Damsel & the last berserker: Soulstone

Damsel & the Last Berserker: Soulstone.



Prologue.



The Arch Magus leant back in his great wooden throne of a chair, rubbing wearily at sore eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to ease the ache behind them. A golden scrying disc set before him upon his desk glimmered softly before once more dimming back to the mundane lustre of mere metal.

Shutting his eyes for the umpteenth time that evening he stilled himself & reached out to feel the web of magic about him, the life force that ran through all things. He could sense its energy running through the very stones of the fifth & final remaining tower of the magi, purring gently all around him, but as with every time before there was something amiss, an uneasy sense of warning.

The Arch Magus opened his eyes with another deep sigh & rubbed them wearily once more. He could sense some dire threat in the weave of energy about him. A man didn’t become Arch Magus, & remain so for as long as he had, without being able to discern certain changes in the natural world. As for what this intangible threat was, however, the Arch Magus could not tell.

He stood, pushing himself from his high-backed chair to pace his comfortable apartment at the tower’s peak, slender fingers stroking his clean-shaven chin in consternation. The hem of his dark robes brushed the swept stone floor as he marched between the expensive & colourful rugs that lay there. As a trim man of barely fifty summers his steps were still firm & sure, his mind as agile as it had ever been, yet for all his power & wisdom he could not foresee the shape of this menace, & it not merely worried but rankled him also, pricking at his pride. He had tried every means at his disposal yet had nothing to show for his efforts.

His gaze fell on a solid & dusty chest tucked away in the shadows of a bookshelf to one side of his room. It was built almost exclusively of solid iron, an undecorated & utilitarian item with four strong locks holding down its lid. He turned his back upon it, taking several swift steps away, before turning to face it once more with a calculating stare.

He had long put that box & its contents from his mind, its secrets kept from all but the noblest of the magi. It should have been locked securely in the vault, but the Arch Magus did not trust it out of his sight. He was suddenly aware of the weight of the four keys hanging about his neck beneath his robe. They, too, should have been separated, spread amongst the members of the magi council; of course, there hadn’t been a council in decades, not since the third tower had been lost, & so that responsibility, like so many others, had also fallen upon his shoulders. So many duties left to so few, the Arch Magus reflected sadly as his eyes traced the harsh contours of the chest almost greedily.

The forbidden lore contained within that box, however, could give him the answers he sought. He could save lives, prove that the magi were still a force to be reckoned with rather than a fading remnant of their former glory. The question was, dare he? The last time such knowledge had been utilized it had brought with it a steep cost.

Fingering the keys on their chain the Arch Magus deliberated for several heartbeats, before stepping resolvedly towards the box.



1. A true Northman.



Krut looked across the table at her. Her emerald eyes looked boldly back at him, her darkly painted lashes lowering almost seductively as she pulled a strand of chocolate brown hair from out of her vision. Her small, perfectly formed lips curled up in a wickedly smug smile, shifting the freckles about her nose as she raised her hand up before him, her elbow resting on the table. Krut matched her stance with his own brawny arm, his rough-hewn features grave.

Their hands locked, her delicate fingers struggling to encompass his massive palms. Their eyes met over their clenched fists & she blew him a kiss. He responded with a tight half-smirk & without warning threw his strength against hers, his massively broad arm, knotted with muscle, wrestling against her toned, slender limb.

Her arm started to fall almost immediately & Krut smiled crookedly, easing the pressure teasingly before mercilessly driving her arm down again, leaving the back of her hand hovering inches above the tabletop. Chuckling at the manic struggle she put up he allowed her hand to slowly rise & press his knuckles almost to the table’s surface, unleashing a booming guffaw as she cursed him, straining against his effortless defence.

Krut gasped in sudden shock as he felt the slender toe of her boot suddenly sliding up his inner thigh, the back of his hand thudding against the tabletop loudly as he lost his concentration.

“Ha!” The woman cried triumphantly, jumping up & dancing in her joy.

Krut watched her parade before him with growing ire, shoving himself to his feet as her continued cackling & gloating grew too much to bear.

