“Uncle, this is Stevahn,” Borsen said. Stevahn turned to be given the warmest, strongest handshake he’d ever known, as Menders looked at him over his dark glasses. Borsen had prepared him for Menders’ unusual eyes. Stevahn looked into them, wanting more than anything for this man to trust and accept him from the first.
“Yes,” Menders said after a moment. He nodded and smiled. “I’m very glad you’re here, Stevahn.”
“Thank you for having me,” Stevahn replied sincerely.
“No need. You’re part of this family now – just brace yourself, because I’m informed by this beautiful lady that we’re overwhelming, at least at first.” Menders grinned suddenly, transforming his very serious mein to one of fun as he indicated a stunning, very dark Samorsan woman who had appeared at the door – Luntigré.
“Please come in,” she invited. “They forget the cold and that Katrin cannot come out into it.” She took his hands briefly, kissing his cheek, then reached out for Varnia and embraced her before ushering them in. “I will leave you outside, Papa, if you don’t come along and then we’ll have no choice but to put you out with the ice animals on display,” she teased Menders, who was loitering with Borsen.
And so Stevahn met Katrin, who was waiting near the fire. The signs of illness were there, gaunt hollows in her cheeks, shadowed eyes and an air of fragility. She had golden hair, a wig, but a very good one. Her eyes were the most intense blue he had ever seen – and her smile was the most beautiful.
“And you’re Stevahn, of course,” she said, putting her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. He gathered her close, understanding now why Borsen had been so distraught over her being unwell. She was obviously frail and Borsen had said that she’d recovered enormously, so the poor girl must have been near death for ages after that demented torture she’d been subjected to. He restrained a shudder, thinking of the horror that Borsen had finally described to him in full.
“You will be my brother,” Katrin whispered. “I’m so very glad you found Borsen.”
“Thank you, little sister,” he whispered back, kissing her forehead as she stood back and smiled up at him, putting her hands in his.
Things had only escalated from there, with an enormous dinner with fifty-six people at the table, two days of nonstop preparation for Winterfest Eve, impromptu sledding parties and snowball fights. Stevahn saw a menagerie of animals being built from snow and cut saplings which were then showered with buckets of water to convert them into enormous ice sculptures. Borsen explained that what had started out as a birthday surprise for Katrin years ago was now a local contest, which drew people from the estate and nearby villages to compete or to goggle at the beauty of the display.
On Winterfest Eve, Menders and Hemmett asked if Stevahn would like to accompany them as they walked a perimeter patrol. It was their habit to do so on holidays to give Menders’ Men and Hemmett’s Guard a break. He accepted readily and was gratified by beautiful views of the estate and the quiet companionship the two men offered away from the ongoing activity at the house. They confided that this tradition had begun out of necessity but continued because it gave them a chance to stop hanging greenery or helping in the kitchen, enjoy their cigars and consider changes to be made on the estate in the coming year.
Winterfest Day passed in a flurry, quieting toward nightfall as everyone began feeling the increased activity, to say nothing of the feast that made the tables groan. Cook and her staff had outdone themselves, offering an amazing array of temptation.
Borsen, yawning mightily after helping clear Winterfest dinner, suggested an early bedtime and Stevahn was glad to comply. As they put on the thick nightshirts that were the only way to stay comfortable in this frigid part of Mordania, Borsen told Stevahn that Menders was quite sure the Thrun would be there within the next few days.
“Coming over the ice bridge so early would be a real risk, but Tharak got word of Katrin still being ill and sent word back that he was determined to get here this year. The last two winters were so mild that they couldn’t get across from their Island to the mainland at all. Tharak hates it when he doesn’t get a chance to see Light Of The Winter Sun every year.” Borsen finished braiding his hair back for the night and climbed the bedstairs, flopping down on his pillows with a sigh.
“What? Light of the Winter Sun?”
