Culpug the Cavelord
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Part 1 appears in this issue. |
| conclusion |
“You didn’t count on Culpug’s greatest strength!” shouted Ulk the Unwashed as he ran to Culpug’s side, his great ivory axe already swinging. “His choice in friends!” He swung at Turvold’s neck, and sent the Ice Reaver’s head flying from its shoulders. Spurting blood, it landed at Virskin Frostblood’s feet.
Virskin stared at the severed head. “Hmmm,” he said, pursing his lips. “Perhaps you do have something of the warrior who stood unbowed at Snowtop Hill, though family life has softened you.” He offered a hand to help Culpug to his feet, but the Cavelord, covered in Turvold’s gore, refused.
“Now will you leave us in peace?” Culpug demanded. “Surely, there are more glorious deeds for you to do than bother an old man, his boy, his babe, and his wife?”
“I think not.” Virskin stared at the Mountain Clan village with a wolf’s eyes. He raised his voice, so that all could hear him. “Heed my words, Culpug called Cavelord! There is a field not far from your village, a canyon now full of ice. My warriors and I will meet you there tonight at moonrise, and I will fight and kill you.”
He ignored Culpug’s snarl. “If you do not chose to come, we will ride into your village and slaughter your people until the last squalling infant falls silent.” He turned away from Culpug, his heels kicking up snow. “See you there.”
After the last white bear had trundled out of the village, Culpug sat on the ground and stared at the snowy mountains. The villagers sent their children inside and gathered their weapons. Everyone waited on Culpug’s words.
The Cavelord’s wife, dark haired Mayna, quickly sent their son, nervous Urven, inside with the baby. She sat next to her husband. They watched as Ulk dragged the bodies away from the village, where mountain scavengers would make short work of them.
Mayna did not speak for some time. “Culpug,” she finally said. “I have never asked you about the violence that you do. I heard Urven speak of the battles you fought during your trip through the valley, and your trip to Irem, and I know that Ulk and Slicktar do not boast falsely of your bravery in combat.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “And that is because I know you are much more than just a murderous brute. I love you, Culpug, and I know you never fight when there are other ways.”
Culpug looked at Mayna with shining eyes. “Thank you, my love. Tonight, when I battle the wicked Frostblood, I will know that I go to my grave a valiant and just man.”
“But you shall win!” Mayna cried. “You can defeat Virskin, I know you can.”
“But by Lor, he will not let me.” Culpug frowned. “No. Virskin Frostblood, for all of his glory-seeking, is a coward. He will meet me with his men, and at a nod of his head, I will be filled with arrows and spears, and then he will cut me down.” He stroked his beard. “But if I do not go, then the whole village will die. For Urven, and our daughter, and for you, I would gladly give my life.”
“Lor’s Beard, Culpug! You speak as if a death for you or death for the Mountain Clan are the only two options!”
Culpug looked up to see Ulk the Unwashed, his axe on his shoulder, standing in front of him.
Slicktar Speartoss was at Ulk’s side, a spear in his hand. “We stand with you, Culpug. All the fighting men of the Clan will be at your side.”
“I won’t have you throw your lives away because of me!” Culpug protested.
“Who said anything about throwing our lives away?” Ulk chuckled. “You’re not the only one in the Clan who can swing an axe or toss a spear. We’ll fight, and I’ll look forward to taking a few heads off of those smug Ice Reavers!”
“But if Virskin sees an army instead of just one man, he’ll order his Reavers to destroy our village,” Culpug said, deep in thought. “So we’ll need to fool him...”
“Can be done, can be done!” said Ulk the Unwashed, patting Culpug on the shoulder. “If there’s one thing old lily-skinned Frostblood is, he’s stupid as an inbred goat baby! Want to know how I know that?” He elbowed Slicktar and grinned ruefully.
Slicktar sighed. “How do you know that?”
“Well, he picked a fight with us, didn’t he?!”
* * *
As the full moon began to glow over the snowy mountains, Virskin Frostblood and the Ice Reavers moved to the appointed location. They were a little late, but Virskin didn’t mind. If Culpug the Cavelord had to wait a little before being butchered, it was of no concern.
The Ice Reavers directed their massive bear mounts onto the snow-filled canyon. The snow was packed loosely into the canyon, providing uneasy footing in some places, but allowing for a wide open field that would be a perfect place for single combat. The cave bears trod out into the snow, standing in neat formation. Virskin sat high on the back of his bear, his wide-bladed lance held high. He looked out onto the snow and smiled.
Culpug the Cavelord stood before him, alone in the snowy field. Culpug held his spear in one hand, and a pair of curved sickle blades rested in his belt. His feet were in the wide fighting stance, the right foot next to a brown branch that peeked out through the snow.
“Cavelord!” Virskin cried, walking his bear away from his assembled warriors. “I half expected you not to come!”
“I came, Frostblood,” Culpug shouted back. “Now, let us earn our places in the sagas.”
Virskin smiled wolfishly. “Indeed. Though, alas for you. They will sing that Culpug the Cavelord was killed in a fair fight.” He kicked the bear’s side, and the great beast ran for Culpug with a roar rumbling out of its throat.
Culpug showed the smallest of smiles before he tapped the branch near his foot with his spear butt. The branch moved through the snow and pushed itself out. It was not a branch at all, but a trunk -- a trunk belonging to a mighty mammoth.
As the mammoth reared out of the snow where it had burrowed and hid, Culpug grabbed onto its furry side and clambered onto the mammoth’s back. He pointed his spear at the surprised Virskin, shouting a prayer to Lor as his mammoth charged.
