by T L Greylock
“My uncle and I have never seen eye to eye. I will not remain here under a falsely chosen king. And you?”
“Five hundred years ago, Vannheim was the last to accept a king. I will honor my ancestors. I will not kneel to a man who rises from the ashes of deceit.”
They returned to the Vannheim tents and Raef immediately gave orders that every man, horse, and wagon be readied for travel. Eira said she would return to the forest to gather her fighters and meet him on the road west. Vakre took a moment to collect his belongings and then rejoined Raef. An unexpected visitor arrived as Raef prepared his own horse and gear.
“Skallagrim.” Torrulf Palesword, also dressed for travel, was younger than Raef’s father had been, but Raef had often heard Einarr speak well of the Palesword and his knowledge of warfare. “My question to you is simple. Will you raise your banners for me?”
Raef wondered if his father would have wanted Torrulf as king. “I have business elsewhere first. But I will think on what you ask.” Raef mounted his horse.
If Torrulf was disappointed, he did not show it. He nodded and said, “I will ask Thor to protect you.”
It was an unexpected gesture of goodwill. “And I you.” Raef wheeled his horse and began shouting for the men to fall into formation, then he and Thorald led them west, leaving Balmoran and the tent city to revel with their new king.
“You spoke of business, lord,” Thorald said as they splashed across the river. “You mean not to return home?”
“You will,” Raef said. “Most of the men will go with you.”
“My place is with you, lord.” In the darkness, Raef could not see Thorald’s face, but he could hear his captain’s frown.
“I need you home, Thorald. The Far-Traveled was right. War is coming and we must prepare for it. I need our defenses solidified. I need farmers warned. I need our warriors at home primed for battle.”
“Where will you go?”
“Better that you not have that information. Then no one can ask it of you.” Silence greeted this. “My father would not have needed to tell you twice.” Raef managed to say this gently, but he clenched his reins in frustration.
“Nor do you, lord. It will be done.” Thorald turned his horse to double back along their column of riders.
The darkness and uneven ground kept them from traveling as quickly as Raef would have liked. It was not Fengar that worried him. The new high king would be unable to threaten serious battle without due preparation and Raef doubted that he would be Fengar’s first target. That honor would go to the Palesword, Raef was certain, for, of all the lords that had left the Great-Belly’s hall, only Torrulf had spoken out against the new king. Others, less certain, might simply go home and then be brought into the fold with gifts veiled in threats. But Torrulf would fight.
“Riders approaching,” Vakre, riding beside Raef, said. There was enough moonlight to make out a line of horses angling toward them across the open plain, but their direction indicated they had not come from the fortress. Nonetheless, Raef’s captains called for a halt and the warriors prepared to fight if need be.
The riders slowed as they approached and then Raef recognized Eira at their head. He urged his horse out to meet her.
“Will you ride with me?” he asked.
“And fight with you,” she said.
It was all Raef needed to hear. “Your shieldmaidens will watch our rear and flanks. Understood?” Eira nodded and rode off to position her women.
Rain came with the dawn. Grey clouds hung heavy overhead and the ground beneath soon turned to slop. They pushed on, climbing into foothills, careful to keep the wagons out of ruts. It was midday when Raef halted the company to rest and water the horses.
“Here is where we part,” he told Thorald after separating out the men he would keep with him. The captain nodded, his beard dripping water. “May the gods go with you.” Raef watched as Thorald led his people away, disappearing into a pine forest as they continued west. Vakre, Eira, and Siv would stay with him, as would ten of his best warriors. Eira’s shieldmaidens went their own way. Those who remained waited expectantly.
“We travel swift and light. Speed is our greatest friend.”
“Where are we going?” Vakre asked.
Raef spotted a raven circling overhead and wondered if Odin was watching. “We head northwest. To Finngale. The Hammerling will no doubt return home. I intend to be there first.”
