The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  “Father hold it in the family. Yours wasn’t.” He looked sad and then furious. “Do you know, there are rumors my mother and your grandfather had an affair during the time Hulderic chased Maroboodus down the rivers to the Hermanduri lands?”

  I frowned and shook off the curiosity. “I have no time for such tales.”

  He saw the flash of interest in my eyes, nonetheless. “I have had years to speak to people about our family. I even met some Goths from the north, who came south for the rumors of the ring and to find their kin. They were from Hogholm, where your father had killed someone he had hated once, and where Boat-Lord had lived. These men were cousins to the great Goth.”

  “They saw your ring,” I said, and laughed. “They must have thought you mad.”

  He looked angry, cursed softly, and nodded. “Horsa, he knew the real ring. It seems they had seen it too often and thought to acquire it. Maroboodus had even promised it to them against some old favors. That I had it, or claimed to have it, gave me his audience. I tried to tell them how I was relative to the Cherusci, to Goths, and could solve all their problems with the Cherusci, but it seemed that it had been attempted before, and Horsa was no fool. He told me, years and years ago, that I should either find the real ring—for I could answer all his questions about our family—but he would not let me lead any of his men. Langobardi, the same. And then your father returned.”

  I squinted. “He threatened them with war and extinction.”

  He laughed. “He did and still does. They haven’t fully joined him yet, but they will. I have watched him growing in power, and I have seen my prospects slipping through my fingers. I have been too long trying to find a way to raise them, but the ring is a lie, and I am a joke.”

  “What if,” I wondered, “the real ring would show up in Stone Home?”

  He blinked.

  “Would it not make Maroboodus a liar, like you have been?” I asked.

  He nodded. “It would ruin Maroboodus. He would lose face and allies.”

  I smiled. “Do you know if Maroboodus is working with Rome?”

  He winked. “Isn’t it odd how he evaded an entire war in the north? It is, isn’t it? Tiberius had legions concentrated on his borders, and the Pannonian incident…”

  I grimaced and looked away.

  He looked at me hard, and I decided he was not quite addled yet. “You know something about that?”

  I shook my head slowly. “I know secrets about many Roman wars, Catualda. I have seen and done things I cannot speak about. And still...”

  “You will still keep doing such things,” he said. “You shall do things that will freeze a jotun’s blood, eh? And I?” He laughed. “I remember when I fooled you, Hraban. You are not that snot-nosed boy on the side of the hill, wondering which way you should turn, and what you should do with your father’s demands. Oh, I am that fool now.” He looked dark and drank mead, gnashing his teeth. “It is your fault.”

  “Mine?” I chuckled. “I sent you to Hel. I let you make your own future in Hel, and it was a gift, indeed, for you cost me Hulderic and Sigilind, and so many others died for you and Father, and—”

  “And deeds that were before us, deeds of others,” he said. “It is not all our fault, Hraban. It is the fault of the gods and of our relatives, even before we were born.”

  I smiled. “You see, Catualda, trust is hard to come by. You played a part in my mother’s death, and no matter who started what, I am not yet over that part. And I know there are many who are not either.”

  He simmered slowly in the seat and cursed. “Woden’s tits,” he said. “By the lice-infested groin of Fenfir, you called me here to tell me this. Nothing’s changed.”

  “What did you expect?” I asked. “Death cannot be recalled.”

  “A reconciliation,” he said softly. “That’s what I hoped for. I thought you seek kin to aid you in your plans. You have them. You are not simply Armin’s dog. You are a dog but not his. I hoped…” He held his face, trembling. “To find a home again. To find my kin.”

  I leaned forward and smiled at him. “We have kin. Maroboodus had a son. Another son. He had one in Rome. Don’t ask me about that. He had one in the lands of the Hermanduri, years before. Tamura, a Sarmatian, Roxolani queen slept with him. He sired a boy before he was exiled to Rome. You met him. Gochan.”

  He laughed softly. “And does the boy love him?”

