by T L Greylock
“Perhaps I was wrong to call on Vannheim.”
“Do not make me your enemy, Bryndis. We have enough of those.”
“Do you threaten her?” Eiger placed one hand on Bryndis’s shoulder and the other on his sword hilt.
Raef kept his gaze on Bryndis. “She knows I do not.”
Before Bryndis could speak again, a new voice interrupted them, weak and trusting, as Skuli spoke his first coherent words.
“Lord? Are you there? Will you not help me?”
Raef held Bryndis’s gaze for a moment longer, though what he might hope to convey to her, he could not say, then went to Skuli’s side.
“Here, I am here.” Raef took Skuli’s hand between both of his. The other man’s skin was cold and dry.
“I had to.” Skuli’s voice took on a measure of strength. “I had to do it.” Skuli’s fingers tightened around Raef’s and he grew agitated, pushing himself off the furs with his other hand and reaching out as though he might latch onto Raef or whatever he could find.
“I know.” Raef took Skuli’s other hand and held them both, hoping to calm him, to give him some peace. “I know.” They were not empty words. Whatever had found Skuli in the Dragon’s Jaw, whatever had brought him to mangle his own eyes, Raef had felt it, too, and it lay over him still. When Skuli grew calm again, Raef pulled him to his feet and led him to the tent flap. Raef pushed aside the heavy canvas and then looked over his shoulder at Bryndis. She met his gaze but neither of them spoke and Raef left her.
Raef had not heard Siv leave the tent, but she was gone and had not lingered nearby. But whatever troubled Siv would have to wait. The Vannheim shelters were quiet when Raef, supporting Skuli, approached, but a few men left on watch rose to meet him.
“Find ale, mead, whatever we have, and clean cloth,” Raef said as he laid Skuli out beside a fire. Two warriors hurried off to do as he asked. A third stared at Skuli’s face, his fingers finding the hammer amulet that hung at his neck. Only then did Raef remember that he had tied his around Skuli’s neck. It was no longer there and the loss of it gnawed at Raef. Ignoring the gaping warrior, Raef pulled his remaining knife from his belt and ran his whetstone along the edge until it satisfied him. By then the two warriors had returned clutching several full skins. Raef opened one and took a swig, glad of the sweet mead as it lined his throat. Then he signaled for them to prop Skuli up so that he might swallow.
“You know what I must do, Skuli?”
“Yes, lord.”
The sockets had to be cleaned. Raef was no healer, but he knew he could not leave the remains of Skuli’s eyes to fester and rot.
“Then drink. And then drink some more.”
Skuli emptied three skins of mead before he slumped against the knees of the men holding him up and let the skin fall from his hands. Raef held the point of the knife in the flames until it began to glow, then, steeling himself with a steadying breath, began to carve out the pulpy eyeballs. Skuli flinched under his touch but did not cry out and Raef hoped he could not feel the searing heat of the blade, could not feel his flesh being scraped from bone.
When he finished, Raef splashed mead across the empty, blackened eye sockets, then followed that with water to wash away the rivulets of blood that lingered on Skuli’s cheeks. The bandage was ready and waiting and Raef wrapped it again and again around Skuli’s head, sealing away the wound. When it was done, Raef leaned over and pressed his lips against Skuli’s hair.
“You are in the gods’ hands now.” Raef got to his feet. “Do not leave him alone.” The three warriors nodded as Raef rinsed his hands with more water and took another gulp of mead. He longed to rest but the night was not through with him yet.
It was not difficult to find Siv. She was perched on a fallen tree at the edge of the camp, and though the ruined fortress was cloaked in darkness and beyond their sight, Raef knew she saw it as clearly as if the sun were shining.
She acknowledged Raef with a small smile and he sat beside her for a long moment before speaking.
“I have never seen you like this.” Raef took her hand. “Will you not tell me what troubles you?”
“My sister is up there.”
They sat in silence. Raef brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the tip of each.
“You never told me her name.”
“Bekkhild.”
“And what are we going to do about Bekkhild?”
Twenty-Six
They hung the hostage at dawn.
