Of Beldeg's Blood

There weren't always dragons in the valley. Our fathers said that, aforetime, dragons lived in the seas, far beyond the perils of man. To them, they were but legends, memories faded through the ages of time. In that day, I am sure that men lived without fear, without hunger, without despair. For thus the world has become, since the dragons donned wings, and filled the sky with ash and a harrowing darkness.

It was 365, in the Year of Our Lord, that darkness befell the world of men. From Crete to Alexandria, the earth shook, bringing ruin to every city in its wake, metropolis to village. Rumors spread from the coastlands that devils had arisen from the deepest caverns of Hell, and had swallowed whole empires in fire and blood. That was how it began: mere tales of lands from afar, too distant to trouble minds close to home. In the Moesian valley, there was great glory and wealth, where the kings of the Visigoths held their august seat. Alaric I was chief in my day, begotten of the seed of Wotan, who brought great victory to our people. Alongside Roman general Eutropius, he crushed the forces of the Huns – a victory he hailed through the aid of them that were called the "Wolves of the North". These were the legendary Ulfhednar, the wolf-warriors of the king; among whom my father was named. Ortnid was he, thane of Beldeg's blood. He, as the regiment's high Jarl, crushed every enemy the Visigoths faced, winning us great honor throughout the West. But I have watched that glory stripped from king and thane.

In the Spring of 399, the serpents burst forth through the midst of the storm. The sound of the rain pattering upon the wooden roof lulled me first to sleep. But it was the pitiful cries of terror and agony that roused me once again. I lifted my head, my heart thundering within my breast, and saw my brothers sitting up in their beds. They were silent, their eyes wide as saucers. I thought first that the Romans or the Vandals had invaded – our sworn enemies since Chief Alaric had taken the valley. Therefore, I asked Theodir to confirm my suspicions, but he remained frozen in shock, locked in the grip of an inexpressible terror. In between sobs, he was only able to muster these words: "Mother went out, and she did not come back…Why will she not come back?"

It was then that I heard it: an otherworldly cry that would chill you to very the bone. It was first like the roar of a wild beast, till it terminated into the mourning pleas of a dying animal. Even now, I remember how my soul shuddered at the sound, and how my mind was so quickly seized with that same horror that betook my brothers.

"What is it?" I dared to ask. But it seemed that the mere question inspired an even greater fear within them. Gondomar, the youngest, crawled into my arms, clinging close unto me. I pressed them with more questions, to which they gave legible enough answers to give me an idea of what had occurred. My father had quickly armed himself, and took from the wall his only armor – the pelt of a wolf – and hurried out into night. As for my mother, she had run after him and never returned. She… was not a warrior. Little boys like to assume the best in the world, as did I – trusting that somehow she lived on, somewhere in the woods. But I never saw her again.

So many thoughts rushed through my mind – whether I should run, and ensure my brothers' safety in the stronghold, or if I should fight as my father would. But I, in my childish mind, decided it would be best to fight, like the mighty heroes of old. I was the son of a warrior, and thus I was reared up to be. So I crawled underneath my bed, and found Osmund, the double-edged sword forged in my name. I strapped its sheath upon my belt, and clothed myself for battle. Despite their desperate attempts to deter me, to allow them to stay and hide themselves, I dragged my brothers from our home with me. I still do not know whether or not they would have been safer there.

As we stepped outside, the stench of smoke instantly filled my nostrils – potent and dense enough to make my eyes water. In the distance, I saw a bonfire so great, that the clouds above were painted with its light of orange and red. And as I watched, I saw the monsters in the midst of the smoldering glow. Two there were, vast and abominable, flying above the north quarters of the village. With bodies long and serpentine, their wings black as night, they rained fire upon the earth, incinerating both man and beast. And when they swooped down from above, their cruel paws took up dozens of wretched souls with them, only to drop them back to the flames below. I could only imagine what the inhabitants of the north quarters faced that night, but I know not one that survived. As I bore witness to these things, my heart was so quickly changed. My boyish courage was completely consumed with absolute terror. As Gondomar and Theodir took my hands, we fled toward the mountain pass. Theodir's face was drenched in tears; and I could not judge him. He was too young to face horrors like these, and so was I. But I fought the urge to cry as long as I could, for I wanted to believe that I was strong enough, that I could fight; even though I found myself mixed in the multitude of souls fleeing for their lives.

