Chapter 4


Fulvyar sniffed the air, and wrinkled his nose in disdain for the maritime scents which flooded his senses. They were pickling at the nearby fish market so the smells of salt and decay were strong. The young wolf shrugged his shoulders heavily, soon he would have to become used to the sights and smells of the ocean and of those who go out to the sea in ships. Here was something that set his heart beating faster in anticipation as he took in the view of the high-masted longships with the flags streaming from their crows nests and the sails hanging limp, showing off the complex patterns of nautical heraldry. But Fulvyar was, as yet, uncertain as to how to proceed. He knew that he required passage south and that such requests must be common now with the creeping frost of Thimbulwinter emptying the wide tundras to the north. But, still he had only a little gold and silver in his purse and had no notion as to how one went about chartering a vessel, what the cost might be and, rather more importantly, what etiquette should be required of him while such a deal was struck. He knew from travelling folk that mariners were superstitious and finicky by nature and he feared that through some accidental lapse, or unwonted slip of his unpracticed tongue, he might give offence to someone he would later come to rely on. Despite being a brave and large hearted wolf, Fulvyar often found that small matters of social nicety left him anxious and unsure of himself, because of this he had in many quarters acquired a reputation for meekness, something that the followers of the northern gods did not consider a virtue to be prized. Fulvyar put aside the self doubt that germinated within him and, hearing the sound of raucous merrymaking nearby, he turned his muffled paws in that direction, thinking that an alehouse or meadhall might be just the place to gain guidance in such a matter. Mead also had a tendency to make him more gregarious and went a long way towards minimising his social awkwardness.

He moved to where there were many fires burning and tapped casks seeming to flow with amber, and clear, liquid in every corner. The whole celebration, for such it appeared to be, was held under a great canopy, under which a large number of revelling wolves talked with animation and, in some cases, even danced, waving about their tails like maidens’ scarves and kicking out their powerful legs, throwing their whole massive bodies into flamboyant somersaults. In one part, raised partially above the rest, an ancient wolf with white braided fur clutched at his diaphragm and, in a voice which carried above all the clamour, he recited in throaty passionate tones the Saga of Liefur Berwinesker, a much beloved tale, in which a wolf prince was transformed into a bear through a wicked curse but, cures his malady by slaying a fearful demon in the peat bogs of the west. For a moment Fulvyar did nothing but stand, propped up, and listen carefully to a story he’d heard before at least a dozen times, but he took comfort in the familiarity of the words and the rolling enunciation of the aged skald, but as he listened, Fulvyar’s attention drifted elsewhere. Among the knotted groups was a trio who seemed beyond strange compared to the rest of the company.

There was a wolf, with silver fur, who stood much taller than many of the others. His clothing was rich and under his thick green cotte, woven gold about the collar and cuffs, he was clearly wearing a hauberk of tight steel chain. It was impossible not to admire the craftsmanship of that alone, but the twisted cloak of blood red the stranger had knotted about his powerful shoulders could hardly be passed over, if such things still persisted, then Fulvyar would have named the hulfa for a king, such was the bearing of confidence and command with which he carried himself.
The company he kept was far stranger than himself, as wrapped in both his meaty arms were two slight green lizardmen. The reptiles were rare in the north and Fulvyar had only seen them on occasion in the bonds and collars of thralldom as they were kept by some as exotic domestic slaves, but these two were clearly not slaves. They seemed as richly garbed as their drinking fellow with the darker of the two dressed in a black woven habit lined in russet fur with a scarlet scapular, embroidered with golden suns, hanging from within his cowl and fastened close to his breast with a soutane that might well have been silk. His features were open but strong and the frills on his brow were subtle with barbs which ran into the semblance of a curving horn at the tip of his snout. The other’s scales were yellower in hue, and he was dressed as though for battle, in an exotic collection of plate which seemed more like ceramic than steel. His breastplate was set with a sunburst device and underneath, visible at the joints, was leather darker and finer than any Fulvyar had ever seen tanned in Vangermark. Though he was not a wolf inclined to eavesdrop on strangers, he simply couldn’t do anything other than sidle closer to the fantastic trio. He told himself that such an odd crew could come from nowhere other than the south, so if he made their acquaintance, perhaps they would be glad to advise him on how to proceed in his travels. They certainly seemed friendly as they laughed and talked among themselves with comradely affection.

‘I’m really glad to have seen your home, Hulfa, but, by God, it’s freezing!’ said the cassocked lizard. ‘I’ve had to drink this stuff in bucketfuls everyday just to keep my blood warm. What did you say it was called again?’

The big wolf turned to his friend with a gentle smile.

‘It is rakja, small one. It is from the distillation of turnips. Very good I think,’ Holfa said with some satisfaction, taking a swig from his own horn while the armoured lizard dropped the bottle he’d been reaching for with a widening of his eyes.

‘You, blaggard! You mean to tell me we’ve been drinking off turnip-juice this whole time!’ he exclaimed, and the wolf steadied him, as he came close to losing his balance. He had, perhaps, drunk rather more of the stuff than was good for his equilibrium.