  “None of us do,” I said. “In that, if nothing else, we stand as one. The man and I have made our oaths together. First, we must finish fighting Rome. We must beat Rome. To do that, we must make sure Maroboodus is not planning on helping Germanicus. He won’t, if his power is cut, or his plans put into chaos.”

  “You cannot beat them,” he said. “Rome.”

  “I am truly bored with hearing that, Catualda,” I said. “We can, if Armin changes from a hero into a king.”

  “What would you have of me?” he asked. “Hero into a king…bah!”

  I shook my head. “Aye, from hero into a king. Now, I would have you try to be the man you were supposed to be," I told him. “I will help you. I shall give you a home. And kin. A chance. That is more than you have had. A chance.”

  “You give me all that?” said he questioned with a sarcastic smile. “I am not sure I merit such generosity as you just said. I have just rags on me.”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But you will. I shall tell you what will happen, and if we defeat Germanicus, Catualda, you may sit on a throne of dreams.”

  I spoke to him, explained to him what he should do, and he stared at me in shock. He shook his head and held it. He got up several times to walk around, and to curse.

  He finally walked back to me.

  “Gravemound is near,” he told me.

  “We are seeing it being dug,” I told him.

  “Death is not far at all, and I am hinging my future on a thinnest of hopes” he said.

  I shrugged. “We are in agreement in that,” I said. “We, all the foes of my father and the bitter enemies of Germanicus, are walking a bridge of swords,” I said, making sure he knew he would be one of those walking as well. “We must stand on a thin sliver of hope. Not all of us can. That bridge is so fragile. You can take your fake ring, Catualda, and go back to begging for scraps from Semnones.” I leaned forward. “Or, as I said, be what you were supposed to be. Bero’s son. Guile and bravery, you must have to reach great goals, my friend. That is what you must have.” I shrugged. “We leave tomorrow, or you may go now.”

  He looked at Adalwulf. “And he comes along?”

  “You mean to ask, if I die and you fail to serve me, will he hunt you down?” I said.

  Adalwulf grunted. “I will. I like none of Hraban’s plans, but so far, we have survived.”

  He looked at me with nervous twitch in his hand. “I am sorry for your Cassia. And Gunda.”

  I nodded. “Death has become for mine so often. It claims all my relatives, it seems. It is barely something I notice these days.”

  He shivered at my tone and then nodded.

  “Aye,” Catualda murmured. “Anyone else? Whatever happened to the band of men you so loved and trusted?”

  “They fell on the side of the road,” I said softly. “And they regretted following me. They had honor. I have no doubt you have no such qualms with our plans. I have told you what you can be. You shall help me. Or you go and waste your high blood and die in a gutter.”

  He nodded. “I will go to Armin’s village, then. With him.”

  I smiled and got up. “And I shall go to Godsmount. I have business there, and I shall finish some other feuds, as I do. It is time. I am sure I shall have many people on my tail.”

  Adalwulf looked unhappy.

  Catualda was frowning. “How many will go with you?”

  “Not many,” I said. “Just Gervas and Wulf, and a guide. Nay, you will not offer. You won’t mean it. You will go to Armin’s halls, and you have a deed to do.”

  He smiled. “It will be easy. I
am well used to lying. But will you not die in Godsmount? You said people will come for you.”

  I smiled. “I have one more loaded dice to throw. Maybe two.”

  He saluted me with his mead.

  I got up, clasped his arm, and went to Adalwulf. He looked at the man, then at me. “They are out there. There are others. My men—”

  “Make sure Gochan goes with you,” I said. “They will be keeping an eye on you and things will go amiss if they are scared off. Take them with you and play your part. I will need one man to guide me there.”

  “I have a hunter, a fine boy,” he said. “He will go. Will I see him again?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “If he is lucky.”

  He shook his head. “So it begins. We are bastards. If the gods receive us, Hraban, they shall curse us to Hel’s lap when they find out what was done.”

  “Let us make sure our kin sit in Valholl, and you and I shall kiss Hel’s rotten lips. And remember, she came for me first.”

  “Make sure my boy doesn’t die,” he said, and left.

  He nodded, and I went to speak to Gervas, who frowned and began to prepare.

