Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘Yes,’ Rodulf said, sitting back down and easing into a relaxed smile. ‘I thought it distasteful that a man of the count’s position had his notes held by tradesmen, so I took the liberty of buying all of his loans.’

  The notary blanched. ‘They can’t do this,’ he said.

  ‘On the contrary. I’m told that once repayments are in default the bank is entitled to recover their monies by whatever means they choose.’

  ‘You… you have all of them?’ the notary said.

  ‘Every single one,’ Rodulf would have smiled wider, if he were not already at his limit. ‘Perhaps you should go and have a chat with the Graf. I have an appointment with the chancellor, and I’ll need to speak with him before then.’

  The notary hurried after dal Geerdorf without another word, leaving Rodulf to bask in the satisfaction of an impending victory. He watched the exchange of words between dal Geerdorf and the notary with the relish of a man about to start into a fine meal. There was a great deal of gesticulating and head shaking, but Rodulf owned him now, and there would be no refusing, no matter how distasteful dal Geerdorf found taking orders from a Northlander. Not if he wanted to keep his houses, his estates, his horses, and his sons in the Academy at Brixen.

  Eventually the conversation stopped, and dal Geerdorf walked over, his face all thunder and fury.

  ‘The last time we spoke, I had thought it on friendly terms,’ he said. ‘We were planning on forming some trade agreements, as I recall.’

  ‘Friendly terms, so long as I did what you wanted,’ Rodulf said. Rodulf remained sitting, and maintained his smile. ‘Be very clear on one thing, my lord. React to my greeting like that again, and your sons will be swinging picks in the silver mines, and your daughters will be paying off your debts on their backs.’

  Dal Geerdorf’s face darkened further, and Rodulf wished he had more than one banneret with him.

  ‘After I’ve had my fill of them,’ Rodulf said, not willing to show any fear. The new dynamic of their association had to be established from the start.

  ‘What do you want?’ dal Geerdorf said again, but in a more respectful tone.

  ‘I simply want us to be friends, as you said before,’ Rodulf said. ‘But friendship on my terms, not yours. I want you to open doors that would otherwise remain closed to me. I want you to aid my rise at court, and to demonstrate to all the stuck-up arseholes here that I am as much a part of society as any of them.’

  Dal Geerdorf’s lips thinned as he forced a smile. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Rodulf said. ‘I’m told you’re hosting a ball this evening. I shall see you there.’ He stood and walked away.

  30

  WULFRIC

  They had been riding in silence for over an hour before Enderlain broke the silence. ‘I don’t expect that’s how you saw it going,’ he said. He was doing his best to hold in laughter, but with only moderate success.

  Wulfric glowered at him. ‘Who do you think she was working for?’ he said to Jagovere. He pulled down the brim of the wide hat he had bought in Torona. He had thought them silly, vain-looking things, but under the strong sunlight he could see their use. Nonetheless, he felt like an idiot wearing it.

  ‘Well, not you, anyway,’ Jagovere said, ‘although perhaps that sort of thing appeals to Northlanders. I’ve heard you like your women feisty.’

  ‘Not that feisty,’ Wulfric said, realising he wasn’t going to be able to get away with it.

  Jagovere allowed himself a laugh, and Wulfric smiled, thinking it better to be laughed with rather than at. They had several days’ ride ahead of them, and he didn’t want to be the butt of jokes the whole way. The episode had made him think of Adalhaid more frequently. Perhaps it was the treatment he deserved for having allowed his thoughts to drift. Perhaps he was lucky not to have been gelded. Perhaps he deserved to be. Until he had settled Adalhaid’s Blood Debt, he resolved not to look at another woman.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter who she was working for,’ Jagovere said. ‘If we view everyone down here as an enemy, we won’t go far wrong. Every step of the way, we have to look out for ourselves. Such is the life of a mercenary. We can be hired and fired on a whim when it’s no longer convenient to have us around, and we can never forget that.’

