The Winter Sword: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 3)

by Alaric Longward

  I looked around. Only the edges of the room were relatively free of debris, but the way back was blocked. ‘Tudrus!’

  ‘Here,’ the Quadi said, on his knees. ‘I’m all right. So are the brothers.’ I saw what I had taken to be boulders get up on their feet, with only eyes showing from under a layer of dust. Agetan and Bohscyld grinned at me. Hund was cursing and tugging at a Batavi half-buried by stone and mud. He was alive though obviously dying.

  ‘Finish him,’ I said, and to ease the comment, I continued, ‘Give him honorable death.’

  Hund nodded and stabbed down with his gladius. My men were picking their way over stone and root and were shuffling towards the doorway. An arrow shot back up from the tunnel, and an ominous chanting could be heard. I grabbed some of the torches as Cassia; her face bruised, picked up a small shield and a fallen gladius.

  ‘Men!’ I yelled, and they turned. ‘We are superior to them. We have shields, swords, and most of all, we wish to kill the bastards who tried to capture her.’ Cassia grinned at them, and the men answered her smile. ‘They would have used her as a ransom, dangling her before my eyes to betray Nero Claudius Drusus. For there is a treason on the works against our Lord.’ They growled, the smile replaced by fury. I pointed at Cassia, gnashing my teeth. ‘They would have raped her. Let us rape them with our swords.’ They roared their assent, a group of dust-covered fighters ready to take on a Jotun. A man yelped down in the tunnel as Brimwulf shot another shaft. He was running low on arrows.

  Agetan, Bohscyld, and Tudrus linked their shields as we grouped up. The rest of the men were following suit as we turned the corner for downstairs. There were dead and wounded on the rocky slope, and we marched over them, brutally slaying any who were alive. I counted eleven Batavi and then my friends. It would have to do. The way wound around a corner, then another, and water dripped around us, roots touched our faces as we walked towards the den of Odo.

  ‘How far down does this take us?’ Tudrus grumbled.

  Hund was next to me, behind the brothers. ‘All the way to Hel. It is evil what they are doing down there. I smell it.’

  It did smell odd.

  It could have been the smell of turf, of the rocks and roots, but there was definitely something more foul down there, the smell of corpses, perhaps, or something unnatural. The Batavi prayed as they went down, and I did not wish to remind the wary men around me that it was said Lok made his men in that terrible hole. We turned another corner and a door was barring the way. It was a heavy door with a slit on top and an arrow flew out of it, hitting Tudrus’s shield.

  ‘Kick it in,’ I growled.

  We rushed forward and hammered on the door. Agetan was kicking it, and it shuddered. There was a crack of wood. Brimwulf was waiting to see shadows on the slit, and then he released his arrow. Someone screamed. Bohscyld began kicking as well, and a plank spun off. The door gave but slammed back in as men pushed back on it. ‘Give me an ax!’ I growled and Agetan handed me Sigimer’s and I grasped it. I grunted, and the others took steps back. I heaved the door so hard a plank split. Then again, and the ax went through it and a man whimpered and cried. I kept at it until the door resembled something lightning had shattered. I could see light beyond and shadows running.

  I cursed and kicked the door.

  It flew open.

  I retreated as spears flew by and arrows flew in the air. One Batavi cursed as a shaft pierced his side, but Brimwulf shot a shadowy man through the hole. I rushed to be covered by the shields and saw Cassia behind all of us, face ashen gray, yet braving it all with the rest. I did love her. Gods, but I did, and now she was in danger. ‘Shields out when we go in,’ Tudrus yelled. ‘Go!’

  And we did.

  We shuffled forward, our shields out, and we formed a small semi-circle facing outwards and stayed by the doorway.

  ‘Welcome, Hraban,’ a voice said dryly. ‘I didn’t quite imagine meeting like this, but you are here, and that is wyrd.’

  Torches flared in the room, and I saw Odo by the far wall. He was the same red headed, scrawny, rotten faced skeleton he had always been. He looked evil and was, and if Lok made his men to compete with those of Woden, then surely he made them perfect opposites to what my family was like. He was standing in a doorway in a dark robe. The way next to his led down to the third hall, no doubt. His men, some fifty stood in the hall, facing us in groups. Some had been pulled to the side, where they bled.

