CHAPTER 50
Wulfric and Jagovere walked to the door of the house without any challenge. The night was still, without so much as a gentle breeze to muffle the sounds of their footfalls on the path leading to the front of Rodulf’s manor house. Without a word, Wulfric pounded on the door and stepped back to wait, his eyes firmly fixed on the door, as though he was trying to stare through it.
The sound of a latch scraping open broke the silence of the night, and Jagovere could feel Wulfric tense next to him. Jagovere dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword as his heart started to race. It had been a number of years since he had drawn his sword in expectation of killing, and he fought to dismiss the brief panic that he might not have it in him any longer. He was only a few years off his half century, and he could not deny that it bothered him.
‘Do you think we might be too old for this?’ Jagovere said.
‘No.’
Jagovere chuckled. ‘I suppose not. The Graf was older than us when he started the Company.’
Wulfric didn’t respond. The door opened, and his concentration was firmly fixed on what would be revealed on the other side.
‘What’s your business?’
There was an elderly man silhouetted against light from inside the house.
‘We’re here to see the master of the house,’ Wulfric said.
‘He’s not taking visitors at this hour. Come back tomorrow. Or not at all.’
Wulfric shoved the man back. When he opened his mouth to protest, Wulfric stepped forward and smashed his fist into the man’s mouth before he had the chance to utter a word. Jagovere followed him into the house.
‘Where’s Rodulf?’ Wulfric said, as he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck.
‘Who?’
‘The master of this house,’ Wulfric said. ‘The one-eyed bastard. What’s he calling himself now, Jagovere?’
‘Lord Mendorf.’
‘Mendorf,’ Wulfric said. ‘Where is he?’
The man gave Wulfric a defiant stare. Wulfric drew his dagger and pressed it to his throat.
‘You don’t need to die for him,’ Wulfric said. ‘I can promise you he’s not worth it, and that you won’t have to worry about him punishing you.’
‘He’s in the hall in the back, eating,’ the man said, nodding his head in that direction.
Wulfric let him go and started toward a door at the back of the room.
‘I’d advise you to get very far away from here,’ Jagovere said. ‘Raise the alarm and I’ll hunt you down and gut you.’
The man nodded and ran for the door. Jagovere watched until he was out of sight before following Wulfric. Wulfric kicked the next door open with a crash and stopped. Jagovere could hear the abrupt halt of a meal, before joining Wulfric in the hall.
Rodulf was sitting at the head of a long dark wooden table, laid out with silver platters full of food. The four men Jagovere had seen with Rodulf at the inn sat on either side of it. They all stared at the new arrivals, food on their forks and in their mouths.
‘Who are you?’ Rodulf said through a mouthful of partly chewed food. ‘How dare you burst in here!’
Wulfric seemed stunned at the sight of Rodulf after such a long time. He stood like a statue, his gaze fixed on the man sitting at the end of the table. Jagovere was on his toes, his hand poised to draw his sword. His eyes flicked from man to man. Two were staring at the new arrivals, while the other two were looking to Rodulf for a command. A fire crackled in a huge fireplace, the only sound in the room until Wulfric finally spoke.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Rodulf,’ Wulfric said.
Jagovere could hear the fury building in his voice. Rodulf’s eye widened, first at the mention of his real name, and secondly at the realisation that Wulfric was the man standing before him.
‘Wulfric?’
‘I’m flattered that you remember me.’
‘I thought you’d be dead by now,’ Rodulf said. ‘Hoped.’
‘Any of you who wants to see another sunrise should leave now,’ Wulfric said.
The men at the table looked to each other, but none of them moved.
‘I’ve killed better men than you, in greater numbers,’ Wulfric said. ‘I’ve given you your chance. You won’t get another.’
Still no one moved.
‘It was worth a try,’ Jagovere said.
Wulfric drew Sorrow Bringer. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get away. I’m not losing him a second time.’
Jagovere drew his sword and dagger, and nodded.
‘Who wants to die first?’ Wulfric said.
Jagovere sighed.
‘Too much?’ Wulfric said.
‘Just a touch,’ Jagovere said.
There was a screech and clatter of chairs as the men stood up. Their only difficulty was, sitting at the dining table, none of them had a sword. Their initial bravado had overlooked this, and one even reached for a sword that was not on his hip.
‘It’s not looking good, lads,’ Wulfric said.
As one, they turned and ran for a door at the end of the hall, barging each other out of the way to get out. Rodulf made to move, but Wulfric stepped forward to cut off his escape route.
‘There wouldn’t be any honour in killing an unarmed man,’ Rodulf said.
‘Giving you a sword would be nothing more than prolonging the inevitable,’ Wulfric said.
Rodulf sat back in his chair and smiled in the sly, condescending way that Jagovere could remember from their first meeting all those years previously.