  Wulfric nodded. He was coming to hate the south. At least in the Northlands he had always known who his friends and enemies were.

  ‘Have you finished reading the pages I gave you?’

  ‘I have,’ Wulfric said, as he rolled gently in the saddle.

  ‘Any problem words?’

  ‘No, I could manage them all.’

  ‘You’ve taken to it quicker than I expected,’ Jagovere said.

  ‘I had done a little before, I was just never diligent about it. I see the use in it now. More than I did before.’

  ‘An agile mind and an agile blade, is it?’

  ‘Southerners seem to think all Northlanders are ignorant savages. I’m not going to help prove you right.’

  Jagovere nodded, but said nothing. They continued in silence for a moment, as Wulfric wrestled with something he had wanted to say for some time.

  ‘I wanted to thank you,’ Wulfric said.

  Jagovere raised an eyebrow. ‘For what?’

  ‘For everything. Saving me from the soldiers in Wetlin, for welcoming me into the Company. For trusting me.’

  ‘It was the Graf’s doing, if I’m being honest, not mine.’

  ‘Still,’ Wulfric said. He mulled over how to put what he wanted to say next. ‘I had good reason to kill those men I killed.’

  ‘Your reasons are your own,’ Jagovere said.

  ‘I want you to know I’m no murderer. Those men tried to have me killed, and someone special to me taken away.’

  ‘A woman?’

  Wulfric nodded. ‘Adalhaid. She was murdered.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I still have to settle her Blood Debt,’ Wulfric said. ‘There were more men involved. I can’t rest until I do so.’

  ‘I’ve heard of Northlander Blood Debts,’ Jagovere said. ‘For what it’s worth, I understand.’

  ‘I just wanted you to know,’ Wulfric said, before falling silent again.

  ADALHAID

  As much as Adalhaid loved the practice of medicine, there were parts of it that she found mind-numbingly tedious. After each clinic, all their tools and implements had to be painstakingly cleaned, not just those that had been used. Jakob had told her the risk of infection was too high to limit oneself to those that had seen use that day. Forgetfulness and cross-contamination were ever-present dangers, so they all had to be cleaned, after every session.

  Each instrument was boiled and then carefully scrubbed, and it was the responsibility of a good physician to personally attend to their own tools. She scrubbed each of the steel implements and passed them to Jakob—she wasn’t sure exactly when she had moved from calling him Doctor Strellis to Jakob, but it felt perfectly natural now—who dried and put them away.

  ‘You did well today,’ he said. ‘I was right when I said you have a real talent for this.’

  Adalhaid blushed, but kept her gaze fixed on the task at hand.

  ‘And I do so love it when I’m right,’ he said.

  She laughed and looked up. His steely blue eyes were fixed on her, and he wore the crooked smile he adopted whenever he was teasing someone. She could not help but smile back as she passed him something—she had completely forgotten what it was. This time when their hands touched, she did not pull hers away. Before she knew what was happening he had leaned in and kissed her. She found herself returning his embrace.

  Before she closed her eyes, she saw Rosamund standing at the doorway.

  RODULF

  ‘How the winds of change do blow,’ Rodulf said, as he walked into the Markgraf’s great hall beside his new best friend. He said it as much as a statement of fact as to irritate dal Geerdorf. He knew he needed to be more circumspect in the
way he treated dal Geerdorf—even a cowed dog would bite from time to time—but for the moment he was enjoying the experience too much. Owning slaves had always felt empowering to him, but owning one of the most influential men in the Mark was utterly thrilling. For the past few days, he and dal Geerdorf had been near-constant companions. Rodulf was at his side at each social occasion, his presence announcing to everyone that he was a man of status, not an arriviste with a bought title.

  ‘How long, do you think, before I’ll be able to take a place on the privy council?’ Rodulf said.

  ‘Don’t put your cart before the horse,’ dal Geerdorf said. ‘I’m not the only man who makes such decisions. It can take years to build the support, influence, and reputation needed.’

