by T L Greylock
It was from there that Raef saw the riders at the same moment the horn sounded at the gate to give notice. It was not Isolf. A banner, no more than a blur at that distance, was strung out at the front of the pack and Raef had not given Isolf a Vannheim banner to carry. It was a small party, though at that distance Raef could not count them. If foe, they could not threaten the walls. Raef thought of his letters to Axsellund and Bergoss, but it seemed too soon to hope it might be Torleif or Sverren with an answer.
Raef watched the riders draw closer and calmly finished his meal, washing down the last crumbs of bread with the ale. By then, the knocking had begun and Raef, still wrapped in his fur robe, went to the door.
It was Ulli, the steward. “Riders, lord.”
“I have seen them.”
“The gate insists it is the banner of Garhold.”
Raef kept his surprise to himself. “Whoever they are, keep them outside the gate. I will have no strangers pass these walls without my permission.” Ulli left to deliver Raef’s order and Raef looked once more out his window before dressing in clean clothes.
By the time he reached the gate, word had spread and a crowd of warriors and villagers had gathered. On Raef’s command, the gate was opened and Raef and ten heavily armed warriors stepped out.
The banner of Garhold, blue and white against the blue sky, flapped in the wind, but all else was still as the warriors faced each other. Raef recognized Uhtred at their head and the older lord dismounted and approached on foot.
“Not the warmest welcome I have known.” Uhtred’s voice was level and unthreatening but his blue eyes stared hard at Raef.
“I will decide the manner of my welcome when I know your purpose here.” Raef did not flinch away from the older lord’s gaze.
“Are you so quick to turn away a friend?”
“Friend, no. And if I had wanted to turn you away, you would know it. But is Uhtred, lord of Garhold, my friend?”
“He is, if you would let him.”
Raef felt his heartbeat quicken but the treachery of his own warriors had made him wary. “Then tell me the manner of your friendship.” It was perhaps too much to ask a lord to pledge himself before giving him welcome, before sharing mead, before letting him pass the gates. Uhtred was a proud man and Raef’s insistence on a demonstration of loyalty could chafe at him. But a true ally would swallow it and prove himself before all watching eyes.
The blue eyes did not flicker as Uhtred drew a small knife from his belt. The warriors behind Raef tensed, ready to defend their king, but Raef did not move and kept his eyes fixed on Uhtred’s, showing that he could trust if he chose.
Uhtred brought the knife to his palm and drew it across the skin. Blood rushed to the cut and Uhtred raised his hand so all might see. Then he went to one knee and shouted, “Hail, Skallagrim, king!” Uhtred was echoed by those who had ridden with him and then again by Raef’s warriors and the watching villagers. “Garhold is yours,” Uhtred said. “I swear it on the Allfather’s spear.”
Raef grasped Uhtred’s unbloodied hand and, with a wolfish grin, raised him up to his feet. “Then you are most welcome.”
“There is one I would have you meet,” Uhtred said, gesturing to the riders behind him. Raef nodded so he might continue. Uhtred turned and signaled and one rider, a young woman, dismounted and approached them. She was not dressed as a shieldmaiden, but her demeanor was commanding all the same. Her stride was confident and her eyes, the same piercing blue as Uhtred’s, were undaunted as she came to stand in front of Raef. She allowed Uhtred to take her hand, and there was no soft smile for either man, no meek downward glance.
“My daughter,” Uhtred said.
“Your name, lady?” Raef asked.
“Aelinvor.”
“You are welcome to Vannheim, Aelinvor.”
Uhtred’s daughter responded with a slight smile. It warmed her face without diminishing her boldness. “My king is kind.” Her dark, curly hair, long and unbound, swirled about her face in the wind.
At Uhtred’s signal, the remaining riders dismounted and one by one gave Raef their oath of loyalty, and there, before his gates, Raef gained his first ally.
