Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  She could not loiter around Jakob Strellis’s clinic without drawing attention, and there was only so much she could glean from his meticulous records. Rosamund was a student physician and no spy either. Kengil could not rely on her happening upon damning evidence by chance, and the miraculously cured child could easily be dismissed with no firm proof of the severity of the initial injury. She needed help.

  RODULF

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ dal Geerdorf said, when Rodulf walked into the Markgraf’s private office.

  There were a number of men there already, some he recognised, others he did not. Several were men whose debts he owned.

  ‘He’s here at my request,’ the Markgraf said.

  Dal Geerdorf opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated for a moment before he finally found his tongue. ‘Are you sure he can be trusted?’

  Rodulf wondered how much the Shandahari slavers would pay for the bastard’s daughters. Fair-skinned blondes were very popular in the sunny south.

  ‘I own Baron Leondorf,’ the Markgraf said, ‘and he owns you, so I’m content for the time being. Now, to business.’

  ‘Silver production has greatly exceeded expectations, which means your plans can be expedited, my lord,’ the Markgraf’s chancellor said.

  Rodulf looked at him warily. He was one of the men in the room that Rodulf had not been able to buy.

  ‘By how much?’

  Rodulf tried to look as though he belonged there and understood what was going on, but nothing could be further from the truth. He couldn’t even speculate about what they were talking about, nor what the need for secrecy was.

  ‘I estimate that we have approximately seventy-five percent of the funds you will require, my lord,’ the chancellor said. ‘The target will be exceeded in weeks, rather than months.’

  The Markgraf smiled and stroked his greying beard. ‘That really does bring us far closer.’

  He chuckled, but it sounded nervous to Rodulf, further whetting his curiosity.

  ‘With the Northlands acquisitions, you already control a territory equal to Her Highness. It is my opinion that we are ready to move forward.’

  Rodulf’s eyes widened as the pieces started to fit together. It seemed he was not the only avariciously ambitious man in the room. The Markgraf planned to rebel.

  ‘Are we all agreed?’ the Markgraf said.

  ‘I believe we are, my lord,’ a man Rodulf did not know said. ‘Or should I say, Your Majesty.’

  The Markgraf smiled but held up his hand. ‘Let’s not put the cart before the horse,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d have longer to come up with a name for our new kingdom. I’d better put my thinking cap on.’

  There was some muted laughter in the room, but it did little to ease the tension that was now obvious to Rodulf. Sedition was a very serious matter. It seemed the Markgraf had grand dreams and the spine to chase them. Rodulf was excited and intrigued. In his more ambitious moments, he nurtured thoughts of doing something similar in the Northlands, but now it seemed the future would be bountiful with opportunity. If the Markgraf was fighting a war against his overlord, he would have few resources left over to deal with one of his noblemen asserting independence. Rodulf might even find himself an ally in the princess if he turned against his rebellious liege lord.

  His mind raced with possibilities, but he knew that for the time being he needed to be careful. He was part of a conspiracy, and men in a conspiracy who were suspected of wavering commitment wound up dead. It occurred to him that if he was being made privy to the plans, the Markgraf intended to use him in them. Exactly how remained to be answered, and the question left him with a sick feeling in his stomach.

  35

  WULFRIC

  Wulfric found the excitement of being part of an army marching to war almost overwhelming. Men shouted, drums beat, and horns sounded. Banners and battle flags flew in their hundreds, painting the field with a thousand colours. Wulfric felt left out not having one, but Jagovere had explained that only the special southern warrior, the banneret, could fly one. It reminded Wulfric of the bastard Endres who had tried to kill him in the forest what seemed like a lifetime ago. He might not be a banneret, but he was determined that by the end of the day his blade would have drawn more blood than any other, banner or not. If the enemy carried them, they would make for nice souvenirs.