“You cheated,” he accused her. His voice, tainted only slightly by a northern accent, was dangerously low but plainly heard above the general noise & bustle of the tavern around them.

“You loved it,” she returned with a bold wink.

Krut stepped towards her menacingly, hunching his brawny shoulders. He was by no means a giant; despite his northern heritage he topped only a little above average height, which accounted him as short by the standards of the monstrously built northern people of his icy homeland. He was, however, an extremely broad & stocky man, with a barrel body & heavy arms & shoulders. His face was set to an imposing & thunderous scowl, eyes the green-blue of a stormy ocean staring out from beneath a heavy brow & big mouth set into a firm line.

The woman stepped back from him, her features set into a mask of mock fear.

“You cheated,” Krut repeated in firm accusation, flexing his huge hands.

“Oh please don’t kill me, mighty Krut the Norskan, champion of the frozen North,” the woman whimpered in a tone of blatant mock-terror, cringing back from him pathetically.

Krut grinned broadly in his lopsided manner & snorted his amusement as he turned towards the bar.

“The ale will be coming from my purse again, then,” he conceded over one shoulder. “But you still cheated.”

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t enjoy it,” she returned with her usual flair, dancing over to stand beside him at the bar.

The pair cut a strange contrast. The hulking, broad Krut & the toned, curvy woman he had always known as Damsel. As they stood at the bar the bald, round-bodied barkeep rushed over to them, ignoring several other waiting patrons as he saw Damsel step forwards & then, more importantly, lean revealingly over the bar top.

Krut rolled his eyes irritably as the man fawned before her, his gaze forever drifting down to the more than ample spill of cleavage above her leather & chain corset. She passed Krut a sly wink as she ordered a pint of strong black ale for him & a more mellow golden ale for herself. Damsel knew how to get served swiftly, at least. As the keep reluctantly bustled away a voice further down the bar thundered angrily:

“We were waiting before that slut!”

Krut’s face clouded over dangerously as he half-turned to face down the length of the bar, angrily seeking the speaker out & finding him standing a head taller than the patrons around him & slapping his open palms angrily down onto the bar top.

“Bastard-born, half-northern mongrel,” Krut snarled aloud, gaining wary glances from patrons nearby.

“How can you tell?” Damsel queried calmly, also eyeing the loud man surreptitiously.

“His dark eyes & hair give away his mixed birth, & those mismatched furs he wears come from no northern beasts. He’s playing at the style of my people, posing at being a Norskan to bully the locals,” Krut sneered furiously.

“He’s still pretty big,” Damsel noted idly, more out of interest than worry, & Krut had to agree.

Although lacking the blonde braids & blue eyes of a true Norskan, the fraud still retained an impressive physique. His breadth was imposing, although not close to Krut’s own massive width, yet he did boast an extra hand-span of height, which put him at average stature for the powerful northern people.

“Mighty oaks fall to a single axe,” Krut quoted his old steel-master, he who trained the young Norskin for war. “If boasting won battles I might fear him more, but look at his sword,” Krut scoffed angrily, Damsel obligingly doing just so, noting aloud the straight-bladed bastard sword he wore across his back. “That is a weapon for a knight of the Heartland realm. No Norskan bears a blade to battle, especially one that is not forged of solid northern steel. It would break on a rock trolls hide like an icicle on a mountain. A real Norskan uses the hammer or axe,” he told Damsel sternly.

“You carry a sword.” Damsel teasingly pointed out the weapon chained across his broad back & locked firmly within its scabbard.

It was a one-handed weapon with a straight, broad blade & no real guard to speak of, a true Norskan sword, yet Damsel knew full well the weapon was more of a keepsake. Its blade had been broken long ago, but Krut had never answered her honestly as to why he still bore the useless weapon chained about him.

“It is not a true mans weapon,” Krut continued to grouse sourly, eyeing the loudmouth pretender with a thunderous expression as the thug continued to drunkenly hurl insults loudly about the bar room.

“& a bone is?” Damsel asked the barbarian boldly, trying to distract him from the annoyance of the northern pretender. She didn’t want Krut storming down the bar fists first & getting them thrown out. She fancied sleeping in a real bed for a change, & though the mattresses here were little more than a thick blanket, it was at least indoors with a dry roof overhead.