  The Batavi shuddered and took a step back. On the floor, there was painted a horned shadow, a creature of power. It was old, and yet it reeked of blood. Above it there were remains of men and women hung from thick ropes. Their throats were cut, and they had obviously been bled on the figure. They had been old and young, men and women, even a child or two, and we saw flesh had been cut from them.

  ‘You don’t know how to hunt?’ I asked Odo, hiding my terror with callous attitude.

  ‘We have hunters, but we don’t hunt for deer.’ He giggled. ‘Sometimes such flesh is easiest to capture. And one of us only eats this meat.’

  ‘So,’ I spat. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  He shook his head, his eyes flickering in the torchlight. There was a feverish look on his face as if he was troubled. ‘I did not. I, like Segestes, wanted to make sure you behaved.’ His eyes regarded Cassia feverishly.

  ‘It’s nearly two years, Odo, when I was at your mercy. You claimed I had fulfilled the prophecy and set you on the path of finding Veleda. What changed that?’

  He grinned. He flicked something golden in his hand.

  It was Woden’s Gift.

  The splendid ring of the family, holy to the Suebi. And the one Veleda was to be bled on. Except I had laughed at him when he took it from me, for I had learned from my dying, god cursed great uncle Bero that Woden’s Ringlet is not golden. I said nothing.

  Odo’s eyes flashed. ‘Indeed. You mocked me that day I took it from you. Since then, two years have passed. Lif went on to Godsmount. We lost her the day after taking after her. I searched for ways up the hills and could not find one. They chased us off, the Cherusci. Did I not say you might still have a part to play on this? I was right. And I think, judging by the way you mocked me when I took the ring, you knew I had erred.’

  ‘I know nothing of that, you skeletal corpse, but soon I shall know what your innards look like,’ I told him. ‘Stick the ringer up your ass.’

  He spat and pointed a finger at me. ‘The ring is worthless to Lok. It is not Woden’s Ringlet of the prophecy. No. When we returned here, as time passed, and nothing happened, I began to wonder what I had missed. I asked the god. Lok. I asked his wife Sigyn for guidance. Do you remember what I did to Bero, your great uncle to find out the full prophecy of Lok?`

  ‘You tortured him with spells and gave away his life in return for answers. Not that I believe in it, mind you.’ I laughed.

  He giggled. ‘You saw Leuthard, scion of wolf Hati and still you do not believe.’

  ‘He was a madman, not a divine thing,’ I argued though I was very unsure of it.

  ‘He was more than mad, Hraban. Gods answer, they meddle in our affairs. Leuthard was Lok’s wolf. Hati’s legacy. One of the many. I asked Lok for advice. I sacrificed lifeforce for the answers that seemed to plague me. Where was Hraban? Why had he laughed at me when I took his ring? I was stuck here. Lif and Veleda were not to be found. I had Sigimer though and he would be useful.’

  ‘You tortured Sigimer for the answers?’ I spat. ‘And what did you find?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ he said with a mad smile. ‘I could have, for he has royal blood in his veins. Like Bero had. Northern blood. Your blood. But he was hurt and weak, and so I only had one other with such blood at hand. A useless man, but more obedient now. It was an easy decision to use his life after he failed to capture you and Lif.’

  I stared at a figure being guided up from the tunnel. There were two, in fact. The last one was twisted to the side, and I saw the thin face and braided brown beard of Ansigar, our
former friend. The first one lacked a hand, and he was my brother Gernot. His face had a scar like mine, and he was thin, so thin he could have fallen by a strong gust of wind. He was shaking and obviously in pain as if he had suffered great horrors.

  ‘Brother,’ I said darkly.

  Odo put a hand on Gernot’s shoulders, and he shirked. Odo kept a grasp on his arm though and Gernot, my poor brother could not move. ‘He surprised me. Much more resilient than I thought. He is still sane though a bit rocked by the torture I had to use. I broke him, gods ate on his force, but he is healing, do not worry, Hraban. Your Bero got much worse. But then, you do not worry, do you? You never cared for him.’

  ‘I did not,’ I said, feeling some distant shame for the fact. ‘He betrayed me, killed Hagano at your orders and has followed you around since. And Ansigar. You fuck. Greetings. Good you are here. Everyone will fight, and this is done with.’

