by T L Greylock
They clung to the mountains for more than a day, until a warrior from Norfaem was sure that turning east would take them into Ver, not Ulfgang. Whether the man was right or not, their presence seemed to go unseen as they worked their way through the deep forests. When Raef called a halt for the night, the last scouts had returned, riding hard and bringing a stranger with them. The man was marked by wounds that looked to be more than seven days old and his hair had been shorn unevenly. He was parched and needed a drink of water before he could speak. As he gulped icy water from a borrowed skin, one of the scouts spoke in Raef’s ear.
“He bears a banner of Kolhaugen, lord,” the man said. “He hardly spoke and did not seem to care if he lived or died, but the banner stayed our blades.”
Raef went to the warrior, who had emptied the skin and now stared at the men surrounding him. His eyes showed fear.
“Come, friend,” Raef said, keeping his voice quiet. “Tell me your name.” He gestured behind his back and Erling understood. The captain began to turn the onlookers away.
The warrior touched a string around his neck. If it had borne a hammer, as Raef’s did, the amulet had been torn off and his fingers grasped at air. The stranger found his voice and it was stronger than Raef expected.
“I am Agmund.” His eyes met Raef’s for the first time. “I know your face.”
Raef nodded. “I am Raef Skallagrim, ally of the Hammerling. Is Eirik of Kolhaugen your lord?”
“He is.”
“Does he live?”
“To say yes or no would be a lie, for I do not know, lord.”
“Are you alone?”
“Three others traveled with me. The last one died yesterday.” Agmund spoke the simple fact without emotion.
Raef scanned Agmund’s wounds and determined the warrior was not in desperate need of care. He could answer more questions.
“What happened?”
“We were all going to die.”
The near echo of the Deepminded’s words sent a spark up Raef’s spine. It had been long since he had thought of that mountain cavern. He would not have thought her words would come to him so clearly still and yet they penetrated deep into his mind. It should not have made him uneasy, but it did. Forcing himself to focus on Agmund, Raef looked the warrior in the eye.
“What do you mean?”
Rather than looking away as he recalled what had happened, Agmund’s gaze seemed to burrow deeper into Raef’s face. “They came to us like a whisper on the wind, swift and silent as the wings of a bird, but with fire in their eyes and death in their hands.” Agmund blinked. “We broke. I am not ashamed to say so. The screams of my brothers followed me, but still I ran until my legs would go no farther and then I crawled until my hands bled.”
“What made you run? The Palesword’s army?” Raef asked.
Agmund lay a hand on Raef’s forearm and drew him close. “I saw my cousin drive his sword through a warrior’s heart. It might as well have been the bite of an insect for all the damage it did. The warrior put his hand on the hilt and drew the blade out of his chest. And then he cut off my cousin’s head with his own sword.”
Raef heard a laugh behind him and turned to see Hauk of Ruderk, a wide smile on his face. “A madman. He speaks nonsense.”
Raef, his own mind churning at Agmund’s words, said nothing and looked back at the Kolhaugen warrior.
“I speak the truth,” Agmund said, his eyes now on Hauk. He did not challenge, did not cry out, did not act as a madman might. He looked back at Raef. “Another man buried his axe in a warrior’s neck. He did not bleed, did not even stumble.”
“The cold has broken him, Skallagrim,” Hauk called out.
“Enough,” Raef shouted. In his thoughts he could hear the Far-Traveled’s story of the army the goddess Freyja raised from the dead and unleashed upon the world of men. Of how only Odin had tamed them and of their burial deep within a mountain. “See that his wounds are looked at,” Raef said to Erling. He pushed past Hauk and into the trees, craving the solitude only a dark forest could give him.
The tall trees stood like silent sentinels around Raef when he came to rest in a clearing. A hill rose up sharply on one side and a waterfall, no more than a trickle splashing down through a trail of rocks, danced in the moonlight. Raef cupped his hand where the water flowed in greatest quantity and drew the icy water to his lips but did not drink. He watched the water drain from his hand and spill upon the thin layer of snow that covered the ground.