It was not a child, as Stefnir had promised, and Raef breathed a sigh of relief as he tilted his face up to the cliff top where the body dangled. Cilla lived. Raef wondered if Fengar’s belly had roiled at the thought of slaughtering a child.
The dead man had been stripped of everything but his lank, dirty hair and his skinny corpse would be left for the crows. Raef had only to look at Bryndis’s face to know that the lady of Narvik knew the man. But she remained resolute and her eyes harbored no trace of tears as she turned her horse away from the cliff and urged him back across the valley.
Siv gazed up at the dead man for a long moment, then she and Raef turned their horses and followed in Bryndis’s wake. They had reached the outer shelters when a startled cry rang out and Raef saw a warrior staring back at the cliff, pointing and shouting words he could not make out.
The body was on fire. It burned without wood, without oil, but even from that distance, Raef could see the flames had consumed the corpse with ease. As voices around him murmured that perhaps Fengar meant it as a kindness, that he had chosen to spare the dead man from scavenging beaks and teeth, but Raef knew in his heart that the fire was not of Fengar’s making.
“Vakre is here.”
But Siv’s eyes were on Bryndis, who had spared the flames only a glance, then continued on into her tent.
“I will speak with her,” Siv said.
“Do you want me to come?”
“No.” Siv ran a hand down Raef’s forearm, then she, too, vanished inside the tent. Raef waited for a time, pacing, catching snatches of murmured words, but as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky and still they did not emerge, he resigned himself to a long wait and returned to the Vannheim shelters.
Skuli’s bandage had been changed already that morning. The soiled one had been burned and a fresh cloth layered over his eyes, but already it was stained with blood and other fluids. He had spoken only a little, Raef was told, but neither had he appeared to sleep. Raef could only imagine what tormented Skuli’s mind, could only imagine what ravaged in the self-inflicted darkness. He had been placed in a shelter and made comfortable with warm furs, and a steaming bowl of broth and a hunk of hard cheese had been set within easy reach, but Skuli reacted only a little to Raef’s voice and said nothing in return.
“His mind is gone,” Njall, another captain and Skuli’s good friend, said to Raef as he stepped out of the shelter.
Raef shook his head. “No. His mind wavers. But it is not yet gone.”
Njall looked uncertain but Lochauld, the young warrior from Axsellund, nodded his agreement. “The gods will give him back to us, but only if Skuli makes that choice.”
Raef did not think the gods had much to do with the twisted blackness of Skuli’s mind, but he kept his doubts to himself, for Njall seemed to find understanding in Lochauld’s words.
“We have preparations to make,” Raef said to the two warriors. The knowledge that Vakre lived and walked among Fengar’s men had steeled his resolve to the promise he had given Siv in the grey hour before dawn. “More hostages will die if the lady Bryndis will not retreat from this valley. She does not seek my counsel and the far greater part of the warriors here are hers, so I cannot force a decision upon her. I mean to assault the fortress tonight.” Raef looked up at the sky. Heavy clouds drifted on the western horizon. “With luck we will have cloud cover to shield us from the moon’s light.”
If Njall doubted Raef’s plan, if he found it foolish and dangerous, he kept that to himself as they spoke o
f the preparations that had to be made, and Raef was sure he saw the lure of battle-fame in Njall’s eyes. The chance of success was small, the chance of death great, but if they could succeed, their names would be carried on the tips of reverent tongues, even to the very gates of Asgard.
Leaving Njall to seek out Dvalarr the Crow and carry out his orders, Raef was returning to Bryndis’s tent when a commotion on the edge of the shelters drew his attention. Raef hesitated, for he longed to know what had transpired between Siv and Bryndis, but the shouting grew louder, rougher, and Raef had no choice but to address it.
The scene was grisly. A body lay on the ground, the skin sliced in countless places and marred with rope burns everywhere else. The man’s face was beaten beyond recognition, and a symbol was carved into his chest. The Odin rune.
Two men, warriors of Narvik Raef recognized, knelt beside the body while three more stood above them, weapons bristling, curses and accusations flying from their tongues. They faced four men wielding axes and there was death in the eyes of each man.
