Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  Much as Halli loved his uncle, he devoutly wished his father or mother – even Eyjolf – would come to lead him away. But the House was silent still: evidently the Hakonssons planned to leave as early as they could, before their hosts had risen.

  It occurred to Halli that he should hurry away to rouse his parents, but his eye was fixed at the knothole as if nailed there.

  Then Brodir lurched forwards, jabbing a finger, and for the first time Halli heard him clearly. 'Go ride then and find your women. In all likelihood they will have roosted for the night in trees, like so many carrion crows.' He smiled towards them stupidly and stumbled in the straw.

  Now Olaf spoke, in a voice distorted with rage. 'Svein's House is renowned as a nest of inbred drunkards who can scarcely cross a yard without tripping on their six-toed feet. Additionally – as you might know, Brodir – it is famous in our parts for its lack of land. 'At this Brodir uttered a curse, but Olaf continued, 'Still, now we have new things to report: we shall proclaim your vile hospitality from the rooftops, and also sing songs of your dwarfish nephew, so ugly that the mountains turn their backs on him and rivers burst their banks when he kneels to drink.'

  Hord Hakonsson reached forward, clapped his brother on his narrow back and gestured to the horses. 'This gains us nothing. Leave this sot to his folly.'

  With reluctance, Olaf nodded, but he spoke once more. 'You are a notable traveller, Brodir Sveinsson. We will perhaps meet you one evening on a lonely road and continue this discussion. Know that the Council may have proclaimed an end to the old matter, but in our parts your deeds are not forgotten.' He turned and took his reins. Then he set his lantern on the floor and, in an easy movement, mounted his horse. Hord did likewise; they nudged their horses forward until they were level with Ragnar's. Brodir took a stagger and a half-step backwards to let them pass.

  As they reached the open door of the stables, Brodir called after them. 'If we meet again, be sure to bring men from other Houses to do your fighting for you. Yes, my nephew may be ugly enough to scare the scales off fish, but he is certainly no coward, while your boy there would hide his face if a mouse passed by. It is clear enough from this that Hakon's blood runs strongly in his veins. Oh, and I haven't forgotten what happened either. I don't regret it – nor its consequence.'

  So he spoke; and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Olaf had leaped from his horse, taken two strides back into the stable and struck Brodir across the face with the flat of his hand. Halli felt the blow as if it had been his own cheek: the shock of it made him jerk up; he cut the bridge of his nose against a splinter in the knothole.

  Brodir's head snapped sideways, but drunk as he was – and caught by surprise – he did not fall, or even step back, though blood came from his nose.

  Olaf intended this to be the end of the matter; he turned away to remount his horse, but as he did so. Brodir gave a roar of rage and grappled him from behind, clasping him around the neck and dragging him backwards so that he lost his balance and nearly fell. Despite his slenderness, Brodir proved himself no weakling; his arm circled Olaf 's neck as if it were a band of iron; with his other hand he struck repeated blows against his side so that Olaf 's eyes popped and his tongue lolled from his mouth.

  But now Hord came rushing, cloak aflap behind him. He had descended swiftly from his horse; now he flung himself at Brodir, striking out with his great ham fists. Brodir dodged the first blow; the second fell against his beard and made him reel, but he held fast to Olaf, and kicked out with a boot, making Hord gasp and fall back against the nearest stall.

  Halli had seen enough; without thought he leaped down from the water butt, nightshirt billowing about him, slapping at his legs. He ran round the side of the stable, past where Ragnar sat like a statue upon his horse, staring at the fight with puffy eyes; past the other horses standing still and placid, in and across the straw towards where his uncle and Olaf grappled. Hord saw him coming; as Halli darted close he stretched out a hand and grasped him tight across the arm, then with little effort swung him up so that Halli's feet left the ground. Halli felt a hot and wrenching pain across his shoulder; he lashed out frantically with arms and legs, but Hord's arm was too long and his grip too tight. Hord flexed his arm once and let go his hold. Halli flew across the stable into an empty stall, crashing down against the wooden wall so that his breath was driven from him and white lights swirled against his eyes.

