped when she saw her pointing a bloody spear at her heart.

"This the one?" said the woman warrior, whom appeared to be about ten years older than her prisoner.

"Yes, your Highness," snorted the half-drunken man who held a sword at his struggling captive’s throat. "The little wench shot arrows into Sven and Ludgar."

The Amazon batted the sword away with her spear. "Now, be a good lad and start loading our loot." Even though she hated Sven, she was expected to avenge her father’s favorite boy. She eyed the shivering girl and grinned like a wolverine pondering a captured hare.

"You saw her … now she’s ours!"

"No!" she yelled, appraising the courageous girl who slew two of her most bloodthirsty warriors. "I think not."

Her men’s faces clouded with disappointment, not happy about being denied some last-minute sport. But, their leader was Freyda Eriksdotter, whose ferocious father, King Erik, would hang them all if they disobeyed her. They feared her sword, too, which had dispatched many enemies to Valhalla, and which would sever their heads if they defied her. Her rounded breasts were tantalizing, but they knew that no man would ever tame that wild mare.

Freyda ordered her warriors to fetch Melinda a new dress from the booty. The prisoner was then chained with the other captives. She was slapped for resisting rough hands that fondled her small yet rounded breasts. She got in one stout kick before the Princess’s glare forced her into submission.

"By Odin, she’s a spirited one," laughed the princess. "I think I’ll ask Father for her."

Her fate sealed, Melinda was dragged back to the warship. The stink of the burning houses, the screams of rape, and her butchered loved ones tormented her soul. Someday, she would slay that evil bitch.

The mournful sound of the watchman’s longhorn announced the arrival of Zerstorung, Freyda’s dragonship, at Negreb, the capital of Brynfyrth. Freyda spied her father on the pier. "A shipload of plump sheep, a little gold, and a dozen healthy slaves," she shouted.

She hurried down the gangplank and was gathered up into her father’s bear-like grip.

"Our losses?"

"Ten went to Valhalla and a few more need patching up. And, Sven was killed."

The old man sighed at the loss of Sven. "I assume you tortured the cur that killed him?"

"I carved him up like a chicken and left him for the wolves, Father." Her icy stare rendered her crew mute. Then, his daughter grabbed a slave girl from the line.

"Pretty One, I hope you can cook," whispered Freyda.

Still in shock, Melinda could only nod.

"A favor, Father?"

He kissed his only child on her head, acknowledging that her raid was a success despite the loss of Sven. "Of course, my dear. What is it you wish?"

"I need another cook and this one indicates she’s capable."

He hated to give up a slave, but Freyda was insistent. He consented after a brief argument and rode his stallion back to his castle. Freyda thanked her crew for a job well done, giving each an extra gold coin to buy their silence.

Freyda assigned Melinda to the kitchen to help Bruni, her aging cook. Weeks passed and the former shepherdess plotted her revenge while laboring over the scorching fires. She was relieved that Freyda’s family enjoyed her mutton-and-turnip stew.

One morning, while Bruni shopped in the marketplace, Melinda was deep in thought while basting a venison roast that turned over a spit. Suddenly, she was attacked by four, lusty demons. Screaming curses, she lunged for a pot lid and carving knife to fend them off.

"Are you oafs afraid of a slave girl?" shouted the pack leader. "Take her!"

Melinda toppled over drying racks on the randy boys who chased her. One tried to grab her arm, but he was rewarded by a deep gash from her knife. She broke another’s nose with her pot cover. The other two overpowered her and forced her to the floor. They snatched her weapons, but she fought like a weasel, biting them and scratching their faces bloody. Her howls soon attracted help.

Freyda, sword drawn, roared with anger when she saw the filthy jerky and Freyda’s predicament. "Well, sheep-mistress, at least you didn’t kill any of them." Her guards escorted the chagrinned boys out. The sergeant asked the Princess what she wanted done with the feisty teenager.

"Drag her out to the courtyard, and then leave."

The frigid, morning air raised goosebumps on Melinda’s arms as she prayed for a quick death. Freyda ripped the bloodstained rags from her and showered her with a bucket of icy water. Then, she disrobed, revealing a taut bosom and ripples of muscles. The princess strolled to the training locker and grabbed short, woolen tunics for each of them. Then, she removed two, wooden shortswords and small shields.

"So, you like to fight, do you?" laughed Freyda. "Let’s see if there’s a warrior hiding in you."

The princess spent hours teaching Melinda fencing and blocking. Freyda battered her arms and legs with her sword and then knocked her on her butt with her buckler. Then, she squeezed her firm body to feel if bones were broken. Melinda’s face reddened as her nipples hardened and she whimpered in pain.

"You’ll live, Pretty One, now get up." Melinda was jerked to her feet. "Attack me!"

