by T L Greylock
“And if I choose that death? I have insulted you, violated your wife’s hospitality, and unwillingly owe you my life.”
“You will not.”
“Why is that?” Raef already knew the answer.
“Because to live is to have the chance to avenge your father.”
**
Raef slept and woke to Eira changing his bandages. Her hands moved with quick surety as she applied a thick, white paste to the wound and then dressed it again with clean cloth.
“How is it?” he asked.
“You were lucky. You will regain full use of the arm.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“Five days.”
“I have pledged the full strength of Vannheim to the Hammerling.” Raef looked into her grey eyes. “You offered me your swords, but I have not offered them to him. You may choose your own path.”
Eira shrugged. “The Hammerling or Fengar of Solheim, what difference does it make? War is war. Some men die in battle, some men live. It does not much matter to me which side I fight on.”
“You do not care who claims lordship over all?”
She looked at him with more than a little disdain. “One king is much like another.”
“Perhaps you are right. But still, I have given my word.”
Eira leaned over and murmured in his ear, “Then I will give mine.” He pulled her down closer and kissed her deeply. A commotion outside caused her to pull away as Vakre entered the room.
“Time to get on your feet,” Vakre said. He offered an arm for assistance.
“Why?”
“The Hammerling has an audience.”
The Hammerling’s hall was full to bursting as Raef and Vakre edged in through a side door. Raef walked upright, but with considerable pain, and was relieved to find a bench near the door. He sank down, trying not to clutch his shoulder. Only after Vakre handed him a cup of ale did he turn his attention to the Hammerling and his visitors.
Five lords knelt before the Hammerling, each in turn offering words of alliance and promises of fealty if the Hammerling would in turn promise them battle against Fengar.
It was a good show. Raef knew these lords were already certain the Hammerling would challenge Fengar or they would not be there. Brandulf nodded and seemed to consider, then spoke, his voice reaching all corners of the hall.
“The king from Solheim was chosen unjustly. The gods will reward those who seek to right this wrong. We will spill treacherous blood, and I will send Fengar to Valhalla!” This last was shouted and the onlookers in the hall roared their approval. Raef understood that this was the first that the Hammerling’s people had heard his intentions spoken so publicly.
The lords rose and Raef, seeing their faces for the first time, saw that Hauk of Ruderk was among them. “He,” Raef murmured to Vakre, while indicating Hauk, “pledged to support my father.”
“Your father is dead.” It was not a gentle reminder, but nor did Raef need it to be. It should not have mattered that Hauk would turn to another, but it still rankled him.
“Skallagrim!” The Hammerling shouted for him and Raef stood, keeping his shoulders straight and refusing to flinch in pain. “Show these men that they are not the first to seek me out.” Raef threaded his way through the crowd with deliberate slowness to keep his head from spinning. He came to a stop at the Hammerling’s side and looked each lord in the eyes, daring them to ask what he, after swearing vengeance, was doing as the Hammerling’s first ally. Each lord looked away in turn and said nothing, though Hauk of Ruderk’s eyes lingered longer.
“Come, let us speak in private,” the Hammerling said. He led them out of the hall and into the sunshine of a small, stony courtyard. Raef breathed in deeply, glad of the fresh air but also to master the fire that was raging in his shoulder. “What news?”
The oldest man present, Vathnar of Norfaem, was first to answer. “Fengar sits still at Balmoran. Some push him to move soon and quickly, while others speak of waiting and consolidating his position. No matter what course he chooses, it is likely he will return to Solheim first.”
“Torrulf Palesword has gone to ground.” Hauk was next to speak. “He was headed home to Ulfgang but may have changed course. There are a number of places he might have holed up, but even if he has, we can expect he will seek to fortify his fortress at Ulfgang.”
Raef broke in, remembering the Palesword’s dignity and goodwill. “Is the Palesword our enemy?”
“Only one man can be king, Skallagrim,” Hauk said. “If Torrulf Palesword seeks it for himself, then he is our enemy.”
“How many lords side with him?” the Hammerling asked.
“Hard to say. Perhaps eight at this point.” Hauk quickly added, “But some of them can offer him little when it comes to strength in battle. You alone,” he said to the Hammerling, “can command a force larger than three or four of them combined.”
The Hammerling growled. “Do not flatter me. I know what I have. And I know what you have, Orleson,” he said pointedly. If Hauk was embarrassed, he did not show it. “What else do we know?”
Vathnar of Norfaem shrugged and said, “Little. Perhaps we should consult the Deepminded.”
“To travel there would take time and could yield nothing.” This came from Tyrvin, the short, small-eyed lord of Ragmoor.
“Or everything,” Raef said.
The Hammerling was silent for a moment. “Skallagrim, you will go to the Deepminded and learn what you can from her wisdom. The rest of you will stay while we shape our plans. But we must be quick. I do not intend to wait here for Fengar and Torrulf to fall on us with axe and shield.”
Ten
“A test of loyalty?” Vakre wondered as he packed his and Raef’s belongings. The other men from Vannheim were already assembled with the horses. In addition to those who had arrived with Raef, the Hammerling had added six of his own men. They were to leave immediately for the far north.
