The Long War 03 - The Red Prince

by A. J. Smith

  David narrowed his eyes. ‘Our cloud-stone went missing some weeks ago.’

  ‘That’s because I stole it,’ replied Falling Cloud, with a mischievous smirk.

  ‘I hate to say it, David,’ began Wulfrick, ‘but the cloud-stone was the reason we came here. It was a bonus to snatch Jarvik from under Rulag’s nose.’

  The chain-master shook his head again, this time slowly and with evident frustration. ‘So, we’re just a by-product? Has the crest of Jarvik fallen so far?’

  Halla rubbed her eye and prevented Falling Cloud’s response. ‘David, this is not the time. Fjorlan is what matters, not Tiergarten, Fredericksand or Jarvik.’

  The sound of running feet and Oleff Hard Head bounded up the nearby steps to join them on the battlements. He was out of breath and his axe was held firmly in his fist.

  ‘Easy, man,’ said Wulfrick. ‘You’re too old to be running around.’

  Oleff panted and leant on his knees. ‘We have a problem, Halla.’

  ‘Another one?’ she replied.

  ‘Afraid so,’ he said between laboured breaths. ‘To the north, an enclave of Low Kasters who don’t like being told what to do.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said David. ‘I expected trouble from them.’

  Halla and Wulfrick both glared at him, the axe-maiden wearily and the axe-master with frustration.

  ‘Why are men of the Low Kast in Jarvik?’ she asked.

  David smiled thinly, perhaps realizing that he should have warned them. ‘Rulag used to say that they’re the best hunters and trackers in all of Ranen. And they have a way with trolls. He conspired to use them as his ranger corps. During the winters it’s rather hard to keep larders stocked and the trolls at bay. They have a knack for finding food and grain in any weather.’

  ‘How did he persuade them?’ asked Wulfrick. ‘The berserkers of Varorg are not easy to sway. As Oleff said, they don’t like being told what to do.’

  ‘He killed their chieftain and all of his family.’ It was said plainly. ‘The way I understand it, if a clan has no hereditary leadership, they pledge themselves to someone of strength.’

  ‘Rulag? He was the best they could find?’ queried Falling Cloud.

  David shrugged. ‘They had just seen him massacre their leader and his entire family. That certainly says strength to me.’

  ‘Will this be a problem?’ asked Halla, barely mustering the energy to listen to the response.

  ‘I should expect so, yes,’ replied David. ‘They’re not loyal as such, but they respect strength. I suppose you need to show equal or greater strength... prove you’re more worthy than Rulag Ursa.’

  ‘How many of them?’ asked Wulfrick.

  Emerald Eyes considered the question. ‘Hard to tell, they come and go as they please. I’d say that thirty or so actually make their homes in Jarvik. They bed down in an old cattle shed against the northern wall. The place stinks of troll piss, but it keeps them away from the rest of our people and stops them randomly butchering the populace.’

  Halla knew little about the berserker clans of the Low Kast. They came from the wildest area of Fjorlan, a place not easily travelled. Despite this, the men of that land had a terrifying reputation and a highly honoured place among the faithful of Rowanoco. They called the Ice Giant by the name of Varorg, for reasons she was unclear about, and her father had told her a hundred stories about grotesquely deformed men frothing at the mouth and revelling in bloody combat.

  ‘We could just kill them,’ muttered Falling Cloud. ‘If they don’t behave, I mean.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable, if a bit aggressive,’ said Wulfrick. He turned to Oleff. ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘No, but they beat up a couple of our men who tried. They’ve barricaded themselves into the cattle shed.’ The chain-master panted a few times and caught his breath. ‘Some fellow called Rorg said he’ll only speak to our leader.’

  Halla and Wulfrick looked at David.

  ‘Rorg?’ she asked.

  ‘I know the man,’ he replied. ‘He’s called the Defiler. You probably don’t want to know why.’

  Halla leant heavily on her walking stick. Her chest hurt, her leg ached and her body felt as if it needed a few days’ sleep.

  Breathing heavily, she heard Wulfrick and David arguing about the berserkers. Their raised voices were distant and the words flowed into a muddle of sounds. The axe-maiden would never admit that she needed rest – the previous few weeks while she was fighting off the Gorlan venom had been enough – but Halla, strong as she was, needed to sleep.