Nine
The Hammerling’s home stood atop a lone, bare hill, thrusting up from a wide valley floor and surrounded on three sides by mountains. It assured a good view of all approaching travelers, friend or foe, and Raef knew their advance would be watched carefully. But Raef was also certain they had been spotted some days before, shortly after entering the Hammerling’s lands. That their presence had been relayed to those who stood guard on the hill, there was no doubt, but theirs was a small party, and Raef had to hope that whoever commanded the warriors the Hammerling had left at home would see little threat.
A wooden wall encircled the base of the hill. A trio of guards watched the gate.
Raef halted and called out, “I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim. I seek an audience.”
The guards looked him and his party over, then opened the gate. Two led the way up the hill, but they were not the only armed men to watch the arrival. Others, slinking wolves, began to trail alongside Raef’s party, their eyes ripe with hostility and threat. By the time they reached the Hammerling’s hall, his own men were outnumbered and Raef knew a wrong word would lead to bloodshed. Two warriors disappeared behind the hall’s outer doors. They returned a moment later and beckoned for Raef to follow.
“Our lady will see you.”
Vakre stepped after Raef, but the rest were barred from entering. The hall was dimly lit and little natural light came through the windows for the rain had followed Raef to Finngale. But he could make out richly embroidered tapestries and a woman seated at the far end. A pair of stone-faced men bearing two-handed axes flanked her, but she did not seem uneasy and rose at their entrance.
“You are welcome, Raef Skallagrim.” Her voice was warm and Raef pictured the raven in his mind’s eye, as he had countless times during the journey. “I am Berra. My husband has not yet returned. What brings you to our door?”
“The Hammerling and I have much to discuss.”
“Is the gathering over, then? Do you bring news?”
“There is much to tell, lady, but it can wait,” Raef said.
“Answer this, only. Is my husband a king?”
“No, lady, he is not.”
Berra smiled. “A drink, then, in your honor.”
Raef forced himself to smile in return. “No, in yours.”
She clapped her hands and a servant appeared with cups and a pitcher of mead. Berra poured and handed Raef a cup. He took it and drank. It tasted of ash to him.
“Tell me, Raef Skallagrim, when my husband left for this gathering, your father was yet lord of Vannheim. How is it that you call yourself so?” The question was all curiosity and sincerity.
“My father was killed in a hunting accident.”
“I am sorry. The gods will rejoice at having such a warrior join them. Another drink, in his honor.” Berra poured again and Raef’s stomach twisted as he downed the mead. “You must be weary from your journey. I will have a room prepared.” She and the servant left the hall. A lone guard stood at the outside door and the two axe-wielders stared with unblinking eyes.
Vakre leaned over and whispered in Raef’s ear. “I counted perhaps twenty warriors as we passed through the village.”
“The rest will be with their fields and livestock. The Hammerling’s progress will be slower than ours. I expect we will have two days on him.”
Berra returned, trailed by a girl and two boys. “Our children,” she said. “This is Gytha.” The girl kept her eyes down and hands folded together. Long, pale hair flowed to her waist. This was the daughter the Hammerling had offered, Raef
knew. “Next in age is Asmund. And last is Torverr. The boys will take care of your horses. Gytha will show you to a sleeping chamber. It is large, but plain. It is all we can offer you.”
“It is more than enough,” Raef said quickly.
“Rest. Then join us for a meal later. We will feast when my husband returns.” Berra smiled again and Raef and Vakre followed her daughter from the hall. Gytha brought them to a large, unadorned room filled with sleeping cots and blankets then left as quietly as she had come.
Raef spoke softly to Vakre. “I want eyes on the approach to the gate starting at dawn tomorrow. We must know when the Hammerling is returning. I will meet him at the gate, if I can. No harm must come to his family.”
The evening meal was quiet and simple. Raef was loath to eat, knowing that he planned to violate the guest-host bond, but he had already drunk Berra’s mead and to refuse might be suspicious. The Hammerling’s sons asked eager questions of the warriors and cast curious glances at Eira and Siv. Gytha ate little and said even less. A beauty she had been proclaimed, but her shyness muted her appearance in Raef’s eyes.