  ‘I can be very persuasive,’ Rodulf said. ‘Just direct me to the appropriate people, and I’m sure I can bring them around to my way of thinking.’ He had a firm grip on the Stone, the comfort it brought him being a necessity now rather than a treat. He didn’t like to be parted from it for even a moment. However, he did not have the confidence in it he once had—it seemed that not everyone was susceptible to its power. He didn’t understand the Stone, nor what it really did, and it was frustrating. That it gave him greater influence over some people was a certainty, but with others it failed. He didn’t like uncertainty, or things he couldn’t rely on, but how could he discover more about it? How could he learn to use it to its full potential? He felt a pang of regret that he had killed the old priest. Who else might be able to enlighten him?

  ‘Count Unsdorf, might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Baron Leondorf,’ dal Geerdorf said.

  Unsdorf’s moustache twitched as he regarded dal Geerdorf. Rodulf realised he was wondering if it was some kind of joke, and felt anger flush through him like a flash fire. Had they really considered him to be such a pariah? Dal Geerdorf gave no reaction, so Unsdorf clicked his heels together and nodded his head to Rodulf, a gesture Rodulf mirrored.

  ‘Don’t do that again,’ dal Geerdorf said as they walked away.

  ‘Do what?’ Rodulf said.

  ‘Click your heels. Just bow your head. Only bannerets click their heels.’

  Southern society was layer of snobbery piled on layer of snobbery, Rodulf thought. ‘How much does it cost to become a banneret?’

  Dal Geerdorf laughed. ‘It costs blood, sweat, tears, and at least four years of your life. You may have bought me, but not everything is for sale. You’ll never be a banneret. Everything else can be had for coin, but not that.’

  It was only then that Rodulf noticed the banners hanging above the stalls that lined the sides of the hall. Each was made from pale grey cloth, but they were decorated with colourful embroidery, every one different from the other.

  ‘Only the top Academy graduates earn a grey banner and a seat in the hall,’ dal Geerdorf said. ‘Everyone else, you included, has to stand. The banner has to be earned. The son of a tanner can be seated next to the son of a duke. Here they are equal.’

  He said it with a hint of pride in his voice, which confused Rodulf. He could remember only too well what a tanner’s shop smelled like, and there was no way he would sit downwind of a tanner’s son. Money was what made the south work, but here was something it seemed money could not buy. The hypocrisy was frustrating. He could hire a dozen bannerets, but dal Geerdorf was telling him he could never be one, nor make that stupid salute. It was like the warrior class in the Northlands all over again. Arrogant bastards. He told himself it didn’t matter. The privy council was where the power was, and dal Geerdorf was going to get him a seat on it whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t let dal Geerdorf feel he had won a small victory. The key to obedience was keeping him perpetually cowed. On this occasion, Rodulf chose the biggest stick in his arsenal.

  ‘Talk down to me again,’ Rodulf said, ‘and I’ll sell your daughters to a Shandahari slaver.’

  31

  PROFESSOR KENGIL

  ‘Absolutely destroyed, you say?’ Professor Kengil said. It was unusual to have a clinical assistant call on her, but not nearly so unusual as the information she brought.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Rosamund said. ‘Dr. Strellis was preparing to amputate her leg. He asked me to stand by in case Adalhaid wasn’t ready for such a major operation.’

  ‘Take me through it one more time.’

  Rosamund looked nervous as she nodded, but Kengil knew her reputation far preceded her.

  ‘Doctor Strellis went back into the treatment room. When they came out a few minutes later, the girl followed them out.’

  ‘Followed them out?’ Kengil said.

  ‘Yes. She walked out with nothing more than a bandage on her leg and a limp.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Kengil said. ‘Fascinating. You think Doctor Strellis might be resorting to darker powers?’

