The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2)

by T L Greylock

  “Shall I call more warriors?” Most of those who had camped outside the walls and survived Snorren Thoken’s ambush had been sent home.

  Raef shook his head. “We will have enough to show Greyshield he has made a grave mistake.”

  Eira came to him that night. She said nothing but slipped into Raef’s chamber and began to undress in the light of his lone candle. She stopped only when she saw he stood yet by the door, unmoving.

  “Are you ill? Wounded?” she asked, scorn in her voice and derision in her eyes. She did not seem embarrassed.

  “Only tired.” It was a bad lie but Raef did not know what to say.

  Eira laughed, a surprising sound, but not pleasant. “You think of that bitch, that daughter of Uhtred, with her fine cloth and her blue eyes.”

  “Yes, I think of her.” Raef’s defiance lashed out, his words more heated than he intended.

  “You would rather have that girl in your bed? You want to hear her cry your name when you put a child in her? She is nothing. You will regret it the moment she spreads her legs and then you will crawl back to me.” Eira’s face was twisted, an ugly combination of rage and contempt.

  “Are you jealous? Am I yours to do with as you wish? I made you no promise and you made me none. One moment you are as cold and distant as a silver fish in the sea, the next you melt against my skin, a scorching, wild thing. Always, always this has been on your terms. We have fucked more times than I can count, but you remain a stranger to me and I have had enough.” The words were out before Raef could stop them. He could feel his heart pounding and his breath trembled against his lips. He had not meant to go so far, had not meant to chase her away, and yet he had spoken a truth he had denied himself.

  Eira’s chin was raised, her eyes hard. Her scorn for him was writ in every bone, every muscle of her body. “You still want me.”

  Raef’s voice fell to a strained shadow of what it had been. “You are right, by the gods, you are right. But I will not have you and you will not have me.”

  Their eyes did not unlock as Eira put her clothes back on. She did it slowly, teasing his resolve, but when she stood before him fully clothed and he still had not moved, she spit at his feet and left the room, the door closing heavily behind her.

  Raef stood in the darkness of his chamber, immobilized. He wanted to go after her, to forgive her and himself, to wash away their hasty words with tender kisses. He wanted to see her destroyed, brought low by her own arrogance, cast out and left to wither away in isolation. The truth he had spoken hung about him, a heavy burden that seemed to fit in all the right places, as though it had been molded long before and only needed forging. Eira was fierce, Eira was strong, and he had been drawn to her, sure that they might do great things while they stood at each other’s side, but she was not a partner, not even a friend.

  If they met again, he knew it would lead to bloodshed.

  The knock on his door was abrupt, an unwelcome interruption from the conflicting thoughts that swirled in his heart and mind. He reached for a knife and opened the door only a crack, wondering if Eira had come for vengeance so soon. Vakre’s face stared back at him. Raef hesitated, then stepped away from the door and let the son of Loki enter.

  Vakre glanced at the exposed blade in Raef’s hand and grinned. “Expecting trouble?” Raef did not answer and the grin slipped away. They had not spoken since Vakre had cautioned Raef against turning on Hauk of Ruderk without proof that Hauk had conspired to murder Einarr. “I am sorry for Gudrik’s death. And I am sorry we did not discover Snorren Thoken’s ships.”

  “It was a good death. The one he wanted.” Raef returned the knife to its sheath. “Do you bring news?” He did not trust himself to speak of anything more with Vakre.

  Vakre held out a roll of parchment. “This.”

  It bore the mark of Axsellund. Raef took it. With a deep breath, he broke the seal and unrolled the message. The paper was blank. “What is the meaning of this?” Vakre had no answer. “Where is the messenger?”

  Within moments Raef and Vakre were in the hall and a pair of warriors hauled the messenger in. He was shoved to his knees in front of Raef.

  “Why is this blank?” Raef brandished the parchment in front of the messenger.

  “For the sake of caution, lord.” The man did not appear dismayed at his position. “Torleif did not wish his answer to fall into the wrong hands. The guards at the gate did not give me a chance to explain.”

  “Then speak.” Raef tried to remain patient. He could not fault the lord of Axsellund’s caution.

  “I am meant to give you this.” The man reached for his belt and the warriors lunged, ready to kill if he went for the knife that hung there. The messenger held up his hands and looked to Raef.

  “Disarm him.” The knife was stripped from the belt and the folds of his cloak were searched, revealing no threat. “Continue.”