“This is Reliable!” Culpug shouted, holding onto the mammoth. “You can see why I call him that!” The mammoth and cave bear clashed, tusk smashing bone and long claws raking the mammoth’s flank. The two animals tumbled onto each other with roars and trumpets, while their riders engaged in their own death struggle.
Culpug felt the blade of Virskin’s spear slash through his homespun shirt and draw blood, just as his own spear warded off the blow and scratched Virskin’s side. The two scrambled nimbly atop their mounts, swinging their pole arms as the bear and mammoth churned up snow in their own brutal combat.
Finally, just as Virskin’s cave bear dealt Reliable a cruel slash to the mammoth’s soft underbelly, the pale-skinned Ice Reaver stabbed his battle lance into Culpug’s shoulder and the blade stuck.
“Hah!” Virskin cried. “I have you now!”
Culpug tore out the long-bladed spear from his shoulder and tossed it away. With eyes closed from pain, Culpug stabbed his spear into the cave bear’s chest with all of his might. The monstrous white bear reared up. Reliable saw his chance. The mammoth slammed his tusks into the bear, knocking the beast over and sending Virskin Frostblood sprawling in the snow.
Reliable raised his foot over the cavebear’s head, and with a crunching of bone and one mournful cry from the great bear, Virskin’s mount was no more.
“You cheated!” Virskin cried petulantly. “Kill him and his elephant!”
At Virskin’s words, the Ice Reavers grabbed spears and notched bows, but before they could fire a single salvo against Culpug, the men of the Mountain Clan were on them. The Mountain Clansmen came from behind and the sides, striking from their hiding places in the rocks and trees. They hit the Ice Reavers with a withering barrage of arrows and javelins that tore into man and bear. Before the Reavers could assemble into battle formations, the Men of the Mountain charged.
Slicktar Speartoss hurled a javelin as he ran, skewering an Ice Reaver through the man’s horned helmet. Slicktar’s second spear sunk down the throat of a roaring cave bear, killing the beast in seconds. The other Mountain Clansmen proved themselves fine marksmen, but it was with the blade and fist that this battle was to be decided. Ulk the Unwashed faced down a ferocious bear, and as the beast and rider ran towards him, Ulk decapitated the bear with one stroke, and slew the Ice Reaver on top with a similar sweeping axe blow.
The Ice Reavers proved their reputation as merciless raiders, hacking away at the Mountain Clansmen and leaving many dead in the snow. The Ice Reavers were not used to fighting a defensive battle, and their pale hides felt the bites of many axes and spear points. Soon, they were fighting from behind the corpses of their cave bears and fellow Ice Reavers, struggling to their last gulping breaths against the tenacious Mountain Warriors.
Virskin stared at the destruction of his men, disbelief in his eyes. He turned to Culpug, and drew Head-Taker and Gut-Ripper. Culpug was bleeding from the shoulder and weak on his feet. Virskin Frostblood’s long scimitars gave him more reach than Culpug’s sickle blades. “This is Head-Taker!” Virskin shouted, waving his sword. “And this is Gut-Ripper! I will show you how they got their names!”
He sprang on Culpug, dealing the Mountain Warrior a good slash across the chest before Culpug drew both his sickle blades and parried. Culpug took a deep ragged breath and then the battle was joined. It was the epic combat Virskin had longed for ever since Snowtop Hill. His blood flowed hot through his body as he and Culpug hacked into each other, taking wounds almost as much as they blocked.
They battled across the snow field, and Virskin hardly noticed that one of Culpug’s sickle blades had stabbed through his arm, becoming wedged between bone and muscle. He stabbed at Culpug with his good arm, drawing blood and forcing the remaining sickle blade from Culpug’s arms, before tearing the curved knife from his own flesh and tossing it away.
Virskin dropped Gut-Ripper from his weakened grasp and slammed the handle of Head-Taker onto Culpug’s skull. Before driving that blade into Culpug’s leg, he grabbed the Cavelord’s throat with both hands.
“Goodbye, Cavelord!” Virskin hissed as he strangled the life from Culpug. “The sagas will know I bested you!” He smiled as he Culpug struggled. “This is better than a quick death from a blade! More glory to my strength! More glory to my savagery!”
Culpug’s eyes rolled back into his head. He forced his head up and rammed his skull into Virskin’s face. He knocked back the Ice Reaver lord, and then came at him with his teeth bared. Culpug bit deeply into Virskin’s throat, tearing through the jugular vein, spitting Virskin’s hot blood into his face as the Ice Reaver coughed and sputtered.
Culpug grabbed Head-Taker from the snow, and before his own wounds took him into the darkness, he used Virskin’s weapon, which lived up to its name one last time.
Culpug awoke in his blanket-strewn pallet, his family and friends gathered around him. He coughed until Mayna handed him a canteen, which he hastily drained before lying back and sighing. His cave was warm from a merry fire’s glow, and though Ulk, Slicktar, and the other Mountain Clansmen bore some wounds, the gleam of victory was in their eyes.
“What happened?” Urven asked curiously, climbing onto the pallet to be embraced by his father. “How did you defeat the pale one?”
Culpug coughed and shook his head.
Mayna understood the grim look in his eyes. “The sagas are full of the crash and roar of battle, and the endless savagery of the warriors that call the fields of war their home,” she told young Urven. “But when the combat is over, there is no glory to be taken from their terrible actions, and that is why Virskin fell. He should have known that even in the sagas, some things are best left unsaid. But our love for your father — that is what matters more than a hundred victories.”
And Culpug the Cavelord leaned back in his cot and was happy.
Copyright © 2009 by Michael Panush
