The Howling God

The Howling God

by Paul D. Batteiger

Copyright 2017 by Paul D. Batteiger

Cover by Paul D. Batteiger

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The Howling God

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Table of Contents

The Howling God

Tyrants of the Monolith

The Reaping Wall

Shrine of the Doom Serpent

The Isle of Fire

The Frozen Tomb

The Bones of Fallen Gods

The Red King

The Tower of the Worm

Wars In the Storm Age

Sacrifices to the Moon

The War Beast

The Temple of Skulls

Wolf Winter

Scion of the Black Tower

The Veiled Kings

Brothers of the Serpent

Sons of the Blood Star

The Breaking of Kings

Thralls of the Wolf Queen

To the Skull Tower

The Black Queen's Grave

The Red Sword's Lover

The Dead Moon's Harvest

The City of Gold and Fire

Claws of the Sea

The Howling of the Gods

The Howling God

We rode north into grim forbidden lands under an iron sky, behind us the smoke of conquest, before us the wilderness of our enemies' last bastion. It was the great and bitter day after the breaking of the Black Gate, when the Hrunar – the bitterest scourge of man – were at last broken and defeated. It was the end of an age, and I rode with a dozen companions to put a final end to it. I was Umor, war-chief of my clan, and the blood of the Argath ran in my veins - the sons of the war-frenzy. On that day I might have been king of my people, but I chose revenge over a throne.

Behind us rose the smoke of the burning fortress, that old and terrible stronghold of the giants torn down at last. The sky was heavy with clouds in the deep winter, and a thousand ravens flew overhead awaiting the feast as thousands of the slain lay upon the glutted snows. At the end, when we broke the gate itself and flooded into the fortress, each giant found himself beset by a dozen armored slayers with red swords and a hunger for slaughter. Then our king Bal faced the Hrunar champion Hel-Toth in single combat, and all stood and stared as they clashed upon the bloodied stone.

At the end, my king fell crushed and slain, and the Hrunar bore their champion from the field, wounded nigh to death. I knew if he lived, they would come again, and the victory this day would mean nothing, so, battle-weary and blooded, I gathered my best companions and rode north, away from the battle, following the trail of the escaping giant thanes and their fallen war-lord. On battered horses, in our rent and dented armor, with swords already notched from killing, we rode into the eternal forests, where the Hrunar dwelled in secret places, and the wilderness belonged to Karaunos, The Howling God.

No man had set foot in these lands; they were a place of terrors and legend. The trees towered high above us, bigger than any we had seen. They cut away the sky so we rode into an eternal twilight, and we bore no torches to light our way, for they would herald our coming. We did not know what kinds of beasts lurked in these forests, what guards might await us to try and stop our quest.

I was wounded on that war-trail, as were most of us. Armor might prevent the cutting of flesh by giant swords or axes, but nothing could prevent the battering inflicted by the Hrunar in battle. At the gate three men fell for every one of them we dragged down. I knew how few of us there were, I knew it was likely none of us would return. But I would die or be sure that Hel-Toth was dead, to bring back his black sword and his horned helm, with his accursed head still inside.

We rode single file, watchful, swords and spears ready laid across our saddle-bows. The horses did not like this country, and they sniffed and snorted and tossed their heads. They were already weary, but I swore I would ride them to death before I turned back. I would walk if I had to. The trail was easy to follow, for the giants were not light of step, and they left a wide swath in the snow, dappled with dark blood, and as night fell we found one fallen out in the drift of a snow bank, dead.

I took it as a good sign, for it meant they drove hard, not deigning to stop for a wounded comrade. It meant they would not bother with tricks to try and throw off pursuit, if they even conceived of us daring to follow. We could not know if they even suspected our presence.

They answered that in the deep hours of night. Under the trees, with winter low in the sky, we had no light, and were forced to light torches to see our path, and by the glow of the flames we saw them when they came for us. Four of them burst from the dark of the trees, massive and terrible as things out of the darkest tales.

To see a Hrun in battle is to be tested to the limit of courage. They stood half again the height of a man, and in armor and horned helm they were faceless and massive. Their first charge left three of us dead, as their great battle-swords and long-handled axes split armor and flesh and bone. One man lived only because the blow meant for him swept the head from his horse and loosed a torrent of blood that blinded the giant.