The visitors from Garhold were given guest quarters in the Vestrhall and preparations began for a feast that night. To solidify their alliance in the sight of the gods, Raef and Uhtred shared a cup of mead and broke bread together, establishing the men of Garhold as guests in Raef’s home. As Raef passed the mead to Uhtred, he caught sight of Eira at the back of the hall. She had been absent since the night of the battle and Raef had begun to think he had driven her off. Their eyes met and she seemed calm but distant. He wondered why she had returned, why she kept returning. He could ask the same of Siv and Vakre, who he had thought long gone only to see them return from Finnolf’s failed journey to the south of Vannheim. He knew not whether he was angry that they had chosen to go with Finnolf or relieved that they had not yet abandoned him.
Uhtred had drained the rest of the mead and Raef turned his attention back to the other lord. “It is time we spoke away from the others,” Raef said. “You have spent many days in the saddle. Can you bear another hour?”
Uhtred grinned. “I am not so old as that.”
Five warriors went with them but kept their distance as Raef and Uhtred rode through the gate and curled around the north of the walls and the hill that stood at the Vestrhall’s back, then turning west to pass between the hills to reach the sea. Leaving the horses, they walked on the shore, watching the unrelenting waves batter the rocky coast. The salt spray leaped into the air, catching them in its fine mist.
“What brought you to my gates, Uhtred? Why align yourself with me?”
Uhtred was quiet for a moment. Gulls circling overhead tried to speak for him. “Your father might have been king, Raef. That day of the hunt in Balmoran, I was preparing to bind myself to him, to grant him the voices of Garhold’s warriors. He was a good man, strong, just, undaunted by lying tongues. Many things the last king promised to be and, we learned too late, did not deliver. Brynvald of Kolhaugen lived more years than most men and spent twenty of them as our king, but only because the lords were too busy fighting each other to bother with him. I watched your father navigate those feuds with skill and cunning, and through it all, Vannheim prospered, engaging in battle when necessary, letting lords tear at each other’s throats when it suited him. And I waited for the day that I could support him at a gathering and see him rise above all others.”
Uhtred looked out to sea and Raef knew the older lord was watching a future he had worked for slip away. “That day in the forest, I might have been able to save him.”
“Or you would have died at his side and not be standing here with me today,” Raef said. “Is it my father that brought you to me, then? And perhaps a nagging guilt?”
“I kept Garhold from the war because I would not support the manner of Fengar’s choosing. And yet what lord would I turn to in place of him? The Palesword I knew little and the Hammerling and I have never been friends. Should I make my own claim, then? But I have never craved power as some men do. Give me Garhold and I am content.”
“I have only ever said the same,” Raef said.
“Then I think you have the makings of a king, Raef Skallagrim. A man who seeks to be king with ravenous hunger is not the king we need. But I have not answered your question. A rumor came, on the heels of the news of the great battle in the east, a rumor that said it was not the Hammerling who had won victory over the Palesword, but rather it was the young lord of Vannheim who had triumphed against a terrible darkness. And then you vanished from the world of men, seemingly lost even as your star was born. Some said you were dead, betrayed by one of your captains. Some said you were the traitor, turning your back on the Hammerling and seeking Fengar instead that you might pledge Vannheim to him. But these rumors are nothing when compared to what I have heard of your absence and unexpected return.” Uhtred looked at Raef with a curious eye. Raef kept silent. “Pe
rhaps one day you will tell me the truth. But it matters not for I am not blind. A strange fate guides you, Raef. I know not what it is, if it is darkness or light, if it will tear a hole in the world of men or return us to the golden age of heroes. But whatever it is, I have chosen to follow it. Too long has Garhold been idle, too long have I watched and waited in the shadows. No more.”
It was more honest an answer than Raef could ever have asked for, but Raef grew uneasy as Uhtred spoke of fate, the words of the Allfather burning in his mind. “And what would you have of me in return?”
“You are the last of the line of Skallagrim. My daughter is my only surviving child. I make no demands. I have already given you my spears and nothing you say will change that. I only ask that you consider tying our families and our lands together.”
Garhold and Vannheim shared only a small border at the edge of the sea but joining them together would create a tract of land larger than any claimed by another lord. Raef placed his hand on Uhtred’s shoulder. “You have my word, I will consider what you ask.”