Raef rose early and took the first watch at dawn. He found a secluded spot near the hall’s main entrance. A single tree grew there, clinging to rocks, and Raef leaned against its trunk. He had brought his sword, axe, and whetstone as a pretense for being out so early should anyone find him.
The valley spread out around him, cut through in several places by small, swift streams. The mountains, sharp and pocked with snow, rose up abruptly. There were only a few farms in sight; Raef knew the people on the Hammerling’s lands were scattered far afield.
The rain clouds had fled overnight and the sun was allowed to shine through as she rose over the mountains. Raef fingered the hammer around his neck. He had not seen a raven since the one in the rain when he had split from Thorald, but it had been much in his mind in the days since. Ravens were Odin’s eyes and Raef could not help but wonder if the Allfather was watching and judging.
Raef rubbed his hands together to warm them and set to work sharpening his sword. He had sent his father’s sword back to Vannheim with Thorald. It had never been a good fit for him, though he would have liked to use it when he confronted the Hammerling again. His blade needed little work and he soon moved on to the axe, which he had neglected on their journey to the gathering. The axe had been his grandfather’s, a sturdy thing, well-versed in bloodshed. In time, it, too, was ready for battle.
Approaching footsteps made him grip the axe hard, but he turned to see Siv making her way over the rocks to his lookout.
“I drew the next watch. You should go inside and eat something.” She sat down beside him.
“I would rather stay. It is a hard thing to eat at Berra’s table, knowing what I know and wanting what I want. Perhaps we should have set an ambush for the Hammerling on the road.”
“Too late for that now. Besides, he would be wary on the road. In the moment of his homecoming, he will drop his guard.”
Raef nodded. “Do you think the gods can truly dispense justice in combat?”
Siv thought for a moment, her gaze on the mountains, her red-gold hair gleaming. “Yes. But that does not mean they will. We do not know their minds. Even if a man’s cause is just, Odin may still choose to strike him down.” She paused and looked Raef squarely in the face. “Do you fear death comes to you with the face of Brandulf Hammerling?”
“No. But I fear dying before the world knows the truth about my father. I do not know the Hammerling’s strength and skill in battle. I must believe in mine, for that is all I can be certain of.”
**
It was drawing near evening of their second day on the lonely hill when one of Raef’s men, Sindri, bolted into their sleeping chamber.
“He is here.” Sindri paused to take a breath. “The gate guards have seen him as well, but he is still some distance off.”
“We will meet him at the base of the hill. Walk down in pairs; try to draw as little attention as possible.” Raef slid his sword into the scabbard and checked that his axe was secured. “I will go first.”
A small crowd, anticipating their lord’s return, was flocking to the gate, and Raef was able to slip amongst the people easily enough. He kept his head down, though he took note of all armed men he passed. It was useless, for the Hammerling was returning with far more warriors than he had left behind, but it was a habit and Raef did not abandon it.
The crowd halted at the gate and separated down the middle, clearing a path for the Hammerling and his men to ride through. Moments passed; Raef touched the hammer at his neck and scanned the crowd, catching glimpses of his friends. A call came to open the gate and the Hammerling burst through, warriors on his heels. The crowd cheered and Raef stepped out into the path at the same moment the Hammerling acknowledged his people with a wave.
Brandulf Hammerling pulled up his horse, still thirty paces from Raef, recognition coming to his eyes. He urged his mount forward again, slowly this time, until he reached Raef. The Hammerling circled around; Raef held his ground, no weapon yet drawn.
“So, this is what you have chosen.” Brandulf spoke quietly as he dismounted. “To violate my home.” His gaze flickered up to the top of the hill and Raef knew he wondered at the safety of his family.
“They are unharmed and will remain so. I only seek you.”
“I did not kill your father, or wish him dead.”
“A dead man says otherwise.” Raef drew his sword and raised his voice. “Brandulf Hammerling, you will answer for the death of my father. You can ignore me no longer.” The crowd seemed to be collectively holding its breath, confusion now turning to understanding.