  ‘Hraban,’ Gernot said, his face resentful. Ansigar stared at me with resentment. I had whipped him when I took Gernot’s hand; that day Father had tried to give me to Odo. He hated me, but I was not sure if Gernot did. His face was blank, scared and perhaps even … sorry?

  Odo waved his hands and brought us back to the matter at hand. ‘Now. The goddess that apparently spoke to you spoke to me as well. She is Sigyn, as you no doubt guessed. Lok’s unhappy wife. She resents her husband, caring for the trapped lord until times end. And they will end. Soon. As soon as I have the real Woden’s Ringlet.’

  ‘It is not golden, is it?’ I said spitefully.

  ‘I did not understand it until she told me. The very same fact that made Maroboodus resent you, the thing that sets many in your family apart and gave you your name, Raven, Hraban. That is Woden’s Ringlet. Tear, mother, told you this once, but I doubt even she understood it then.’

  My hand shot to the locks of curled hair running down from under my helmet.

  ‘Yes, your black hair. The one thing that marks your family is related to Woden, dark, different. Your father thought your mother had betrayed him, but no. Woden’s hair it is,’ he smiled. ‘And so I will have it. While Draupnir’s Spawn, the fucking ring there is called Woden’s Gift, your hair is the right gift. I will bleed Veleda’s heart over it on your god’s holiest place and defile his creations. Cocks shall crow, Hraban, and the Jotuns and the dead shall march.’

  ‘I think not,’ I spat. ‘How will you take it? And where is Ishild?’

  ‘Ishild? And my son? By the way,’ he leaned forward as if giving me a great compliment. ‘My son is eagerly awaiting Lif; the two will populate the world after I am done ripping it apart. Ishild is below. She is married to Gernot now though he is unable … to enjoy her. Right now. Perhaps if he heals? If not, faithful Ansigar will marry her.’ Ansigar grinned at me. The very thing that had driven us apart still made me hate him. He had tried to take Ishild once. I did not love Ishild, perhaps never had, but he had set out to have her, and a small part of me told me perhaps he should have been allowed to try.

  Wyrd.

  Odo flicked the ring out of sight. ‘I’ll keep this. Useful bargaining piece with the Cherusci. As was Sigimer. Now. Nothing has changed. The Raven will lead us to Veleda. I learned from Sigyn you were held by Segestes. So, I set out to free you. I did not desire you, never did. You will go free, and we will find her together. But this is unfortunate. That you came here. Oril failed badly, then. I could have used another woman of yours to keep you calm.’

  ‘I was aware of Oril and have been looking at him all winter,’ I sneered.

  ‘But you missed Lothar and Cassia’s peril,’ he sneered back.

  I spat. ‘And what now? You will shave me?’

  ‘I doubt you will shave easily,’ he laughed. ‘No. We will leave. It is unfortunate your woman is not under the blade, and things would be bloodless when we reach Godsmount, as we will, but this is the way of it.’

  ‘No, I doubt you will leave,’ I spat and my men thrummed their swords and axes on their shields. ‘Half of your scum are dead. Will you fight? Cast spells at me, oh vitka? Where is your wand? We will not let you go.’

  He smiled, but there was a nervous tick in his eye. He was worried for we had surprised him. ‘It has not been controlled very well, Hraban,’ he allowed. ‘But we still have useful tools.’

  He snapped his fingers.

  The fur clad men shuffled together. They were better armed than what we had fought above but still not up to the standards of the Batavi. I pointed the Head Taker at them. ‘Remember what Adgandestrius and his Chatti did to your last army? When he came to help me? These men are better.’ The Batavi took up a chant, again banging their shields with their weapons.

  Odo bowed. ‘I will never forget. Your friend Koun crippled half my hand that day.’ He lifted his fingers, and indeed, some were bent and broken. ‘But I forgive you for not thinking about my health. Do you remember the day when your father began fooling us as well as you? We had a case of getting a hold of you. We demanded you, for you had slept with my sister. It would have been just, and I wanted to possess you, to lead you here. He wanted to ...’

  ‘I was there, dog face,’ I growled. ‘He wanted to use me against the southern Marcomanni and denied you your request. What of it?’

  ‘He asked us if we had a champion to fight you for the truth. He knew my men had no chance against you, and I told him I had one, but far, far away,’ he said.

  ‘I remember,’ I answered and felt an ominous rake of cold claws of fear across my back.

