by T L Greylock
“Lord,” one of Raef’s captors began, but the Hammerling waved him off without raising his head. It was another voice that finally caused him to stir.
“Skallagrim.” Eirik of Kolhaugen burst from the growing crowd of men, his face torn between sorrow and relief, his hair tamed for battle and drawn back from his face into a knot at the crown of his head. He pulled up short between Raef and the Hammerling.
The Hammerling straightened, the map dropped and forgotten, left to curl up in the snow. Even in the dim light Raef could see that the Hammerling was still hale and strong, undiminished by the rigors of battle and the long roads he had traveled. This was a man in his prime.
If the warriors encircling them spoke, Raef was deaf to it. He could hear only the beating of his own heart as the Hammerling came to stand in front of him. The lord of Finngale had grown his beard and taken to splitting it into three braids. He wore a massive black-furred cloak across his shoulders, held in place by a thick gold chain, and he walked without any trace of the injury that had nearly claimed his life after the battle in Solheim.
When he was three paces from Raef, the Hammerling halted and it was then that Raef could at last see his eyes, see the triumph mixed there with something that Raef could only name disappointment.
“You surprise me, Skallagrim.”
“Will my people live?”
The Hammerling shrugged, a great rolling of his shoulders. “That depends. Have you left instruction for them to accept me as king?”
“They do not know I am here.”
“Then likely many will die.” Brandulf beckoned Asmund forward and the boy came to stand at his father’s side. The Hammerling rested a heavy arm across Asmund’s shoulders. “This war has gone on long enough, Skallagrim. I mean to see it ended. Vannheim must kneel.”
Raef swallowed back the bitterness in his mouth. “I ask only that you offer them the choice before the slaughter begins. Many lives might be spared.”
“And I should listen to the request of an oathbreaker?” The Hammerling, his voice suddenly full of ire, released Asmund and took a single, menacing stride toward Raef.
Raef did not flinch or break the stare between them. “The oath was mine, as was the breaking of it. Your justice ends with me.”
“We shall see.” The Hammerling turned away and gestured at Eirik. “Secure him.” And it was in that moment, as Eirik of Kolhaugen bound Raef’s wrists with rope and his weapons were stripped from him, that Raef saw the face he had come for, the face that filled him with raw fury and bile. Hauk of Ruderk stood to the side, watching, arms folded across his chest.
“There is a traitor in your midst,” Raef shouted at the Hammerling’s back. Brandulf stopped and turned to face Raef once more.
“Yes, here you are.” The Hammerling grinned and the warriors laughed.
Raef, undeterred, went on. “Have you ever wondered why Fengar continues to elude you? How many times has he been within your grasp only to slip away and vanish?”
“If this is some means to plead for your life, you are wasting your breath.” But there was a flicker of hesitation in Brandulf’s eyes.
Raef, his mind racing across possibilities, continued, his thoughts tumbling only a step before his tongue. “Ever has the lord of Solheim been two steps ahead of you. But deception is not in his blood. And neither does the faithful Stefnir of Gornhald have it in him to weave a tangle of lies. Someone is feeding you false information sprinkled with enough morsels of truth that you are kept in ignorance, just as someone warns Fengar when he ventures too close to the bear’s jaws.”
“These are dangerous words, Skallagrim.”
“You know there is truth in them. I can see it in your eyes.”
The Hammerling flushed underneath his beard and snorted. “Then name this foul traitor if you know so much.”
A wild thought bloomed in Raef’s mind, a spark that seemed to lead him, blindly, into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, Raef took the plunge. “Once, Fengar was your captive. Who set him free?” The Hammerling frowned and Raef went on. “Who fostered the peace between you, who saw the prudence in fighting your common enemy, the Palesword, together?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Raef saw Hauk uncross his arms, his face marred like the sea before a storm. The Hammerling’s gaze shifted, sliding across the faces around him until it came to rest on the lord of Ruderk.