‘Still, it’s not much of a fight,’ Rodulf said.
‘I didn’t come here to fight you. I came here to kill you.’
‘I can pay you,’ Rodulf said. ‘I’m a wealthy man. I can give you enough to set up a farm in the Northlands. Find a new woman. Find some happiness to see out your days.’
‘He’s stalling,’ Jagovere said. ‘His men are getting their weapons.’
Wulfric strode forward, Sorrow Bringer levelled at Rodulf. He scrambled from his chair and dived under the table.
Wulfric roared and went to shove it back out of his way, but it was too large and heavy even for Wulfric. Rodulf crawled away as Wulfric tried to get at him, but he managed to stay out of Wulfric’s grasp.
‘Wulfric!’ Jagovere said.
He looked up to see the four other diners coming back into the room, fully armed.
‘Cover the other door,’ Wulfric said. ‘Don’t let that bastard out.’
Choosing to ignore Rodulf until the greater threat was dealt with, Wulfric moved toward the men coming into the room. One attacked him straightaway, lunging from farther than Wulfric would have thought possible, and he was caught off guard. He jumped backward, narrowly dodging the blade. The ambitious attack put his new opponent off-balance, and he fought to pull himself back. Wulfric grabbed the blade with his leather-gauntleted hand and pulled it, sending the man sprawling forward. Wulfric slashed down on the back of his neck and let him fall to the ground before turning his attention to the others.
The others hesitated before coming at him, having seen one of their number cut down so quickly, but Wulfric had no interest in allowing them to have the initiative, or delay him from his goal. He moved toward them and two of them met him with thrusts as soon as he was close enough.
Wulfric parried left, then right, feeling the joy of battle course through his veins as his blade clashed against theirs. His opponents were younger than him, and he realised an argument could be made that they were faster too, but he refused to admit that to himself. They might be younger, but youth in itself meant nothing. Emboldened by surviving their first encounter, they pressed forward, driving Wulfric back along the length of the table. He drew his dagger to ease the burden on his sword arm, and with the two blades, parried furiously as he retreated.
‘Want a hand?’ Jagovere said.
‘Just make sure Rodulf doesn’t get out,’ Wulfric said as he continued to deflect the barrage of attacks.
He parri
ed and countered, one movement flowing smoothly into the other. He skewered the man to his right, who gasped in pain, distracting his comrade, whose eyes briefly left Wulfric. The instant was all that Wulfric needed as he drove his dagger into that man’s throat. Satisfied that neither man would trouble him again, he pulled his blades free and advanced on the final man. He was standing by the door, his gaze fixed on his fallen comrades. One look at Wulfric advancing toward him was enough to make the decision. He turned and ran out the door.
‘Don’t think he’s coming back this time,’ Wulfric said.
‘No, I don’t reckon he is,’ Jagovere said.
Wulfric walked to the table and prepared to push. ‘Give me a hand with this.’
Jagovere lent his weight to the task, and they drove the table back against the wall with the fireplace set in it with a grinding din of wood scraping on the flagstones.
Rodulf sprang from his shelter. Wulfric saw the flash of metal in his hand, but couldn’t react in time. Whatever it was, Rodulf drove its full length into Wulfric’s side. He roared in pain, and backhanded Rodulf with all the force he could muster. It sent Rodulf sprawling across the floor where he lay still.
Wulfric lifted his arm and looked to see the cut. It had gone clean through his leather tunic, but there didn’t seem to be much blood, and there was no pain. It would have to be dealt with, but it could wait for the time being. He looked about for the offending weapon. There was a carving knife on the floor near where Rodulf had fallen.
Wulfric took a goblet from the table and splashed its contents in Rodulf’s face. He woke with a start, spluttering the wine from his lips and blinking it from his eye. Wulfric kicked him hard in the stomach.
‘Don’t kill me,’ Rodulf said, when he saw Wulfric towering over him. He gasped to catch his breath. ‘Do you really think Adalhaid would want you to become a cold-blooded murderer?’
‘She doesn’t think anything,’ Wulfric said. ‘You murdered her, and her soul won’t rest until her Blood Debt is settled.’
‘You killed my father,’ Rodulf said. ‘Our debts are balanced.’
‘You and your father tried to have me killed,’ Wulfric said. ‘That settled a debt that was already owed. Make your peace now, Rodulf, for you’ll have none in the next life.’
Rodulf opened his mouth to speak, but Wulfric drove Sorrow Bringer through his throat, and nothing came out but a gasping hiss. His face contorted with pain and he grabbed the sword as Wulfric slowly twisted the blade. Tears streamed down Wulfric’s face as all the anger and hate that had dwelled within him for decades coursed out.