“Leave my club be, wench,” he warned Damsel in a more light-hearted manner.

The weapon in question was a long bone mace, carved painstakingly from a rock trolls thighbone; as such it was as solid as iron, with a large bone head on a straight leather-bound haft, its dark ivory colour long since faded to a deep greyish-brown.

“Gods accursed slut was trying to get a beer before the Bone-breaker,” the half-breed could be suddenly heard to boast loudly.

With a volcanic curse Krut lost the last of his patience & started towards the lout when Damsel slid smoothly in front of him, shaking her head gently as he looked down to where her slender hand rest on his chain-mail clad chest, stopping him instantly, though she applied no actual force.

Krut eyed the false Norskan angrily with dark features, but instead swept up his large tankard & drowned his frustration in ale. Damsel, for her part, shrugged off the insults casually. She’d been called worse than a slut, & as one of the very few women in the civilized Heartland to openly wear steel she’d grown used to such remarks. It was Krut she feared for, watching his face carefully. Krut, while having been softened some by his travels in the south, was still at heart a Norskan & a proud warrior of the north. For a half-breed to be spouting such bold insults was a slight not only to Damsel but a slur on the name of Krut’s people as well. He had never learnt how to swallow insults, whether aimed at himself or her.

“Ignore him,” she murmured, patting his meaty arm consolingly as she caught his dark glances & turned him back towards their table.

“There goes the little sword slut!” Bone-breaker roared in pleasant surprise as he caught sight of Damsel properly. “Come back here, sword-wench. I’ve got a weapon you can handle.”

Three cronies gathered about the thug laughed on cue, whinnying like pet donkeys. Damsel turned to face them with a sultry smile on her small, pouting lips as the intervening patrons between the two of them scuttled aside.

“Such a big sword,” she purred, making a show of eyeing the blade he wore boldly across his back. “Too big for me, warrior. Sorry.”

“Try it. You’ll learn to like it once you get the feel of it,” the imposter smirked lewdly, stepping closer towards her & tugging at the dark length of ponytail that draped over his shoulder, as though placing it on more prominent display.

Krut watched Damsel smile at the lout’s comment in that seductive fashion that still made even his stomach knot, despite having seen it half a hundred times. As Bone-breaker stepped closer to her Krut’s hands involuntarily knotted into huge fists. The half-breed was a good head taller, but Krut was the heavier & broader by far. Although he had promised Damsel on several occasions that he would not start trouble on her account, an oath he did not fully understand but had kept all the same, he would break the ugly half-breed poser’s face beneath his boots if he laid one hand on her.

Bone-breaker continued to approach Damsel, a lustful leer twisting his thick, scarred features as he stared at the flesh Damsel displayed, reaching out one heavy hand. Still smiling her wicked smile Damsel’s foot snaked out before Bone-breaker’s fingers could brush her, catching him between his thighs with a meaty smack that had every other man in the room wince in shared sympathy. As he bent double, groaning, her knee met his face coming the other way & sent him staggering backwards with a bloody nose.

Even as her knee connected, though, Bone-breaker’s fists swung up blindly in retaliation, catching Damsel a blow to her side & twisting her about hard with a shocked scream. Krut, with a snarl, was moving before the blow had landed, his monstrous breadth belying his sudden speed.

As Bone-breaker recovered & reached back for his sword Krut’s left fist hit his gut with all the weight of his bulky form behind it. The blow staggered even Bone-breaker’s giant form back a step, & the following right-handed punch smashed into his jaw & twisted him halfway round.

Krut respected Damsel's skills, with a sword in her hand there few finer warriors, but he also knew her limitations, & the half-breed barbarian was obviously a born brawler. Letting Krut’s punch spin him the false Norskan twisted fully round & brought his fists about with him. Krut barely had his hands half raised in defence when the blow struck & staggered even his muscled frame to one side.

