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

by Alaric Longward

  I stared at the prize Odo had left me and then forgot about him and forgot about Father. I thought about Lif and the raven and knew it was no coincidence. It was indeed a raven that would find Veleda. But the bear had not fallen. Unless Drusus had died.

  Odo’s troop rode off, ignoring us, trying to keep up with the lazily careening bird. I watched him go and sensed Father was crawling away. He was going, and I hesitated for a long time until he was nearly in the shade of the woods. Had Drusus died, the Bear to his father? Was Father to die before the raven found Veleda? Perhaps not. I hesitated and felt tears roll down my cheeks.

  I had beaten Father.

  But I did not desire his life.

  He was a damned soul, and I hated him, but he was my father. Had he said I did not understand him? It was true. Had I not changed greatly the past few years? I sighed and felt I could breathe and think about the past, for once. The sword in my hand felt weightless as I gazed after the man who was my father. He would go and lead my people, he would go and grow rich and that bothered me, but he was my father and had not Hulderic once told me to respect him?

  In truth, I did not know what he had endured in Rome. I should follow his path to judge him.

  He stopped at the edge of the wood and half wondered and mocked me. ‘Like Hulderic. Letting that prophecy deny you what is yours. He left the north and the legacy of the family. You leave me alive, and I shall be triumphant. If your Drusus dies? I shall be a king.’

  I nodded at him. ‘I did not let you go for the prophecy, Father. I left you go for I pity you. And I shall go to Rome, Father, for in Rome are kings made. I will find Julia, I will find your son and I will, perhaps, be more savage and decisive that day? Perhaps they let me serve in the Germani Custodes Corporis and set me guarding your bastard?’ His face went white as he regarded me. I pulled out his standard and broke it on my knee. I threw them into the stream and watched him crawl away. I rubbed my forehead, thinking of my oaths to Cassia. I yelled after him. ‘I will go to Rome, Father! I will see what you saw, do what you did and we shall see if I will hate my family after like you do!’

  Had I failed? Perhaps. I would indeed go to Rome and see what he had struggled with. I would see Julia, I would see his son, and while I would not slay them, I would learn of him. I had time. I felt weight leave my chest and then I turned to Catualda. But I did not have to leave Father to reign supreme, did I?

  Catualda began to shake his head.

  I walked over to him and kneeled next to him, staring into his eyes. He was ragged and bloody, his fat, full lips cracked with thirst. I stared at him like a beast would at a carcass. He had schemed with Father and helped him kill my family. He had fooled me more times than I could count, and he had killed Koun. I poked him, and he shrieked in terror. ‘What men were you riding with?’

  ‘Segestes sent some to find you,’ he said. ‘Before the battle, he asked me and Ragwald to ride around the Roman army to find you and bring you to him. He lost a finger, you see? Ragwald took men, but he hamstrung my horse in the valley not far. He is planning something else than bringing you to Segestes. Then those vultures found me. Please, Hraban. You spared your father. We both hate him. Spare me.’

  ‘Silence,’ I said, thinking. ‘Do you know what Father planned?’ I asked while holding the Head Taker loosely.

  ‘He …’ he said and looked confused. ‘He wished to build a kingdom in the south. Segestes told me about this. Your father enticed us with it when we were still allied.’

  ‘And you wanted the ring and to build one in the north?’ I grinned. ‘You vermin.’

  ‘With Armin, then perhaps one day for myself,’ he agreed sullenly.

  ‘But you betrayed Armin, did you not?’ I grinned.

  ‘Segestes will have me.’

  ‘Segestes? He will not love you. He will never share power with anyone. No. More. I will tell him you helped me escape him.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘Silence,’ I spat. ‘And so, you have few options as I do.’

  ‘I can go home to the north,’ he whispered with clear unhappiness.

  ‘They don’t like our family in Gothonia. Or our strain of family, remember? Our relatives fled it. And now Father is making a new kingdom. He might succeed.’

  ‘You let him go!’ Catualda spat.

  ‘I did. I won’t explain it to you. But that does not mean he should be allowed to play in peace. You have no land. But why not take his? His kingdom?’ I asked him.

  ‘What?’ he retorted. ‘I’m going to die. You are playing with me.’

