The High-King (Isolde Saga Book 5)

by Robert Jones

  “Why?” Isolde asked softly.

  The woman shook her head again and her lips moved yet no words came out.

  Harald looked up at Isolde and she saw his sorrowful eyes.

  “Probably to find others,” he said.

  Isolde felt sick as the mother nodded.

  “Do you know where they are?” Isolde asked.

  She nodded slowly and her eyes turned up to the copse of trees on the hill above the village.

  “We can help them,” Isolde said to Harald, but he just looked at her and shook his head and she knew he was right.

  “Do you know the way to Eyndale?” Isolde asked the mother quickly.

  The woman looked at her blankly and slightly shook her head.

  “You go south,” Isolde said. “And you go as fast as you can. These lands are not safe anymore. You stop for no one until you get to Firth, then follow the road to Harkham. From Harkham, you follow the River Jule east for five or so days and you will find Eyndale in the foot of the mountains. And when you get there, you tell them that Isolde sent you. Can you do that?”

  “I can,” the woman whispered.

  “Good,” Harald said, “then you go to the trees first, and you get as many of your people as you can, and you take them to safety.”

  They watched as the mother and her children walked out over the hills toward the trees, and Isolde wondered if they would have the strength to make the journey. But as the thought came, the mother turned and waved to them. It was a small gesture, but it filled Isolde with hope. Maybe there was strength still left in the world.

  “I don’t get it,” Harald said, sending Isolde’s thoughts scattering away. “Why would they take only the women and children? Why not just kill them all.”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, but the question had been on Isolde’s mind as well.

  She moved to the silent pile of the dead and looked into the lifeless eyes of Ubbe. He had been a plump man, not a fighter in any way, yet still, he stood to fight and die for what he loved. She put the bow into his cold hands and closed his fingers around the handle. A warrior deserves at least this, she thought, and she was surprised to see Harald lay his own borrowed weapon atop the dead. They didn’t speak for a long time after that but left the town much in the same way they had found it and made their way eastwards.

  CHAPTER II

  As the sun slowly set behind them, Harald and Isolde followed their long shadows into the next town. Any shock that might have come from the sight of the next massacre was lost on them. It was as though they were numb to it now, maybe even expecting it. But the fact that they had seen so much death in only one day still left the bitter taste of disgust in Isolde’s mouth. She was tired, not just of the destruction that Hrothgar was forcing through the north, but of the journey itself. Her body ached as if every ounce of energy had been spent and the very essence of life had been sucked from her bones.

  “Look,” Harald said, pointing out the corpse of a blue-shielded raider. “They got a few of them.”

  He sounded almost happy, but Isolde could hear the exhaustion in his voice. They moved through this new village like ghosts, weaving in and out of the homes as little more than witnesses to something that words could never manage to describe. The bodies of men far outnumbered that of the few woman and children that littered the ground, and Isolde felt glad when they found more bodies of fallen raiders.

  The sun dropped below the horizon and the darkness of a cloud covered night blanketed the village. The need for rest was an unspoken agreement, and the two of them found the corner of an abandoned home to crawl up into. It was cold, but they found warmth in each other and sleep came easy. But with the sleep came the nightmares which seemed only too happy to grasp at Isolde’s mind.

  Stones, great stones as big as men, they were as clear as day to her and she found herself in a circle of them with a ring of great pines towering above her head. She knew this place but couldn’t remember why. She thought that it was a place of calm reverence, but there was a sickening heaviness in the air and the feeling in her stomach told her to hide. Then the whispering came, like thousands of hissing voices all trying to speak over each other in subdued voices that made no sense. She wanted to run, to hide, but her feet had sunk into the earth itself and she was forced to stand in the stone circles open heart with her choked breath and hammering heart. She couldn’t breathe and suddenly there was Skaldi, deeply hooded in his grey travelling robes. He was crying out to her but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The hissing whispers had turned into screams and a chaotic thumping of drums rung through her head. The stones and forest disappeared and she was suddenly running through the thick winter snow. Something was chasing her, she could hear it beating the drums, but no matter how fast she ran, the snow just got deeper and deeper and the drums louder and louder.

  Isolde woke in a sweat, gasping for air. Harald’s arm was draped over her under the woollen blanket and the distant sound of drums pulsed through the air. She was wide awake and shocked to see Harald drooling and snoring softly. She shook him once and he murmured in his sleep and tried to roll over.

  “Wake up,” she hissed and shook him a little harder.

  He opened his eyes slowly and sat bolt-upright as soon as he met Isolde’s eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly and too loudly.

  Isolde shushed him and pointed toward the sound of the drumming until she saw Harald’s eyes widen with recognition. He put his finger to his lips, crawled out from under the blanket, picked up his axe and led Isolde out of the house.

  The night air was biting, and the ground was sprinkled with newborn winter snow. They moved like wraiths, silent in the night and passed the frozen corpses of the dead as they left the village. They followed their ears and kept close to the ground, moving quickly between the cover of trees and rocky outcrops as the drums beat dully into the night with their thump... thump... thump... Like wolves, they moved as one, following the beating sound of their prey. Lithely, they skirted up a hill until the sight below them took their breath away.

