by T L Greylock
Their pace was unhurried for speed would only tire their horses before they had news of their quarry. When clouds rolled in and showed signs of a storm, Raef called an early halt to the day and they made camp in a cave that would protect them from wind and snow and was large enough to shelter the horses. A fire was built at the mouth of the cave, two of the men set to work preparing a deer that had been brought down earlier, and two more, axes in hand, went in search of good wood.
Raef set up his blanket and belongings at the rear of the cave, leaving the area closest to the fire for the Palesword’s men. The others, relaxed and jovial, took little note of him and joked amongst themselves. It was the type of familiarity among warriors who had fought in the shield wall together many times and Raef had not had it since parting ways with the Vannheim men after the gathering.
When the deer was done, the youngest of the Palesword’s men brought some to Raef in a shallow bowl. It was charred and bloody and made Raef’s mouth water.
“Thank you.”
The young man nodded and made as though to return to the fire, but he stopped himself and looked back at Raef. “My name is Gudrik.”
“I am glad to know you, Gudrik.”
Gudrik retreated to his companions and pulled a small flute from his pack. The others stopped talking and waited eagerly. He began to play a swift, cheery song, the kind that would have enticed dancers at a festival of farmers. The warriors around him tapped their feet merrily in time and some challenged Gudrik to play faster. This he did with ease, his fingers a blur, until he came to a gleeful, crashing halt. The men cheered but Gudrik paused for only a moment before launching into another, this one slow and haunting.
The listeners grew somber but were no less fixated. Raef closed his eyes, his mind carried far away to the seaside forests of Vannheim. He could almost taste the briny sea air and the smooth birch trees were at his fingertips once more.
The sound of a wolf howling interrupted Raef’s memories and he and the others were instantly alert. Gudrik ceased to play and three men went to the cave mouth, weapons at the ready, while a fourth lit a torch and carried it to them.
“Can you see the bastard?”
“No, but the snow is thick.”
The wolf grew quiet and Raef sensed some of the men begin to relax. But the howl started again and this time was joined by a second and then a third. Soon the wild voices filled the night air and there could be no doubt that an entire pack was near.
There would be no more music this night. Gudrik slid his flute back in his pack and the men settled in for a watchful night, the time for jests past. Watches were set in pairs and torches were kept at the ready. Raef drew the third watch so he settled into his fur cloak and blanket and tried to sleep.
The chorus continued off and on and Raef found unsettled sleep in bits and pieces. When his watch came, Gudrik was the one to wake him, and he took his post on a stone by the cave mouth, torch in hand. His watch companion exited the cave for a moment, a shadow among the swirling snowflakes, and then situated himself across the entrance from Raef. The wolves were silent then and Raef wondered if they had caught the scent of prey.
The fire had been maintained through the previous two watches, so Raef rose and stirred the crumbling wood before adding another log. Sparks flew and one settled near Raef’s foot. He watched it burn and then smoke away into nothing before returning to his position. The man across from him had taken no notice of any of Raef’s actions, instead keeping his eyes on the outside world, so still he could have passed for stone. Raef might have wondered if he slept were it not for the torch, steady in his hands, its light playing in his eyes.
The hours passed and the snow, so furious at times, stammered to a halt. Twice more Raef added wood to the fire, using that as a measure of time. The wolves returned just as the third log snapped in two and there was no doubt that they were closer to the cave than before. Though Raef could only detect four separate voices this time, he felt certain the rest were near. He glanced to his right as his partner rose from his rock for the first time and ventured into the night, his torch raised high, casting flickering shadows on the blanket of snow.
He did not go far, but looked back and beckoned for Raef to join him. Raef did so, his feet sinking silently in to the fresh snow until he was shoulder to shoulder with the other man.
“What is it?” Raef kept his voice down, barely above a whisper.
The other man said nothing but pointed to the trees.
It took only an instant for Raef to see what had drawn his watch companion from the cave. A single pair of green eyes watched them from the thicket of a dying hazel bush. It was then that Raef realized the howling had ceased.