  ‘No, but you will bleed, dog,’ I told him and sawed the Winter Sword across his face. He howled and wept and cried, and I held him in place until he was simply sobbing, holding his face. ‘That way you will look kingly, Catualda. Like I do. Father is weak now. He will, perhaps, lead the Marcomanni and the Quadi remnants to the south to challenge the Boii, but he lacks, perhaps, the Roman support he thought he was promised after I am done with him. And he needs the Suebi of the east for amber. He is building an Amber Road.’

  ‘Yes, he plans to set up a trade route,’ Catualda said with sobs.

  I grabbed his slashed face. ‘Go to the Semnones, Catualda. Go to them and tell them you took my father’s sword in battle. Tell them you have the ring and tell them he is a lying bastard who is after amber and he will cheat them. There will be Marcus Romanus there, his ally. Tell them he is a cheater’s apprentice, a liar, a horse thief and a cur. Be like Father. Be a hero, let men flock to you. Grow strong in the east, and then take war against your cousin.’

  ‘I have neither his sword nor the ring!’ he sobbed, holding his face. I took some mud and slapped it on his wound. He grimaced.

  ‘Take any ring and claim it is Draupnir. And take this.’ I gave him the Winter Sword, even if my heart broke. ‘Take his standard and his helmet and pretend. You are good at it. Take his amber, his land, for are you not Bero’s son and the true heir to Draupnir and all its glory?’

  ‘I am,’ he sobbed. ‘Wait, you are letting me go?’

  ‘I am letting you go, you filth. And should you not do these things, bastard, dodging this charge I gave you, I shall bring the true Draupnir wherever you are and summon an army to hunt you down. I will find you. I will make sure no hole in Midgard is going to be welcome for you. I can be stubborn. You know it.’

  ‘You don’t have Draupnir's Spawn,’ he told me as I took my foot away from him and stepped back.

  ‘I will,’ I said and gazed at Godsmount. ‘Go, dog-faced, double-dealing piece of offal.’

  I left him, left the Winter Sword on his lap and went to look for a horse.

  Father and Catualda. Dealt with, as Cassia suggested.Wyrd.

  BOOK 6: THE PLATE OF WODEN

  ‘For some reason, you think it is your duty to thwart Odo.’

  Veleda to Hraban

  CHAPTER 34

  I heard Catualda running down to the water to fish out Father’s banner. He had ever moped after his land. He had worked against his father Bero for my father though he hated both equally. He wanted Draupnir for its legacy and power but got Father’s armor and gear and weapons instead, and he would have to fight, for once, to get power. I was sure he would procure a golden ring and pretend it was Draupnir’s Spawn just fine. I hoped he would travel to the Suebi lands and raise an army to fight Father, at least eventually. Perhaps he would. Perhaps Catualda would end up the richest bastard in the land, lord of amber and a god of war and it was all my doing.

  Or the Winter Sword would kill him or make him miserable, at least, I chuckled.

  But I knew what he was. I knew him; he knew me, and he would ever fear me.

  Germania. Honor. Fame.

  I was going to leave it all behind. As soon as Odo was sorted.

  I went down to the stream and kneeled next to the tangle of horses. One was dead, and Nihta’s was dying. I killed it with Nightbright and climbed back up and looked around. Further away, I saw the man I had struck from the sad
dle. He was struggling on the ground, pulling himself along, his knee painfully bent. He was going for his horse that was calmly and happily taking an advantage of the situation by eating green grass, and then checking his master’s progress with an appraising eye.

  I ran for the horse.

  The man saw me coming, cursed, spat, and struggled harder, managing to drag his hurt leg along so that he was on his hands and knees, but he had no chance to escape, even if he managed to get to his horse. He looked at me with pleading eyes.

  ‘Please,’ he said miserably on his hands and knees. I ignored his words, picked up his spear and shield and used his conveniently arched back to mount the horse. He cursed and groped after me, but I shook my head at him.

  ‘Its name?’ I asked.

  ‘Star God,’ he said, miserably.

  I threw a Roman silver denarius at him. ‘Thanks,’ I said, guiding the beast away from the man. I stopped to consider the distant battle scene but knew if I rode there, there was no guarantee I would be able to ride for Godsmount. I had to hurry, and so I turned away and followed the tracks. I did not see Odo’s men, but the summer had been wet, the grass was churned up, and I guided the horse after them and for the mountain. The man had water on the horse, a gourd that I drowned greedily, suddenly exhausted. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and I flew with the horse.