  Down in the valley below them was a thousand or more campfires twinkling away like fireflies in the dead of night. They could see the shadows of soldiers passing between the flames and for every fire was a ring of men, laughing and chatting. The scene rolled out like a wicked oil painting, showing the pair the impending doom of the north, for this was Hrothgar’s army, the force he would use to take the north.

  They watched in silence for a long time until the beat of drums, the laughter of soldiers and the chinking of iron on iron was as clear as conversation.

  “There are too many,” Harald whispered to her.

  “There can’t be,” Isolde said, but she knew he was right.

  “Even with the draugrs and all of the south…” Harald’s voice wavered.

  Isolde looked out at the camp and felt nothing but the emptiness of her heart. All their work, everything they had fought so hard for would be for nothing.

  “Look,” she said, pointing out to the darkness of the camp.

  Harald squinted his eyes but saw nothing other than the silhouettes of men and the twinkle of flames.

  “In the middle,” Isolde said. “Look at that tent, it’s bigger than the rest.”

  Harald saw it and shook his head.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

  “We could end this tonight,” Isolde protested. “If that’s Hrothgar’s pavilion, then imagine how many lives we could save.”

  “No,” Harald said firmly. “We can fight them still. They will break on us like a sea against the rocks.”

  “No we can’t,” she hissed under her breath. “One blade can end this for good. I can do it.”

  “And what if you die? What then?”

  “I am one woman,” she said. “Isn’t it worth the risk?”

  “No!” Harald protested. “It is not worth it. How would you even get in? They would cut us down before we got anywhere near th
e camp.”

  “Not us, Harald… just me.”

  Harald cocked his eye at her and looked away in disgust.

  “Harald,” Isolde started soothingly. “I don’t die tonight. Ama showed me. If I can get down there…”

  “What are you talking about?” Harald said cutting her off. “You don’t believe in fate.”

  Isolde shook her head in frustration. “It doesn’t matter what I believe anymore. I don’t die tonight and I can't just pass this up.”

  “How do you even know if it is Hrothgar’s tent?”

  “Harald,” she said looking into his eyes. “I have to try… How can I not?”

  Harald’s lips were twisting into a frown.

  “If you go, I go to. Can you live with that?” he asked.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she snapped back.

  “I’m not,” his voice was stern. “If you go down there, then I am going with you.”

  Isolde was lost for words. She looked at Harald and back down to the campfires and tents.

  “We have to try,” she said.

  ***

  “You can’t talk,” Harald said as they moved down the hill.

  They had stripped the dead raiders in the town of their armour and shields, and when Harald looked at Isolde he thought that this idea might actually work.

  “Everyone knows women don’t raid in Skalloway,” he went one.

  Isolde scoffed at the fact but she knew it was true. With her dog-faced helmet on and her mouth shut, she might be able to get past the patrols. That would be the hard part. Once they were in the camp then no one would look at them twice.

  The chainmail hauberks were heavy and made a terrible racket of chinking as they moved, but Harald knew that the real stealth was now in illusion. He actually felt strangely protected with the iron rings wrapped around his body and the heavy round shield on his arm.

  As they dropped down into the valley they lost sight of the campfires, but the thumping of drums was loud enough to keep them true to their path and Harald knew it mattered little, the camp was so big that it would be impossible to miss. If they could kill Hrothgar tonight then they might just end this war. It was a terrible risk, but Isolde was right and he knew it, they were just two pawns in a bigger game, if they died then at least it would be doing something worthwhile. He kept reminding himself that in the hope of stilling his racing heart.

  They moved through a clump of trees and over a small rise to find the camp at their feet. There were no guards, no sentries, no one to stop them from entering and as they passed through the first line of sporadically placed tents some of the soldiers at a passing fire turned to them and nodded as though they were just a regular patrol returning for some hot food. Harald sighed at the ease of their entrance and they moved deeper into the sprawling mess of tents and clumps of men.

  As soldiers passed by, he noted that some were little more than raggedly clothed peasants with spears but others were bedecked in rich chainmail. Still, no one gave them any more than a passing grunt or nod. Harald felt Isolde tap his hand, and she nodded over to a campfire full of men drinking and chatting in hushed tones.

  “Not going to be good without them,” one man said.

  Another snorted from across the fire and Harald and Isolde moved to just within the dancing shadows from the fire.

  “We don’t need ‘em,” another soldier said. “Cowards anyway…”

  “Nah, be good to send the green bastards in first, soak up the arrows for us.”

  “That’s what you lot’s for.”

  The last comment sent a half-filled mug flying across the flames and Harald pulled Isolde away from the group and back into the shadows of one of the tents.

  “The goblins are gone?” she asked excitedly, but before Harald could answer a rough voice barked out to them.

  “What news?”

  They both wheeled around and Harald’s voice got caught in this throat as he saw an old soldier in the colours of Skalloway looking down on them.

  “No news,” he managed to say.

  The old man nodded but gave them a second look.

  “Nothing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Harald’s mind raced for something to say.