“That’s Katrin’s Thrun name. There’s so much to help you catch up with!” Borsen said. “I have it from Thira, Tharak’s daughter, that there is a Thrun prophecy about great changes in the world that are going to come in the near future. Apparently Katrin, Hemmett and I are supposed to have major roles in making this come about. Our Thrun names are reflective of this, but I don’t know just what it is that they’re supposed to mean and no-one will tell us. Katrin is Light Of The Winter Sun, Hemmett is Light Brighter Than The Sun and I’m Reflection Of My Friend. And now you know all I know. Uncle doesn’t want us knowing about it at all, because he says that when people know about prophecies, they automatically try to make them come to be.”
“Your uncle is a wise man,” Stevahn said, shivering a little. Something about those names disturbed him, though he couldn’t say why. He flapped across the room in his own blanketlike nightshirt, provided by Katrin after he nearly froze his first night at The Shadows. He climbed into bed beside Borsen.
He jerked awake in the middle of the night, every hair on his head prickling with fear. Magic was awake and alert, his great shaggy head silhouetted by the fire, his lips drawn back as he growled gently.
Stevahn looked around the room. He’d already been startled one night by Menders coming in silently to make sure the fire was burning high enough, as a cold snap had caused the temperature to plummet. Menders whispered Stevahn’s name the moment he woke, explaining that he made the rounds of “the children’s” rooms before going to bed on cold nights to be sure the fires were well fueled and the rooms were warm. Borsen was prone to nightmares if he got cold, Menders said. Stevahn stored that morsel of information away in his memory.
He could see there was no-one in the room and knew the dog would not be growling at Menders. He wondered what had sparked such a visceral reaction in himself and Magic.
A wolf raised a moaning howl, right outside the window. It was so close it sounded like it was in the room.
Borsen didn’t wake but sighed in his sleep and turned onto his back, obviously accustomed to such winter night serenades. With every fibre in his body vibrating with panic, there was no way Stevahn could possibly lie there, not after that paralyzing sound.
A snuffling at the shuttered window finished him. He got out of the bed, fast, wondering if he should grab Borsen and flee. Then he heard claws clicking away over the verandah floor outside.
He flung on his dressing gown and stepped into his slippers, double checking the bolt on the window shutter and getting his pistol before letting himself into the hallway, telling Magic to stay with Borsen. If a wolf was that close to the house, it would be a good idea to let Menders know.
He strode out to the entryway to find that Menders already knew, as he was coming down the stairs similarly attired, pistol in hand.
“Some of our winter friends woke you?” Menders asked cheerfully.
“One howled right outside our window,” Stevahn said, glad his voice wasn’t shaking like his knees.
“Raises your hackles a bit when that happens,” Menders said. “Borsen didn’t wake?”
“Wolves’ howling is just a winter lullaby to Little Man, he’s been hearing them all his life,” came Kaymar’s voice. Stevahn turned to see him walking toward them, also armed. “That bastard yowled outside my window too. He even cut through Ifor’s snoring. Sounds like there are more than one nosing around.”
“It was snuffling at the window,” Stevahn said.
“Probably smelled Magic,” Kaymar remarked, looking out one of the narrow panes on either side of the door. “I don’t see any here, Menders.”
“They’re over near the Ro
se Garden, I saw them from upstairs,” Menders answered. “They don’t seem hungry. They’re just sniffing around, so I suspect they’ve followed our friend Tharak down and we can expect to see him tomorrow. Sorry, Stevahn, I forget this is all new to you. Old Mordanian wolves tend to follow Thrun clans when they’re on the march because they always cook meat. The scraps and bones are left for the wolves – having wolves around encampments is a way the Thrun adapted long ago. Not many people would risk the wolves to get at the Thrun. These wolves are likely circling around Tharak’s band so they’re close enough to march in here tomorrow. How good a shot are you?”
“I’m a crack shot,” Stevahn replied honestly. Firearms and hunting were two passions his father had passed on to him.
“Well then, I think between the three of us we can risk opening the winter shutters at the end of this hall to have a look at these gentlemen,” Menders said, leading the way toward the shuttered glass door at the end of the corridor. “Be ready to fire. If he does decide to come through the glass you won’t have time to cock your weapons.”