Before it could recover I spurred to the attack, my war-horse eager to come to blows. My long spear was like a bolt of lighting in my hands as I smote it upon the giant's helm and shattered one of the curving horns even as the blade of my lance snapped off from the force. The giant staggered, and I clawed for my sword-hilt even as I swung my shield around from my back.

All around me men screamed war cries and hurled themselves into battle against their ancestral foes. They hacked at the giants with axe and sword and spear, chopped at them like trees. I saw my half-brother cleave into a giant's leg and fell him, only to receive a blow upon his breastplate from a great axe in return. The stroke sheared through steel and split his heart in half, hurled him aside like a child's toy.

I screamed in wrath, feeling the power of the Argath in my veins, making me stronger. I set spurs to my horse and lunged at the fallen Hrun, my heavy sword on high. Before it could rise I swept the blade down in a terrible arc that clove into his shoulder, crumpling armor and almost severing his head. Blood spurted into the air, and my remaining men gave a cry of savage joy to see such a stroke.

A giant lunged at me and I raised my shield, took the terrible buffet of a war club and went crashing from the saddle to the bloodied snow. I rolled to my feet, shaking off the daze of the blow as the giant loomed over me. His shield was like a wall, but even as he moved to overwhelm me, my men lunged from the sides and cut at him, their swords ringing on his armor. He turned and I had an opening. My sword came down, earning another notch as it smashed against his breastplate and rove through to snap his ribs.

He fell, and I leaped upon him, put my foot on his helmet. All I could see were his eyes, staring in terrible, primal fury, then I stabbed down into his neck and blood poured out and stained the snow. I ripped my sword free and looked around in the sudden quiet. The Hrunar lay dead, butchered in the dark, and some of my men lay with them. Now we were only six.

o0o

We cut the heads from the fallen Hrun, and hung them from tree limbs by their long braids. Our own men we laid in a heap and piled with brush, and then we set them afire. The smoke boiled up, and the fire clawed to the unseen sky above us. They knew we were upon their trail; there was no need to hide now. Let them see, let them know we were coming.

The poor rearguard heartened us. Only four left behind to stop us meant they were few, and could spare no more than that. We pressed on through the cold hours of the night, hearing the trees move above us in the wind, a constant rustle as of some great thing breathing. I saw then why some men told of the forest as a living thing, a giant asleep in the night of the world. We bore our torches among the huge trunks, each one as big around as a tower, each one older than the memory of our own race.

I first heard, then, in the deep cold of morning before the light, the howl of Karaunos. It could be nothing else, in this accursed land. The stories told that the Hrunar god was no unseen force upon a distant mountain who cast down lightning to scourge the unfaithful. No, their god was said to be flesh and blood, as real as any man. It walked among the ancient trees as it had for untold ages, left tracks upon the earth where it trod, and in the darkest hours of night it howled. The men who stood the watch on the border walls spoke of it.

I heard it then. The terrible, deep-throated bellow of something primordial and savage. It was no wolf, not the cry of a forest lion or a bull or the bell of a stag. It was like the voice of a mountain, and it thrummed inside us, echoing through the trees. Each of us looked up, as though we would see there some hoary giant out of ancient days. I imagined a Hrun as tall as a castle tower, bearded and white-eyed, its braid twined with bones and antlers.

Three times it howled, and we knew it moved, the sound growing farther from us each time. That was the most fearful thing about the sound – it moved, and so we knew it was no trick of the night, not wind or a river roaring in the dark. It was real. Something walked in those forest hills, and it cried out wordless defiance to the night.

We looked at one another, pale in the light of our torches. I believe I almost lost them then. They would have fled back to the gate if I had not been there. They saw in my face that I would ride on alone if they abandoned me, and that shamed them. They took harder grip on sword and axe-haft, and they followed. For myself, I would not be turned aside. I would make certain that Hel-Toth was dead as the stones, or I would die in the seeking.

o0o

The trail was easy to follow, churned through the snow and painted with blood, and as day began to break we rode faster. Our one advantage was the speed of horse that allowed us to follow at their heels, and now with the sun rising we would surely overtake them. I rode at the head of my five remaining men, my eyes keened for trap of ambush. I knew they would stand and fight, and I watched for signs, ready for them to turn at bay.