  Beasts complained, equipment rattled, boots and hoofs struck the earth, and the cloud of dust they kicked up gave the day a hazy surrealism. Wulfric’s nose was filled with the smell of sweat, horse dung, and the oil men wiped on their blades. They were the hallmarks of war, a deluge on the senses that was unlike anything else Wulfric had experienced. The water of the river turned a cloudy brown as it was forded and churned up by thousands of men and horses. Wulfric wondered how many of them would make the return crossing.

  A large tented palanquin was carried at the centre of the army, containing dal Valeriano’s sorcerer. Wulfric had not yet seen him, and wondered what a sorcerer looked like. Would he be dishevelled in scruffy old robes, as Aethelman had been? It seemed he would have to wait until the count’s master plan was unveiled before he would find out.

  The army gathered on the far bank before continuing its southward journey. Wulfric could feel his excitement ebb away as the march entered its second hour, and then the third. He wondered where the enemy were, and why they were hiding. Were they too cowardly to defend what was theirs? Perhaps his killing of their champion had made them too afraid to fight. The thought was satisfying, but he could hear Belgar’s voice in his head telling him to never underestimate an enemy. He looked over to the stone plateau as it drew into view on his right, and wondered if it secured their flank as the Estranzans thought, or if it hid enemy soldiers in their thousands among its countless tight, twisting passageways. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

  In the early afternoon, scouts galloped back toward the army with the haste that could only mean one thing. The order to halt was given and slowly, like a team of surly oxen, the column came to a stop. The sound of the march was replaced with silence, then quiet chatter and shuffling as men speculated about what was to come. Wulfric scanned the horizon, but couldn’t see anything.

  ‘What now?’ Wulfric said to Jagovere.

  ‘We await orders.’

  Wulfric realised he and Enderlain had become something of an unofficial bodyguard to Jagovere, always close by.

  ‘How long will that be?’ Wulfric said, looking eagerly at the Darvarosians.

  ‘How long is a piece of rope?’ Jagovere said. ‘I expect our Estranzan friends will want to give their mage a chance to do whatever it is they expect him to do. Then we can go about the real business of war.’

  ‘You don’t believe in magic?’ Wulfric thought back to the blue glow surrounding Jorundyr’s Rock. He knew magic existed; the only question that remained was how powerful it could be.

  ‘I once saw a fellow who claimed he could conjure lightning,’ Jagovere said. ‘It turned out he was lighting his farts with a hidden flame. Magister Toribio will need to be very full of hot air if he hopes to impact today’s outcome.’

  Enderlain chuckled, but Wulfric was no longer quite so convinced. What type of fool would the count have to be to centre his plans on magic if there was nothing to it?

  The palanquin was lowered, and gallopers set off from the count’s position behind the line. Wulfric watched one as he approached the Company.

  ‘The Marshall of Torona requests that you move your Company to the right flank, take up a defensive position and await further orders.’

  ‘We’re a cavalry company,’ dal Rhenning said. ‘We should be used for attack. Does the marshall understand this?’

  The galloper shrugged.

  Dal Rhenning sighed in frustration and waved a hand in acknowledgement. ‘The Company will advance,’ he bellowed.

  A dust cloud had formed on the horizon—the approaching enemy. Wulfric squinted to see better, but there was no way to
estimate numbers. The Company moved to their assigned position at a canter, then formed up.

  ‘What’s he playing at?’ Jagovere said, as he surveyed the ground they had been ordered to hold.

  ‘Mercenaries are easier to replace than men who’ll have to sow and harvest crops when the war’s over,’ dal Rhenning said. ‘This is where he thinks the fighting will be hardest, and I suspect he’s right. Still, that’s our job, and we can’t hold ground on horseback. We’ll dismount and form a pike line with our lances.’

  ‘What will we do with the horses?’

  ‘Take them back behind the line. I don’t want to lose half of them to arrows.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Dal Rhenning glowered at him. ‘I don’t like being separated from them, but if they’re within arrow range they’re as good as gone anyway.’