  ‘Will they wait until morning?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think they’re going to burst forth in a rampage,’ said Oleff. ‘They’re happy in their shed for now.’

  ‘So, keep an eye on them. Take a few dozen men and stay at a safe distance. I’ll speak to them when the sun rises.’

  None of the men argued and Wulfrick went so far as to assist Halla in walking down the stone steps.

  The axe-master turned back to David and the others.

  ‘Get some rest,’ he said, ‘and, Falling Cloud, stop looking for a fight. You’ll get one soon enough.’

  * * *

  Sleep helped, but only a little. Halla was thinking more slowly and her decisions had become sharp and decisive over the last few months. No one questioned her authority and her captains reinforced every word she spoke, but the lady of Tiergarten was a woman conflicted. She had pledged herself to Fjorlan and to keep her company alive, but she still doubted whether she was up to the task.

  What if a decision got men killed? What if she was wrong and they couldn’t beat Grammah Black Eyes at the Bear’s Mouth? She’d taken Jarvik in a bloodless coup and had increased their number considerably, but what if these men were just more bodies to pile up when they lost?

  These thoughts disturbed her, but they also kept her sharp. It was a long trek to Tiergarten and she would need every ounce of wit and intelligence.

  A bang on the door roused her. Anya Coldbane, still called Lullaby by most of her company, strode into her chamber without waiting to be invited. The old wise woman walked straight up to the shuttered windows and flung them outwards, letting freezing air and bright light stream into Halla’s chamber. She baulked and tried to burrow further into her straw-filled mattress.

  ‘Anya, this is not the most pleasant way of being woken.’

  ‘You should have been up hours ago, young lady. Light means action. It’s been light for hours, so we need action.’

  The crotchety woman of Hammerfall was oblivious to the comfort of others, but her healing abilities and her piety had proven useful since they had first encountered her.

  ‘I have met with men of Varorg before,’ said Anya. ‘Perhaps I should accompany you. To stop you saying anything stupid.’

  ‘Such as?’ asked Halla, pulling herself upright.

  ‘Trying to appease them. It’s a sign of weakness.’

  ‘Anything else?’ she prompted, rubbing under her eyepatch and padding her feet on the cold stone floor. ‘Perhaps my sex will be an issue.’ She delivered the comment with sarcasm, not caring what the men of the Low Kast thought.

  ‘Women are not treated well in their culture,’ replied Lullaby. ‘Except wise women, obviously.’

  Halla smiled. ‘I’m likely to kill any man who doesn’t treat me well. I’ve trudged through too much blood to be put off by a berserker.’

  ‘And his thirty friends,’ offered Anya. ‘Don’t be silly, my dear. These men could be good allies.’

  ‘Thirty warriors I can do without,’ she replied.

  Anya made a throaty grunt.

  ‘What?’ demanded the axe-maiden, standing up from her bed and retrieving her walking stick.

  ‘They have craft unknown in the rest of Fjorlan. They can tame the beasts of the ice, communicate over long distances without cloud-stones, and fight harder than any man you know.’ She paused, squinting at Halla. ‘I think I will come with you.’

  ‘Suit y
ourself.’

  Halla dressed quickly, pulling on her leather armour over sore limbs. Within a few minutes she was feeling much more alert than she had the previous day. A cursory smell of her underarms caused her to take a sharp breath of fresh air from the window. Perhaps a bath later in the day, she thought.

  She could hear Wulfrick and Oleff in the next room and both men were in good humour. The taking of Jarvik had gone well and she hoped that morale would be high among her men. She had heard cheering and drunken revelry as she had drifted off to sleep, which made her smile. They only got drunk when they felt safe.

  With Anya following her, she exited the chamber and greeted her battle-brothers. Along with Wulfrick and Oleff were six other warriors, each man armed as if expecting trouble. They knew that the men of the Low Kast were violent and unpredictable. She had ordered Falling Cloud to gather a hundred men to encircle the cattle shed at a distance, in case their negotiations did not go smoothly, but otherwise she planned to approach them openly and with as few men as possible.

  * * *

  Wulfrick had assembled a large breakfast and made sure that they waited for Halla to wake before eating. Once the hearty mix of porridge and honey, bread and fruit, and rich beef sausage had been consumed, they set out into the chill morning air of Jarvik. Lullaby came with them, sheltered behind Wulfrick’s huge shoulders.