They watched the frothing seas as clouds blew across the sun, the high winds driving the shadows unceasingly. Finally Uhtred broke the silence. “Whose head is above your gate?”
“A warrior who broke his oath. He was not the first. There has been trouble in Vannheim. Men sought to replace me in my absence. They have been dealt with, though I think they are not the last.” Raef looked hard at Uhtred, waiting to see if the other man might question his decision to support Raef now that he had the knowledge of unrest in Raef’s own land. Uhtred showed no such doubt.
“What would you have me do? My warriors await word from me.”
“And I await word from Axsellund and Bergoss. Send for two hundred of your men to meet us here, have the rest watch your borders and prepare to march.”
“It will be done.”
The lone rider was spotted coming down from the north as the sun flared over the sea that evening. Four warriors rode to meet him, wary of strange visitors, and Raef, alerted by a watcher on the wall, went to the gate to await their return, Finnolf a quiet but persistent presence at his side.
The horse was a farm beast, heavy-hoofed and shaggy, and the rider was slumped over its bare back, clinging to the horse’s mane with raw, wind-bitten fingers, his hair hiding his face. He wore only a thin shirt and his clothes were torn in several places.
“He has not spoken, lord,” said one of the four warriors.
“Get him down,” Raef said. The rider was lowered to the ground and stretched out on his back. Only then did Raef recognize him as Thorvin, one of the men he had sent to scout Greyshield. Bruises colored his face and his eyes were listless and unfocused. “Odin’s eye, get him inside.”
Finnolf unhooked his cloak and settled it over Thorvin, then he and another carried the unresponsive warrior through the gate and into the guard house. A fire blazed there and Thorvin was laid in front of it. In the light of the fire, Raef could see his skin was deathly pale and his breathing shallow. Blankets were fetched and hot broth made ready, but once they had wrapped Thorvin up, there was little they could do but wait.
Raef watched the man’s face for signs of renewed life. His eyes were closed now, the eyelids fluttering, but his cheeks were still cold to the touch. Too cold.
“He does not shiver,” Finnolf said quietly, voicing what each man was thinking. Shivering was a sign of life, a sign that the body was fighting the cold. A body that did not shiver was as good as dead.
Raef rose. A feast and his new ally awaited, though leaving Thorvin did not sit well with him. “Keep him warm. Do everything you can. And find me the moment something changes.” Finnolf nodded to show his understanding and Raef returned to the hall.
After the solemn faces and silence of the guard house, the light in the hall seemed too bright, the music too loud, and the faces too cheerful. But Raef could not dampen his new alliance so he forced a smile onto his face and greeted Uhtred of Garhold with enthusiasm. If he grasped Uhtred’s forearm too hard, if he held onto his smile too long, the other lord did not seem to notice.
Raef handed Uhtred a glass of mead and raised his own in the air. “With the gods as my witness, I welcome Uhtred, lord of Garhold, to Vannheim and into my home. May the gods bring you long life and prosperity, my friend.” This was met with a cheer and Uhtred thanked Raef with a nod.
Then the lord of Garhold raised a hand to quiet the crowd. “Remember this day, for this day I make a promise to you, my king, and to all of you.” Uhtred gestured to the eager faces. “The promise of fire and blood and victory, and the promise that this man will rise above all others, that his name will endure, that his song will be remembered in years beyond our reckoning.” Uhtred’s words quickened Raef’s heartbeat and he felt the hair on his arms rise. The crowd erupted, hammering the tables with their hands and cups, their voices threatening to bring the roof crashing down. Uhtred and Raef drank and the feast began in earnest.
Among the benches, one figure stood out from the rest, Josurr in his long robes, his face marked with the blood of a recent sacrifice. Raef could not hear the priest’s words as he drifted from table to table, but the faces of the warriors who listened told of promises of fame and riches for those who followed the name of Skallagrim. Once, Raef caught the priest’s eye, but only the slightest glance passed between them and it was not long before Josurr disappeared into the night.