  ‘Well,’ he spat. ‘That man is no longer far away.’ Odo nodded in the shadows. The creatures of Odo shuffled carefully away from the shadows as a large, darker shadow moved there, a huge man was apparently getting up. Odo chanted and cooed at the shadow, which stepped forward to the light.

  We were quiet.

  It was a man, perhaps, but a legend would be sung about the Brute of the Gulldrum, the giant, Jotun of the hill. He moved to the light, carefully, holding a smith’s hammer in his gnarled fist. He wore a loincloth, had muscles the size of boulders, shoulders so wide he would not be able to leave the room easily, and perhaps he never did. Perhaps he lived there in the dark, shunning torchlight and ate corpses. He had eaten many, for he had human skin stretched over his shoulders, yellowed with age, and a human skin helmet, with eye slots. Feral eyes glinted at the dark. Our men took an involuntary step backward, and like wolves smelling a skittish animal, Odo’s men around us smelled our fear and closed in. ‘He will kill them, all of them, save for you and Cassia there,’ Odo told me as if there were none else present. ‘He will drag your face on the skin of Lok and leave you senseless. Then he will take Cassia. He will bring her to me, and we shall carry on. I desire to see your pain, but we shall be elsewhere until we know how things turn out. I’ve learned you have an uncanny luck. Wyrd is fickle. And no matter if he succeeds or not, you are free, and I am sure we will meet at the end.’

  ‘I will come for you, so will they,’ I said and nodded at my men, who cheered though everyone eyed the huge thing before them.

  Odo shrugged. ‘One way or another, we shall meet at Godsmount,’ Odo said and nodded. Ansigar pulled a horn. He grinned, and we tensed. Then he brought it to his lips and blew in it.

  The horn blared. Thirty men and women of Lok turned to Odo, who gestured at downstairs, and they followed him. Twenty of the enemy before us hesitated, and then attacked. The giant raised his hammer, eying their attack, gauging their success.

  They had none.

  We held our own grimly, stepping briefly forward to take the edge off of their ragged charge, ramming the shields in their faces, and they mostly fell back or died. Yet, they were many and we were few, the stone was slippery as we fought under the hanging corpses in Gulldrum. We fought like maniacs. We slammed our shields together, Tudrus guarding my flank; I was guarding Hund’s. The enemy weaponry was that of hunters or poor Germani peasants. They were mostly thin iron-tipped framea, some daggers, a seax or two, hammers, mauls and axes. Th
e corpses piled up before our armored rank, but we eyed the giant, who was looking at us, grinning, waiting for the men to do some damage.

  And they did not give up at all.

  They laughed, drooled, and climbed over the dead and dying, pulled one Batavi on his face and they dragged him with them, hitting and biting him. Then another fell to a thrown framea and Cassia was pulling him to the rear. The giant saw his allies thinning. It was breathing heavily; the horn blared again.

  It growled and charged.

  We gritted our teeth as the maneater plowed to our line, flattening two of the fur clad men fighting us. He aimed for Agetan and Bohscyld who grimly hacked their axes for the body of the monstrosity, but the thing growled and slammed them aside, stepping on Bohscyld who howled like a rock would howl, a gritty and dark sound echoing in the hall. ‘Stop him!’ I screamed while stabbing down at a dying woman. Brimwulf shot an arrow at the thing’s face. It jutted crazily in its skull, and the thing did not seem to notice. Agetan was pulling Bohscyld aside and the men around the monster hesitated.

  They should not have.

  The beast roared and charged to the right of the hole he had created in the line and slaughtered two Batavi, hammering one to the wall, smashing the other one from behind, and he bit the dying man in the neck, tearing off a chunk of meat and hair. It happened so fast he was turning for more before we realized it. ‘Step back!’ I hollered and cursed the thing. I raged as the Batavi retreated towards the door, blanching at the unleashed ferocity of the creature, who swiped the legs from under one of my men, ripping to his skull with his hand and long nails.

  ‘God, great father,’ I begged Woden and knew I would have to kill it.

  Woden had been dancing with me the whole time. Now I felt the god approved as I filled my heart with bravery, laughed with little care for my life. I pulled Sigimer’s ax and charged the thing as it was chasing after one last Batavi, who was hoping to escape to the door after having killed two men of Odo. He was reaching for the man, and I jumped on its back. The ax came down.