‘I really don’t see the problem, Columbanus,’ said the monkish reptile with a subtle twist in his scaly jaws. ‘It’s a little strange, I suppose, but what the devil’s wrong with turnips when you think about it.’

The knight thought on this and gave a helpless grin showing that his apparent ire of a second ago was all for show.

‘You know, thinking about it, I really can’t say there’s anything wrong with it per se, Cole. But, for some reason, my mind revolts against it. Mead comes from honey, wine from grapes and even beer can be brewed from sweet aromatic barely, but turnips, they seem to be the odd one out in this case, though I suppose the concoction tastes well enough, at least it does now.’

Holfa nodded sagely.

‘Indeed, little brother, it is a taste which is acquired. But, I believe that the effort is worth the first few bitter sips.’

‘I’ll say!’ exclaimed Cole warmly. ‘Otherwise we’d likely have frozen to death by now. You know, Holfa, I was quite prepared for your homeland to be cold, but is it truly as bad as this each winter? I’m amazed that your people can even stand it, despite those great big coats of yours.’

A shadow of concern passed over Holfa’s overwise merry face.

‘It is not as cold as this in other winters. I have never felt the wind bite deeper. There are those who say a dragon has been seen and this is the cause of it.’

Columbanus scoffed with an ironical tilt of his brows.

‘Dragon, oh come now, what utter rot! Now, I’m not sceptical by nature and we’ve both seen and fought with things at least as outlandish as a fire-drake, but it makes no sense to me at all. Think about it. No one’s seen a dragon in a thousand years, and by all accounts, the beasts are huge by any metric. If they’ve been alive all this time then I don’t see how they could have hidden themselves away.’ Columbanus folded his arms confident that his words were beyond refuting.

‘Excuse me, sir, but you are wrong,’ came a shy voice which had all three companions turning their heads at once and focusing their vision on the ever so slightly cringing figure of Fulvyar, who did his best to smile amiably and even raised his paw in a small wave of greeting.

Columbanus didn’t seem at all offended by the interruption but rather broke away from the comfortable embrace of Holfa and took Fulvyar’s paw, leading him to a pair of stools where they could seat themselves.

Waving his claws with enthusiasm, Columbanus asked the young wolf plainly how he could argue his point and what evidence he might produce in its support.

Fulvyar raised his shoulders sheepishly but seemed happy enough as he took a horn offered him by Holfa and began to explain.

‘My evidence is that of my own eyes, sir. I saw the creature as large as a hill with scales as black as midnight. It flew due south, roaring and belching flame. Now we see neither the sun nor moon. He has devoured them and brought the Fimbulwinter upon Vangermark.’ He looked around, expecting an interruption because of the outrageous nature of his claims, but when all three strangers seemed rapt in their attention, he forged on. ‘I have decided that the Nidhogg, for such is the devil's name, cannot be allowed to go about unchecked so I am on a quest to follow it to Telos, and do my best to slay it....’

‘The Nidhogg!’ Holfa exclaimed. There was no hint of mockery in his voice but only fear and concern. ‘You would chase down the Dragon of the End, the one named Doom-bringer of old, by yourself? You are little more than a cub, such an undertaking is madness,’ he said, laying a fatherly paw on the younger wolf’s shoulder. Fulvyar brushed it aside and stood up with as much dignity as he could muster, though he felt a hot blush rising under his charcoal fur.

‘I have sworn to do this, by all the gods. I have the blessing of the All-Father himself. I truly don’t know if I have the faintest hope in succeeding, but I know that I must try. That’s why I’m here, to get passage south.’

At this Cole’s eyes lit up.

‘Well, Brother Wolf, I don’t know what half of what you said means, but I know that you want to get south and so do we. As I may have mentioned before, it’s bloody cold up here. We’ll leave off on discussing the matter of dragons until we’ve all sobered up, as I fear that in our current state neither myself nor Columbanus are able to truly grasp at the gravity of your circumstances. How does this seem to you?’

Fulvyar’s ears perked up at once and his tail wagged happily.

‘Truly, I’d be glad of both help and company, sir. I hope you don’t come to regret it outside of your cups.’

Holfa folded his large forearms and smiled wryly.

‘Young Hulfa, I am not drunk and I will make you the same offer. Come with us and we will offer such assistance as we can.’ The big wolf leaned in closer, almost seeming conspiratorial. ‘These boys here may seem foolish and strange but come war or peace you will find no friends more constant. I guarantee they will treat you as more than a brother and will stand beside you in whatever danger you face.’

Fulvyar could find no words to express his joy and gratitude so he clutched at his chest and bowed low to his elder, who smiled and flashed his eyes, patting the other on the stray tufts of fur on his shaggy crown.

Before further words could be spoken there was a commotion from nearby, and a short wolf with a pattern of red and black fur across his face came ahead of what appeared to be a loaded stretcher. Holfa turned his face to the newcomer with concern, concern which grew into utter bewilderment when he saw that the invalid being carried was a human in military garb, such as he’d seen in the south. He rushed forward to lend the stranger his help.