The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  CHAPTER 4

  Having already seen three cities, Wulfric thought there was little about them that could impress him. While at first they had seemed overwhelming, fascinating places, he had quickly come to the realisation that they offered him nothing. He had no time for the trappings of wealth and sophistication that seemed so important to the city dwellers, nor had he any interest in the backstabbing political games that were required to gain and hold onto power.

  His first sight of Brixen took his breath away, however. It sat at the head of a great lake of crystal-clear blue water. Reflected clouds scudded across its surface as though it was the sky. Every building was made from pure white stone, with verdigris-green or slate-grey roofs and towers topped with onion-shaped domes. Everything was perfectly mirrored by the still water of the lake. It reminded him of the majesty of the white-capped peaks of the High Places, which he could see in the distance behind the city.

  Wulfric stopped, and Jagovere rode up beside him.

  ‘Quite something, isn’t it,’ Jagovere said.

  Wulfric nodded.

  ‘It has a grimy underbelly beneath that beautiful façade, just like everything else, but from here you could be forgiven for thinking it the most beautiful place in the world.’

  ‘It is beautiful,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘And as great a den of vipers as those we have just come from,’ Jagovere said. ‘Make no mistake, being the princess’s guest is dandy, but never let your guard down in a place like this. It could be the last thing you ever do. Let’s see if it looks as good from the inside.’

  He urged his horse on, and Wulfric followed.

  BANNERET-CAPTAIN JENNSER SENT one of his men ahead to the city to announce their arrival. As Brixen’s walls hove into sight, Jennser stopped them by a stream that flowed down to the lake.

  ‘Now might be a good time to clean up a little and ready yourselves for entry to the city,’ Jennser said.

  ‘Ready ourselves for entry to the city?’ Enderlain said, his face a picture of puzzlement.

  ‘I expect word of your arrival will have spread quite quickly,’ he said.

  Enderlain looked over to Jagovere. ‘I still don’t get it.’

  ‘You’re famous,’ Jennser said. ‘People will come out to see the Wolves. Stories about your escapades are told in taverns throughout the city every night.’

  ‘They’ve spread fast,’ Jagovere said, nodding with proud approval.

  ‘Faster than the bloody flux,’ Jennser said with a cynical smile.

  ‘Not a fan, then,’ Enderlain said.

  ‘Of course I am,’ Jennser said. ‘Everyone is. Now let’s be about it. Time’s a-wasting. No one will expect much after such a long journey, but it never hurts to look one’s best.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Enderlain said, although he sounded more amazed than convinced.

  Wulfric scratched at his beard and wondered what he should do. His clothes were functional, but were well-worn and far from fancy. He recalled an old saying of his mother’s: “there’s no making a silk purse from a sow’s ear.” It seemed particularly appropriate at that moment, but brought with it a feeling of sadness. He wondered if she still lived, if the nature of his departure had caused her any problems. With luck he would see her again before too long.

  His armour was tarnished and battered, his hair and beard unkempt. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t see a way to make himself look presentable. He was not going to ride into Brixen looking like a glittering hero from an epic tale that day, or any other in all likelihood, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He looked at the others, who were much the same. He felt sorry for Enderlain, who stood by the water with a damp rag in his hand and a puzzled expression.

  ‘Everyone back on your horses,’ Wulfric said. ‘This is what we look like, and they can be damned if it doesn’t fit with whatever Jagovere’s said we look like.’

  Jennser said nothing more as they moved off toward the city again, looking no different to any other group of travellers after a long journey, and certainly not like the protagonists of the most popular heroic tales of the day.

  The guards at the gate recognised Jennser on sight and waved them on, allowing them through with all their weapons, and on horseback. Wulfric had been forced to dismount and leave his horse outside every other city he had visited. The little perks of being famous, he thought. They rode into the city along a wide, cobbled boulevard with the city on one side and the lake on the other. Trees showing their first spring buds lined the path on the lake side, where finely dressed men and women promenaded. They all stopped to watch, and some of the men doffed their hats.