Aelinvor made a late appearance, one that drew the eyes of every man in the hall as she made her way to her father’s side at the high table. She was dressed as a wife of a king, luminescent in dark blue that contrasted her pale skin. Her hair, so loose before, was pulled up in intricate braids, not a lock out of place, revealing a slender neck and straight shoulders. A single gem, a blazing star, sat on her neckline, pulsing in the firelight. The effect was mesmerizing and Raef was sure she knew it. She greeted him with grace and her father with affection, seemingly oblivious to the shameless stares of the watching warriors. Only when she had taken her seat and accepted mead from Raef did the hall return to its natural state.
Every smile, every word, every turn of her head was meant for him, he knew, a display to convince him to make her his wife. It was not deceitful, though, but bold and honest. It was not unwelcome. Raef wondered if Eira was present, if she watched Uhtred’s beautiful daughter, if she felt even a sliver of jealousy in her volatile, changeable heart, and then he pushed Eira out of his thoughts and let Aelinvor seep into his senses.
They did not speak more than a few words to each other until Uhtred went to relieve his bladder. Aelinvor leaned over the empty space of her father’s chair and poured herself more mead.
“You are very beautiful, lady.”
Aelinvor smiled a smile that said she did not need to be told. “You are kind.”
“Your father wishes to see us wed.” Raef was pleased that this blunt statement brought the barest hint of hesitation to her eyes. She banished it quickly.
“My father is a wise man.”
“How old are you, Aelinvor?”
She looked away, as thought she might refuse to answer. “I am not yet eighteen.”
“I am older by seven years. Does this trouble you?” Raef leaned close, his hand brushing against hers.
“I do not wish to wed a boy.”
“Then you do not care for love?”
She deftly stepped around that question. “Would you see me the plaything of an unbearded youth, valiant but less than skilled? Or would you see me rule at your side, mother of your children?”
“So that is what you want. To be wife to the king.”
Aelinvor smiled. It was not the smile of a child. “I will not deny it.”
“I like an honest woman.”
“Then you think me a woman?”
Raef looked into her eyes and traced the side of her neck with the backs of his fingers. “Without a doubt.” He wanted to kiss her and it was clear she would not refuse him. But he hesitated, he knew not why, an
d then Finnolf was there, hunched beside his chair.
Raef looked to the young captain, aware that Aelinvor had sat back in her chair and her gaze was now on the crowd of warriors. “Thorvin?”
Finnolf shook his head. “He is dead.”
“He never said anything?”
“Nothing.”
Raef stood. “Prepare wood and oil. I will see him.” What he hoped to glean from the dead man, Raef could not say, but if nothing else he felt he owed it to Thorvin to say farewell. Raef could only imagine what had happened to the other four who had ridden to Greyshield’s lands.
In death, Thorvin’s pale, cold skin had turned grey and stiff. He was still stretched before the fire in the guard house, tucked beneath the blankets as though the heat might still deny death, might bring color to his cheeks. Raef pulled the blankets off.
“Did he have family?”
None of the warriors present answered. Finnolf finally spoke up. “He came from the north, lord. I knew him only a little but he seldom spoke of it. He always called the Vestrhall his home. Perhaps he had no one.”
Raef looked over Thorvin’s body then leaned down and pulled aside the neck of his shirt. A burn, raw and angry-looking, covered his shoulder. More bruises, dark now in death, colored his chest. A ring around his neck showed he had been strangled, at least for a time. “He was beaten. Badly. Greyshield wanted information.”
“He escaped. The horse was not his own,” Finnolf said.
“Escaped? Or turned loose? Why would Greyshield let one injured man, a man he easily could have ridden down and slaughtered, return to me?” Raef looked down at Thorvin’s face. “Perhaps he did escape. But I must believe that Greyshield let him go, that Tulkis wanted me to know the fate of those five men.” Raef nodded to the watching warriors. “Give him to the fire. See that it burns hot and true.” Then he gestured to Finnolf. “We will await Isolf’s return, then ride to Greyshield lands.”
