I've read my fair share of Conan fanfic over the years, but
It was originally posted on the Official Robert E. Howard Forum earlier this month (
Wolf in Moonlight
A Conan vignette.
© 2012
Von Kalmbach
As the full moon rose in the starlit sky,
And the winds roared madly down the glen,
I caught the gleam in a fey maid’s eye,
And fled from the wild wolf’s den.
THE YOUNG TRAVELER gazed apprehensively around him as he strode through the dense woodland. He was no coward, but the gloomy winding trail through the close-packed trees unnerved him. Above, the intertwining branches swayed, blotting out the moonlight, and the leaves soughed and rustled like a thousand ghosts in conclave.
The traveler strode out of the woods and onto a wild windswept heath. The moon rose high and full in the midnight sky, etching all in spectral splendor. Across the grassy heath were patches of gorse and heather, and their scent on the blustering breeze rose to his brain like a heady liquor after the solemn dankness of the woods. The traveler’s gaze took in the sweeping outline of a great hill in the distance that rose to a smooth crest, upon which was set a ring of somber dolmens. A tiny fire flickered at the center of that ring, and the traveler muttered a bewildered oath. Who else would be abroad at night in this wild place?
The traveler ran toward the hill. His long stride ate up the distance as he loped across the heath with pantherine grace. His fur cloak, trews and boots, the broad sword and poniard on his wide belt, were those of a Northman, seeming somehow incongruous upon the powerful frame of this young black-haired warrior. He was at one with the wilds, his blue eyes fierce with the exultation of exertion.
The traveler slowed to a cautious walk as he approached the base of the hill. His deep chest rose and fell, but the long run seemed not to have drained his vast reservoir of vitality to any appreciable degree. He set a huge scarred hand upon the hilt of his sword and ascended warily to the crest of the hill.
At the center of the silent ring of dolmens a small campfire flickered in a shallow fire pit rimmed with stones. The firelight licked luridly at the rune carved faces of the dolmens, which seemed now to the traveler like sullen giants gathered for a feast. A small lean to, offering some protection from the elements, had been constructed between two of the dolmens, and though the camp seemed to have been recently abandoned, the traveler sensed its occupant was still close by. As this thought crossed his mind, the traveler heard a movement and looked up to see someone step from the darkness into the firelight.
It was a woman who stood there with the firelight dancing on her beautiful face and wild blue wayward eyes. She had black hair, like the travelers; seemingly born of the same race. She strolled towards him fearlessly, and his eyes roved with fierce appreciation over the full breasts, narrow supple waist and broad hips beneath her simple fawn colored tunic. She made no attempt to draw about her the long cloak which cascaded from her shoulders, apparently as oblivious to the chill wind that stirred her garments, as she was to the burning gaze of the traveler. She seemed to be, like him, a scion of the wilderness.
"What brings you to Morwen’s camp, o stranger? You are garbed like the wolves of the north, yet you are clearly not of the Aesir nor Vanir."
"My name is Conan, a Cimmerian," stated the youth, "and I have come from the north. I marched with the Rig-Jarl Hjorl, and we spilled red blood in tides upon the snow, where the blades and axes of the Aesir flamed and thundered, shattering the shields of the Vanir."
"No whim of fate has brought you to my hearth." She moved up close to him and smiled as she ran her hands over his chest and heavy arms; she traced with her fingers the scars of battle that crossed his iron frame. "You are forged of steel and blood, in the flames of war. I have sung my song on the winds for such a one as you, and the Godess heard my call. She has sent a fit mate for Morwen."
Conan narrowed his eyes at her presumption, but the sight and the scent of her was like a fire in his veins, and he readily assented when she slipped into his embrace. He kissed her fiercely, and drank of her own wild kisses. He laid one hand upon her breast, the other slipped inside her tunic and around her supple waist, to caress her back and draw her to him.
"Crom!" The Cimmerian cursed, and threw the woman from him. She spun with lithe grace, facing him from beyond the fire with a wolfish smile upon her lips.
"How is this?" she asked mockingly. "You are a man among men, but yet not man enough for a woman of the Tuatha de Cernunos?"
Conan swore a vehement oath at the name of that heathen brood, then backed away from the firelight.
"If I cannot taste of your love," spoke Morwen quietly across the flames, a feral gleam in her eyes, "then at least I can taste of your flesh!"
Then the youth, Conan, turned and fled. Morwen’s laughter sounded behind him.
The blood pounded wildly in Conan’s brain as he ran down the hill and across the heath in the moonlight. The superstitious dreads of his people filled his mind with fearful images of the Children of Cernunos. Nor was his fear ill-founded.
Conan stopped and glanced back to see a huge black shape slink from between the dolmens and lope down the hill. Then he turned and ran on across the heath.
The Cimmerian knew that in spite of all his speed the infernal creature would gain upon him long before he reached the sanctuary of the treeline. As he ran he cast about for a place to turn at bay. He saw a small hillock crowned with limestone, and his boots found footing on the stone. He turned, and saw the huge black wolf, as large as a pony, fast upon his heels. It's jaws were agape, it's eyes ablaze with preturnatural savagery, as silently it leaped.
Conan’s sword flashed in a frosty arc, backed with every desperate ounce of iron thew. The massive head of the wolf spun through the air in a spiral of blood, and it’s huge body crashed into him, bearing him down under its weight. For a long while Conan lay there with all the breath knocked out of him. Then he heaved the headless carcass from him with a curse and rose, drenched in gore, scarce able to believe that he still lived.
He stared at the severed head as it shimmered in the moonlight. It was the head of Morwen which now lay there in the grass, her sightless eyes staring up at the nighted sky. At his feet lay her headless body, indistinguishable now from that of a woman, save that along her spine from nape to lower back ran a long thick band of hair, like the pelt of a wolf.
Then the hackles rose on the young Conan’s neck as he witnessed a grisly sight. For the beautiful head of Morwen twisted on the ground, her eyelids fluttered, and her dead eyes glimmered with an eldritch flame.
"No man can slay a Child of Cernunos by the light of the silvery moon," she said. "Oh Conan, stay with me and be my lover! Such pleasures shall be ours. Let us dance together with the horned ones in their secret groves."
Then Conan ran again across that spectral heath, away from the ghastly dolmen on the hill. Behind him Morwen’s hellish laughter rose hauntingly up into the star-strewn sky.
The End
If you enjoyed that short romp through the woods, then you'll definitely want to take the jump (
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