The first attack came from one of the Narvik warriors as Raef stepped into their midst. He seized the man’s cloak, halting his momentum, and yanked hard, putting the warrior off balance. He stumbled back among his comrades and turned, seething, on Raef.
“Enough!” Raef drew his sword and saw fear in the Narvik warrior’s eyes. The men eyed each other uneasily but no one moved. “What has happened here?”
“These dogs hung Buruld from a tree,” one of the Narvik warriors shouted. “Trussed him up like a pig and bled him.”
Raef turned to the other four men. “What offense did he commit?” They were silent. “Answer me.”
“They have only done the Allfather’s will.”
Raef spun to face Eiger, sword pointing at the other man’s throat. The Great-Belly’s son had approached silently and he stood before Raef without fear. His thin lips were turned up in a satisfied smile that spread across his fat cheeks.
“What have you done?” Raef tried to keep his anger contained, but it seeped into his voice.
Eiger spread his hands. “I have sought only to return us to the Allfather’s good will.”
“By murder?”
“Odin hung himself upon Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights.” Eiger gestured at the dead man on the ground. “These have only done so for the span of a morning. What is that compared to the Allfather’s suffering?”
Raef flung his sword to the ground and lunged at Eiger. The fat man could not react in time and Raef, gripping Eiger’s fur collar, hauled him to his knees. “These?” Raef, leaning so close to Eiger’s face that he could see a tiny scar in the other man’s eyebrow, fought the urge to draw his knife and slit open Eiger’s belly so his guts might worm free. “There are others?” Eiger clenched his jaw shut. “Where are the rest?” Still Eiger would not speak and Raef threw him to the ground.
By then a crowd had gathered and Raef sought out Lochauld’s face. “Start a search,” Raef said as he picked up his sword. The young man hurried off, calling other Vannheim warriors to him as he went. Raef seized Eiger’s thick hair and pulled, forcing him to scramble to his feet. “I am bringing you to meet the Crow, Eiger. We shall see how you like suffering then.”
Leaving Eiger in Dvalarr’s capable hands and well guarded by Vannheim warriors, Raef saddled his horse and joined the search for the rest of Eiger’s victims.
The bodies were spread out through the forest that lined the northern edge of the camp. With each new discovery, the hatred in Raef’s gut grew. They cut down eleven bodies, each as mutilated as the first, each bearing the Odin rune in blood upon his chest. Two were of Vannheim. The rest were men of Narvik. Raef knelt beside his men, one so young he had not yet fought his first battle, the other a farmer who had sought to win silver to bring back to his family.
Reflexively, Raef reached for the hammer that no longer hung from his neck. His fingers grasped air, but Raef hoped Thor would still hear the plea for retribution.
“Lord, come quickly.” Lochauld burst into the clearing where the bodies had been stretched out in the snow. “This one is still alive.”
Raef followed Lochauld through the trees until they reached a large, gnarly oak. There, a twelfth man was tied spread-eagle against the trunk, his right arm bent at an excruciating angle, the rope around his neck so tight that Raef could not see how he was still alive. Raef’s men were working to cut him down and Raef stood underneath him as the ropes fell away, taking his weight bit by bit until the last restraints were severed and the warrior was freed.
He was alive, though just. His eyes were slits in his bruised, puffy face. The Odin rune leaked blood onto Raef’s leather jerkin, but it was a surface wound, far less severe than the slashes that covered his flesh. His lips moved, though whether in prayer or in fear Raef could not know for nothing came out. Lochauld pressed a skin of mead to the man’s lips, wetting his tongue, and Raef drew his axe and tucked its handle into the man’s hand so that he might have a weapon and draw the eye of the Valkyries.
He slipped into death so quietly that Raef could not be sure when life left him, but still the Vannheim warriors stood in silence under the spreading arms of the oak, still Raef held the man’s fingers in place around the axe, wondering if Odin was watching, if the Allfather could feel the depth of Raef’s anger toward Eiger.
“His name was Fjorstark.”
Raef had not heard Bryndis and her uncle approach, but it was Siv, standing just behind Bryndis, who Raef looked to and her gaze softened the rage that burned in his heart.