The other man took three steps forward, his torch brandished ahead of him. The wolf watched, showing no fear, and then turned and trotted away. Raef scanned the rest of the trees for signs of the pack but saw none. Either they were well hidden or had followed their leader into the darkness. After a moment, Raef and the other man returned to the cave.
“Do you think they will return?”
The other man shrugged in response, a gesture that told Raef he did not know and did not care.
Clouds covered the sky so he could not track the progress of the moon, but Raef estimated that their watch was ended. He woke the last pair and went back to his blanket. Sleep came more easily this time, though dawn arrived too soon, claiming him from his dreams.
The morning meal was quiet but the liveliness of the night before resurfaced by the time they mounted the horses. As they rode from the cave, Gudrik kept his horse alongside Raef.
“Quiet night?” Gudrik asked, his voice quiet amid the chatter of the warriors.
“A wolf came close enough for us to see it, but nothing more.” Raef nodded his head in the direction of his watch companion, who rode ahead of them. “That man, does he have a name?”
Gudrik smiled a little. “He is called Ragnarr.
“Does he always say so little?”
The smile grew larger. “Do not blame Ragnarr for not giving you his name himself. He has been under a vow of silence for as long as I have known him.”
“A rare thing,” Raef said. “What for?”
Gudrik shrugged. “He has never told me.” The grin flashed again, quick as lightning. “Some think the Palesword knows. Most think it has something to do with his father.”
“His father?”
“Ragnarr Silenthand is a son of Heimdall.”
Raef took another look at Ragnarr. He could believe the warrior was half a god. Ragnarr stood half a head taller than Raef and his shoulders and chest were broader than most.
“A son of Heimdall must be a great warrior.”
“The Palesword holds him above all others.”
“Then why send him with me? Surely he should be at Torrulf’s side in battle.”
“We ride to find a half god. Do not you think it wise to have one with us?”
“Then you expect the Far-Traveled to resist.” Raef said.
Gudrik smiled again. “I only know I do not expect him to come at the sound of my flute.”
Raef was quiet for a moment. “Silenthand. A reference to his vow?”
“Perhaps. Some say his sword is silent death. I do not know which came first, the vow or the reputation.”
“If Ragnarr is here to ensure the capture of the Far-Traveled, what is your role, then, Gudrik called Merrysong?”
Gudrik looked confused. “Must I have one?”
“I only mean to puzzle out who I am surrounded by. The Palesword did not make his choices lightly, that much is certain.”
Any further conversation was cut off by a shout from ahead. They had come upon a small village, no more than a few huts nestled into the fork of a narrow river. Half a dozen men fished from the shore while three boys and a dog chased each other from snow drift to snow drift, all taking equal delight in the snow that caught in their hair and melted on their faces. A pair of women sat outside one hut, skinning rabbits and
skewering them over a fire.
The men watched the strangers but did not remove their rods from the river. It seemed the war had not yet made folk in these parts wary of armed riders.
One man spoke up. “Can we help you? Perhaps you would like to buy fish for your dinner tonight?”
Raef urged his horse forward and dismounted. “I will pay you for fish and for information.”
The man took his rod from the water. “Ask what you will.”
“This land belongs to Tormund of Darfallow, yes?”
“It does, though only just. Beyond that ridge,” the fisherman gestured to the south, “lie the wild hills, claimed neither by Tormund nor Stefnir of Gornhald.”
“Have any large hosts of men passed near here?”
The fisherman shook his head. “My cousin brought us news of fighting to the south, but nothing more.”
“South? On Gornhald lands?”
“I do not know, lord.”
“Have there been any lone travelers on foot?”
“No, lord.”
“One further question and then I will look at your fish. Do you know of Finndar Urdson, the Far-Traveled?”
The fisherman looked surprised. “I have heard of such a man, lord, but only in stories.”