Recovering swiftly Krut traded blow after crashing blow with the giant, resisting the urge to wrestle the taller man as he normally would, knowing that the advantage of leverage would lie with the taller. Being short for a Norskan Krut had been raised amongst warriors bigger than, & equally as powerful as, himself. As such he had learnt from a young age to fight with not just his awesome strength, but speed & cunning also.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of movement & glimpsed one of Bone-breaker’s friends sliding around his side, a long dagger in hand. Then suddenly Damsel flickered past in a dark blur, her slender sword drawn in a flashing steel arc, & the man’s dagger clattered to the floor with a spray of red & a scream.

Flashing Krut a smile & wink she was gone, hunting the last two of the lout’s friends who had been sneaking to Krut’s rear. Knowing that his back was now safe Krut’s full attention fell to Bone-breaker, whose next swing missed completely as Krut ducked low & pummelled the mans stomach with two swift jabs.

Bone-breaker grunted but recovered instantly & kicked out at Krut’s face. Prepared, Krut caught the boot by heel & toe & pushed up mightily, spilling Bone-breaker onto his back. Before Krut could take advantage, though, the lout kicked up savagely & sent him sprawling backwards. By the time he’d regained his feet Bone-breaker was back up on his.

By now both men were breathing hard & sporting numerous bruises. Krut, growling with every laboured breath like a beast, allowed his temper to overwhelm his common sense & threw himself forwards with a snarl, refusing to be bested. He slammed one broad shoulder into ‘Breaker’s gut, but shockingly found himself stopped dead in his tracks, receiving a shattering blow to the spine for his trouble. It had been too long since he’d fought anybody even close to his own mass.

He instinctively straightened his back in pain & felt the others thick arms enwrap him & lift him into a massive bear hug. Gasping as the half-breed’s grip tightened Krut flexed every bruised muscle in his chest, resisting Bone-breaker’s titanic strength with his own.

“Now you will learn why I am called Bone-breaker,” he hissed into Krut’s face, his grip, unbelievably, tightening still further.

Krut screamed breathlessly as he futilely resisted & saw Damsel moving forward to help him, her sword still drawn & red with blood.

“Stay back, sword-bitch, or I’ll break his spine,” Bone-breaker warned, squeezing all the tighter & bringing a groan of agony from Krut. “& once I am through with you,” he continued in a whisper to Krut, “I am going to bend her over & see how she likes the feel of my sword.”

He laughed lewdly, all the more so as Krut flexed & struggled in impotent fury. Opening his mouth to spit curses Krut found he barely had the breath to breathe, let alone speak.

“What is that, little one? Are you trying to talk?” Bone-breaker mocked him, leaning his ear closer to Krut’s face theatrically as he choked for air. “Speak up, little man. Bone-breaker cannot hear yo-AAAaaargh!”

Krut’s teeth sank into the flesh of Bone-breaker’s ear, biting hard & pulling at the soft meat. With a scream the half-breed dropped him & the ear tore away completely, leaving a red mess on the side of the bully’s head.

Bone-breaker screamed again, clutching at the bloody carnage on the side of his face as Krut staggered back to his feet, wheezing, bringing one huge fist up with him. It rose from his side with the entire weight of his body behind it, driving into Bone-breaker’s chin with an audible crack & lifting him up off his feet to lay him out cold on the taverns floor, his bloodied jaw noticeably askew.

Bent forward & gasping for air Krut stared down at the comatose giant & spat blood onto his chest, wiping at the red smear about his own mouth. Sucking in breath after breath he felt his strength returning to him &, as he calmed down, felt the various aches across his face & body. One eye was starting to swell painfully & his whole chest & back felt as though an army of dwarves had marched across his spine in hob-nailed boots.

At the touch of slender fingers on his arm he winced in pain & looked up from his bent position to see Damsel staring down at him in concern.

“Are you well?” she questioned.

Krut forced himself to stand upright, dragging a crooked smile onto his bruised face.

“I’m well enough,” he said, spitting again as the taste of warm blood threatened to make him retch.

“I thought he was going to kill you,” she murmured in concern, brushing one hand down his face tenderly, touching his bruises lightly.