“Fear for his life births lies on his tongue, lord.” Hauk had smoothed his face over. “Was I not among the first to name you king? Have I not ever been at your side, in victory and defeat? We need a strong king to unite us. Fengar will only divide us further and this I will not bear.”
“No,” Raef said, his mind seizing upon a thought not yet fully formed. “No, Fengar will do as he is told.” Raef swung around to face the Hammerling, one arm still held by Eirik of Kolhaugen. “Imagine that this war is over, the last battle fought. Imagine that you rule from Finngale with a firm grip and with wisdom. You heed the opinions of good men, men you trust, but always every choice is yours. No man will sway you when your mind has been made up. I know you well enough to know this. Tell me, then, what place is there for those who seek to influence the king, who would move in the shadows to see their will done?”
The Hammerling was still. “None.”
“And he knows it,” Raef said, pointing at Hauk without breaking eye contact with Brandulf. “Fengar does not have your strength of will, does not command the respect you do. He was only meant to appear to rule while others did so in truth.”
Hauk broke in, laughing. “You have spun a fine tale, Skallagrim. But your story would have me control the elements, not just a man. The fire at the gathering nearly killed Fengar of Solheim.”
“And yet by lucky chance it did not. It was heralded as a sign from Odin. What better way to be sure that a dozen voices would pledge themselves?”
Hauk scowled, his derision at Raef’s words plain for all to see. “You cannot,” he said to the Hammerling, “believe him. My men have died in your name.”
Brandulf looked from Raef to Hauk, then focused on Eirik of Kolhaugen. “Take them both.”
Hauk howled in protest but soon he and Raef were both shuffled away and placed under watch beside a small campfire. They sat in mutual hatred and enforced silence until the Hammerling came to them. A hooded figure behind him slipped into the firelight and Raef felt a knot of apprehension grow in his gut as the hood was swept off to reveal Eira. The shieldmaiden gave no sign of recognition and her grey eyes were sheltered from his sight by her downcast lids.
“Eira tells me you have a grievance against Hauk of Ruderk, Skallagrim. A personal one.” The Hammerling stood over them, the black fur wrapped close, shielding the glinting gold from the hungry firelight. His voice was carefully measured and betrayed nothing. “Once before you accused someone of murdering your father. You were wrong then.”
“He admitted it to me,” Raef said.
“Another lie,” Hauk said.
Raef lunged at Hauk but was brought up short by strong hands at his collar and his face was shoved into the snow. Raef fought to breathe and only at the Hammerling’s command was he let up, though his lips still brushed the snow.
“You do nothing to help yourself, Skallagrim,” the Hammerling said. Though Raef could not move his head to see the other man, he could hear weariness in his voice. “You have brought yourself within striking distance of the man you believe was responsible for the plot to kill your father. How am I, knowing this, to believe anything you have said? How am I to know that your warriors are not creeping through the trees at this very moment? How do I know an arrow is not trained on my neck as we speak?”
“I came alone,” Raef said, spitting snow as he spoke. “I came to spare my people if I could and to kill him. There is no threat to you.”
“What do you call the rumors spreading among my men? What do you call the distrust you have sown? Your death will not wash that away.”
“Once you said
you would rather have me as an ally than kill me.”
The Hammerling was quiet for a long moment and Raef wished he could see his face. “The time for that is long past, Raef, son of Einarr.”
“Perhaps, but I am still that man, and you found it in yourself to trust that man’s word once, despite the differences between us. I ask only that you trust it again now.”
Silence again. Raef waited, straining against the hands of the men who held him down, but the only sound that came was that of footsteps going through the snow. When Raef was allowed to sit up, the Hammerling was gone.
Eira remained. Her dark hair spilled out from within her hood as she leaned over to poke at the fire.
Raef knew he should keep his mouth shut, knew he should not try to delve into the shieldmaiden’s mind, for he had swum there once before and had found the dark depths foreboding. But the words were out as though spoken by someone else.