  Rosamund’s eyes widened. ‘No! Of course not. I’ve been working in his clinic for two years now, and I’ve never seen anything like that. No. It’s not Doctor Strellis. It’s her. Steinnsdottir. The Northlander.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Kengil said, a smile spreading across her face. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’

  WULFRIC

  The duke’s army was camped on the Estranzan side of the border with Darvaros. Wulfric had not seen anything like it before. It made a Northlander army look like nothing more than a skirmishing party. There must have been more than ten thousand men there. Ordered rows of white tents stretched across the arid landscape, interspersed with occasional larger, coloured ones.

  Even from a distance Wulfric could hear chatter and laughter. It was a jovial atmosphere, rather than one of martial discipline, and Wulfric wasn’t sure what to make of it. As they grew closer, Wulfric realised it was more raucous than he had first thought. It sounded like there was no shortage of ale, and Wulfric couldn’t see a single sentry on duty. Women in heavy make-up and revealing clothes wandered about, arm-in-arm with soldiers. Wulfric wondered if they even knew where they had left their weapons and armour.

  ‘Not the most encouraging sight,’ Jagovere said. ‘Looks like these fellows think a war is a holiday from their wives.’

  Wulfric shrugged. He realised he had no idea about war in the south. Perhaps this was what it was always like, at least until the killing started. He wondered what kind of a mess of the place he could make with a few hundred Northland horsemen. They could have routed the camp before the Estranzans had even found their swords. It puzzled him why their enemy had not done exactly that.

  One of dal Rhenning’s adjutants rode down the length of the Company’s marching column indicating where they were to make camp. Separated from the main army, it seemed whoever was giving the orders did not plan on making the Company welcome.

  ADALHAID

  Adalhaid was coming to know nothing but guilt. She felt guilty for how little time she gave Aenlin and Petr, the Markgraf’s children, beyond what was required by the terms of her job. They had asked why she was there so infrequently, and it made her feel awful. She felt guilty for not applying herself harder to her studies; but above all, she felt guilty for not being able to think about anything other than Jakob Strellis.

  As she hurried through the public part of the palace toward the private apartments, she heard a laugh that made her skin crawl. Standing amongst a group of the Markgraf’s nobles was Rodulf. Adalhaid had hoped that once his investiture was done with, he would return north and remain there. The southerners were rarely that welcoming to Northlanders, unless there was something they really wanted. She had hoped that treatment would put Rodulf off, but it seemed the wealth she had heard he was accumulating had earned him some new friends. He was too engrossed in his conversation to notice her, and she continued on her way as quickly as she could. The thought of him being a regular feature at the palace made her nauseated.

  32

  PROFESSOR KENGIL

  One thing Professor Kengil had always admired about Doctor Strellis was his meticulous record keeping. All the
clinics fell within her overwatch, as projects of the university. Usually she paid them little attention after appointing the physician in charge. Choose the head wisely, she always thought, and the body will perform as expected. Strellis was one of her more outstanding protégés, not that he seemed to realise how much had gone his way due to her influence, something that grated with her.

  It was not difficult tracking down the young girl who had been hit by the wagon. Her name and address was included on her treatment record, so all it took was a little legwork. She lived with her mother in a poor part of the city, where the narrow streets bustled with industry and accidents were common.

  Kengil disliked venturing into parts of the city like that, but she disliked Northlanders more. Rosamund’s story was too intriguing to let pass. The thought that the jumped-up Northlander was dabbling in dark things was as thrilling as it was concerning for Kengil. She knocked on the door and waited a moment. When it opened, she was greeted by the smell of cooking and poor sanitation. She wrinkled up her nose and forced a smile.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said to the woman who opened it. ‘My name is Doctor Kengil. I’m here to follow up on the treatment received by a young girl living at this address.’

  ‘That’d be Ellie,’ the woman said, flustered. ‘Your ladyship,’ she added.

  Kengil smiled. ‘It’s simply “Doctor Kengil”. May I see Ellie?’

  ‘Of course, Doctor. Come in. Come in.’

  She stepped back from the door and allowed Professor Kengil into the small apartment. There were five children present in the main room, all staring at Kengil with wide, curious eyes. They were all young and unkempt, and it was not obvious which one was Ellie.