“The Fate’s wouldn’t allow me to be killed,” Krut smirked. “Who would look out for your sorry self?”

Damsel smiled at that, refusing to comment, & took his arm, leading him upstairs as the mess below was cleared away & the tavern quieted down once more.

Up in their room Damsel laid Krut on one of their beds & disappeared out of the door, only to reappear quickly struggling with a tray more the size of a shield. Krut was gratified to see a large pitcher of foamy ale amongst the other objects. It was the first thing he reached for, using the first swallow to wash away the taste of blood & the other 3 to drown his thirst before Damsel gently pried it from his hands & stripped him from his chain-mail vest.

First taking a damp cloth from a bowl of warm water, she sponged the blood from his face & neck gingerly, before laying a raw steak over his swollen eye & applying a cool balm to the bruises on his body & face.

Krut groaned & winced & cursed as Damsel worked across his battered ribs, complaining at the stink of the herbal cream & the cold meat on his face, deeming it a waste of good beef.

“Stop whining or I’ll pull down your trews & smear this across your crotch,” she smirked, slapping his belly & causing Krut to growl.

“Evil bitch,” he muttered in mock anger. “I fail to see how your hands stroking my crotch is much of a threat,” he added with a smirk.

Damsel spread the last of the cream across the bruises upon his face before stepping a safe distance from the bed.

“Give it a moment,” she smiled, watching with growing anticipation as Krut first started to squirm uncomfortably & then swear openly.

“Fates of Norska curse you, woman, it burns,” he hissed, writhing on the bed.

“Still want me under your trews Krut?” she teased.

“Later,” he replied with a curse as the cream began to cool once more. “Make yourself useful for a change & get me another beer instead; & a meal, too.”

Damsel curtseyed theatrically at the door & made her way downstairs once more, smirking all the while. She’d known Krut for years now but he still knew how to make her laugh. Nothing ever seemed to truly trouble him for long & he had always been there for her, either with a quip, a hug or to beat the hell out of anyone bigger than her. He was a constant comfort & she found herself unable to imagine not having him around. Stitching Krut up & fetching him an ale after a fight had become par for the course for them. It was how they had first met.

A touch brushed her shoulder, shocking her from her pleasant reverie & she spun, a dagger appearing magically between her fingers & pressing to the throat of the flabby, quailing bar tender. She flashed a smile as an apology as she recognized the man & slipped the dagger away at her belt.

“Four Gods, woman, you scared the manhood off me,” he complained.

“No great loss, then,” she said playfully. “What do you want?”

“I was going to ask how your big friend was doing. Never seen man or beast soak up punishment like that,” the tender remarked, still wondering whether or not to feel insulted by her last comment.

“Krut’s a Norskan, a north man, he’ll be fine,” she remarked loosely, her concern for the worst past. “He’ll be almost back to himself by tomorrow morning.”

“Well that’s good, because I want to offer you & your large friend a job,” Barta spoke distractedly, his gaze sliding down to the abundance of cleavage above her chain corset.

Damsel, growing tired of the tender’s wandering gaze, absently pulled her waxed leather cape over her shoulders, spoiling his view as he muttered something about the beautiful rose pendant she wore about her neck.

“What sort of job?” she asked suspiciously, dragging the conversation away from her ‘jewellery’ & back onto subject.

She’d had offers like this before, from rich foreigners, arrogant snobs, strange men who liked the idea of a woman in armour & some even stranger women also. Seeing her expression the tender raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Nothing sordid. I want to employ you & your north man as guards, or peacekeepers, if you like” he spoke quickly. “I live on the edge of civilization, right close to the northern borders, & times are getting worse. Bandits are everywhere, orks are on the move, & no one seems to be doing much about it. News is all the realms, Heartland, Westra, Esturin, Sothro & Norska, are all having upset. I get all sorts passing by, stuck out here in the arse-end of the Heartland as I am. I don’t see much of the lords or ladies in their fine silk gowns & satin pantaloons, not up here, but I’ve seen enough bandits & highwaymen to make me cautious. Bad enough when the odd dwarf or elf saunters by, but they’re a rarity in the Heartland & little enough trouble, praise be to the Four gods for that. Point is, my establishment & I could use some protection, someone to keep the rougher customers in check without startling the others, especially as I’m getting along in years.”