He wished for Hauk of Ruderk’s ignorance, wished the Far-Traveled had never told him the story of Freyja’s army. Without that knowledge, he could believe Agmund mad, he could march to face the Palesword without a care.
A rustling in the tallest tree drew Raef’s eye and he looked up to see a raven perched on a branch, settling its wings as though it had just landed. A moment later a second raven swooped across the clearing, just above Raef’s head, and landed opposite the first. The black feathers were glossy and gleaming and the birds watched Raef with steady eyes.
“Is the One Eyed watching me, then?” Raef called up to the birds, not expecting an answer. “Tell him he should have burned that cursed army long ago, not buried them where men might look. Odin is wise, but in this his wisdom has failed him. Tell him I, Raef Skallagrim, say this.” Raef’s voice rose. “Or does he betray those he created, those who have sought all their lives to earn a place in his hall? Does he wish the destruction of the world of men?” Anger made Raef’s body tremble. “He will not have it. I will give every breath and every bone I have to defy him. Tell him!” Raef shouted his challenge to the wind. Silence followed and then the ravens took to the sky, each uttering a single shriek as their wings blacked out the stars above the clearing. And then they were gone.
Raef closed his eyes, half-expecting Odin to appear and strike him down with his mighty spear. There was only the sound of trees and falling water. His heart slowed to a normal pace. He did not doubt the ravens were the Allfather’s. Their arrival was too timely, their eyes too keen, their departure too fierce. But he wondered at their presence and what the Allfather could have hoped to learn. Raef did not want to believe Odin would will the end of the race of men, but if he did, Raef had meant his words. He would fight even the god himself.
“The Allfather will be pleased.”
The voice sprang from the darkness like an arrow shot from a bow and Raef whirled to find the source. Unbidden, the Deepminded’s cold smile filled his thoughts and then was just as suddenly banished as Vakre stepped from behind a tree trunk.
Words failed Raef and his heart began to race again. Vakre maintained his distance, his face somber. He looked exactly as Raef had last seen him save for a new cloak, a skin darker than the night sky.
Suspicions flooded Raef’s mind and body and he closed the gap between them in three quick strides, his knife out and poised to strike Vakre’s heart. “How did you find me here?” Vakre made no move to defend himself but let the knife point rest against his chest. “Where did you go?”
After a moment, Vakre spoke, his voice calm. “I have been with my father.”
“Impossible, your father is dead.”
“That was your assumption and I never corrected it. There is much to tell, Raef. Will you put the knife away?
“I will not.”
With a quickness Raef did not anticipate, Vakre’s own blade was out and at his throat. “Stab me and your throat will be opened.” The blade was cold against Raef’s skin but he did not look away from Vakre’s eyes. “I do not wish to fight you, but I will if I must. Only hear me first.” Vakre pivoted and hurled his knife into a tree behind him. It shuddered in the wood and Vakre looked at Raef expectantly.
Raef lowered his blade but did not sheathe it, not prepared to yield yet. “Explain yourself.”
“I told you once I have never known my father, and that was the truth. Until the day of the flood, I had never seen or spoken to him. But when I spoke those words I did not mean his identi
ty was unknown to me. My uncle knows it and shuns me for it. The truth frightens him. I have never shared it with anyone.” Vakre looked hard at Raef. “My father is Loki.”
Raef’s reaction was instinctual. “You lie.”
“What man would claim Loki as his father? What man would want the world to know such blood runs in his veins? It is the truth.”
Vakre’s words made sense but Raef did not want to believe it. “And I should trust the son of Loki?”
“I am not my father.”
Raef threw his knife to the ground and began to pace. “Tell me what happened.”
