Wolf in Chains

By Robert Poyton

Following the events of Wolf in Shadows, the young barbarian Llorc settles into his role as Royal Bodyguard. But a diplomatic mission to the desert city of Sahkmet plunges him into fresh intrigue – and the Wolf is chained!

Meanwhile, far to the south an undead sorcerer is uniting the Desert Hordes and leading them on a mercile

• Language: English
• Publisher: Innsmouth Gold
• Release date: Nov 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789269635

Book preview

THE WOLF WHO WOULD BE KING

Volume Two

WOLF IN CHAINS

Robert  Poyton

THIS IS AN INNSMOUTH GOLD BOOK

ISBN: 978-1-78926-962-8  Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-78926-963-5  E-book     

Copyright@ 2018 R Poyton.

Originally published 2018

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any

electronic or mechanical means including information storage and

retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts

in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design: Innsmouth Gold

Wolf chapter heading graphic courtesy of

https://lupas-deva.deviantart.com/

Published by Cutting Edge on behalf of Innsmouth Gold.

www.innsmouthgold.com

To the memory of Stan Lee

(1922 - 2018)

‘Nuff said!

PROLOGUE

The goatherd cursed as the remaining three errant members of his flock skipped nimbly ahead and out of sight over a rocky outcrop. He was in unfamiliar territory, having strayed from the usual paths after the ground had rumbled and trembled beneath him earlier that day. He shook dark curls back from his olive-skinned face and frowned; this must be the work of the Gods of the Earth!

His own people worshipped the Gods of the Air, for all knew that Earth was the abode of Death; the custom of his tribe was to cremate the remains of the deceased. The low in station had ashes spread to the winds, the remains of Elders and Chieftains were stored at the Temple in urns, to be revered by their descendants.

Now, out here among the hills and ridges that bordered the southern edge of the Great Desert, his flock had been scattered by the upheavals. For hours under the hot sun the youth had sought to gather them, scrabbling up stony bluffs, clinging to sparse gorse bushes for support. Through narrow gorges he had chased them until his plain, white tunic was covered in dust, his stout crook long gone, dropped clattering into a ravine.

At last only three strays remained, collar bells tinkling as they pranced ahead, moving over a ridge and beyond his view. The lad corralled the rest of his flock behind him, into the shadow of the rock, out of the glare of the setting sun. Young face set in determination, he strode purposefully up and over the outcrop to gaze upon a small valley below. His three fugitives munched idly on the crimson wild flowers that bloomed there, but it was what lay beyond them that caught his eye.

  A low mound protruded from the rocky wall opposite. It had a regular look about it, a certain symmetry to its shape. Rocks and soil had slipped away from one side to reveal a dark, narrow fissure about the height of a man at its end. The youth half walked, half slid, down the slope towards the goats, the animals looking up at his approach. Two continued chewing and he was able to grab and halter their collars; the third skipped away once again, this time straight into the black opening in the mound wall.

      The goatherd cursed again and followed. Putting his head into the gap, he was surprised to discover a chamber within. The rays of the setting sun gave just enough light to see that this was, without doubt, a man-made structure; rough walls but walls, nonetheless. The boy had heard from his Tribal Elders that the mighty rulers of the north were laid to rest in great crypts, often with servants and prize possessions to accompany them to the Afterlife. Yet there was no fine craftsmanship here, no splendid decoration or ornate treasure.  A tomb it must be though, for in the centre of the chamber, atop a low dais, sat a stone sarcophagus. Curiosity overcoming fear, the youth squeezed through the gap and entered the chamber. The errant goat stood beside the dais, nervously pawing the ground with its hoof, staying in place as the boy moved quietly towards it.

The sarcophagus was large and plain; stranger still, for surely those who merited such a tomb would have it ornamented in lavish style, in order to emphasise the status of the person within. On closer inspection, the only decoration visible was a curious design carved into the grey stone lid. In the dim light, the goatherd made out the design of a large eye, wreathed in flames. Strangely, the eye had three interlinked pupils, most unlike the Eye of Protection his people used to ward off evil. A set of hieroglyphs surrounded the design but the lad had never learned to read; such skills were far beyond the needs of a mere goatherd.