Damsel sunk her teeth into her bottom lip for a moment as she thought about it. She & Krut hadn’t been going anywhere in particular. They’d wandered the breadth of the Heartland aimlessly, avoiding going too deeply into the surrounding realms until they felt they had exhausted their possibilities here in the wealthier, civilized centre of the five realms, & it had provided them with some fine business. Yet work had been slow of late & they had been forced to drift further afield, into less civilized areas.

It was during their aimless ambling north they’d chanced on this poky little inn set just off the road, one of a string of inns you could find every seven leagues or so. This one, though, had looked cleaner than most of the dingy flea pits they had passed, cosy enough to tempt them to stay & spend some of the little coin that remained to them. That coin was quickly disappearing, though, their once fat purses swiftly thinning. A chance for some easy pay shouldn’t be ignored.

“Why not,” Damsel decided with a shrug.

The old, balding inn keep smiled broadly.

“Excellent. You’ll have room & board, plus a silver a night between you.”

“Each,” Damsel responded instantly.

“You’re supposed to protect me, not rob me blind yourself,” the fat tender almost wailed.

“We’re saving to be married,” Damsel smirked as the old tender grinned lecherously.

“That’s the way of it, eh?” he sniggered. “I guessed as much just by the way he was looking at you. Alright then, two silver each night you work. Deal. I’ll see you both in the morning. Name’s Barta. Don’t lie in.”

Shuffling off into the crowd Damsel watched him go with a mental shrug, thinking on how Krut would react when she told him she’d accepted work here for them, as a young engaged couple as well.

“Why have I not killed you yet?” Krut groaned from beneath his steak after he received the happy news.

“Cos’ you love me,” Damsel insisted with childish glee.

Krut peered dubiously out at her from beneath a lifted corner of red meat.

“If I do I’ll be cursed if I can remember why,” he sighed, his gaze shifting to the meat held just above his face. “I wonder if I can get this cooked,” he mused seriously.

“You’d eat that?” Damsel questioned with a wrinkled nose of disgust.

“I’d eat this & a lot worse since you forgot to bring me the meal & ale I asked for. Some wife you’d make, wench.”

Damsel moved towards the door once more.

“Sorry my little bruised peach. I’ll be right back,” she giggled. “Don’t die while I’m gone. I can see you’re just wasting away.”

Damsel heard the sound of damp steak slapping into the doorframe as she ducked safely outside, smirking viciously to herself.

She came back with a meal for them both, mostly stringy meat, potatoes & yesterday’s hard bread. She set the tray by the bed & went to help Krut rise so he could reach his plate. He shrugged her off with a good-natured grumble & pulled his plate onto his lap. As usual dinner was a silent affair; Krut rarely spoke while eating, filling his mouth with food instead of words & washing it all cleanly down with ale.

Belching in satisfaction as he cleared his plate Krut gingerly laid back into his pillow, groaning in discomfort as his body protested every movement. He was in for a rough night & a sore morning.

“Fates!” he swore at last as he came to rest, catching his breath as he looked to where Damsel sat, still finishing her meal.

“What?” she questioned as she caught Krut’s lingering gaze, licking greasy fingers clean one by one.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Krut muttered with an awkward, lopsided smile, “for earlier.”

“Think nothing of it,” Damsel replied casually with a smile half hidden by her ale mug. “You’d have done the same for me. You have in the past.”

“Aye, but even so,” the big man pressed, “my thanks. Now, are you coming to bed my darling wife?”

Damsel laughed & blew him a playful kiss from the safety of her own mattress.

“We’re still only engaged, & you couldn’t handle me at the moment,” she teased. “Besides, you snore.”

“I do not snore! & I think I could still surprise you,” Krut muttered sleepily from where he lay, yawning ferociously. “Maybe tomorrow, then. We wouldn’t want to make our new employer suspicious.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Damsel smiled as Krut fell almost instantly asleep, watching him fondly as he snored.