“Why, Eira? What did I do to deserve your betrayal, your hatred?”
“I do not hate you.” She looked surprised. “I only saw that you did not have the strength of will to do what needed to be done.”
Raef saw Isolf’s spine before him, saw the shattered ribs, the pulsing lungs laid out across his shoulder blades. “You might be surprised to learn what I have the will to do.”
Eira shrugged as though she did not care. “I have said this before. You are like a dog. A good dog. But only a dog. It is wolves that shape the world.”
“And the extent of your treachery?”
She met his eyes briefly, then pulled a long knife from her belt and began to sharpen it. “Do you remember when we rode west from the burning lake? We passed my shieldmaidens and later I told you they had chosen a new leader.”
“I remember.”
“That was a lie.” Her words were as simple as the movements of her hand. “They are as loyal to me as ever and were on their way to pledge themselves to the Hammerling.”
“You mean to Hauk.”
She ignored this and went on with her task as though there was nothing else to say.
“It was you who set me adrift on that boat. Your shieldmaidens.”
She nodded. “You were not supposed to survive.”
“Then why not kill me?”
Eira looked up. “Bodies have a way of inspiring revenge. Better that your fate be uncertain.”
“And you came back when you heard I lived. All the while communicating with Hauk.”
Eira’s lips remained pressed together and Raef sensed he would get little else from her.
“I cared for you.” The words were foolish and Raef regretted them immediately.
Eira shrugged again. “Would you have me say the same?”
The shame vanished, replaced by a heated anger. “No.” Raef hunched his shoulders and drew his knees up to his chest for warmth, his mind on the small knife wrapped against his inner thigh. In their haste and surprise, the Hammerling’s men had not searched him with care. He wondered how far he would get before Eira slashed his throat.
The arrow lodged in Eira’s neck with such speed and silence that Raef was not roused from his thoughts until the shieldmaiden began to choke on her own blood. A second arrow found one of the Hammerling’s guards, then a third, and by then Eira was dead. Raef reached for her long knife and launched himself at Hauk, but he was thrown to the ground mid-stride by the falling weight of the last of the Hammerling’s men. By the time he scrambled out from under the dead man, his fingers searching for the knife in the snow, Hauk was out of sight and Raef was seized by hooded figures and dragged into the trees.
Behind them, voices rose in alarm but Raef could only stumble along within the iron grip of his new captors, his hood slipping over his eyes, as they rushed over rough ground. The hill rose before them and up they went, the only sounds those of their feet churning through the snow and their harsh breathing.
When at last they came to a stop, Raef stumbled into one of his captors and dropped to his knees, then righted himself and flung his hood away from his eyes. A pair of shadowed faces stared back at him, both unfamiliar.
“Who are you?” Raef asked, his chest still heaving from the effort of climbing.
“You misplaced your sword.”
That voice. Gone, gone to Valhalla. Raef’s heart slammed in his chest, the sound of that voice thrummed in his ears, and all else was numb. The faces of the two men before him seemed to fade from sight and Hauk of Ruderk vanished from Raef’s mind.
“Lost your tongue as well?” He could hear the smile now, see the laughter in her eyes. His skin prickled and his heart pounded relentlessly, but the rest of him was rooted as deep as Yggdrasil. “It is a fine sword. Perhaps I will keep it for myself.”
She stepped from behind a gnarled pine, sending showers of snow to the ground as she brushed through the branches. She was dressed in black from toe to hood, a bow in hand, and the grin faded, but the eyes sparkled still, green, so green, even in the cold light of the moon.
And then she was in his arms, her heart beating against his own, her face buried into his neck, his hands tearing away her hood to reveal the face that had filled his dreams.
“Siv.”
She smelled of pine and woodsmoke. Her nose was cold against his skin, her hands wrapped tight around him in a furious embrace. At last Raef released her and took her face in his hands.
“How?”