Some impulse compelled him to place two hands on the edge of the lid and push. Nothing happened at first so the lad fully exerted himself and, with a low grinding sound, the heavy lid slowly slid aside. Shadows lengthened as the sun dipped low, giving barely enough light to see what lay within; an open coffin held a figure, shrouded in dark cloth, features hidden within the depths of the cowl around its head. A black, ankh-headed ebon staff lay along the length of the corpse.

As the boy watched, a curious pulse of light flickered along the staff. It started as icy blue at the head, changing into a sickly green as it reached the bottom of the staff. Fascinated,  the boy reached in and curled his fingers around the wood. He felt a tingle run up his arms and he lifted the staff in wonder, the flicker of light playing around his hands.

The goat beside him let out a bleat and pawed the ground again, as if in warning. The boy turned, keen eyes searching the dark corners of the tomb. With a start he noted the pile of bones at the far wall; six skeletons silently curled in the dry dust, eyeless sockets gazing at him. A quiet scuttling sounded from amongst them. Holding the staff aloft, he let out a sharp burst of breath as its faint glow dipped down to reveal a score of scorpions emerging from among the bones, approaching the dais in a slow wave. The youth crouched and drew the goat protectively to him, all thoughts of the staff forgotten. The shiny, black creatures halted a short distance away, tail stingers waving as if waiting for some command. Save the beating of youth and goat’s heart, all was silent

A dry creaking broke the stillness. The boy span round in terror to see the dead figure slowly sitting upright in the coffin, dark cowl turned towards him, two green eyes blazing from within. The youth dropped the staff from trembling fingers, the sun finally dipped below the hills and the tomb was plunged into complete darkness.

CHAPTER 1

Llorc grumbled and tugged again at the collar that chafed his neck in the midday heat; he had not realised there would be so much dressing up  in his new role. He sensed, then felt, the large figure of Gurdas at his side as the bodyguard nudged him and whispered with a grin, Straighten up soldier. Here they come.

They were a delegation from Golshan, another group come to Adelphis to court for Queen Arpanas’ hand in marriage. Since the King had died more than six months ago, etiquette allowed for suitors both domestic and foreign to approach the widowed Queen. Prince Leonte was still not of an age to ascend the throne and the feeling was that having a Royal couple helped maintain stability; though things had been very settled in Adelphis since King Thelios’ passing. The supporters of Toutatis had been scattered and resistance to the Queen, if not broken had, at least, been driven underground. Redevelopment of the Ratteries was under way, as the Queen had promised, though it would be take some time for such a lengthy project to be completed.

Llorc saw little of his old Ratteries friends these days. As a member of the Queen’s Household his duties were mostly to accompany Her Majesty on various occasions and ensure the personal safety of the sovereign at all times. As such, he worked closely with Gurdas, the Queen’s personal bodyguard, brought with her from her native country of Darhmsala. The two men got on well and had spent much time training together, exchanging the more unique fighting techniques and tactics of their respective homelands.

One of the first questions Llorc had asked Gurdas was  why he wore a turban? The large man smiled and explained it was one of the requirements of his religion,  as well as an emblem of one born into the Jhangapur warrior caste. So prized were the fierce loyalty and skills of the caste, that they were often employed by foreign rulers as bodyguards, as well as being protectors of their own royal family. Llorc could identify with this, being born himself into the Clannacht Wolf Clan, the prime defenders of his people in times of strife and war. 

Gurdas’ favoured weapon was the tulwar and Llorc soon gained an appreciation of its keen edge. He was also constantly surprised and amused by how Gurdas could pluck an unseen weapon from various hidden places on his person during their bouts.