Raef leaned against the wall and tried to will away the pain in his shoulder. It would be a hard journey as his wound healed, but he would rather face that than remain and argue battle plans with the other lords. “Perhaps. Either he wishes me out of his way or he believes I am capable of getting the answers he seeks.”
“Or he thinks to save you both from troublesome questions,” Vakre said while stuffing his saddlebags. “The other lords must surely wonder about your unexpected alliance.”
“Undoubtedly. Let them wonder.”
Vakre stopped what he was doing and looked at Raef. “Are you sure you can travel?”
“What choice do I have? Besides, I would rather see with my own eyes what lies outside of these mountains. The Deepminded is not the only source of information.”
Vakre nodded and shouldered the saddlebags. They joined their party outside and Raef managed to pull himself onto his horse, though the effort made his head swim and his eyes water. He did not intend to show his weakness to the lords or the Hammerling’s men who would accompany him.
It was well past mid-day when they rode from the Hammerling’s hall and down the hill to the gate. They would push hard to make good time while daylight remained, then continue on, slower, into the night before stopping. The horses thundered through the gate and out onto the wide, brown plain, eager to stretch their legs and race the clouds across the valley. Soon the Hammerling’s hill faded behind them, dwarfed by the mountains, until only an eagle could have spotted it. The fastest way out of the valley was to the south, but as soon as they left the mountains behind, they would turn north.
The first days of their journey passed uneventfully and with good weather. Only once did Raef see other travelers. Their path was far from the lands of Fengar and Torrulf and the chance that someone would recognize them was slight, but even so, they took care to stay away from well-traveled routes, keeping instead among the trees. They set night watches, rose early, and rode late.
Raef’s shoulder throbbed anew each morning, but the pain would dull by evening and Eira
did her best to keep it clean and covered. By the fifth day, Raef nearly felt himself again, though he knew he was still far from recovered. He could not yet trust himself with a sword in that hand.
On the eighth night, they had camped along a swift-flowing river banked on either side by pebble-covered shores and cliffs. They sheltered among the boulders that had broken off the cliff and now lay strewn on the water’s edge. They awoke on the morning of the ninth day to a dusting of snow, so light it barely clung to the rocks and tree branches yet strong enough to make the world gleam in the crisp morning air.
But snow was not the only thing Raef saw in the early dawn light. Among the first to rise, he stood at the river’s edge, looking for fish in the rushing water. Movement on the opposite cliff caught his eye and he glanced up to see a horse and rider.
The man was watching them, there was no doubt of that, and not afraid of being seen. There was tree cover nearby, but he had not sought it. Raef made no movement to suggest he had spotted the watcher, but continued to pursue the fish. He speared a fourth, using his right arm, and then retreated to the camp. Kneeling beside Vakre, who was rekindling their night fire, he began to skewer the fish onto sticks for a morning meal.
“We are not alone,” he said quietly.
Vakre’s gaze immediately jerked around their surroundings then, narrowing, came to rest on the rider on the cliff. “Just one?”
“For now.” Raef propped the sticks against a piece of driftwood so the fish could cook over the now burning fire.
“Any sign of who he is or where he comes from?”
Raef shook his head. “By my estimate, we are on Danewyll lands now, but that does not mean he is Rikar’s man.”
“And if he is? Is Rikar of Danewyll a man you know?”
“Not well. I remember him visiting Vannheim twice when I was young. He might know me by name, but that is all.”
“If he is even at home,” Vakre said.
“Even if he is not, someone knows we are here and is having us watched.” Raef turned the fish over the fire. More men around them were awake now and Raef glanced discreetly to see that the watcher was still there. Someone else was bound to notice.
It was one of Brandulf Hammerling’s men who sounded the alarm and in a moment, the whole party was scrambling for weapons, though Raef tried to calm them. A few shouted insults and then the watcher turned his horse and disappeared. Instantly, voices clamored to chase him down, each man eager for the job. Siv stayed quiet, a look of amusement on her face, and Vakre was trying to get them to stop talking, but Eira was just as insistent as the rest.
Raef shouted for silence. “We do not know who he was,” he began.
“All the more reason to hunt him down, lord,” said one of the Hammerling’s men.
“We are no threat to him or his lord,” Raef said, louder and harsher this time. “I will not start a fight when none is required.”
“It might be required now.” Siv said this quietly, her eyes on the cliff. Raef followed her gaze and saw that where one man had been, there were now a dozen or more.
“We will not engage them,” Raef said. “Reaching the Deepminded is our task. Break camp, then we will ride. If they follow, let them. If they attack, kill them.” Though some men grumbled that they should attack now, most seemed appeased by this and the party was soon ready to continue north.
The rocky riverbed gave way to even ground, so they traveled upstream rather than backtrack in order to climb to the cliff top. They were exposed, Raef knew, down by the river, and the mounted strangers followed along their cliff, keeping pace but maintaining distance.
The sun had climbed into the sky by the time the river curled west and the cliffs had been left behind. Raef led his men away from the water so as to continue north. A flat, bleak expanse of land opened up before them, and a short sprint on a horse would close the gap between the two groups. It was here at last that the watchers made their move. Fanning out, they increased their pace until they were spread in a half-circle just to the rear of Raef’s men. Raef slowed his horse and doubled back to face them, then came to a halt. The watchers halted as well.