Freyda toyed with Melinda, easily parrying her inept thrusts and evading her awkward shield blocks and face smashes. The princess dropped her guard while she bellowed with laughter, but was shocked when she felt a jab in her left side. The slave bit her lip and endured a whirlwind of bruises. Oh, how she wished for a sharp blade to thrust into that black heart!

A month of kitchen drudgery and daily fencing lessons passed. One day, when Freyda raised her shield to swat a bee that had flown at her face, Melinda saw her opportunity. She clenched her teeth and whacked her teacher across the stomach.

"You’re dead!" shouted Melinda.

"You were lucky," mumbled the astonished noblewoman, massaging her gut. She selected robes for them from the locker. Night was falling.

"You saw your chance and took it." The princess put her muscular arms around Melinda’s boyish shoulders. "I like that in a warrior. Care to join me for dinner in my suite?"

Melinda nodded. Night was falling and she was famished. Was the spider inviting her into her web? Stuffed with mead and venison, and warmed by a blazing fire, they both doffed their garments and collapsed onto the furs on the floor.

"You’re not bad with a blade, Pretty One."

Melinda thanked her as her master kneaded her pert breasts, kissing her until she was afire. The slave then massaged Freyda’s ample bosom, caressing her all over. They laughed and drank some more, whispering about their adventures and dreams. Then, Freyda forced Melinda’s face into her crotch, coaxing her to lick her into ecstasy. She soon shuddered, and then flipped Melinda onto her back. The girl’s legs were pried apart and then she felt a hot tongue stroking the secret place between her legs. She writhed in passion, entwined with her panting lover.

Despite their dalliance, Melinda hated the woman; yet, the princess had spared her life twice. Then, one spring day, Freyda decided that her slave had had enough lessons. She shocked her student by ordering her armorer to buckle Melinda into steel armor and place a large shield onto her left arm. He then inserted a razor-sharp, broadsword into her right hand. Her eyes widened as the princess asked for a real sword and led her pupil to the courtyard.

"I know your heart burns with rage." Freyda dangled her weapon. "I have no armor, no shield. Just this little blade. Here’s your chance to kill me in fair combat."

Enraged, Melinda rushed Freyda, who nimbly sidestepped a stomach thrust. The slave was astonished when she easily battered her opponent’s weapon away with her shield. The girl raised her blade over her head, but hesitated. Then, she dropped her sword and began weeping.

"Odin determines who lives and who dies, Pretty One, not me." Freyda hugged the sobbing girl and kissed her cheeks. "Killing me won’t bring them back."

The former shepherdess felt ashamed at not taking her revenge. Yet, wearing armor and wielding that sword had somehow awakened a strange, new power in her. She also knew that Freyda was impressed by her courage in confronting the wolf pack that had slaughtered her sheep. She also had shot an arrow into the heart of their leader. And, was she also beholden to her for ridding her of the hated Sven?

Melinda’s head swam with conflicting thoughts. But, then she recalled how her bosom swelled with pride when Freyda had nicknamed her Wolfslayer. Would she now want to be her master’s shield-maiden and risk the wrath of her slain family invading her sleep? And, could she ever love the murderer of her family?

Her hate now quenched, Wolfslayer was offered a choice of continued slavery or, she was startled to learn, becoming her sword-sister rather than a lowly shield-maiden. Her former enemy also took a chance by revealing her secret plan. The princess would sail Zerstorung, her personal dragonship crewed by forty, tough women that she had been training for months as sailors and fighters, to raid a wealthy, Ninevahian trade center.

"Better to die as a free woman, with a sword in my hand, than to endure the humiliation of bondage," pronounced Wolfslayer. She trembled with excitement at the forbidden thought of being a warrior.

Erik the One-Eyed was furious when his daughter informed him that she intended to sail one of his best dragonships, filled with women no less, on a Ninevahian raid. Although he had no doubts about her as a captain or warrior, he insisted that she take some men with her. She refused and threw one of her infamous tantrums, butchering one of her father’s favorite chairs with her sword. They fought for several hours, but soon the tired man relented.

"Now you have corrupted other women?" he roared. "Well, if you must, then I expect no less than half of your booty, my dear."

He tolerated her tomboy ways as she was the son he would never have. And, if the chieftains would accept her, she would rule Brynfyrth after Odin summoned him to Valhalla. He chuckled as he dreamed of the plunder she would bring back. Thunder crackled, making him wonder if Odin had other plans for her.

The chief priestess tossed her runestones, and proclaimed that Odin blessed the raid. Then, the women dressed in woolen tunics and gathered up their steel breastplates, greaves and helmets. Their proud families brought them fine swords, spears, and axes. And, the King presented them with oaken bucklers. Melinda was amazed to see a wolf’s head painted on her shield, signifying that she was now a free woman.

While the others were busy, the sorceress motioned Wolfslayer into the temple. "You could have killed her, but you didn’t? If you have forgiven her, perhaps there’s a chance you’ll survive."