Siv smiled. “There will be time for that later.” She stood tall to kiss him, a quick, light touch, her lips cold on his. “Come, we must go.” Taking his hand, she pulled him through the trees, her feet swift and sure in the snow. Branches slapped against Raef, sending shivers of snow across his face. Some landed on the back of his neck and melted, soaking in icy rivulets under his cloak. Brushing the dusting of snow from his eyes, Raef plunged after her, heedless to everything but the feel of her hand in his.
Horses were waiting just over the crest of the hill. Behind them, Raef could hear a swell of voices rising from the narrow glen, but Siv and the two men conferred in low voices and they seemed content to wait. Moments later, a third man burst through the trees from the east, leading the horse Raef had left behind. Strapped to the horse’s saddle were all of the weapons Raef had been stripped of in the Hammerling’s camp. Laughing, Raef wrapped his arms around Siv once more and, spinning, lifted her from the snow. A moment later, all five were mounted and picking a careful trail through the trees with as much speed as they dared, but rather than head directly west back to the Vestrhall, Siv led them north, following a ridge toward a pair of bright stars that hovered just above the horizon. When the ridge veered sharply right and began a steep climb, Siv turned left and they descended to a small mountain lake, the snow-covered ice a smooth empty surface gleaming bright in contrast to the black of night.
There were no fires and little enough sound or movement, but as they neared the lake’s shore, Raef caught sight of warriors and their horses clustered there. The man riding closest to Raef puckered his lips and let out a sharp, three-note whistle, mimicking the call of a mountain sparrow. A moment later, an answering call sounded from below. Not a word was spoken until Siv came to a halt and dismounted, and then it was only whispers between her and a single man whose face was obscured by a deep hood.
Then, without any command uttered or signal given that Raef could see, the warriors mounted and, as though riding a single horse, began to flow along the lake. Caught up in the pack, Raef was swept along and he soon lost sight of Siv. Their path carried them up and down through a series of rough steps in the land, each dotted with another lake in the chain that ran the length of these high plains.
They came to a halt along the last lake, this one the smallest yet. Across the water, steep walls of rock rose out of the snow, the shoulders of one of the tallest mountains in Vannheim. A pair of small buildings, dwarfed by the mountain, were nestled on the lake’s shore and it was there that the party of warriors dismounted. The summer farm consisted of two turf-roofed building
s built from stout timbers and meant to house young boys and girls charged with watching the sheep or goats as they grazed the rich grass in the high meadows. Now firmly entrenched in winter’s domain, it was clear the only people to trespass here in recent days were the warriors.
Only ten or so men might fit in each building, but they did not cram into either in search of warmth. Instead, each man remained by his horse and each seemed to keep a silent vigil over the tiny lake. Siv appeared at Raef’s side and placed a hand on his arm, then nodded toward one of the huts. Inside, three men waited for them. One was the man Siv had exchanged words with, though his hood was now removed to show a wide, solemn face and a head of streaky grey hair. He was not a large man, though he commanded the small room without question, and the gaze that focused on Raef as he crossed the threshold was full of intent.
The interior of the hut was bare but for a single low bench. There was no pit for a fire, no smoke hole, for the farm was warm enough during the long days of summer, but a small lantern set on the bench provided a bit of light that danced across the faces of all those present.
“You are Skallagrim.” The grey-haired man’s voice was deep and filled up the dirt-floored hut with ease, and yet, for all that, was still soft.
“I am. Will you give me your name so that I might offer my thanks?”
The man considered this for a moment. “You have her to thank,” he said at last, nodding his head toward Siv. Then he swung around to the pair of men behind him and continued the conversation they had been having. To Raef’s surprise, Siv grinned and, taking Raef’s hand, led him back into the open air.
“Now you have met Ailmaer Wind-footed,” Siv said. They walked toward the lake, weaving between the unmoving, silent warriors, her hand still tucked in his. “And now you can say you know him as well as most.”