“The flood waters took me and I would have drowned had not my father rescued me. I knew him at once. He said he had a task for me. I resisted, but what can a man do when the god dons his falcon skin and takes to the sky with you in his talons? The world was so small from up there. We flew north to the mountains of Norfaem and landed on a high peak. Then Loki cast me down from that peak into a deep abyss and I knew nothing but dark dreams full of unknown and unspeakable terrors. When I awoke, Loki was there once more and we flew away from the mountains. Below us, an army moved and my father praised me for my good work, though I knew not of what he spoke. He flew to the top of a waterfall and asked what gift he could give me in return. I said, ‘You gave me a cloak once, now give me another. Give me the cloak off your own back.’ He was not pleased, but he had promised me anything.” Vakre touched the dark material that draped across his shoulders and then closed his eyes. Raef jumped back as the skin burst into flames. In the blink of an eye, the fire was gone and Vakre stood unharmed. “Loki was always fond of fire,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“The instant I wrapped my father’s cloak around me, my memory returned and I knew what I had done to earn such a reward.” Vakre paused, his face full of sorrow and despair. “You may have denied the Palesword from using the Far-Traveled, but it was in vain. I opened the heart of the mountain, Raef. I unleashed Freyja’s army and gave it to the Palesword.”
Raef struggled to find words as Vakre’s story and all its implications penetrated his mind. “How did you come to be here?”
“When my memory came back to me, my grief was plain for Loki to see. He laughed and said I was weak, too weak, and that he would let me suffer with the world I loved too much. He left me there, the waterfall roaring my failure in my ears. But I vowed to fight what I had brought to life and through that roar, something came to me, I do not know how. Perhaps my father’s touch awoke in me something of the gods, perhaps Frigg took pity on me.” Vakre met Raef’s eyes again. “I knew how to find you.”
Raef willed himself to separate his joy at seeing Vakre alive from his suspicions over his sudden appearance. He sensed the story had truth in it, but wondered if Vakre came back to him now as an honest friend or as a true son of Loki. What mischief the god might have planned that Vakre was now a part of, Raef could not fathom. Above all other thoughts that raced through his head, his father’s warning was clearest, his doubt that a child of a god and a child of Midgard could form a bond of trust. He knew he alone could not judge Vakre.
Raef walked to the tree and pulled Vakre’s knife from the trunk. He tucked it in his own belt and made a note of Vakre’s remaining weapons. “Come, they will be looking for me,” Raef said. With a gesture, he indicated Vakre should walk in front of him. The half god took a direct course back to the campsite without any prodding from Raef, but paused when they neared the men on watch, whose hands flew to their weapons at the sight of a stranger. They relaxed when Raef showed himself and let them pass.
Vakre’s presence caused a stir among those who recognized him and knew he had been presumed dead. Raef ignored the whispers as they greeted Siv, who was quick to embrace Vakre, a smile on her face.
“Have the gods sent you back to us, then?” When neither Raef nor Vakre answered, Siv’s smile dimmed and her face grew serious.
Vakre spoke at last. “You are closer to the truth than you know.”
Raef broke in before he could continue. “Siv.” He focused on her green eyes. “Hear what Vakre has to say. And then find me. We will talk.”
Siv’s expression turned to confusion but she nodded and Raef left them alone. He wanted to give Siv the chance to hear the story as he had, without the influence of another. Finding a fallen tree to sit on well out of hearing distance, Raef unsheathed his sword and began to work the blade, sharpening edges and smoothing nicks in the metal. In the darkness, he did it more by feel than with his eyes. The task gave him a measure of peace from the grim thoughts that troubled him. After the sword, his knives, short sword, and axe all received the same treatment in turn.
The camp was quiet when Siv came to him some time later. She settled onto the log next to him and rested her face in one palm.
“The Palesword’s shadow takes shape,” Siv said.
“Yes.” Raef shifted so he could look at her. “We know now what kind of army we will face here in the north. The stories we have heard, from the lady Dagmaer, from Agmund, from farmers, they fit together as they did not before. I do not doubt that part of Vakre’s story.”
“But you doubt him.”
“Loki may have sent him back to us, to lure us into a trap or some other vile betrayal. How can we know?”