Menders unbolted and slowly opened the shutters of the large door at the end of the wing.
“Hello,” Menders said softly, pointing at an enormous wolf standing with his nose pressed to the other side of the glass. They stepped back, pistols ready. The huge animal looked at them impassively.
Now Stevahn understood what people meant when they said the Old Mordanian wolf was nothing like the Southern Mordanian wolf, which was basically a large, shaggy dog. This creature was like no dog that Stevahn had ever seen. It had a high, humped back, the knobby elongated head carried low on massive shoulders ridged with great slabs of muscle. The legs were as thick as young tree trunks, the front pair significantly longer than the rear, making the ridged back slope abruptly downward at the hindquarters. Three-toed feet culminated in foot long claws, which matched the glistening fangs protruding from the creature’s mouth.
He stands chest height to me and I’m over six feet tall, Stevahn thought. The wolf’s eyes were light yellow and devoid of fear. It tipped its head to one side, never taking its eyes from them.
“They have to be with the Thrun, they’re used to people,” Kaymar whispered.
“Very much so – not always a good thing. As big as he is, yes, he’s from much farther north and east,” Menders said. “He is a beauty, gentlemen.” Then he sniffed the air subtly. “Borsen is here,” he said, so they wouldn’t be startled with their guns armed. Just then Borsen said, “It’s me coming down the hall.” Stevahn looked away from the wolf to see that he too had a pistol, the elegant jeweled pocket weapon he habitually carried.
“Look at the nancy gun,” Kaymar teased.
“Let’s say I try shooting you in the knee with it, Kaymar, and you can tell me if it works all right,” Borsen teased in return, edging between Menders and Stevahn so he could see the wolf. “I think he’s the biggest fellow we’ve seen here.”
The wolf gave them one last impassive stare, then turned and trotted away across the terrace, through the garden and into the trees. A moment later they heard several wolves howl.
“That’s what scared him off! You’re in luck tonight, Stevahn, take a look at that big bastard,” Kaymar exclaimed, pointing.
“You mean that huge rock with the tree growing out of it?” Stevahn asked, trying to remember what he could of the layout of the garden.
“No, I mean that big grundar buck that you think is a huge rock with a tree growing out of it. Step closer, our wolf friends will have gone on now that this fellow’s here.”
“Don’t wolves eat them?” Stevahn asked, gazing in amazement at the enormous elk, which was easily three times his height and standing not ten feet away, pawing the ground with a foot the size of a wagon wheel.
“Not a full-grown buck like that,” Menders answered. “There wouldn’t be enough wolves in any pack to pull him down, he’s fifteen feet at the shoulder. He would kill them. Kaymar, can you see his points well enough to count them?”
“Looks to be over fifty,” Kaymar said. “No wolf that wasn’t mad would take that on. It would be trampled and gored into jelly.”
The enormous grundar threw back his head and began to bellow, the massive neck bulging at every bugling roar. Stevahn saw Kaymar releasing the hammer on his gun, and did likewise. The wolf pack howled again, but much farther away.
“He’s chased them off,” Borsen said, leaning against Stevahn.
“My father is an avid hunter, but I don’t think he could bring himself to kill something like that,” Stevahn said.
“You should bring him up in the autumn. The Men put on a huge boar hunt,” Menders said, smiling at Stevahn over Borsen’s head. Stevahn felt a grin spreading across his face at the implied acceptance not only of himself but with the acceptance extending to his family.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m for making a kitchen raid,” Kaymar said suggestively.
There was a rapid diaspora.
The Shadows, Mordania
15
Balancing Man
S
tevahn was just pulling on his trousers next morning when a horrific, vibrating, shattering crash nearly made him jump out of them again. He could hear icicles crashing to the ground outside.
“Uncle was right,” Borsen said, rising from where he’d been lounging on the bed and scrambling for his clothes. He rapidly donned long undergarments, trousers and a thick knitted sweater, looking nothing like the picture of elegance he was in Erdahn. He fought on two pairs of thick socks followed by boots and then dashed for the door, Magic leaping around him. He hadn’t even brushed out his hair.