  He lay on his side in a mess of straw, tasting blood upon his tongue. The stable seemed to spin, then slowed and stopped. Halli looked up. He saw Olaf Hakonsson lying slumped against the ground, his fingers clawing at his throat. Hord had broken Brodir's grip; now the two of them were wrestling close, arms locked tight against each other. They fought first one way, then the other, in grunting, gasping silence, colliding with the stalls so that the wood split, stirring the stable floor with their shuffling feet until the spears of dawn light coming through the slats about them were thick with whirling dust.

  Brodir fought hard, but Hord had a bull's strength. The match was not long; all at once Hord wrenched Brodir round and pinned his arms from behind, holding him fast.

  Olaf was struggling to his feet, very white-faced and bubbling at the lips.

  Halli moved; a pain flared in his shoulder. He ignored it, sought to rise.

  Something heavy crushed his neck. A boot sole, pressing hard.

  Ragnar Hakonsson's voice said: 'No. Trow-face – you wait there.'

  Halli choked and scrabbled with his fingers at the boot. With bulging eyes he saw Olaf Hakonsson stand contemplatively before Brodir, who waited helplessly in Hord's grip.

  He saw Olaf Hakonsson move away, slowly, deliberately, out of view towards the horses. He heard a rasp of leather – a pannier being opened – and the briefest of rummaging. Olaf stepped back into sight, his face expressionless, its pain and anger replaced with calm intention. In his hand he held a little knife, the kind used to cut cheese, trim nails, stone fruit – daily tasks of a hundred kinds.

  Halli watched him, his fingers clamped tight upon the leather of the boot upon his neck.

  He saw Olaf Hakonsson step across to Brodir, draw back the knife, and stab him once in the heart, so that he died.

  Olaf tossed the knife onto the straw. Then he turned and went to his horse.

  Hord Hakonsson let Brodir's body drop upon the ground. He too went to his horse. As he did so, he looked at Ragnar, spoke a word. For a moment the boot pressed harder still on Halli's throat, then it was lifted away. A swirl of cloak, boots scuffing through straw – Ragnar was gone.

  Halli lay motionless in the straw, eyes staring.

  He heard the Hakonssons' horses go slowly off across the yard. All the other horses in the stable were now neighing and shifting, and one or two kicked out against their stalls, because they smelled the blood and did not like it.

  Halli lay motionless. Presently he heard the sudden spurring of the horses and the eager hoof-fall as they galloped out of Svein's House and away into the valley.

  IN THOSE DAYS, WITH the Trows still troublesome, few people dared climb up onto the moors. But Svein was keen to see what was up there, despite his mother's pleading. 'No Trows will be out by day,' he told her, 'and I'll be home before dark. Make my favourite supper, for I'll be hungry when I get back.' And with that he strapped on his silver belt, took his sword and set out.

  He climbed the ridge and came to the moors, all heathery and desolate, and looked about him. In the distance was a low round hill, and in the hill he spied a door. Svein walked until he came to the door. It was very large and painted black.

  'This is a Trow door sure enough,' he said to himself, 'and I can either leave it alone or open it and look inside. The first would be safe, but the second brings me honour.' So he opened the door. When he looked in, he saw a hall hung about with men's bones. There was a fire burning in the far distance. With infinite caution, Svein stole through the hall until he drew near the fire. There upon a rock sat a great fat Trow, busi
ly fashioning a human skull into a drinking cup. When he saw this, Svein boiled with rage. 'I can either go back,' he said to himself, 'or pay out this devil for his crimes. The first would be safe, but the second brings honour to my House.' So he crept up behind the Trow and lopped off its head with one swing of his sword.

  Svein was tempted to go on, but he looked back and saw that the light from the door was growing blue and dim. Evening was coming. So he went back down the hill and was home in time for supper.

  And that was Svein's first visit to the Trow king's hall.

  II

  7

  SVEIN'S BROTHER HORKEL WAS killed by a neighbour in a dispute about land. When Svein heard, he said little, but took his sword and belt and went out. The neighbour had fled to a hut on a remote crag. It could only be reached by ladders two hundred rungs long, and they had been taken away. When Svein reached the crag foot, he considered the sheer cliff, while the killer shouted abusive remarks from the summit. Without words, Svein began to climb. The rock was loose and broke under his hands; the wind was strong and tore him from his footholds. Eagles pecked his ears. Night fell and Svein climbed on. At dawn the killer began throwing rocks, which Svein dodged by swinging out one-handed. He got to the top and slew his brother's killer with a single sword-thrust, then climbed back down and returned to his House, where he took up his plough as if nothing had happened. 'I have had a walk around,' he told his mother. 'Now I am back.'