  The messenger delved into a large pouch at his waist and withdrew a tiny, round wooden capsule, so small it fit comfortably in his palm. Raef stepped forward and retrieved it. The lid twisted to the side, revealing the lord of Axsellund’s message. Raef took it between his fingers and held it aloft. His eyes met Vakre’s and he saw his own hope mirrored there. “Cedar.” The sprig of green was small but identifiable.

  “Faithfulness and friendship,” Vakre said, his voice quiet in the large, empty hall.

  “Endurance and loyalty.” Raef turned his gaze back to the messenger.

  “Torleif is with you, lord, and names you his king. The strength of Axsellund is yours.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The new alliance with Vannheim’s eastern neighbor held Raef’s impatience at bay for less than a day. Raef and Vakre celebrated it quietly with mead that night, the easiness between them stealing back into the folds of their conversation and the silences between words, and Raef took satisfaction in sharing it with Uhtred at the morning meal, and again with Finnolf and three other captains by the still waters of the fjord as they, along with Engvorr the shipbuilder, assessed the two ships Raef had acquired on Snorren Thoken’s death. One was an old longship, repaired many times, and Raef knew Snorren’s family had lovingly cared for it for three generations, a valuable possession that hinted at wealth they did not possess. The other was smaller but younger, perhaps only a season or two old, and Raef suspected Snorren had stolen it. But even amid the familiar scent of greased sails, even with a sheer strake under his fingers and smooth boards beneath his feet, the need to take action against Tulkis Greyshield gnawed at Raef as the sun climbed higher into the sky and he looked for Isolf’s return with eager eyes.

  But Isolf did not return, not that day, or the next and Raef began to wonder if his cousin had met with an ill fate in the wild woods that marked Vannheim’s border with Silfravall.

  Eira had vanished. The gate guards saw her leave and take to the hills, her horse in tow. The loss of her was both a relief and a burden. He was glad when Vakre did not question her absence, though he could feel the son of Loki’s eyes on him.

  He entertained Uhtred and Aelinvor as best he knew how, taking the father hunting and the daughter fishing. Uhtred’s spear remained unbloodied and his arrows in his quiver while Raef took down a skinny brace of snow hares. Aelinvor took to the water with ease, at home in the small boat as though it were a high seat. And yet when Raef might have fished in silence, mesmerized by the shifting reflections in the waters and the fresh snow swathed over the trees, Aelinvor questioned him with unrelenting precision about his plans for the war, the beauty of the living, breathing land around them seemingly lost to her.

  When they gathered that night for the evening meal, Aelinvor resplendent in onyx and silver, the captains lively and boastful of the glory they would win in battle, Raef saw in his mind’s eye a different gathering, one tucked on the edge of a secluded stretch of fjord, the waters darkening as the late summer sun slipped behind the hills, a single campfire flaring up to light the night, and fresh-caught fish cooking over the flames. R
aef closed his eyes and let his mind go. He could smell it all, the fish charring, the wood burning, the damp earth. The faces in the twilight were cheerful, content. His father, tending the fish. Gudrik, a song on his lips. Siv, laughing and dunking Vakre’s head in the shallows of the fjord. There was no talk of war in that place, no alliances to be made, no battles to win or lose, no burden of doubt, no fate surfacing from the deep, only life.

  “More ale?” Aelinvor’s voice broke into Raef’s dream and her blue eyes brought him back to his hall. Raef nodded and she refilled his cup. “Your mind is elsewhere,” she said, resting her hand on his forearm.

  “It is.”

  “Tell me.”

  Raef studied her face for a moment, tracing the line of her nose with his eyes, the curve of her cheeks, the arch of her dark eyebrows. “Tulkis Greyshield is much in my thoughts.”

  “Do you still wait for your cousin?”

  Raef sighed. “Another day, but no more. I cannot allow Tulkis to go unmolested any longer for inaction will show him to be strong in the face of my weakness. Men whose loyalty wavers will flock to him and subduing him will only become more difficult.”

  “And yet you wait.”

  “I sent five men to learn what they could. One is dead and four are missing and I know nothing. I do not wish to march to Greyshield land blind, but if I must, I would do it with more men than I have here. I need the men who left with Isolf. To gather others would take days. Isolf may return at any hour. And I would not leave without knowing if the raiders from Silfravall have been dealt with, or if they might spring up in my wake in search of a far greater prize.”