  Jagovere nodded and went to relay the order. Wulfric continued to watch the horizon, fascinated and horrified by the thought of so many people preparing to fight in one battle. He wondered if every warrior in the Northlands combined would come close to matching even one of the armies. A black mass developed at the cloud’s foot as the Darvarosian army continued its advance and Wulfric felt a tingle of fear dance across his skin. He had never felt so insignificant or small, even when Rodulf and his friends had tormented him. How would Jorundyr see his deeds amongst so many?

  A deafening explosion thundered across the plain. Wulfric stumbled backward as the shockwave hit him, blasting his face with sand and grit. The horses reacted faster than the men, pulling free and bolting in a cacophony of whinnies. Wulfric could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing. He looked around, rubbing the tears and dirt from his eyes. A thick black plume of smoke rose from the centre of the Estranzan line.

  Jagovere wiped his eyes and looked toward the plume. ‘I’ll be damned if the bloody idiot hasn’t just blown himself up,’ he shouted, although Wulfric could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. ‘I wonder how many of the fools he took out with him?’

  Wulfric shrugged, his eyes locked on the Darvarosians. The black mass was rapidly growing larger. They were charging.

  WULFRIC

  In the moments following the explosion, the sound of chaos reigned in the Estranzan ranks. Wulfric and the Company were only marginally better, torn between trying to recover their horses, and holding the line.

  ‘Form up! Form up!’

  Dal Rhenning’s voice was the only sound of order, rising high with the power of a man accustomed to shouting. The men clung to his words, allowing them and the hours of training to lead them from the confusion. Disorder could defeat an army as easily as a superior opponent, and Wulfric felt a wave of relief as order started to return. If the count and his command were killed in the explosion, retreat was their best option, but a disordered retreat could quickly become a rout and slaughter.

  The Darvarosians grew ever closer, and Wulfric wondered if dal Rhenning would give the order to withdraw. He could see some order return to the Estranzan ranks, but they looked uncertain. He couldn’t see if the count’s banners still flew, and wondered who was commanding the main army, if anyone. As though reacting to his thoughts, he saw a group of gallopers set off from the centre of the line, near the site of the explosion.

  ‘The Marshall of Torona requests that you hold your position. He asks me to stress the importance of this command. He wishes to anchor his army against the Warrens.’

  ‘I trust the marshall was unharmed in the explosion,’ dal Rhenning said.

  ‘He is well, my lord,’ the galloper said. ‘He was close to Magister Toribio, but luckily the blast was directed away from him.’

  ‘Lucky indeed,’ dal Rhenning said. ‘Please remind him that we are a cavalry company, but will do our best to hold his flank.’

  The galloper nodded and spurred his horse back toward the centre of the line.

  ‘Do you ever get the feeling you’re not being paid enough?’ dal Rhenning said, as he took his place in the Company’s line of makeshift pike men.

  ‘Every day,’ Jagovere said.

  All along the line, men kicked with their heels into the ground, using their spurs to dig a pocket to rest the ends of their lances in. Wulfric did likewise, glad of having something to do other than watch their enemy’s approach. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He had never fought in a spear line, nor been part of an army so large. There was so much going on that he could barely hold a thought before something new demanded his attention. The ringing in his ears started to subside, leaving an eerie quiet in its place as he looked around, hoping he had done everything necessary.

  It was unnerving watching the battle unfold while waiting for his part in it to begin. The Estranzans remained where they were, while the Darvarosians moved smoothly across the plain as one. Their cavalry charged from the line at the far end of the plain, but there was no response from the Estranzan horse. Either their discipline was superb and they awaited command, or they were too afraid to respond. It was never a good thing for cavalry to receive a charge while they were stationary. Unless they moved soon, the day would not go well for them.