  I would make life hard Maroboodus. I would give Armin a chance to win. And I would kill the last of those who hunted us.

  CHAPTER 17

  I watched the thousands of warriors riding and walking for north. A hundred war-lords and six thousand Chatti were going to war, and what remained of their might, would guard the land from the east.

  Their heavy loads of weapons were swinging on their shoulders, and I watched the Sarmatians and Adalwulf’s men ride on their flanks. Arpus, Adgandestrius, and Aerumer departed to the north under their standards, surrounded by their war-bands. They were one of the deadliest forces in the north, one Rome feared just after Armin’s horn.

  I saw men riding after them.

  Some were men I knew. They were Donor’s scouts, keeping an eye on Adalwulf and Gochan, while others rode to Mattium, and saw me on the wall.

  I feared more those who watched from the shadows. The Raven Catchers were not far.

  I turned on the wall and saw the vitka, Libys, looking up at me. He was about to ride out after the army. I nodded at him, and he bowed his head. I walked down to the street. I made my way past my hall and into the stables of Gochan.

  There, my horse was ready. There, too, was Gervas in his battle armor, Wulf leaning on a spear, and a boy, Wide Snout. He was one of those who served Adalwulf’s band. He grinned, rubbed his many times broken nose, shifted his bow to fit on the horse’s saddle, and climbed on. He grasped a string of horse. “We’ll be riding for some days. It is near Inguiomerus’s land.”

  I nodded. “I know. We’ll go in fast. Then we have some trouble in our hands.”

  He frowned and lifted his saddle. I saw he had plenty of arrows. I smiled at him, and he walked to open the doors. We thundered out from the gates and rode northeast, across the meadows and bare hillside.

  I saw men whirling in their saddles, riding out of tree lines, and knew Donor at least had seen us. A man was riding like mad for the west.

  Others moved to follow us. We rode hard, and during that day, when we were led to the hills and woods of the Chatti, it seemed we would lose them.

  We rode long into the night, and when we camped, I heard a horn blowing, and it was answered somewhere in the north, and then the night was quiet.

  I smiled at Wulf and Gervas. “They are coming.”

  They, having witnessed many odd things that past year, looked at me strangely. Gervas shifted in his seat of pine. “How will this end, Father?”

  I smiled. “Woden smiles at us. Armin, our Summer Sword, shall defeat Rome. I shall make sure Maroboodus rethinks killing me and my family, and Germanicus will die. There will be many things that go amiss, boys, but you two? You shall live like kings.”

  “In Rome?” Wulf wondered.

  I shrugged. “That is the idea. But we had another idea, and I think that is far more likely one.”

  They looked at each other and then began sharpening their spears.

  ***

  We could see Godsmount after two long days of riding, and half of another. We crossed a flat land, one that was in equal parts meadows and fields and woods, but the Godsmount, on the way to Inguiomerus’s lands in the east, was the highest mountain in the north, or so at least Wide Snout claimed.

  “Bigger than those in the south,” he claimed. “Big enough to put all to shame.”

  Wulf pelted him with a bit of dry bread, and the boy grinned as he swatted at it.

  The trip had been an ominous one. During the night, horns brayed across the land. During the day, we could see men riding after us, and this morning, there had been a party of men on a hillock, looking down at us.

  They could be anyone. They could be local peasants, making sure we were not there to steal their horses and cows. They could be warriors, on their way to Armin’s war.

  And still, they had a look of scum, and such scum I knew well. Bounty hunters, criminals, uncouth men. I had seen and met the like all my life.

  The Raven Catchers. Ourbazo.

  And out there, too, would be Donor. He was to keep an eye on us. He would be coming to kill me. Armin would not intervene.

  We rode until the evening, until the forests thickened, and land began to slope up to wooded, craggy hillsides, and then, eventually, the mountain grew out of the distance.

  Godsmount.