Siv was silent for a moment. “We cannot know exactly what passed between father and son. It may be that Vakre was tempted by his father. Nor can I know what is in Loki’s heart. But I believe I know what is in Vakre’s.”
“You think I should trust him.”
“Yes, but you must make that decision for yourself. And you are a leader of men. The decision you make is theirs as well. Give it time. Keep him at bay. Allow him a chance to earn your trust and his place. He knows you. He should not expect less.”
Siv’s words resonated with Raef and he felt some of the tension ease from him. “We must keep his secret. If others know,” Raef shook his head, “I would fear for his life.” Siv nodded and then stood. She extended a hand, drawing Raef up from the log as well. “You must always keep your level head, Siv. I do not know what I would do without it.”
Twenty-Six
Grey and bleak was the dawn. The sun was elusive, hiding behind the low, heavy clouds that clung to the hills. Vakre’s story, excepting his link to Loki, had spread through the camp in the night until it was on every tongue. Many scoffed at the notion that the Palesword commanded Freyja’s long-forgotten army, but through their bluster Raef sensed unease. Among the captains, if there was doubt, it did not show, but it was clear they all understood the Palesword had the upper hand.
Raef gathered the captains and Hauk of Ruderk to him. Siv and Vakre watched from the side.
“We will not risk open battle with the Palesword. Not until we have regrouped with the Hammerling. This ground is as good as any. We will linger and search for more survivors. Agmund tells me they met with the Palesword on the border of Hullbern and Skolldain. With luck, Torrulf has turned his attention to the rich lands of Gornhald. Erling,” Raef turned to his captain, “you will stake out a large perimeter that can alert us of any approaching warriors, friend or foe. Our search parties will penetrate the wilderness beyond the perimeter but return always by nightfall. We must keep together. Understood?”
The captains nodded their assent. Hauk of Ruderk kept quiet until Erling and the others had dispersed. “And Fengar?”
“What of him?”
“Perhaps it is time we made use of him,” Hauk said.
Raef’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Alive or dead, the Palesword’s numbers far outreach our own.”
“The Hammerling will bring more men than we left him with.”
Hauk shrugged. “He will try. He might fail. Is not one host better than two?”
“Join with Fengar? The Hammerling will never consent. He is bent on death.”
“The Hammerling is not here.”
Raef did not respond directly to Hauk’s suggestion of dis
obedience. “Say I make a pact with Fengar. What keeps him from turning on me the moment I cut his bonds?”
“His chances against the Palesword are no better than ours.”
The truth of Hauk’s words was plain to see. Raef looked at Fengar, who sat against a tree trunk, his eyes closed. Remembering Leifnar, Raef did not have the stomach to parley with the other lord, either with a threat he felt all too deeply or a smile he did not feel at all. “Speak with him.”
Raef watched Hauk approach Fengar but did not wait around. Calling together the first search party, they struck out to the east. Siv rode beside Raef while Vakre lingered behind. The group of six was quiet out of necessity, speaking only to confer on possible tracks. The forest was immense and sprawled far in all directions. The only signs of life were game runs. They followed several to water, knowing Eirik or his men might do the same, but discovered only deer and rabbits, a few of which fell victim to their arrows. They pushed as far as they could, knowing they would have to turn back well before dark.
The hunt did Raef good and he was glad to see the perimeter in effect upon their return. A warrior, perched in a tree and hard to see in the fading light, greeted them. Raef tossed a spare skin of ale to the watcher, who would be relieved only at dawn.
“Keep a sharp eye,” Raef called up.
“The sharpest, lord.” The man smiled cheerfully and settled against the trunk, his legs stretched out on a fat limb. Raef waved farewell and continued on. The camp was dark when they returned and there was no fire to warm the night. Though he had banned night fires, Raef made an exception so they could cook the fresh meat. Small portions were passed around and savored, then washed down with ale.
Raef extended no meat to Fengar, but the lord called out to him as he passed by to visit with Finnolf Horsebreaker. “Skallagrim.” Raef paused. Fengar grinned. “Should you not embrace your new friend with hospitality?”