We climbed up a long, rock-strewn slope and emerged from the trees as dawn turned the sky from black to deadly gray. Snow fell all around us, covering the hillside as it rose up and up to a wide, open pinnacle. The trail led us there, and to the circle of massive stones where our enemies waited. I gripped my sword and spurred my horse to a last climb, knowing it would not last much longer. All of us were on our last threads of strength, all wounded and battered, and yet we would not cease.

Smoke boiled up from a fire on the hilltop, in among the menhirs, and on that barren, snow-covered hillside the last of our enemies came down and met us sword-to-sword in a last embrace of death. There were six of them, as there were of us, and they came down on us like a storm. Huge and armored, wielding their great two-handed swords and their axes as long as a man is tall, they towered in their heavy mail and wolf-hide mantles, the horns on their helms making them seem even less human. They were a sight to stir the blood to terror, and lift the hands to war.

I howled my battle cry of man against the shadowy legions of night and monstrous enemies, and I rode to meet them. And then there was a last, terrible convulsion of war upon the earth. The stroke of a great blade split the skull of my steed and sent him to the ground in a gush of red. I fell hard upon the rocks and flung up my shield as another blow fell, and it rove through the elder planks and split it from my arm, leaving me with only shards hanging from the straps.

I sprang up and stabbed up under the Hrun's breastplate, brought blood coursing down my sword. He smashed his hilt against my helm and staggered me. I fell, rolled and got to my feet, slipping on the snow, the blood under me. The giant came for me again and I felt the golden power of the Argath in my arms as I met his stroke, the power of the steel ringing shook me like the note of a bell. I struck back and cut through his mail, wounded his arm, and when his guard dropped I cut him ferociously on the neck, splitting the straps of his helm.

He toppled in a freshet of red, and his body rolled down the hillside. I turned and saw my men half dead, only two of them still fighting, and yet only three of the Hrunar remained on their feet. Even as I rushed to join my warriors in their last stand, the terrible sound of the horn bellowed over the hill.

I turned and looked up, saw on the edge of the stone circle a vast horn the size of a man, or larger. Propped up on a great stone cradle, a bent and hunched Hrun blew into it and sent forth a terrible sound, like the howl of the primordial god in the night. The note shook in my skull and set pain pounding inside my veins.

I rushed up the hill, but the Hrunar were in my path, and I was like a man possessed, the power of my berserker ancestors making me roar like a lion as I attacked with all the strength in my arms. I evaded the downward smash of a great axe and when I struck back my blow crashed upon his helm, bursting the brazen faceplate and sending him to his knees as blood poured from inside. I drove my sword through him, ripped it loose and stabbed in again. The giant fell, and I let him tumble past me, slide down the hill in the bloodied snow.

I turned and saw the last Hrun on his knees, clutching the spear that transfixed his throat, and then my man ripped it loose and his companion struck off the giant head and let it fall. I remained, as did two of my men, one of them clutching a wounded side, and his pale face told me he would not live long.

Another blast ripped from the great horn and I turned again to the hill. I ran up the slope, my men following behind as best they could. My bloodied sword trailed red behind me as I leaped into the circle and confronted the old Hrun at the horn. He did not stop, did not give way. I saw his face, gnarled and coiled as a root, his braids as long as his body, draped over his shoulders. His beard reached his feet, knotted with bones.

He did not stop blowing that terrible horn, even as I lifted my sword to strike him down. And then he fell silent before my blade could kill, and I heard that dreadful howl come from the forest below, and I knew with horror what place this was. This was a shrine of Karaunos, and here was where they enacted their bloody rites in honor of their bestial god. Here was the place where they called him from the forest.

The old Hrun laughed at me then, and I struck off his head with a sweep of my battle-blade. I cursed him and spat on his twitching corpse. My men reached my side, exhausted and blooded and afraid, and we all looked down the slope to where the colossal trees stood like a wall out of first ages. And among those titan trunks, something walked.

o0o

The great trees shrugged and surged like a tide, and then the great form of the unseen emerged into the thin light. It went on four legs, not two, and it had the look of something like a bull, only vaster by far. It towered high among the trees, shaggy and ponderous, its hair twined with dead vines and blackened branches. Great tusks rose from its stained mouth, and two massive horns thrust forward from the skull and curved upward in a sweep like crescent moons. Each tusk was longer than a man, and the horns were like the prows of great warships, black and gleaming.