  The holy mountain of Woden, where the vitka and the völva said Woden had rested after he had carved Midgard from Ymir’s corpse lay before us. I watched the twin peaks and the crags between the two on top and knew the way to where Woden had rested his tired arse was on the left side. Once, Odo had hunted me up the hills and mountainsides for the land of god. There, I had finally seen my daughter Lif, just a toddler. There, too, Veleda, who had protected her. There, the curse of Lok’s on Woden’s Nine Worlds had been postponed by Ishild’s unhappy but valiant act, and there we had put down Lok’s snakes, ripping them apart. There, they had failed to trap us, and we had been happy for a moment. I had missed Lif, whom I was never supposed to meet again, but things had been well for a moment.

  I had not known Drusus had died.

  I looked up to the mountains.

  They wouldn’t be there, Lif and Veleda, where Wandal and I had fought like lions against the bitter foe.

  I begged they were truly gone.

  If not, I begged they would hide. They would see me come a mile away.

  “See,” I told Wide Snout, “there. We go up to the left side.”

  He was frowning. “Wait. We are actually going up to the mountain?”

  I nodded. “We are.”

  “It is not allowed,” he said. “No man comes out alive, they say.”

  “I came out alive, and so will the others. Even boys,” I told him. “But first, find us a place to look out to the land.”

  He led us up and found a place, a rocky hillside, and on top, you could look over the lands. I stopped my horse and saw the mountain’s slopes rise high above us, eagles and hawks circling its sides as they hunted for food. They were busy, and when I surveyed the land, it looked abandoned.

  “I see nothing,” Wulf said. “Not a thing.”

  Gervas agreed. “They are out there.”

  Wide Snout sniffled. “There are twenty men down there. There is the man Donor and his best men. I have seen them often and many arrived this morning from the west. There.”

  He pointed to the wood just under us. We saw nothing.

  Then he took a ragged breath. “And those men. Evil as spirits. Two parties. A lot of hunters. See?”

  Wulf and Gervas looked at him with incredulity, and he pointed a finger below, just as Sunna was setting in a red sphere of beauty.

  A snake of ten men were going to the woods we had ridden through. They were far beyond and riding for us. Donor’s men, if they were behind us, would be in danger. The riders were silent, dark crows on horses and
moved slowly with their horses, in shadows. They looked like an evil, wild bunch of spirits.

  Beyond them, came another party, more than ten.

  “They see each other?” Wulf asked.

  Wide Snout shook his head. “I don’t know if Donor’s Cherusci see those bastards. But the bastards know of them. They will either fight them, or camp and rest before coming after us. All of them.” He looked horrified. “They are after us, are they not? They might find us tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “I will make sure they find us tonight. Come.”

  Wide Snout was grinning nervously. He was a brave hunter’s son, a boy who had ridden the lands for weeks in each direction. He was shaking with fear.

  I ruffled his hair and rode on.

  “What do they think they can do? Just fifty of them,” Wulf murmured. “They will get killed.”

  Gervas chuckled. “There might be more. They do know what heroes we are, after all.”

  I laughed, though I was terrified for the two. “They can do plenty, boys. They know how to fight, and you can barely brawl.”

  “I have brawled men to death,” Wulf said unhappily. “This ring. Father explained what we are doing, but are we truly here for a ring?”

  “The Draupnir’s Spawn,” I said. “A cursed thing here in the south. Up north and with Semnones? A wonderous treasure of the Suebi.”

  Wulf nodded at Gervas. “It is something he might carry? Is it powerful?”

  I nodded. “It belongs to my family. My family and it go together.”

  “Are we here to fetch it?” he asked. “Truly?”

  “We shall fetch it,” I said. “If we can. It fell to a hole in the mountains, and there we must go to get it. It is on a corpse, and it will not be easy to find.”

  Wide Snout tapped the pack horse. Ropes aplenty were packed on it.

  Wulf and Gervas looked scared. I smiled. “This night, we will settle our scores with Donor and Ourbazo. We have plenty enough to do with Germanicus and my father, eh? Let us go.”

  We rode for a while, and then I looked back to the woods. For a moment, I spotted a man far below, sitting on a horse, looking up at us, his spear feathered and long. He was still, likely thinking I could not see him, but I did, and I knew he wasn’t alone.