Raef nodded. “You have my thanks. We will take twenty of your best fish.”
“Right away.” The man whistled and the boys ceased playing. They hurried over and helped him string together the fish and wrap them in cloth. The dog followed them and sniffed around Raef’s feet. Raef handed over the required coins and then tossed the wrapped fish to two of the Palesword’s men, who tucked them into their packs.
Raef caught the fisherman’s arm before mounting his horse. “One last thing. If by chance the Far-Traveled comes this way, tell him Skallagrim seeks him.” The man nodded.
The party pressed on, following the bends of the river. They reached another village at twilight and Raef repeated his questions there. The answers did not change. They searched for a suitable spot to rest for the night, finding it among a cluster of the largest oaks Raef had ever seen. Though it did not have the shelter of the previous night’s cave, the wide trunks and sturdy limbs would give them some protection. Raef and Gudrik ventured out in search of firewood.
“What has Torrulf been doing since the gathering?”
Gudrik buried his axe in a sapling, wrenched it free, and then felled it with another blow. “Rallying support. Before reaching that plateau, he had not spent more than two nights in one place since leaving Balmoran.”
“And this fighting to the south that the villagers speak of? Was that you?”
“We skirmished with men of Ver half a moon ago. Beyond that, our blades have stayed clean and bright. If this was not the fighting they heard of, I do not know what was.”
“What of the Palesword’s allies? Who fights with him?”
Gudrik paused and looked at Raef, sweat dripping from his brow. “If the Palesword did not tell you, then I shall keep silent on that.”
“I do not ask for the Hammerling, Gudrik. I ask so that I may better know the mind of the lands we travel in.”
Gudrik wiped the sweat with his sleeve and contemplated this. “The Palesword numbers his surest allies at five. Others offer him words but nothing else as yet.”
Raef wanted names, but he could see Gudrik was not yet willing to part with that information. He would be patient and not let his frustration betray him. “Could one of these men have battled an enemy to the south?”
Gudrik shrugged. “The Palesword gave instructions. I do not know of specific plans for battle.”
They continued to gather wood until they could carry no more. Two men, Hamil and Soren, had the fish waiting and Gudrik started a fire, working carefully in the snow and using stones to shield the ember from the dampness. Soon a small flame erupted and grew into a steady fire. The fish were set up over the flames and their skins grew crisp and brown. Soren offered his mead skin to Raef, who took it with a grateful nod.
They waited for the fish in silence, the woods growing darker around them, until one of the older warriors, Eldun, spoke up.
“Give us a story, Gudrik.”
“Tell us of Thor and the wolfchildren,” said another.
“No, the lay of Nanna.”
“Let us hear of Skrymir the giant.”
Gudrik listened to the requests with a smile but ignored them all and looked to Raef. “I think Skallagrim shall choose.”
Raef sat back in surprise but all eyes were on him. To refuse could give offense. He thought for a moment, one story clear in his mind like a horn sounded in the wood. “The shaping of the nine worlds was always my favorite.”
Gudrik smiled and nodded in response, his eyes bright. He took a deep breath and began. “Hail to those who listen. In the beginning there was only burning ice and biting flame.” And then followed the story of all life. Gudrik’s words had all the flow of a river and all the sharpness of a sword. Though Raef had heard the story countless times, never before had he heard in it so much vivid beauty, power, and spirit. Any other telling was washed away in the wake of the spell Gudrik cast with his voice and words.
When Gudrik finished, his final words hung in the cold night air like frost and the camp was silent for some time. Ragnarr broke the stillness to stand and go relieve himself among the trees and the others began to eat the hot fish and talk quietly amongst themselves.
“The Allfather has favored you with his gift of poetry, Gudrik,” Raef said.
Gudrik smiled a little and twisted the pair of silver arm rings on his left forearm. “Your words are kind, Raef.”
“I speak the truth. Never have I heard better.”
Gudrik bowed his head modestly. “It is a good story. I need only tell it.”