  ‘My lord dal Rhenning,’ a galloper shouted as he rode along the line. ‘The Marshall of Torona requests that you advance your Company against the enemy’s right. Once you have engaged, you are to pin them. You will be supported by Estranzan troops in due course.’ The galloper did not wait for a confirmation from dal Rhenning, and charged back in the direction from which he had come.

  ‘Hold position, advance. I’m beginning to think the Marshall of Torona does not have a Plan B,’ dal Rhenning said.

  ‘Only beginning?’ Jagovere said. ‘It’s now or never. If we don’t withdraw, we won’t have the chance.’

  ‘And then what would people say of the Company? It would be the end of us. No, we advance.’

  WULFRIC

  ‘Level spears, and prepare to advance,’ dal Rhenning shouted.

  Some men started to hack the ends off their lances to make them more manageable as spears. The hasty alterations made Wulfric feel as though everything around him was unravelling, but he did likewise. He admired the way the other men were following dal Rhenning’s orders without question, but Wulfric had an unsettling feeling growing in his stomach. The men formed into three rows with their makeshift spears pointing forward, then waited for dal Rhenning’s word.

  Dal Rhenning stepped forward from the line. He looked a heroic figure standing out before them, his bannerman holding his battle flag high above his head, his polished breastplate gleaming in the sunshine. Dal Rhenning waved his hand forward, and they advanced.

  Wulfric and Enderlain flanked Jagovere, who, like most of the Company’s officers, had left his banner with the baggage when they dismounted. Other than better than average armour and weapons, there was nothing to mark him out as a man of distinction. Wulfric realised that being anonymous was not a bad thing in a line of spearmen, but he didn’t want anonymity. His hands shook, and he had to clench his teeth to stop them from chattering. He wanted to get to the fight, but he was more confused than the first day he had sparred in training. Nothing was happening as he expected, and it took all his concentration to keep up.

  They moved forward quickly and in loose order. As horsemen, their armour was not particularly suited to fighting on foot, and places that were usually protected by the horse were left exposed to the enemy. It was not how he’d seen his first big southern battle going. He felt as vulnerable as a babe, and thought himself a coward for being glad that he was in the third rank with Jagovere.

  He looked to his left, but the rest of the Estranzan line remained where it was. Their cavalry had counter-charged and the two bodies of horsemen swirled around each other, filling the space between the two armies at the far end of the line. It was impossible to tell who was winning.

  ‘Halt,’ dal Rhenning shouted.

  Jagovere looked over his shoulder and noticed the static Estranzan line. His mouth twisted with disdain.
/>
  ‘The bastard’s using us as bait to tempt them in,’ Jagovere said. ‘Ever fought like this before, Northlander?’

  Wulfric shook his head.

  ‘Makes two of us,’ Jagovere said with a maniacal laugh. ‘First time I’ve started a battle on foot. Curious to see what all the fuss’s about.’

  ‘It’s overrated,’ Walt said from the rank in front of them.

  Dal Rhenning moved back through the crowd with his standard bearer and trumpeter, to where he could command the Company. ‘Close ranks,’ he shouted. ‘Now, you lazy whoresons!’

  They shuffled together until Wulfric could feel Jagovere and Enderlain pressing on either side. He couldn’t see anything beyond the mass of bodies in front of him, so the first he knew of the enemy’s charge was the roar they gave as they drew close. A pike passed clear through the tight spaces between the men before him, and grazed past Wulfric’s head. His heart leaped and he felt a flash of panicked claustrophobia. He wouldn’t have been able to dodge out of the way if it had been coming for him.

  He could hear dal Rhenning’s voice urging them forward, but it seemed distant now, drowned by shouts, cries, smashes, and crunches. The men remained massed, pushing forward like a wall of flesh with a deadly barbed tip. It was anathema to everything Wulfric understood about fighting. Men screamed as they were impaled on the pikes, but their bodies were held upright by the press of men around them. To Wulfric, it seemed like an inexorable march to death, an insane way to fight a battle. He wanted nothing more than to get out into some space, draw his sword and fight the way he knew.