  The cattle shed was against the northern wall of the city and was much larger than she had expected. The underground springs kept the area warm and the houses free of snow, though the area was still grim and lifeless, with the continual grunting of cattle. Oleff directed them to the most remote area, down a steep road and against the lowest part of the outer wall.

  ‘They live here?’ asked Wulfrick, turning up his nose at the smell.

  ‘Apparently,’ replied Oleff. ‘They have tunnels that lead into the underground caverns.’

  ‘What, they don’t like using the gates?’ asked Halla.

  ‘I think it’s the other people that don’t like them using the gates.’ Oleff pointed to a barricaded opening that led into the low-ceilinged shed.

  ‘Do we knock?’ asked Wulfrick, slowly unsheathing his great axe.

  A gruff voice came from within. ‘We can hear you. Don’t need to knock.’

  Halla raised her eyebrows and came to a stop directly in front of the barricaded doorway.

  ‘Who am I talking to?’ she asked.

  There was silence for a moment. Wulfrick and Oleff moved to flank Halla, and Lullaby poked her head round the axe-maiden’s shoulder.

  ‘You are a woman,’ said the voice.

  She snorted with amusement. ‘I am. Are you a man?’

  An angry growl sounded from within. ‘I don’t talk to the weak,’ said the Low Kaster.

  ‘Watch your manners,’ barked Wulfrick. ‘We both have axes, so let’s both be polite.’

  ‘You are a man, we will talk to you,’ said the voice.

  Wulfrick turned to Halla. She paused, allowing her anger to rise and her mouth to curl into a sneer.

  ‘You will talk to me!’ she shouted. ‘I am Halla Summer Wolf and I command Jarvik. If you are truly a man, you will open this door and face me.’

  Her men grunted in agreement and hefted their axes behind her. She could hear movement within. After a silent minute which seemed to stretch, the barricade was opened and several men were suddenly visible.

  Each man had a malformed head, bulbous and red, with split veins barely contained behind tight leather strapping. They wore mismatched and poorly maintained leather and fur clothing, with heavy woollen cloaks. Their appearance was both strange and startling, causing Halla to pause in surprise before she could speak. The berserker men of Varorg lived up to their reputation, in appearance at least. Their axes were oversized and several were made of deep ice rather than steel.

  Halla and her men moved into the cattle shed and found themselves standing under low, wooden beams. The shed went back a fair distance into the caverns below Jarvik and nothing but darkness lay beyond the berserkers standing before her. She could count twenty-five men of the Low Kast in the cattle shed.

  ‘You are the Daughter of the Wolf?’ asked the lead man.

  He was tall and his huge arms were mostly bare, covered only at the elbows and wrists with more leather strapping. His eyes were red and Halla thought he was twitching.

  ‘I expected a mightier being. You are a small girl.’

  She was confused and irritated by the man’s words. He knew who she was, but still insulted her.

  Wulfrick, angered at the insult, stepped up next to Halla and glared down at the berserker. ‘I told you once to watch your manners. If I have to say it again, I say it with my axe.’

  The reaction was almost instant. Each one of the men of Varorg began to laugh. The sound was hearty and good-humoured, though their malformed skulls made the spectacle somewhat grotesque.

  ‘You think I’m fucking joking?’ shouted Wulfrick.

  The lead berserker stopped laughing and met Wulfrick’s eyes. ‘I am Rorg, called the Defiler. We laugh because you don’t understand our ways. If we were in the Low Kast I would kill you.’

  Wulfrick frowned, unused to people standing up to him. He paused, allowing Halla to take over.

  ‘You know who I am. Now I know who you are. Don’t push me and we can stay civil. If you have a desire to die in a no doubt glorious but nonetheless futile battle, please attack us.’ Halla wished she didn’t have to use the walking stick and could truly stand up to the man.

  Rorg snarled and his twitching increased. He hefted his ice-axe and lunged forward. The move was sluggish but powerful and Wulfrick had to drop his shoulder to intercept the attack. The two men clashed violently and Rorg’s strength gave way as Wulfrick grunted with exertion. Both men had huge shoulders and Halla had to sidestep to avoid the berserker as he fell to the dusty floor. His eyes were black and he vibrated with anger.