I stared at it as it emerged into light. This was no simple monster, this was a relic out of howling ages, an atavism of primitive nature from before the dawn of men. It was a mountain of flesh, its footfalls shaking the earth as it climbed towards us, seeming to grow larger with every step. It threw back its hairy head and opened wide its jaws, and it howled forth its dominion over this ancient, primal landscape. This was Karaunos, the god of the Hrunar in flesh.

We could not fight it, not a thing like that. It might be hunted as whales are hunted, by many men with spears and iron courage, knowing they would die. We were only three, weary and weakened. I knew we could not escape. Our horses fled like scattering blackbirds at the coming of the beast, and we were too weak to run on foot. The smell of blood was in the air, and that drew it; it would not turn aside.

All that remained was to see if my task was accomplished. They had brought Hel-Toth to this place with desperate haste. Was it to revive him, or to ensure his ghost was taken to that dark land they believed awaited the brave? I turned from the monster god, even as one of my two companions lay back against the stone and breathed his last, overcome by his wound.

That left two of us to race back among the stones as the footfalls of doom grew closer, shaking the earth beneath our feet. The beast god howled again, and this close it was a sound that crashed upon my mind and made me reel. It rang in the steel of helm and sword like a bell-note, and I answered it with my own scream.

And there, at the center of the great circle, we found Hel-Toth laid in state. His horned helm still covered his face, his great dark sword lay on his breast, his hands clasped over it. He still wore his bloody armor, pierced and rent by the sword-strokes of King Bel. The stone he lay stretched upon was draped with furs and stolen velvets, and he stained them where he lay.

I did not hesitate then, for I felt the coming of the Howling God in the convulsions of the earth beneath me. I lifted my notched war-sword high in both hands and smote down with one final blow, severing Hel-Toth's head from his body. My sword clove through the cords of his neck, struck the iron-hard stone beneath, and broke in two with a flash of sparks like lightning. His head rolled and fell from the stone bier, and when there was no gush of blood nor motion I knew that he was dead already, and that all my quest – all the dead – had been in vain.

Then Karaunos was upon us, looming high in the snowy sky above the stones. My last companion shouted his war cry and leaped to meet the beast as it swept down with those terrible horns and shattered three of the standing stones. I saw my warrior vanish into the cloud of dust and broken rock, and then he was hurled aside in two pieces, torn in half by that hideous assault.

Then I let the golden blood of the Argath come over me in a wave of fury. The bestial power that made my ancestors unmatched in war came to me in a burst of the battle-wrath and I felt my body swell and tremble. My teeth clenched so tightly they groaned and I felt every skein and muscle sing, drawn tight and infused with the rage of the ancients. Karaunos towered over me, blocking the light, a mountain of armored flesh and terrible purpose, come to devour and to destroy. I flung away my broken sword and caught up the great black sword of Hel-Toth from where it lay in his dead grasp.

It was a huge blade, made for a giant to wield in both hands, but it came light into my hands as the rage overwhelmed me. It was black like a shard of night, shot through with trails of silver like threads in a dark sky and etched with runes that no man knew the meaning of. I gripped the chain-bound hilt in my hands and heaved it up over my head with a war-scream, bellowing my defiance into the very teeth of the beast-god.

Its massive head drove down toward me, and the horns gouged the earth, ripping furrows in the stony soil. The tusks came down and overturned the great stone bier even as I leaped to my death and struck one great blow with the black sword of a dead champion. For a moment I saw one great eye, as long as a man and red like the pits of fire that wait at the bottom of the world. It looked at me then, just as the sword struck it like a black splinter, and then I was blinded by a torrent of ichor and blood.