  It was perhaps my imagination, but I thought I saw the bird, a spec in the sky, flying in circles.

  Towards the evening, I began to despair. I spent time riding around, staring at the ground, for much cavalry had been passing there during the previous weeks, and I cursed I did not have Brimwulf there with me. Or Fulcher, I thought and spat in anger and swallowed in sorrow. Finally, I decided that some of the tracks were fresher, and I rode after them. In some hours time, it was dark.

  I knew the way to Godsmount, and I kept the horse going that way, terrified of the beast breaking its leg on an unseen hole. The fresh tracks could still barely be seen in the moonlight. Then, up ahead, a fire was burning. I approached it, carefully, hefting my spear. I pushed to the woods, begging for the horse to be silent. There were pinecones and twigs on the ground, and I made relatively easy time as I went on. The fire was burning in a clearing of a forest and a man sat by it, looking harmless enough. He was roasting a rabbit over a fire, singeing its meat badly, and cursing occasionally. He drank ale and sniffled, talking to himself. He did not look like any man of Odo’s.

  But he did look like Ragwald. The man’s right arm was useless.

  I cursed softly and looked around and saw nothing moving in the forest. I sat there, thinking. I spurred the horse to turn it carefully.

  An arrow stuck in its neck, and the beast collapsed. Another hit it in the flank, near my leg.

  I sat on the dead horse, in the sight of the man on the fire, and I saw him look back at me, being very unsurprised by my bizarre entrance to his camp. I looked around at the night and felt my skin crawl. Ragwald was nodding happily. ‘My lord Segestes asked me to find you. He has a bone to pick with you, and I’d wager the damned ring is with you? You visited this Gulldrum, after all.’

  ‘Is Armin alive?’ I asked him, feeling foolish as I sat on the dead beast but did not dare to move.

  He grunted with a very unhappy voice. ‘I left before the battle. But I hear he is. A prisoner to Rome. And Segestes is now the lord of the north. Did you kill your father?’

  ‘No,’ I said, my belly cold from anticipation. Ragwald’s eyes probed me with amusement. He was much calmer than usual, taking his time. He nodded.

  ‘I also heard your Drusus is not dead yet. But he is hurt. Hurt enough to die? Perhaps. Hurt enough that his time in Germania is over? Likely. And as I said, he might die yet. Your father did well. You failed,’ he smiled. ‘And so Segestes would have that fucking ring. And you, of course. You left quite rudely.’

  ‘Odo has the fucking ring,’ I spat.

  ‘He escaped? You failed with him, as well?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Damned to Hel, you are,’ Ragwald complained. ‘Fail here, fail there. Now. If you don’t have that ring, then I suppose we have to take you alone back there.’

  ‘Didn’t Catualda lead you?’ I asked him carefully.

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed. ‘You saw him, as well? I bet he is also alive.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing but fail this day,’ I agreed, sitting on the dead animal. ‘But he did tell me you might have other plans than taking me to Segestes.’

  ‘He was damned right, boy,’ Ragwald mumbled. ‘Damned right. Too bad he spoiled the surprise. I hoped to give you hope of survival, at least a brief one, and then snatch it away, but hopeless or not, Hraban, I shall enjoy this.’ He was nodding to himself, and I knew he was not sane. ‘Shame about the ring. Expensive, precious. But I suppose that matters little. Around you, Hraban, are men. We saw you coming hours ago and set this place up. Some even followed you. They are good men. Some are my old men; some died in the battle, and few are new. And I do have some boys who do not like you much. They usually follow the whim of Segestes dutifully enough, but on this matter they are willing to help me out and not get paid. They despise you.’

  ‘Gods know that could be anyone in this land,’ I said and smiled. ‘I saw nobody following me.’

  ‘Yes,’ he hawked. ‘But these men are experts in tracking, and you would not see them until it is too late.’ He chuckled. ‘They are trackers, Hraban. Very, very good at tracking beast and man.’

  Oh, gods, I thought. Woden spare me.