The crone then unlatched a musty box and withdrew an ancient amulet. The engraved runes proclaimed that it would protect the wearer from harm, as long as hate was purged from his or her heart. The old woman gazed into the eyes of the girl, and then placed the Rhinesilver necklace over the warrior’s head, tucking it under her breastplate.

The pirates loaded their provisions into Zerstorung and soon sailed off on the high tide. A week later, they thought it strange that nobody opposed them as they tied up at the Revod dock. As they marched into the town brandishing their weapons, they noticed how deathly quiet it was. Not even dogs barked at them. Too peaceful, thought the wary, warrior princess. She smelled a trap. Did one of her enemies at court tip off the Ninevahians that they were coming?

"Ambush!" roared Freyda, when she spied the glint of metal from a rooftop. The women raised their shields just as a hail of arrows rained down on them. Several women shrieked, clutching their chests as they toppled into the dust. Erik’s daughter had survived Ninevahian traps before and knew how to defeat archers. She ordered her warriors to hurl their spears at their attackers, who foolishly stood just above them, hoping for easy targets. Their swift lances spitted the archers.

The women stood their ground in the town’s center with only their shields to guard them. Freyda knew what was coming next and steeled herself for a brutal fight. Within minutes, the Ninevahian warriors, hiding in the houses, rushed the invaders.

The raiders formed a shield wall, and hacked at the warriors with their blades. Many men tumbled into the bloody dust, minus their heads and arms. But, without their thrusting spears, the women’s defense collapsed. After a ferocious battle, half of the women, their bellies gutted by spears and their chests slashed by swords, joined their victims. Before she died, one woman sparked her flint, igniting the haystacks near the houses.

The wily Freyda was not ready to be captured yet. She commanded her warriors to scatter and toss their axes at the men. Suddenly, most of the men were stretched out in the gory dirt, crimson blades splitting their skulls and massive chests.

Swinging her sword, Wolfslayer hacked and slashed with tremendous courage and stamina. Several times, she beheaded men while defending Freyda’s back. Would the spirits of her parents ever forgive her?

The weary women fought like tigresses. The few men left were eager to capture Freyda, the price on her head too tempting to give up. The women’s shields were splintered, but so were the men’s.

Only six, bloody Amazons remained standing by dusk, and they now battled against a dozen, wounded men. But, the Ninevahians were determined to bring the pirate leader to justice. The women, their armour slashed to near-nakedness, shieldless, and some with only stubby hilts, stabbed most of the defenders to death until only Wolfslayer and Freyda remained standing. The amulet under Wolfslayer’s breastplate burned like fire, yet the girl was amazed that, even though she was blood-spattered, she alone was unscathed.

Wolfslayer was backed into a wall, and an axe descended to lop off her beautiful head. Suddenly, the man groaned as a gory blade protruded through his stomach. As he toppled to the ground, she saw who had saved her.

"Now, we are even," Freyda grimaced as she withdrew her blade.

"Why did you make me a warrior?"

"I was innocent like you once, until I discovered that a sword made me equal to a man. So, run for your life, Pretty One, and tell my father to meet me in Valhalla."

Wolfslayer’s eyes misted over as she waved her bloody sword in salute to her former master. Then, with two men hot on her heels, she fled the carnage like Loki was chasing her. The boat beckoned her as she spun around and, with a backhand slash and a rip through a gut, she slew her pursuers.

Wolfslayer scampered up the mast to see Freyda’s fate. She spied her atop a flaming building, fighting two men. A gory, bearded head soared through the air. Freyda, who was reeling from countless slashes, was then stabbed in her left side by the other man and then dropped her sword. Although in agony, she managed to hurl her dagger into the chest of her triumphant foe before she collapsed. Grim-faced, Wolfslayer leaped to the deck, knowing what she must do next.

"Odin!" groaned the princess.

Freyda Eriksdotter had fought her last battle, but without her sword, she could never enter Valhalla. She dragged herself to the battlement, but was too weak to stand. Suddenly, her hilt was thrust into her right hand and she was lifted to the parapet by strong, female arms.

"Fool! You could have sailed to a new land. Why did you come back?"

"I never did like those smelly sheep, Highness," Wolfslayer chuckled, propping her up.

Wolfslayer was saddened that her parents would curse her from Paradise. But, even though she was now a traitor, she hoped that Odin would admit her to Valhalla with Freyda. Perhaps the god would be merciful, considering that she fought like a wolf and died as a shield-sister to royalty? She tossed her Rhinesilver charm into the flames below, hoping to bribe the god.

Swords in hand, the two women leaped into the inferno below. Some of the Ninevahian reinforcements thought that they heard hoof-beats thundering above. Others swore that Valkyries bore both women up into the dark sky.

The End