I felt myself strike the earth, my eyes shocked open with the blow, and I looked up through broken menhirs and swirling snow for one last sight of the god that towered over me. It shook those mighty horns, tusks slashing the air, and I saw blood pouring from the ruin of one great eye. It howled again, a terrible bellow of rage echoing over the forest-haunted hills as it had for untold aeons, and then I fell senseless, and knew nothing more.

o0o

I woke cold and stiff with pain. The snow had fallen across the hill, and the jagged outlines of broken stones and broken men were softened and veiled. I dragged myself up from where I fell and looked around me, knowing I was alone, and almost wishing that I had followed my men into death. I had sacrificed twelve warrior's lives to be certain Hel-Toth would not come again, and I judged that a worthy price. But I wished then that mine might be among them.

Yet I was not, and now it fell to me to take word back to the lands of men. I took the black sword, still stained with blood, as my trophy. In among the shattered shrine there was no telling where the severed head of my foe had fallen, and I was too weak to search for it. I had to drag myself down the hill, among the trees, and then hope to find one of the scattered horses so that it might bear me southward, out of this place. I staggered among the fallen stones, leaning on the great sword, weak and shaking. Always, after the rage, I was so weak, and I feared I would not endure the journey.

And I heard it again, out in the trackless forest. I heard the baleful bellow of the Howling God, echoing out through misted vales and snow-covered hillsides. A cry from outside of time, carried down through unnumbered ages. The ancient thing that the giants worshiped walked there still, and might for aeons more. Only now it was marked by the hand of man, and would remember. That would be my immortality.

Dragging a dread sword, limping and shivering, I climbed down from that unhallowed place alone, and began my long journey homeward. The day lengthened into night, and the snows came down all around, and the only sound that followed me was that endless, furious howl.

*****

Tyrants of the Monolith

They came down out of the hills, through the forest-shrouded dark, and they brought fire and death upon the valleys below. Black steel to rend flesh and spill blood upon the earth, fire to set house and village ablaze. They rode out of the forests in the dark, under the moon when the mists rose from the black soil and the nightbirds sang. And they vanished by dawn, back into the mysterious wilderness, leaving none behind but the dead.

We came after, from the hollow, following the river northward to the place where the smoke rose up. There were nine of us, all that would come from the villages and farms close by. Some of us had kin we feared for, while others answered the call of danger from some deep instinct. I was one. I was nineteen that year and yet unmarried. I was too big, they said, too tall and too wild to attract any man. I was restless in those days, and so when old Joran called for men to follow him to the place of killing I came. He did not refuse me, because there were so few others who answered, and because he knew I was the strongest.

We were not warriors, most of us. Joran was, though he was not young any more. It was he we followed and trusted. He led us through the forest paths along the river, unafraid. He had his old armor and his sword and shield, and he had a new spear as did I, made in haste from an old point and a new haft that was not quite straight. I wanted to walk beside him, but I did not quite dare.

We smelled the smoke when we came close to the first village, and that was the first time I smelled burnt human flesh and bone. The others were all afraid, as I was. I tried not to show it, but I wondered of they could see it. We came into the open, where the farmers had dug out their hard-cleared fields around the few houses, and we saw it was all gone. The wood and thatch houses were all burnt down to black stains, and on the ground I saw the butchered remains. The flesh was black and split, the heads and arms severed and ripped apart. The smell was overpowering, and I was not the only one who retched.

Joran went alone into the ruin and knelt on the ash-dusted earth. He looked around him, as if the very earth might tell him what he wished to know. I wanted to learn from him, so I followed and stood beside him as he studied the destruction. Beyond the fields the black shroud of the ancient forest lay upon the hills like a stain, and when he looked up to the hills, so did I. We all knew from childhood to fear the forest, that something terrible lived there, or had once. We all knew that we should not hunt or herd or wander too far into those wilds. But I did not know why, nor did the rest of the young ones.

Joran pointed to the ground, and I saw bare footprints on the ash in among the blood and the blackened wood. It's them, he said. They have come again.

It is bandits, said an older man named Targo. They robbed and burned the village.

No, Joran said. They killed, and then burned. No one escaped. He stood and pointed west, to where another column of smoke rose up. And there, another. There are not enough dead here for all those of the village. They took prisoners. he stabbed his spear into the earth and spat to one side. They took them away into the forest.

No, Targo said. No one comes from the forest. He sounded afraid.

They took them to the stone, Joran said. It has begun again. He took his spear in his hand, shook the dirt from the iron head. If we go, there is still a chance we may stop them before they reach it, we might save some of them and spare ourselves.