  Ragwald waved his hand and men emerged from under the boughs. Most were armored in leather, some in helmets, all armed with framea and axes, daggers, and heavy spears. One had a full face helmet of dull iron, and I thought he had helped Armin when I had tried to capture him for Drusus. One was Ketill from Oddglade, and one was the young Hugo. But there were also five painted men, men with gray and black faces, wearing furs, armed with arrows and bows.

  The Svear.

  ‘They lost some brothers,’ Ragwald said, nodding at the dangerous men. ‘They are not happy.’

  ‘Their brothers wept as they died,’ I said with a bright smile, hoping for a quick death.

  Ragwald laughed, turning the spit. ‘All men weep when they die, and you will find this is so for you as well, very soon. Segestes told me to keep you alive. You recall I was reluctant to do so before Armin interrupted us. And I still am. I shall pursue my earlier inclinations and skin you. I will make a pretty purse out of your ball hide,’ he told me, poking experimentally at the meat.

  I pointed my spear at him. ‘I already suffered enough at your hands, Ragwald. At yours and Helmut’s. I’ll fight to the end, and I will take you before anyone can twitch.’ A hollow threat, I knew.

  ‘He brags a lot,’ Ragwald told his following with a bored voice. ‘He brags and causes mischief and now it shall end.’

  I sneered at him. ‘You are a sick man, Ragwald. It was inevitable you would lose your family and service. Slaying me will not bring you joy.’

  ‘Indeed, Hraban, I am a sick man. In need of medicine,’ he said suddenly. He looked at me with a thoughtful scowl. ‘Too often have you escaped me.’ His eyes grew suspicious, and he rubbed his belly as if the idea of Hraban escaping him again was indeed making him ill. He was nodding vigorously. ‘I have my medicine at hand. I will heal when I have seen the small animals of the forests devour your intestines. I shall laugh. Laugh, Hraban. Happily. Then I shall make a new family, and find a new lord,’ he told me, seriously.

  I spat. ‘You left Segestes?’

  He nodded absentmindedly. ‘I did. I left Segestes. I am disobeying him and the Svear will go back, and tell what happened and blame me, as I agreed with them. They will still be in his favor, I shall not. I care not. I have no home with him, no. I left him. While sitting here I decided I would. I won’t take you to him. I will serve Inguiomerus, perhaps, and see if you were right or wrong about ever finding joy again.’ He grinned at me and yelled. �
�Now!’ I braced my feet, turning around, expecting an attack. My spear darted from man to man, but none of them moved. Ragwald laughed at my confusion. ‘Not yet! Let none say I don’t know how to have fun. The Svear are like dogs of Gymir, Hraban. They guard their lord. But Gymir’s dogs were bound. I shall set them free in a bit. Now, off with you.’ He waved me off, and I stared at him. ‘There is the mountain. Go!’

  ‘And you will hunt me?’ I asked with spite.

  He nodded. ‘We will hunt you. I want you to fear, Hraban.’

  I started to walk towards the mountain. ‘Come after me and never leave this mountain,’ I told him spitefully.

  ‘A few moments is all you get then,’ he laughed, and I ran, waiting to be hit by an arrow or spear. But I was not. The Svear made a strange, gurgling sound at my back, one that intensified as I ran, and if Ragwald had wanted me to fear, then I did.

  The mountain’s hilly sides rose around before me in the night. The air was crispy, a bit wet, and I despaired as I ran to the woods. There were game tracks that I took, but I wondered if I should take to the lush valleys full of blueberries instead and hide under moss. They would find me, no matter what.

  A horn rang behind me.

  Woden was laughing, I was sure of it as I ran on. The chainmail was heavy, and I played with the idea of abandoning it but decided against it. I’d need it more than speed, for I did not know the land and they would. They would overtake me at some point, I thought and cursed myself for letting Father go. At least he should be there, in the afterworld pointing a quivering, raging finger at me as I came that way.

  Then, I heard birds calling.

  There were many, the song was excited, then soft and forlorn, and I realized they were the Svear trackers communicating by whistles. I fidgeted and ran off. My enemy were still whistling, but now also eerily snapping their fingers as they silently came on. They were like a ghostly elf pack or deadly vaettir of the dark groves, and I knew they would soon spot me. I would die slowly, an arrow in my leg, tortured and forgotten.