  ‘Come on!’ challenged Wulfrick, waving for the man to rise.

  An inhuman growl sounded from the darkness of the cattle shed. It was a bestial sound that cut through the air and caused Halla’s men to take an involuntary step backwards.

  In the darkness a shape rose from a gap in the floor behind Rorg. The flagstones were broken at regular intervals, giving access to the icy depths of Jarvik. The sound rumbled upwards as the figure pulled itself to a crouched position, hunched under the roof of the cattle shed. It was undoubtedly a troll, but smaller than those Halla had seen and it did not look poised to attack.

  ‘No!’ shouted Rorg, holding his hand up to Wulfrick and Halla. ‘Do not attack, he is a friend.’

  Halla’s men gathered themselves and held their weapons ready. They were shaking at the sight of the huge, hairy beast, but they were men of conviction and would not back down.

  ‘That’s a fucking troll,’ said Oleff, staring wide-eyed at the creature, as his eyes took in the huge tusks and the foot-long claws. ‘It’s in a city... trolls don’t come to cities.’

  The Ice- Man of Rowanoco bellowed again and craned its head into the light. It had dense brown and black fur covering every inch of its huge body and sparkling green opals for eyes. It was hard to determine its height, but Halla guessed at around ten foot tall.

  Rorg stood up quickly and his rage dissipated. He waved his arms at the troll, drawing its eyes away from Halla and her men. ‘Down!’ he said in a commanding voice, causing the beast to grunt and plonk itself into a seated position.

  Halla was stunned. The Ice Men were chaotic eating machines, rampaging through anything in their way. To see one essentially tamed was bewildering.

  ‘How the fuck did you do that?’ asked Wulfrick.

  ‘He is an awakened troll,’ replied Rorg, as if that explained everything.

  ‘Hmm, interesting,’ offered Lullaby in a raspy whisper. ‘It seems that the Ice Father has given us a gift.’

  The troll grunted again, this time at Lullaby, and banged its huge fist on the shed fl
oor at the mention of Rowanoco. Dust rose, indicating the beast’s enormous strength, and Halla panted nervously.

  ‘His name is Unrahgahr,’ said Rorg. ‘The Ice Father has decreed that his family should no longer eat men.’

  ‘A name!’ said Halla. ‘He has a name?’

  Lullaby shuffled past them and stood a few inches from the troll. Wulfrick moved to stop her, but the wise old woman waved away the intrusion. She reached out a hand to Unrahgahr, appearing tiny next to the bulky troll.

  ‘They all have names,’ she said. ‘Though they only have so many sounds, so their names are all similar, made up of the same few grunts. Body language is important.’

  ‘Un rah gahr,’ grunted the troll. ‘Yal ul rah.’

  Lullaby chuckled to herself as the beast nuzzled her hand, as a dog would allow a man to pet it.

  ‘Yal ak gahr,’ she replied, letting the sounds come from her throat and be coughed out rather than spoken.

  ‘They have language?’ queried Wulfrick. ‘I thought they barely had minds.’

  Rorg the Defiler, amused at their reaction, sheathed his ice-axe and approached them, leaving Lullaby to pet the huge troll behind him.

  ‘Their language is minimal,’ he said. ‘They speak in three sounds at a time. They only have twenty sounds, but they understand body language.’

  ‘This is not unusual for you?’ Halla asked him.

  ‘For ages beyond counting, we have welcomed the Ice Men to our fires,’ he replied. ‘They are attracted by the troll crystals we snort before battle. Sometimes an Ice Man will remain with a clan for months, believing he has found a new family of trolls.’

  ‘And this one?’ she asked, hesitating to point at Unrahgahr.

  ‘This is new,’ he replied. ‘But welcome.’

  ‘I don’t feel like fighting any more,’ said Wulfrick as Lullaby scratched Unrahgahr behind his oversized, shaggy ears.

  ‘We will fight again,’ stated Rorg. ‘I must kill you to maintain honour. But your bone reader has bought you some time.’ He pointed at Anya.

  Wulfrick, too distracted to register the threat, merely nodded.

  ‘You know what is happening to Rowanoco’s land,’ said Halla. ‘You have a tame troll and Anya says you are faithful to the Ice Giant. Perhaps we are allies.’