  The men Arnkel sent after the killers returned before dark, dust-stained and despondent. They had ridden hard all the way to the cataracts, but down-valley horses are light and swift, and the Hakonssons had long since passed the Snag. This set Arnkel raging until he frothed at the mouth. He picked up a trestle table and threw it against the wall, so it broke in two; he took the knife that had killed his brother and stabbed it into his own hand, into the palm that had clasped the hands of Brodir's murderers. Even Astrid fled from him and Arnkel remained all night alone in the hall.

  Morning came again. Bright sunlight shone through Halli's window and across his counterpane. There was a smell of fresh air and wild flowers. When he woke from deep sleep, Halli lay still a while, staring at the triangles of light upon the plaster wall, at the black beams in the ceiling, at old Katla snoring in her corner chair. When he moved, his shoulder ached, but the poultices his nurse had given him had soothed the damaged muscles, and he could move his arm freely once more.

  His memories of the previous day were fragmentary – little more than shards of shock, confusion and pain. He had raised the alarm, yes: after that – what had he done? Little enough.

  Just stood by as the House sprang into action. He had been a bystander, ignored by all save Katla, who fussed and cosseted him and confined him to his bed.

  Time to change all that. Halli rose, dressed slowly, wincing at certain movements, and went to the hall. The sun was already high, but a hush lay on the House. His father was sitting in his Law Seat, head on his breast. His wounded hand was black with dried blood. He had not bandaged it. Around his shoulders hung his formal cloak, a sombre, crumpled silver-black. He was very still and silent. At his side stood Halli's mother, speaking softly in his ear.

  A few people worked in remote corners of the hall, preparing flowers for Brodir's vigil, but no one dared approach where Arnkel sat.

  Halli marched right up. 'Father, I wish to have a sword.'

  Arnkel did not raise his head. His voice was low and quiet. 'Why?'

  'Simple enough. I intend to avenge my uncle.'

  For a long while Arnkel did not speak. At last he said, 'My son, there are no swords. All were melted down. Save the ones the heroes hold, up on the hill.'

  'Grim could make a blade.'

  'Oh, Grim will do that, all right!' His mother's voice was shrill and furious; it cut across the muted hubbub of the room so that all activity stopped. 'Even now he makes the sword that Brodir will take into his cairn, to help guard us from the Trows. But there are no swords for the living, as well you know! The Council forbids it, as is right, just as the Council will resolve this matter peacefully, to our eventual satisfaction. Let there be no further talk of avenging, you stupid boy.'

  Halli shrugged. 'It is well-known you never cared for Brodir, Mother. Father – what of you? Your rage and grief echo my own.'

  Arnkel stirred then; he sat a little higher. 'Halli,' he said wearily, 'treat your mother with more respect, or I will beat you here and now.' He pulled at his nose and looked towards the fire. 'And I ask you not to speak to me again of vengeance, or swords, or the honour of Svein's House. Your impulses are good – I understand them, I share them! We all do.' At this there was a snort from Halli's mother. 'You have already done what you could – your bravery in the stable was admirable. It is not your fault you are no warrior. But the way to proceed now' – he took a deep breath – 'is by mediation and settlement. Your mother is right. The old ways lead to feuding and more cairns on the hill. None of us want that.'

  'Brodir liked the old ways,' Astrid said, 'and sought to act on them. Where is he now? Under a white sheet, with a cold house waiting.' She smiled palely at her son. 'Halli, Halli, I know you loved his tales, I know you even admired him. But his values were those of the past. We do not follow them. The Lawgivers of each House will gather as soon as can be arranged. Indeed, Ulfar Arnesson rides today to alert the down-valley Houses, and Leif goes to the upper ones, so with luck the Council will meet before winter falls. To them you will state what you saw. They will pass judgement. And you will be chief witness, Halli! Think of that! It is a very important role for someone so young.'