“Why do you stalk us?” Raef called out. “We seek only to pass through to the north.” They gave no answer. “Are these the lands of Danewyll?” Again, no answer, but the silence was suddenly ripped open by a war cry and then a death scream. Eira, spurring her horse forward, had struck at the man closest to her, but his horse, lurching sideways in fright, got the blow instead. It stumbled and fell, blood pulsing from its neck and its rider trapped by its weight. Eira leaped from her horse and put her blade to the man’s throat as swords, axes, and spears all came to life around her.
Raef raised his sword arm to deflect the first blow and felt a searing pain in his shoulder. Screaming through his teeth in an effort to counter the pain, Raef slashed brutally at his opponent to off balance him, then knocked him from his horse. Raef jumped to the ground and plunged his sword into the man’s chest before he could rise. Wrenching his sword from bone and flesh, he straightened and switched the sword to his right hand just in time to brace for an oncoming rider. Sidestepping at the last moment, Raef took a cut at the horse’s legs, sending the horse tumbling over its head and the rider flying from the saddle. The man regained his feet, but not quickly enough to evade Raef’s sword and the arcing blade cut deep into his shoulder, dropping him. Raef, already focused on the next opponent, didn’t even see him die.
The fight was brutal, bloody, and short. Of his men, two were wounded but would survive. Seven men died at the hands of Raef’s warriors before the others begged for mercy. Raef, clutching his shoulder where the stitched wound throbbed, granted it and then stumbled back to his horse, leaving the others to secure their prisoners. He sank to the ground, eyes closed, breath ragged, and then a sure, calm hand sought his and he opened his eyes to see Siv’s face close to his own.
“On your feet,” she said. And somehow he was able to rise, her arm guiding him.
The captives, huddled together on their knees, wrists bound, were willing to answer Raef’s questions this time.
“Rikar of Danewyll is our lord. You were spotted entering these lands and we picked up your trail two days later.”
“For what purpose?” Raef asked.
“Only to watch,” the man said, though Raef caught the flickered glance of another man and wondered if there had been some disagreement amongst them.
“Which king does Rikar support?”
“Fengar of Solheim.”
“And when will Rikar’s spears be bloodied?”
“I do not know.”
He could be lying, but Raef was inclined to believe that a scouting party would not be privy to Rikar’s, much less Fengar’s, battle plans. Raef turned his attention to his own men. “Take anything of use. We will leave them here.”
The men began picking through the few belongings the Danewyll men had with them, and Raef chose two horses to take as spares. Raef slipped a gold ring from the arm of one of the men he killed and pushed it up his own arm to join the others. Soon the group had remounted and was prepared to ride. Raef looked over his shoulder at the captives one last time. “If you should make it back to your lord, tell him Brandulf Hammerling sends his greetings.” Raef urged his mount forward and they soon left the stranded men behind, nothing more than specks on a windy moor.
That night, Eira cleaned his shoulder, dabbing at the raw, angry flesh. The stitches had held, but blood had leaked through and dried to a crust on his skin.
“You should not have attacked that man,” he murmured as he leaned back against a tree trunk and watched her work. “We did not know if they were friend or foe.”
Eira snorted. “Tell me that you truly think it would not have come to blows, and I will pretend to be sorry. All I did was begin the inevitable.”
Raef smiled a little. “You are probably right.” Eira finished wrapping the new strips of cloth and sat back to examine her work. “It is a thing of beau
ty. You should kiss me now.”
Eira arched an eyebrow, but leaned forward, hunger in her eyes and on her lips. The kiss was deep and eager, and Raef soon forgot the ache in his shoulder.
**
Their days were full of silence and their nights full of the sound of wolves. They kept to the open moors, choosing wind and rain over the pine shrouded hills and the beasts that lurked within. Snow fell again, two days after the first dusting, and did not melt away this time. The air grew cold, colder than Raef expected at that time of year, even as far north as they were.
One of the injured men developed a fever. After two nights of hearing him cry out in his sleep and seeing him nearly fall from his horse during the day, Raef made the decision to leave him. Siv spotted a farm and she and Raef approached it cautiously.
A young boy was feeding a pair of pigs as they rode up to the low, thatched house. The dog at his side barked twice as Siv and Raef drew near. The boy dropped his feed and picked up an axe, staring at the strangers with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
Raef raised a hand and stopped his horse while thirty paces still stretched between them. “We mean you no harm.” The boy kept his axe up, as Raef himself would have. “Is your father or mother at home?”
The door to the house creaked open and a woman’s face appeared. “Arnolf, who is there?” Then she saw them and stepped from the doorway. “What do you want?” Hers was the voice of a woman long practiced at dealing with strangers. Here, in this lonely place, there was no help that could come quickly in times of trouble.
“We are traveling north,” Raef called as he dismounted and walked toward her. “A member of our party is wounded and has fallen ill. He needs rest, care, and a warm bed to sleep in. I will pay you for these things.”