The Hammerling nodded, resignation on his face. “So be it. The gods will hear me.” He shrugged out of his traveling cloak and drew his own weapon. Raef felt no pleasure, as he thought he might. If doubt flared somewhere in his mind, he pushed it away. Doubt would get him killed.
The men stepped back from each other and each watched the other for a long moment. Raef took a step to his left, his sword held low, but instead of springing forward, he stumbled, searing pain blackening his vision. He roared in agony and reached back to wrench out the spear that had pierced the leather covering his left shoulder. He whirled, his vision loose, trying to find the attacker, aware that blood was pouring out of the wound.
Raef’s friends jumped from the crowd and the Hammerling’s men came to meet them. Raef, desperate now, tried to close the distance between him and his target, but the Hammerling moved back.
“Enough!” the Hammerling shouted. The warriors stopped and eyed each other warily, and Eira spit at the one closest to her, but no blows were exchanged. Raef, his steps unsure, his sword arm throbbing and nearly useless, came within swinging distance and tried to lunge. The Hammerling deflected with ease and stepped out of reach again.
“Fight me!” Raef screamed. He stumbled to his knees now and let his sword drop. “Or kill me!” The Hammerling approached and Raef looked up at the blue sky to await the killing blow. But it did not fall. The Hammerling was saying something, but Raef could not follow his words. He fought to stay conscious but the darkness crept up on him and then he was falling.
Falling. And then a shield caught him and cradled him. It was dark and utterly quiet. The stars had gone out. The silence was broken by a murmur, so faint he had to strain to catch it. The murmur grew and grew, until it was a roaring wind. But for the shield, he would have been swept away. The wind ceased abruptly and he heard wolves howling now. The cries were fierce and angry and he wished to be far from them. The shield carried him away until the howls died down, but then a fire sprang up, filling his vision, blinding him with its intensity. Battle sounds rang out all around him, but he could see no warriors. He stepped off the shield and felt the earth tremor beneath him. He walked toward the fire but it was no longer a fire. It was now a great wave, as tall as a mountain, and it tumbled toward him with ravaging speed. He did not run, but let it devour h
im.
**
Raef opened his eyes. He was home in Vannheim. No. It all came back, the Hammerling, the spear, the visions. He closed his eyes again and tried to sort through everything in his head. He licked his lips. Thirst.
Raef tried to raise up on his elbows but found he could not. He grimaced in pain and looked down to inspect his shoulder. It was heavily bandaged and he could feel the stitching in his skin. He tried movement again, this time simply lifting his left arm.
“Better not.” Vakre’s voice reached him and he turned his head to see Vakre watching from the doorway. “You live.”
Raef swallowed to find his voice. “I do.” He spotted a cup on a small table to his right and tried to reach for it.
“Let me.” Vakre stepped forward and brought the cup to him.
Raef took a sip of water and then gulped the rest. “I should be dead.”
“You should,” Vakre said.
“Why am I not?”
“You know I am not the one to answer that.” Vakre retreated from the room and returned a moment later with Brandulf Hammerling, then left again. The Hammerling lingered in the doorway for a moment before entering completely. He studied Raef before speaking. Raef did not retreat from his gaze.
“After this conversation, we will never speak of your father’s death again. Is that clear?” The Hammerling gave Raef a hard look. Raef nodded. “Your father was a difficult man to predict. I could not guess whom he might declare for, or if he wanted to rise above the rest. But he would have made a better ally than corpse. If Jarl Thrainson acted on orders, they were not given by me.” The Hammerling loomed over Raef’s bedside.
“You spared my life. Why?” Raef asked.
“I think you, also, would make a better ally than corpse. I am willing to forget the dishonor you have done me, for a price.”
“You want my spears.”
“Your spears, your shields, your axes, your swords, your men, your gold and silver. War is coming to us all. You have a choice to make, Raef Skallagrim. I will not threaten you while you lie here defenseless. But know this: if you do not give me what I want, you will never see your home again, you will never sire children, and you will die miserably.” The Hammerling spoke with a calm certainty.