A trumpet blast and herald’s cry brought Llorc back to the present. The Golshanian delegation swept into the throne room, bowing low before the Queen, seated on her throne atop the Royal dais. The young barbarian could do nothing but sweat and occasionally shift uncomfortably as the courting ritual was played out once more. The current suitor was a rather simple looking Prince whose family, Llorc imagined, were only too eager to have married off, particularly to the ruler of such an important kingdom.

If you think this is dull, imagine how the Queen feels. Gurdas whispered to him. She has to wear a fixed smile throughout the whole proceedings. She’d probably rather punch him on the nose and go hunting! The pair stifled grins as the ritual drew to a close. Finally, it was over and Llorc, discharged from duties for the day, strolled down from The Citadel into the Old Town to seek refuge in his favourite tavern.

The Lyre had become a regular haunt for Llorc. It was close to his new chambers, it was a pleasant place to spend an evening and the third attraction was Nadiri, the serving maid with whom he was now having a passionate affair. The well-heeled regulars had been less than enthusiastic at the appearance of the young, exuberant outlander in their midst but Llorc’s generosity of coin soon made him many new friends. Not all were so enamoured, however, and on this evening a group of young well-to-dos at a corner table were passing many a crude jest, some aimed towards the young warrior.

Llorc took it all in good stead, ignoring the ribaldry, speaking quietly to a friend, Kasos the Fence, catching up on news of the underworld. The Ratteries may have been tamed but many in Adelphis still made a living by hook or by crook… mostly by crook. Another hoot of laughter drifted across the bar-room, along with the tail end of some jest about a monkey in gentleman’s clothing. Llorc sighed and gritted his teeth. His companion rolled his eyes.

By Zantus, Llorc, what is it with these simpletons?

Tis jealousy, Kasos, just jealousy. Here am I, an outlander of low class, elevated to a position close to their Queen. Such as these think they deserve a position purely by virtue of their birth.

Jealousy or not, it raises my ire. I remember a Llorc who in the old days would’ve cracked a few heads by now, his sallow companion grinned.

Llorc gave a hearty laugh and took a swig from his mug. Things change, good Kasos. These days I am held accountable for my actions. For I represent Royalty now, so they tell me.

Kasos spat on the floor, earning him a glare from the fat tavern owner.

Pah! Spoilt brats the lot of ‘em. In any case, let me tell you about the silk merchant who-

Kasos’ tale was interrupted by a shriek; Nadiri had been pulled onto the lap of one of the young bravos and struggled in his grip, his fellows laughing at her distress. Llorc was across the room in three strides, Kasos chuckling to himself and sitting back to enjoy the show.

Unhand her, dog! Llorc growled at the young peacock. The group looked up at the figure towering over their table. A touch over six feet tall, straight black hair swept back over the wide shoulders, the rich clothing doing little to conceal the powerful frame beneath. Cold, grey eyes glittered in a narrow face with high cheekbones, drawn now into a scowl of displeasure. In their inebriated state, protected as they thought by privilege and the natural order of things, the upstarts failed to realise their actions were akin to goading a hungry wolf.

Dog? Dog? the grabber retorted, squeezing the maid tighter. Why, you guttersnipe! I’ll manhandle whatever tavern slut I wish! Be off with you, lest you incur my wrath, baboon!

The company laughed again, their leader cursing as Nadiri suddenly clawed his faced and leapt up to escape. The bully brought a hand to his cheek and gasped in disbelief at his red fingertips.

Why you bitch! He stood and made to grab Nadiri again when a large hand shot out and clamped itself on his wrist. Despite exerting all his strength, the young man’s hand was inexorably twisted up and back. He stared up into Llorc’s icy glare and fear at last touched his soul. Slowly he was forced to his knees, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

The fop’s companions leapt to his aid. With a screech, the table was pushed aside and the three men jumped up and rushed at Llorc. Flinging the leader’s the arm away, Llorc narrowed his eyes in a mirthless grin. Slightly shifting his weight he avoided the first clumsy rush, helping the man