  “Villager’s up there are dead,” he said nodding to the way they had come.

  “’Course they are,” the soldier growled. “Been dead for days, you useless gits. Go up to Uther and do something useful…”

  Harald thanked the gods for the easy dismissal and watched as the soldier wandered over to the fire they had come from.

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Harald hissed at Isolde and the two moved off deeper into the camp.

  They walked through the aisles of tents trying to find the big one they had seen. Harald couldn’t help but notice the fear in the eyes of the younger soldiers and the disdain of the veterans. There was tension all around them and Harald was sure it meant the attack on Harkham would be coming soon. Isolde was right, if they could kill Hrothgar now, then half his army would desert by morning and the other half would be forced to retreat.

  Harald’s thoughts were suddenly cut short as they rounded the dark shadows of another tent and ran straight into two men clad in heavy iron-ring mail. He didn’t know the taller one, but the young blonde man next to him looked so familiar.

  “What are you looking at?” the blonde snapped.

  “Nothing,” Harald said quickly and tried to turn back but the older man grabbed his shoulder and looked him up and down.

  “Why in the name of the gods are you two wearing helmets?”

  He grabbed Harald’s helmet and yanked it off and he saw a wave of shock pour over the blonde’s face. Who was he? He knew Harald, but Harald couldn’t put the blonde’s face to a name.

  “Take off your damned helmet,” the older man ordered Isolde.

  Harald’s heart was racing, he watched as Isolde’s thin fingers hesitantly moved to the helm and then Harald snapped back to the men as he heard the unmistakable sound of gurgling. The older man was clutching his throat as dark crimson flowed through his fingers. Harald hadn’t even seen the blade in the blonde’s hands.

  “Get out of here,” the blonde hissed and Isolde tore her helmet off.

  “Erik!” she exclaimed as quietly as she could.

  Realisation flooded over Harald in an instant. He was looking at the man who had deceived them, who had taken Isolde and sold her in the first place. A rage began to boil in his chest but it was quickly silenced.

  “Put your helmet on,” Erik said again. “You have to get out of here!”

  ***

  Erik led them back the way they had come through the camp. His strides were long and direct and Isolde watched as Harald struggled to catch up to him.

  “We can’t go yet,” Harald protested but Erik shrugged him off.

  “You have to,” he said. “Just shut up and follow me.”

  They did as they were told and a flash of fear tore through Isolde’s mind. What if he was going to betray them again? No… he couldn’t, not after killing that man. So they followed him as he nodded to soldiers and passed through as one of their own until they were safely out of the camp and back in the cover of darkness in the trees.

  “What were you thinking?” he hissed as he rounded on them both.

  Isolde tore her helmet off in a rage.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded. “Why are you fighting for Hrothgar?”

  “You think I have a choice?” Erik said. “Half of his army is only here because if we weren’t then we would be the ones in chains or worse.”

  “You always have a choice,” Harald said as he took off his helmet and let it drop to the ground.

  Erik shook his head and looked them both in the eyes.

  “You don’t get it,” he said. “Our choices are a certain death at the hands of his loyalists, or life through service.”

  “Have you even seen what that means?” Isolde snapped. “Have you been to the villages?”
<
br />   Erik went quiet and he looked down to his feet and Isolde instantly knew that Erik had done much more than just see.

  “Why are you taking the women and children?” Isolde asked quietly.

  “Why do you think?” Erik replied. “Hrothgar is forging a new world. He doesn’t need the men, they are only resistance to him… but the women… they can be given to the loyalists, raiders from Skalloway, or sent to Ravenscar or Etelhem and married off as slave wives.”

  “And the children?” Harald asked.

  “I don’t know,” Erik said slowly. “They’re young, who knows what Hrothgar might be thinking for them. They’re all being sent to Ravenscar, he’s probably going to form some sick army of kids.”

  A long silence fell over them and Isolde felt sick to her core. Hrothgar was unhinged, he was a madman. How could he live with himself forcing so much pain on so many people?

  “Why did you take Isolde?” Harald asked with a hint of bitter resentment in his voice.

  “I was an idiot…” Erik said quickly. But then he stopped for a moment and thought about it. “I needed the money and it was a job. Hrothgar didn’t give me details… I never even spoke to him, just some elf with dark eyes. I couldn’t turn it down… I’m sorry…”

  The sincerity in his voice was obvious. Those moments far away on Jotunn seemed like a lifetime ago to Isolde. She hadn’t even realized that she had already forgiven him, it seemed like a wound against someone else, as if it weren’t her that was betrayed but someone else.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” she asked him.

  Harald nodded in agreement but Erik turned her down.

  “I can’t,” he said. “There are men and boys in there that need me.”

  He nodded back to the camp as he talked and Isolde realised that Erik’s loyalty wasn’t to the High-King, but to his friends and comrades.

  “Do they want to fight?” Harald asked.

  Erik shook his head and frowned.

  “When the goblins left us, everyone knew it was going to be the conscripts and peasants that filled their role. We’ll be the first to the walls, shot to pieces so the heavy infantry can make it unscathed.”