  Wulfric remembered the way his father had walked through Leondorf in the evening, letting everyone see him. He had always thought it an important thing to do, and it seemed these people agreed with him. Being seen was as important as being. Wulfric wondered who they were, and what they did. The men, with grand feathers in their wide-brimmed hats, didn’t look the sort to take up arms to defend the city and its territory if called upon, but in Torona he had quickly learned that in the cities, wealthy men were able to get others to do their fighting for them. He wasn’t sure whether to hold them in contempt or admire their cleverness.

  He felt awkward with every eye on him. As in Elzburg, there were few horses on the streets, which meant Wulfric and the others immediately drew attention. With word of their arrival having preceded them, everyone knew who they were looking at. Wulfric could see their faces trying to match these scruffy men to the heroic images in their heads.

  He did his best to ignore the stares and look directly ahead as imperiously as he could manage. He wondered if he looked even half as imposing as his father and the Beleks’ Bane had when returning to the village in their amazing armour. In his nearly worn-out clothes, he doubted it. Not an ideal scenario when on his way to meet a princess.

  WULFRIC’S first sight of Brixen Palace took his breath away. It stood on a small island in the lake, connected to the mainland and city by an ornate white bridge. The palace’s white stone walls were lined with columns and statues as they towered up five or six stories, and they were capped with grey slate roofs and verdigris onion domes. The evening was drawing in and there was light coming from many of the windows, all of which were mirrored on the perfectly still surface of the lake. He marvelled at the skill, artistry, and imagination of the people who had built it.

  They continued along the promenade and across the bridge before passing through a guarded archway and into a large central courtyard. Grooms came to take their horses and Jennser led them to the other side of the courtyard where steps led up to great double doors recessed into another arch.

  There was a group of well-dressed men standing at the top of the steps who watched Wulfric and the others closely as they approached. Their appearance and scrutiny made Wulfric feel like a beggar, and he wondered if that was what they were thinking. Might they have second thoughts about inviting a bunch of savages into their palace? It occurred to Wulfric that Jagovere was an aristocrat, Conrat and Sander both bannerets, Enderlain… He wasn’t sure what Enderlain was, and the same could be said for Varada, who still seemed to be suffering from the cold far more than the rest of them. Would half of them being of the gentle classes make up for the rest? One way or the other, he wanted the visit to be over with as quickly as possible so he could get on with more important things.

  A man stepped forward from the group. ‘On behalf of Her Royal Highness, welcome to Brixen. I am Court Chamberlain Lennersdorf. If there is anything you need while you are guests here, please let me know.’ He looked them over. ‘Which one of you is Ulfyr?’

  Wulfric hesitantly held up his hand. He could hear Enderlain fail to suppress a chuckle behind him.

  The chamberlain smiled and nodded. ‘Fascinating.’ He gestured for them to follow him, and led them inside.

  The large high-ceilinged hallway beyond the doors was floored with black and white check
ed marble. There was no one else there, and Wulfric could hear each of his footfalls echoing back to him. He felt as out of place as he ever had, and could not help smile at the irony in having fled the country chased by soldiers who would likely have hanged him, only to return and immediately be made the guest of its princess.

  ‘It’s quieter than I remember it,’ Jagovere said.

  ‘The princess has kept a more limited court since the restoration,’ the chamberlain said. ‘It tends to be like this when there are no functions, and she is not receiving an audience.’

  ‘You’ve been here before?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘A couple of times, when I was younger,’ Jagovere said. ‘It was quite different in those days. Full of people.’

  ‘What’s changed?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘War with Ostia, occupation—the princess lived in exile for a few years—and then restoration with her as the new monarch when she was little more than a girl. All of this would have happened well before you came to Ruripathia, when the Tyrant Amero was ruling Ostia. Better part of a decade ago. The Graf set the Company up after the restoration. Reckoned his generation had failed the people and it was time to let the next have their turn.’