“Eiger must answer for this.” Raef got to his feet and brushed past Bryndis, intent on finding the Great-Belly’s son.
“We need Balmoran’s shields.”
Raef stopped but did not turn until he knew he had mastered his face. “Do we? We sit and wait and let Fengar kill defenseless farmers and children. Balmoran’s shields make no difference.”
Bryndis had applied fresh ink under her eyes. The bold black lines curved away from the outer corners and her pale irises were stark in comparison. “We need Balmoran’s shields if we are to ambush Fengar away from this valley.”
Raef looked to Siv, hardly daring to hope that Bryndis had changed her mind, but Siv’s quiet nod told him everything he needed to know. And yet the thought of standing beside Eiger in the shield wall twisted Raef’s gut.
“The Great-Belly commands the warriors of Balmoran, not this foul murderer,” Raef said. “Thorgrim will agree.” They were uncertain words, at best, for Raef did not know if the Balmoran warriors were loyal to the father or the son. But he meant to see Eiger undone for his crimes.
“The Great-Belly rests in my hall, Skallagrim, and does not like to travel.”
Raef was tempted to reveal Thorgrim’s secret, to tell Bryndis that the lord of Balmoran was not as weak as he pretended to be, but he held his tongue. And he was aware of the ears and eyes around them. This was not the place to discuss alliances, even among loyal men of Vannheim.
Raef took a deep breath. “Let the order be given to break up the camp. I will bring word to Fengar of our departure. We will determine Eiger’s fate once the hostages are no longer threatened.”
Bryndis nodded and swept from the clearing with her uncle at her side. Raef went to Siv and, smiling, took her face in his hands.
“What did you say to her?”
“The truth. I think Bryndis is capable of withstanding a great deal when it comes to her own person and to those she bears responsibility for. The world has molded her that way. She has grown hard and she takes refuge in her strength. But her heart is not so cold that she is deaf to a sister’s pleas.”
Raef kissed Siv’s forehead as Lochauld and the other Vannheim warriors carried Fjorstark’s body from the trees. “I am glad.”
“Will Fengar honor his promise?”
“He has no reason not to. When he sees the valley empty, he will be glad to be rid of the burden of more mouths to feed. And he will be glad, I thi
nk, to be gone from this place. Narvik is not the quiet sanctuary he hoped it would be.”
Siv nodded. “And Vakre?”
“Vakre must know what he is doing.” It worried Raef that the son of Loki was so deep behind enemy lines. He would rather have Vakre at his side as they set a trap for Fengar, but Vakre had come to a decision about his uncle and Raef would not interfere.
Taking Siv’s hand, they returned to the camp. Already shelters were being broken down, horses saddled and burdened, and fires dashed out with river water. Raef spoke with Njall, reversing the orders he had given the captain to prepare for a night assault on the fortress, then made certain Dvalarr had Eiger well in hand and gave strict orders that he was not to be released. The Crow would keep a heavy guard close to deter Balmoran warriors who might attempt to free Eiger. Then Raef saddled his horse and rode alone toward the cliff, the banner of Vannheim streaming behind him.
He was left waiting for some time. His horse, sensing Raef’s mood, would not wait idly and Raef was content to let the grey mare pace the base of the cliff as he kept his gaze trained on the narrow footpath above him. At last a figure appeared, followed by three more, and the party of warriors began to make the descent. Fengar led the way, swathed in grey furs, his face newly gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. Stefnir was but a step behind him and Raef, as he watched them traverse the uneven path, wondered if the lord of Gornhald regretted turning Fengar into a king or harbored ambitions of taking his place. Raef had hoped for sight of Hauk of Ruderk, but if he had made it to Fengar, he did not show himself. Behind Stefnir walked Romarr, Vakre’s uncle and the lord of Finnmark, and his faithful dog. The sight of Ulthor Ten-blade, sour-faced, mouth filled with rotten teeth, wove a knot in Raef’s stomach, but he forced himself to look to Fengar as the four men followed the last switchback and then came to a standstill at the bottom of the cliff.
“Release the hostages, Fengar,” Raef said. He kept his horse moving, turning in tight circles in front of the would-be king.