We may die! Targo said.

We may, Joran said. But I will go, who will go with me?

I gripped my spear and thumped the haft against the blackened earth. I will go.

o0o

All of us went. Once I said I would follow him, no man dared to be seen as a coward. Who would refuse to go where a girl did not fear? They paled and spat and muttered oaths, but they all followed as Joran led us up the long slope of the ground away from the burnt village. We passed beyond the fields and then climbed the rocky slope toward the hills themselves. To my eye they seemed to brood, watching us, timeless and ancient. The forest on them was thick and black as soot, and I wondered what secrets hid there. I wanted to ask Joran, but it was a hard climb, and all our breath was needed for it.

Before we entered the forest, we came upon the trail. The dry, late-autumn grasses were beaten down by the passage of many feet, and blood stained the ground. The path led upward into the hills, and there was no more talk of bandits. All the men grew silent as stones, and everyone clutched their weapons. I was glad to have a spear, for it served as a walking stick as well as a comfort.

When we were almost to the trees Joran paused so we could rest, and he beckoned me closer. Brona, if we are attacked stay on my left and guard me. He tapped his temple. I cannot see as well on this side anymore. I don't want to be caught on my blind side.

I nodded, burning with questions I hesitated to ask. I will.

You are a big girl, and strong, he said. Hold the spear in both hands, and aim for the gut. He patted his belly, hand slapping on the mail he wore. I wondered if the extra weight tired him. Stab hard, then pull back at once, else they may climb the haft and trap it. If they are close, stab and then turn, from here. He showed me, bracing his own spear against his hip. It will throw them off their feet.

I nodded again, proud that he spoke to me as an equal, that he did not think I was less for being a woman. I looked ahead to the dark trees. They seemed so much taller as we drew near them. You think we will be attacked?

If they watch from the trees, they have seen us coming. He rubbed at his beard. I think they will wait for us.

Who are they? I said, fearing the answer, fearing no answer.

The people of the black stone, he said, his voice aged and fearful. The servants of the monolith.

o0o

They attacked us as we entered the forest, just as the shadows of the trees closed overhead and the sky disappeared. We climbed a rocky defile lined with fallen leaves and jagged rocks, and they leaped from hiding and sprang down upon is. I saw pale faces and black eyes, the shine of the light on axes and swords. Battle-screams tore the air, and two of our number turned and fled at the sound.

I did not flee. I turned and braced up my spear in both hands as a man with a long black beard hurtled down the embankment upon me, an axe in his hands and his eyes like blank stones. He howled, teeth bared and white and long, and I caught him in the guts with my spearpoint and plunged it in. Blood shot out, spraying over me, and then he was impaled and I could not get my weapon free. I shoved sideways and he tumbled away from me, axe falling from his hands. I bent and caught it up just as the whole world seemed to fracture into chaos.

There were screams and the sound of so many blows all falling at once – on armor and steel and flesh. A man fell on me with shield and sword in his hands, and he struck at me and I put the axe in his way and caught the blow, only for the force of it to dash the back of it against my forehead.

I stumbled back and fell among the rocks, and he leaped in to finish me, but then Joran was there and he smashed his shield into the man, using all his weight, and flung him back. It was enough for me to get up. My blood ran into my face and I blinked it away, and then I was angry.

Another man stumbled into me, raving and flourishing a bloodied sword, and I set both hands on the axe and chopped down with all my strength. The axe-blade sheared off his ear and then bit deep into his shoulder with a sickening sound. The black steel chopped through the bones and when I jerked it out of the wound blood sprayed out in a torrent. I shoved the man aside and then the other swordsman was on me again. I smote my axe upon his shield with so much force it was split in half and my blade cut into his arm. He lost his footing in the rocks and fell, and I leaped on him with a cry.

He tried to bring his sword up but I stepped on his arm and felt the bones snap, and then I split his face open with the axe, and then hit him again, and again. Blood flowed out and covered the rocks, splattered my face and I tasted it and spat it back out. I staggered back from him, and then it was quiet, and I wiped blood from my eyes and looked around.

In moments the gully had been transformed into a place of butchery. Two of our men had fled and I did not see them, three more were dead, one of them gagging his last and clutching at the spear through his body. The bodies of three of the invaders lay