  ‘We never paid much attention to events in the South,’ Wulfric said. ‘So long as you kept on your side of the river, we didn’t care much.’

  ‘Unless you were short on plunder and needed to make a visit south of it yourselves?’ Jagovere said, smiling.

  ‘If a man can’t protect what he has, he doesn’t deserve to have it,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘I suppose there’s something to that,’ Jagovere said. ‘Try to be nice to the princess. Royalty have a habit of taking insults badly.’

  ‘How badly?’

  ‘A short visit to the headsman badly.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Wulfric said.

  The audience hall was austere, yet beautiful. White marble columns were draped with red cloth and grey furs, many of which, Wulfric suspected, were from belek. It made him regret the loss of his two belek cloaks. He wondered if they might still be safe in Leondorf. He had no desire to win himself another. Of them all, only Jagovere and Varada seemed to belong there. Enderlain tugged awkwardly at his tunic, while Conrat and Sander looked just uncomfortable as Wulfric felt.

  A tall, slender blonde woman stood on the dais at the far end of the hall, surrounded by a group of men. When she saw their approach, she sat down on a dark wooden throne, leaving no doubt that she was the Princess Alys of Ruripathia.

  ‘You may approach,’ one of the men on the dais said.

  ‘Follow my lead,’ Jagovere said. ‘Best to keep on her good side.’ He took off his hat and dropped into a sweeping bow. ‘Your Highness, Banneret of the Grey Jagovere dal Borlitz at your service. It is an honour to answer your summons.’

  ‘As it is to meet the most famous sons of Ruripathia,’ the princess said.

  Wulfric mimicked Jagovere’s bow, taking the chance to have a closer look at her. She could only have been a few years older than him, but she wore them heavily. Her eyes looked weary, as though they had seen far more than a woman of her age ever should.

  ‘You must be Ulfyr,’ she said, turning her gaze to Wulfric.

  ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘I understand you are from a region in the Northlands that is now part of my principality. Where exactly, might I ask?’

  ‘A small village of no consequence,’ Wulfric said. ‘It was destroyed in a war with our neighbours. That’s why I came south looking for a new start.’

  Jagovere looked at him and surreptitiously raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Losing one’s home is always a difficult thing,’ the princess said. ‘I can speak to that from personal experience.’ She shifted the gaze of her crystal blue eyes once again. ‘Enderlain, the Greatblade.’

  It was the first time Wulfric had heard him called that. He raised an eyebrow at Jagovere, who smiled and shrugged.

  ‘I’ve been curious since first hearing the stories,’ the princess said. ‘Might I ask why you favour a great sword over a rapier or sabre?’

  ‘I’m not a banneret, miss—’

  Jagovere cast him a foul look.

  ‘—eh, Your Highness. Royal Highness.’

  She smiled, immediately wiping away the burden her difficult years had placed on her face.

  ‘So I ain’t supposed to use a rapier,’ Enderlain said, ‘and I kept breaking sabres on fellas’ heads. Not the best thing when you’re in a scrap.’

  Jagovere gave him another foul look.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Enderlain said, giving her his broadest and most endearing smile.

  Wulfric nudged Jagovere. ‘What does he mean he’s not supposed to use a rapier?’

  ‘Only bannerets are allowed to use rapiers,’ Jagovere whispered. ‘Duelling ones with narrow blades, leastways. On the battlefield, no one really cares.’

  Her gaze lingered on Enderlain a moment, a wry smile on her face, before she looked to the others. ‘Conrat and Sander, I see you both carry rapiers. You must be bannerets?’

  ‘Indeed, Your Highness,’ Conrat said. ‘We both attended the Academy here in Brixen. I had the honour of serving as a lieutenant in your father’s Regiment of Guardsmen.’

  ‘I understand you fought very bravely at Sharnhome,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness. It’s a great personal regret that we weren’t able to repeat that success in the days that followed.’