‘This is the sword you took Adalhaid’s life with,’ Wulfric said. ‘Now I cleanse it with yours.’ He pulled the blade through Rodulf’s neck, tearing his throat out. Seeing the life fade from his one eye filled Wulfric with more satisfaction than he thought any man could experience. He stood over the body, staring down into the lifeless face until Jagovere broke the spell that held him.
‘I think it’s time to go,’ Jagovere said.
Wulfric looked up to see him pointing to the fire. They had shoved the table into its flames, which had taken to it hungrily. The fire’s tendrils were lapping up the walls to the ceiling above. Wulfric nodded, and followed Jagovere to the door.
THERE WAS no sign of anyone else as they made their way through the house and back out the front door. They went a few more paces before stopping and turning to look at it. Already flames flickered from behind the upstairs windows, and black smoke billowed skyward. The fire was rapidly taking hold of the house’s dry old timbers, and Jagovere doubted there would be anything left of it by daybreak.
‘So it’s done,’ Jagovere said. ‘What now?’
‘I’d like to watch it burn a while,’ Wulfric said, before sinking to his knees.
‘Wulfric?’ Jagovere said. He reached down to help him, and his hand came away wet with blood.
‘Bloody carving knife,’ Wulfric said.
‘We better get this bound up. You’re losing a lot of blood.’
‘Bastard cut me deeper than I thought. Damned Gift. Didn’t feel it. Thought it was a scratch.’
‘It’s not much worse than that,’ Jagovere said, ‘but it needs taking care of all the same.’ He wanted to believe it, but if he couldn’t convince himself, there was no chance of convincing Wulfric.
‘The bastard got me,’ Wulfric said. ‘The three of us dead, and a lifetime full of hate.’
‘No talking like that,’ Jagovere said. ‘I’ll get you back to the village and we’ll call for a physician.’
Wulfric coughed, spluttering blood over his face. Jagovere took a piece of cloth and did his best to wipe his old friend’s face clean. He whistled for the horses, and looked frantically around for them in the darkness, but the growing inferno that had been Rodulf’s house ruined his night vision and he could see nothing.
Wulfric took Jagovere’s hand and closed it around the hilt of his sword.
‘I washed Rodulf’s taint from it,’ he said. ‘Give it to your boy. It will serve him well. It has its honour again.’
‘Nonsense,’ Jagovere said. ‘It will serve you well for many more years to come.’
Wulfric smiled, his lips ruby-red with blood once more. He held Jagovere’s hand firmly to Sorrow Bringer’s handle. ‘It’ll need a new name. Come up with a good one. I’m going to see her now, Jagovere, in Jorundyr’s Hall. I’m going to see my Adalhaid. I’ve tarried too long already.’ He coughed, the smile fading and his face twisting with pain. ‘Leave the sword in my hand until I’m gone. Then take it with you. This is a good death, isn’t it?’
Jagovere nodded. ‘It’s a good death,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
‘Farewell, Jagovere. We’ll meet again, I know it.’
‘I hope so. Farewell,’ Jagovere said.
Jagovere’s eyes filled with tears. He looked back at the fire devouring Rodulf’s hall. There was a young woman standing there, in its midst, her hair as red as the flames around her. She seemed familiar—perhaps he had seen her at the inn?—and he was filled with the fear that she would be burned.
‘Gods alive,’ he said. ‘There’s a woman in the flames.’
Wulfric turned his head to look at her.
‘Come away from there!’ Jagovere shouted over the sound of the raging inferno. ‘Quickly! You’ll be burned!’
She laughed at him, a beautiful, musical sound.
He blinked to clear the tears from his eyes, and looked again, but there was nothing. She was gone. He looked back at Wulfric. His eyes were open, but there was no life left in them. There was a contented smile on his lifeless face, which had been a mask of pain a moment before.
Jagovere returned his gaze to where he had seen the young woman. There was no sign of her, but he knew what he had seen, and from the smile on his old friend’s face, he knew who she was. Adalhaid, come to take Wulfric to Jorundyr’s Hall. His epic tale—the one that would be told for generations after his passing—had its ending.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Duncan is the Amazon best selling writer of fantasy novels and short stories, including The Wolf of the North and the Society of the Sword trilogy. He has Master's Degrees in History, and Law, and practised as a barrister before writing full time. He is particularly interested in the Medieval and Renaissance periods, from which he draws inspiration for his stories.
He lives in Ireland, near the sea, and when not writing he enjoys sailing, scuba diving, windsurfing, cycling, and skiing.
His debut novel, 'The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1)' was placed 8th on Buzzfeed's 12 Greatest Fantasy Books Of The Year, 2013.
You can find Duncan at the following places:
duncanmhamilton.com
[email protected]
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Also by Duncan M. Hamilton
Copyright
A Map of the Nort
hlands and Ruripathia
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part II
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Part III
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3 Page 35