“What the hells was that noise?” Stevahn asked, his head still ringing.
“The big gong. Hurry, you’ll miss it!” Borsen was jigging around at the door. A low droning sound began to vibrate the house.
Stevahn hurried, dressing similarly to Borsen and then following him down the stairs. There was a general convergence of people thrashing to get out the door, trying to put on coats and the like and getting in each others’ way. Borsen hauled on Stevahn’s arm.
“We won’t freeze, hurry!” he demanded, rushing out the door and down the front steps, then racing away down the drive. Stevahn could see that Hemmett was ahead of them and that he had a laughing Katrin flung inelegantly over his shoulder.
After a headlong race the four of them skidded to a halt. Hemmett lowered Katrin to her feet with care, pulling the shawl flung over her shoulders closely around her. Stevahn was shocked to see that she was out in the bitter cold with no warmer wrap. Just as he was about to protest, Borsen touched his arm and gestured for him to remain silent, pointing down the drive.
At least three hundred people were moving toward them while blowing various horns, banging gongs and shaking strings of bells. Under it all was the stomach-churning low drone note that shook the very ground.
The column of people moving forward in a ceremonial strutting swagger was broken by huge carts drawn by great hairy cowlike animals, and by strings of farlins, which were rearing, snorting and kicking, snaking their long, sinuous necks around to snap at and bite each other.
A man led the massive column toward the house. Stevahn knew this had to be Tharak Karak a’a’ Thrun.
He was dressed in an opulent ankle-length gown of red, embroidered with gold and studded with gems, an enormous horned hat on his head, weapons and bells hanging from his thick leather belt that had a buckle the size of Stevahn’s hand. His boots, upturned at the toes, were red leather with gold embroidery, thickly furred at the cuff. His hair was loose, as Borsen and Menders usually wore theirs, but his hung to below his knees.
“Gods,” Stevahn breathed as Tharak Karak drew closer. Stevahn was a big man, well over six feet and solidly built, but the Thrun chieftain towered over him and he was two of Stevahn in volume. His dark eyes traveled from Hemmett to Katrin to Borsen and then lingered on Stevahn. He stopped. The column behind him stopped as well
. Tharak held up a hand for silence.
He went to Katrin and tipped her face up to his.
“Little one,” he said softly and drew her close. Then, the embrace finished, he grinned at her. Katrin nodded.
To Stevahn’s astonishment, Tharak Karak caught her up off the ground and flung her up in the air like a man would toss a child, while Katrin whooped. He caught her as if she weighed nothing, held her high and turned toward the people behind him, bellowing in his own language.
“Light Of The Winter Sun,” Borsen translated in a whisper. Stevahn was nearly knocked down by the noise of the Thrun cheering, honking their horns and banging on their gongs.
A snap of Tharak’s fingers brought several Thrun running with armloads of white furs, which he gently wrapped around Katrin, crowning her with an exquisite hat to match.
The big Thrun engulfed Hemmett in a huge embrace, giving his hair a rub that left it rampantly ruffled. Another snap of the fingers saw Hemmett wrapped in deep brown furs.
Tharak turned to Borsen.
“Here I go,” Borsen said just as Tharak roared, “Little Man, Tharkul a’ Thrunar, Reflection Of My Friend!” The chieftain snatched him up off the ground as if he was made of feathers, holding him high for a minute and grinning up at him. Then he lowered him to the ground and pulled him close before releasing him and having him bundled in a black fur coat.
It was obvious to Stevahn that this reunion differed from previous ones. Katrin was fragile, Hemmett had suffered as she did and Borsen was burdened by their troubles. There were tears close for everyone.
“You are all here, my little ones,” Tharak said. “You’ve all come through the trial. This is what matters. And now,” Tharak continued, looking at Stevahn, “who is this?”
Borsen moved to Stevahn and took his arm.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 50