The mass of people spilled like water down the mountainside, through the open path. It was toward the Garte, the stronghold of the king, that we fled, built by the Gauls that lived in the valley before us. The grass below was damp and slippery, causing many to fall and be trampled underfoot – people whose faces I knew well. As the pitiful souls forced themselves ahead of us, Theodir and Gondomar were nearly torn from me, but this only taught me to strengthen my grip. I imagined that my father, Ortnid, fought with great courage, talon and fang against the dragons somewhere in the darkness, in the thick clouds of smoke. I cannot deny that I wanted to break away from Theodir and Gondomar, and join my father in his fantastical fight. Yet it was not brotherly love that kept us together, but fear. For when I heard the sound of wings, like the thunder, I prayed to all the gods of my fathers, not trusting that even one might be strong enough to overcome this terrible enemy.

And I looked in front of me, and saw eyes red as blood, transfixed upon the swirling mass of men below. From that long, slender gullet bellowed a harrowing sound; and the greatest horror came not from its bestial resonance, but from its unmistakable similarity to laughter. And as it spread its wings above us, it belittled us all, like an army of ants before a man. Its head was covered with long, curved horns, and its mouth was filled with teeth as long as daggers. With a sadistic expression of enjoyment, it spewed forth fire upon the men, women, and children, and the screams seemed to increase to inexpressible intensity. The multitude scattered, fleeing in every direction. I, taking their lead, did the same, pulling my little brothers by the arm. We took to the woods, which was a little way off, across a wide expanse of grass and shrub. Without a doubt, it was for this reason that the demon found us, and entrapped us in it malicious stare. In a hellish voice, it called after us in my mother tongue, uttering words which I shall never forget: "Oh, are these not the sons of Ortnid, son of the Devil?"

And at that, I turned around, and fixed my gaze upon the murderous reptile, hovering there above the inferno. I watched as he descended, and perched his taloned feet upon the burning ground. And he crawled forth upon his forearms, to which his bat-like wings were attached, as his eyes seemed to seize my soul in a death grip. All of my efforts to suppress the tears failed me in that instant. It is the kind of evil that lays the impotence of human nature bare and naked before the cruel world. I fell to my knees, Gondomar still clinging to my side, watching the world around me fade into shadow. It seemed that nothing else existed except for me, the dragon, and the infinite darkness that befell us. As if I had been plunged underwater, I became deaf to all noise, save the sound of my heartbeat, and the voice of the crooked serpent that seemed to speak within the recesses of my mind. With burning hatred in every syllable, he said, "What a savory treat this is… the incompetence of my adversary has led his own children into my jaws!"

Every time he spoke, it seemed as if the whole universe shook, with his basal tone reverberating through the fabric of my being. And it was with utter contempt that he betook me, as if I were the little mouse that had infested his home. I felt like the scum of the earth, laid out for all the world to mock. Slowly, he crawled closer, till he towered just above me, his eyes like orbs of fire preparing to fall. I was in the jaws of my predator, powerless to resist. And still, I sunk deeper and deeper into the abyss, to the point that I saw nothing more than those malignant eyes. Perhaps… I even thought I was dead already.

But before I recognized it, the trance into which I fell disappeared. I could see the grass of the field around me, and the thick woods on my right. The dragon no longer stood above me, but had turned his gaze back toward the Pass. I followed his line of sight till I saw them… There, in the midst of the blaze, stood the Ulfhednar. Their forms were like that of wolves, large and terrible, that stood upright like men. Their eyes mirrored the light of the glimmering flame, as they drew a circle around the dragon, like a pack of wild predators. No one could have distinguished them as men, if they had not been armed with spears, axes, and swords, but any other inkling of sentience had abandoned them. Now, they were beasts of war – monsters made of men.