  ‘A regret for all of us,’ she said, ‘but the Tyrant’s perfidy could not have been predicted. No one was to blame, but it’s a shame so many good men were killed. The Tyrant met a deserved fate in the end, happily.’ She took a breath and held it for a moment before turning her gaze on Varada. ‘And now we come to the most interesting one.’

  Varada’s skin had retained its deep tan, so Wulfric couldn’t tell if she blushed at the attention. She had never struck him as the blushing type, however, and she certainly had plenty of experience in noble courts.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Varada said, curtseying.

  ‘I look forward to talking with you and learning all about Darvaros. It’s always seemed like such an exotic place to me. Were it not for the time I spent in Humberland before the restoration, I doubt I would ever have had the chance to leave Ruripathia. As a newcomer to the stories, you’re the one I know the least about. We shall have to change that while you are here.’ She returned her gaze to the whole group and stood, some of the weariness returning to her face. ‘A banquet has been arranged for tomorrow night to celebrate your arrival.’

  They all bowed again. The chamberlain gestured for them to follow him, indicating it was time for them to leave.

  ‘Lord Borlitz,’ the princess said as they walked away. ‘I would be particularly pleased to hear you recite one of your stories then.’

  ‘I—well, it would be my pleasure and honour, Your Highness,’ Jagovere said, stopping and bowing again.

  Wulfric could tell he was less enthusiastic about the prospect than he tried to appear. He might have spent all his time scribbling down his stories, but Wulfric couldn’t recall him ever having told one.

  ‘Until tomorrow evening, then,’ the princess said.

  THE IDEA of a formal banquet no longer filled Wulfric with quite the terror it once had. His experiences in Torona at least gave him an idea of what to expect, if not the prospect of enjoying it. On the one hand, the idea of a lavish meal with many courses was very enticing after so long on ship and horseback, but it also meant mixing with the Ruripathian aristocracy. He could remember only too well the way the noblemen who had visited Leondorf had viewed Northlanders, and as if that prejudice were not enough, Wulfric had only his road-worn clothes, which would make him stand out even more. He would be viewed as a northern savage, and if he was insulted he was afraid he would lose control.

  Aethelman had been right when he had said that Jorundyr’s Gift was both a blessing and a curse. It had allowed him to fight through pain a
nd fatigue, but he had no way to control it or the devastation he could cause when it took him in its grasp. It seemed to have grown more present since he first welcomed its embrace. Now that he had opened the door and let it in, it lurked like a monster under his bed—always waiting for the opportunity to come out.

  He stood staring at his bed, suddenly aware of how tired he was. The bed was large, with perfectly pressed white linen. After their long journey, it was the most tempting thing he had seen in some time, but he was afraid to dirty the snow-white sheets. He shrugged, threw caution to the wind, apologised in advance for whoever had to wash the sheets, and dove in.

  CHAPTER 5

  Correllus, the great Imperial writer and philosopher, had said that ‘a distracted enemy is a weakened one’. Adalhaid had never enjoyed the ancient philosophy classes she had to take as part of her abandoned teacher training, but those words came to mind as she mulled over how she was going to get to Rodulf’s Stone. She sat in the university’s library poring over a medical tome. She didn’t know why that line had popped into her head—it was as far removed from what she was studying as it could be—but it was enough to get her thinking in a more proactive way. It made her look for handholds and ledges, rather than at the unclimbable mountain.

  Rodulf had a fondness for women. Single, married, or paid for; it didn’t appear to matter. Sending a beautiful woman his way was the obvious choice, but it was the tactic that Aethelman had employed, so Rodulf would be more wary of such encounters now. To direct an angry husband at him would be to needlessly send a man to his death, now that Rodulf had hired his Shandahari henchmen. She needed something else. She wondered what other things might distract him, or make him feel afraid. She questioned whether or not one with such an avaricious mind felt fear, then realised there was only one way to find out.