  Halli said blandly, 'But what will happen to the Hakonssons then?' 'They will be forced to give us a very good settlement.'

  'You mean land? That's it? They give us a bit of land?'

  'Land is not to be sniffed at, boy. It is where our wealth lies.'

  Arnkel Sveinsson sat staring towards the fire, a gaunt and ageing man. He spoke softly, as if to himself. 'Mediation is the only way, and even here we may be forced to settle for less than we desire. Hakon's is a powerful House.'

  'Mediation has taken lands from us before,' Astrid said, her lips compressed. 'This time, at least, it will work in our favour.

  Ah, here is Leif, all ready to depart!'

  Leif wore his travelling cloak, and his beard was newly trimmed. He bounded onto the dais and began discussions with his parents about his exact route to the upland farms. He was exuberant, eager to be off; he displayed no great grief at the circumstances of his mission.

  Astrid patted Leif 's arm fondly. 'You look most handsome, my son! A fine emissary of the House. Do you not think so, Halli?'

  But Halli had left the hall.

  In the passage beyond the drapes he slowed his pace and came to a standstill, breathing deeply, willing his anger to subside.

  'Halli.'

  Aud Ulfar's-daughter had appeared from the guest room. It would not be true to say that Halli had forgotten her existence, but recent events had pushed her from the forefront of his mind. She wore travelling clothes in a state of some disorder, and was doing something with her hair. Two bone hairpins protruded from between her lips. Amid the flow of his emotions it was hard for Halli to adjust to sudden conversation. 'Oh. Hello.'

  'Sorry about your uncle.' Her arms were behind her head, fiddling. The hairpins bobbed and quivered as she spoke.

  'Thanks.'

  'Those bloody Hakonssons. They don't give a damn about anyone. First time they've killed someone like that, though – a free-man from another House, I mean. I expect they kill their own people all the time. What had your uncle done?'

  Halli's face was expressionless. 'Nothing. He was drunk.'

  'Yes, wasn't he? Seems a bit harsh, though. Think yourself lucky they're not your neighbours. They're always shifting the boundary posts to their advantage, and of course my father never does anything about it, just bows and scrapes and kisses the ground beneath their boots. He's in a dilemma now, of course – hi
s cousin Astrid on one side and Hord Hakonsson on the other . . . He'll have to tread carefully in the mediation. Still, Father never does anything that isn't careful. Does anyone?' With a quick movement she plucked the pins from her lips and inserted them into her hair somewhere behind her head. 'Damn, nearly lost it there . . . No, it's fine . . . We're off to inform the Lawgivers now on our way home.'

  'I know. My parents just told me. They're eager for the settlement.' His voice was bitter.

  Aud turned her head, pointed to her hair. 'How does it look?'

  'Sort of lopsided.'

  'It'll do. So you were fond of him? Your uncle.'

  'Yes.'

  'I'm sorry. You know my mother died last winter. So I know how it feels to lose the only person who . . . Well.' She ran her hands down her kirtle, looked away. 'I've got to get ready. My father will be waiting.'

  Halli said: 'Listen, I'm sorry too. About your loss.'

  She smiled then, her eyes glistening. 'Oh, I go up the hill and talk to her all the time. Sit by the cairn, bring her flowers.

  Better than being at home with Father and my aunt, talking endlessly about marriage. Still—'

  But Halli was frowning now. 'Up at the cairn? What about the Trows?'

  Aud blew her cheeks out in disdain. 'Well, I don't cross over, and I don't go up at night. But even so . . . Who do you know, Halli Sveinsson, who has ever actually seen a Trow?'

  'Well, I have, more or less.'

  'Mmm. By "seen" I mean really set eyes on one, not just wet your leggings when the wind howled through the cairns or a hare ran from a thicket.'

  Halli drew himself up. 'Not two weeks ago I was high on the ridge, doing far-herding. There's a place where the wall's crumbled. A ewe got lost, strayed beyond the cairns. In the night' – his voice fell to a whisper; his round eyes stared left and right into the dim regions of the passage – 'in the night, I heard her screaming. At dawn, there it was – her carcass lying there! Torn to pieces, it was.'