"Oh Ortnid, son of Alberic, were you not warned to stay awake?" cackled the black serpent disdainfully, "But I have found you sleeping, and laid your whole city, tribe, and world in ruin!"

Sure enough, my father drew forth from his companions, his black fur and piercing blue eyes distinguishing him from the rest of his pack. Those eyes were renowned among my people, for many a tale was told of him by those that fought at his side. It was only by those tales that I discerned him myself, for in all my years before then, I had never seen him in wolf form. It was only a black pelt hung upon the wall, which I watched and admired throughout my childhood. And Ortnid bared his teeth and brandished his battle axe, snarling like an animal, as he drew slowly forward. Taking his wooden shield up in his left hand, he bit down violently upon its rim, and gnawed till it tore into mere splinters. And the dragon craned his long, slender neck toward the werewolf's level, cackling in hatred, as he crawled forward, too.

"And where is your king, Albricsson? Has he fled like the other filthy swine you call your people?" said he, sparks springing forth from his mouth. "And what shall you do? Bite me? Scratch me with your paws? This is the day that you die!"

And Ortnid lept forth, taking hold of the demon's neck. His arms and legs wrapped around him, and he hacked against him with his axe. The monster hissed in fury, flinging his body backward. At that, the Ulfhednar pounced upon him, tearing at his obsidian scales, swinging their weapons violently. But after he flung Ortnid from his throat, he tore through the wolf men with such savage rage I have never seen before. His jaws were like the swords of a hundred men, his claws like lances, and his tail like an iron club.

But I laid there, stunned, watching the bloodshed as a helpless child. I could not move, for my mind was lost in shock. Before I realized it, someone was shaking me and pulling me to my feet. It was Wolferic, my father's closest comrade, after whom I was named. He was clothed in a pelt of gray, but he was in human form – bloody and torn.

"Theodoric! Come to your senses!" he screamed. "Where are your brothers?"

That's when I realized… Theodir and Gondomar were gone, and I had seen nothing of them since I fell into the trance. My mind began to spin as I looked in every direction, tears streaming down my face. Even though I wanted so badly to call after them, my mouth remained motionless in my shock. I cannot express the deep regret I felt in that moment, even to this day. I was not strong enough to fight a dragon, and I was too weak to guard my brothers. As if my heart had been torn from my chest, I was instantaneously plunged into a world of everlasting sorrow.

"Theodoric! We must go! You must be strong!" he continued; but I remained unresponsive. At last he took me up in his arms, and slung me onto his back. And, as he turned to run, I looked back once again. The dragon spread his wings, bathing the field in their shadow, covering the bodies of the fallen Ulfhednar with darkness. And down from above came the second serpent, as terrible and sinister as the first, but only to watch the onslaught that followed. Before my very eyes, the first dragon took up Ortnid, the chief of the wolfmen, in his bloodied teeth. In one fatal stroke, he hurled my father against an oak tree with the sound of a crack, deafening to my mourning ears; and his body fell limply to the ground. And then he was gone, and so were we, leaving him in the wake of our flight. I left all of my childhood in that field, there with the corpse of my father and the devils that killed him.

It seemed like an eternity that we ran, tumbling through the deep wood. The darkness was deep, permeated with every kind of evil, and the air still reeked of the scent of ash and smoke. Then suddenly Wolferic stumbled, and fell on his knees. He stayed there, in silence, holding me on his back still. I think he was straining to hide his grief from me, a bitter sorrow that we both shared that night. This man was more so my uncle now than he had ever been before. Now, he was blood. At last, he spoke, with burning anger in his voice, saying, "Though tonight we are defeated, do not fret, my son. Vengeance lies at the dawn!"