The fish came easily from the bones and Raef ate two and wished for more. A skin of ale was passed around the fire. Soren challenged another man, Ormundir, to a wrestling match. The men laughed loudly and money changed hands when Soren won by holding Ormundir’s hair to the fire.
The night was clear and the moon was long-risen when the watches were set. Raef drew no watch and fell asleep quickly.
He was jolted from a dreamless sleep in the dead of night. Raef sat upright, his hand on his sword in an instant, but nothing seemed out of place. Hamil and Eldun had the watch and sat on the other side of the fire. All was quiet but for the crackling of the burning wood. Raef looked around then lay down. He had just closed his eyes when the voice of a single wolf split the night.
Raef sat up again and saw that Hamil and Eldun were also alert. Raef rose from his blanket and went close to the fire. “The first?”
Hamil nodded.
“With any luck, the only,” Eldun said. Raef was wide awake now, though the wolf had fallen silent. He did not think he would sleep more. A few of the horses shuffled their feet, ears swiveling, but did not seem too concerned. Raef knew to watch them for growing signs of fear.
“I will stay awake, if one of you wants to get some rest,” Raef said. Eldun and Hamil looked to each other.
“We drew the watch,” Eldun said. “We will stay.” Raef nodded and walked halfway around one of the massive oak trunks to take a piss. He had no sooner refastened his belt than the air came alive with the sound of wolves and Raef knew they were watching him, perhaps no more than twenty paces away. Hastening back to the fire, Raef grabbed for his sword. The horses now snorted and pulled at their ropes.
“They are close,” he said. The noise had awoken the others, who also reached for weapons. Gudrik began to light torches and passed them around the circle. The new sources of light pushed the shadows back and Raef was sure he saw swift-running feet dance away into the dark.
“There!” Raef spun around at Soren’s shout. Two wolves walked from the shadows, eyes unblinking. Savage, rolling growls came from deep within their throats. So fixed was Raef on the yellow eyes of one that he barely saw the other wolves emerge, one by one, from the t
rees. The beasts stopped ten paces from the men, who began to shout and brandish their torches.
“Go back to Hel!” Eldun roared. He flung his torch at the wolf closest to him, a tall, black one. It leaped back, snarling, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Eldun mirrored the wolf’s stance and snarl. “I will gut you like a pig.” The torch sputtered in the snow, but the wolves were wary and began to back away. Then, at a silent signal, they all turned and sprinted off, disappearing into the trees, their prints in the snow the only sign of trespass.
The men stayed alert for some time but the wolves did not return. Some slept, others kept the fire burning. Raef used the time before the dawn to sharpen his borrowed weapons, his mind on the wolves and their intent. It was only just before they broke camp in the grey light of morning that he spoke what had been growing in his thoughts.
“The black wolf,” Raef said, “this is not the first we have seen him.” He looked to Ragnarr. “He showed himself to us the night before last.” Ragnarr nodded his agreement. “We are being hunted.”
“Let them come,” Soren said, laughing. “I will wager any man here that I will have the first kill.”
They pushed the pace that day, trying to outdistance the pack or find territory the wolves would not venture into. The day was quiet and the land empty of villages or even far-flung farms. If they still rode in Darfallow lands or had crossed into the lands of Gornhald or Skolldain, Raef did not know. Whatever lands they were, they were filled with hills, trees, and little else.
Raef called for a brief rest late in the morning. They had climbed a tall hill in order to take in their surroundings from the summit. Sun spots dotted the tree tops and hills around them, but the light was dim and the air was without warmth. The men passed an ale skin and laughed at something Ormundir said. Raef was readjusting the small pack behind his horse’s saddle when he heard the snarl behind him. Turning, he was too late to avoid the black wolf’s charge. The wolf leapt, striking Raef in the chest. Raef tumbled backward, his hand fumbling for the knife at his belt, but the beast was on him and it was all he could do to fend off the jaws that snapped at his throat and face while he lashed out with his feet.