  “Vannheim is vulnerable.” Aelinvor’s expression was unreadable but her voice betrayed something Raef could not name.

  “Does this worry you? Do you question your father’s desire to wed you to a king whose fist does not grasp his own lands? Your own desire?”

  “What is power worth if it does not threaten to slip between our fingers?” Aelinvor arched her back and Raef could see the pulse in her throat beat faster, the pale skin above her neckline mirroring it, as though the rise and fall of kings stirred her blood. “I mean to have what I seek,” she said, her voice quiet and fierce. Then she laughed, almost a child filled with delight, and her eyes turned bright. “You see, you cannot fail.”

  In spite of himself, Raef laughed along with her and felt some of the weight lift from his mind. His good humor did not go unnoticed. Vakre, when the company parted ways under the moon, lingered, a cup of ale still in hand, and they traced the path to a quiet garden, bare in winter, behind the hall. The son of Loki seemed hesitant to speak, but Raef, his spirits still high and Aelinvor’s eyes still in his thoughts, ventured to do so for him.

  “Speak your mind, Vakre.” Raef tossed back the contents of his cup. “I will not bite.”

  Vakre smiled a little but turned serious again. “Uhtred would part with his daughter for you?”

  Raef nodded. “And even if he would not, she would convince him it was his fondest hope. I think it as much her notion as his.” Raef took a deep breath, filling his lungs with winter air. The night seemed alive, the stars so close he could reach up and seize them. “What do you think of her?”

  “She is fair, that I will not deny.”

  “To say she is fair is to say a sword is sharp. She is a raven-haired Freyja. I could not ask for a more beautiful woman.”

  “You mean to do this? Marry her?” Vakre was all surprise.

  “I do not see why not. It would honor my first ally above all others who might seek to join their banners to mine.”

  “Yes, and make you unavailable to the daughters of other lords.”

  “She seeks power and does not try to hide that. Surely that is to be admired.”

  “Perhaps. And yet you say nothing of your own heart.”

  “My heart is not king.” Raef relented and looked at Vakre. “This troubles you.”

  “The decision is yours, but I would not see you choose as a king. Choose as a man.”

  Raef was quiet for a moment. “I have not yet made up my mind.” This seemed to satisfy Vakre, but he was not finished.

  “What of Eira?”

  The words did not bring a surge of anger, as Raef had expected they might. His good spirits reigned yet. “She will not be returning.” Vakre raised an eyebrow. “And I am glad of it.” It was difficult to say, but Raef meant it. “Tell me, though, will Siv follow her?”

  “They are not such good friends as that,” Vakre said, a slight grin showing teeth in the moonlight.

  “No, and as different as Frigg and Freyja.”

  “But which is which?”

  Raef laughed, throwing his head back, his mouth so wide he might catch a fallen star. “Neither one nor the other, but both, and as unknowable as the goddesses themselves.” Vakre grinned wider but Raef sobered quickly. “Where can I find Siv? I would speak with her if she will let me.”

  “Your smith gave her a place to sleep at the forge.”

  “At the forge? We have room here.” The moment Raef said it he knew the fault lay with him. “I have been a poor host. I never offered. And you? Have you been sleeping with the pigs?” Raef tried to smile but knew it lacked conviction.

  “Finnolf brought me to one of the common rooms shared by others.” Vakre said nothing else.

  “We will remedy that. I have treated you ill of late, both of you.” Raef was no longer filled with good cheer. The stars, so bright before, now seemed dull and foreboding in his eyes.

  “You have much to occupy you, Raef. A king is more than just a man.”

  “No,” Raef said, his voice firm, “make no excuses for me, Vakre. A king is only a man and a man does not treat his friends as I have.” He looked Vakre in the eye. “We have walked this path together and you have asked nothing of me, made no demands, only been steadfast and true. At times I have been too blind, too angry, too caught up in my own mind to see it. Isolf means well and he is my family. But you are the brother I would share my blood with.” Raef let out an unsteady breath in the wake of the words that had sprung from some place deep within him.

  Vakre smiled, though it seemed to reflect inward rather than at Raef. “And you are the brother I would choose. Though,” the grin flashed bright, “I do not think my father would commend my choice.”

  “Nor mine,” Raef said. He did not smile. “My father told me once that the children of the gods are not like other men.”

  “Your father was not wrong.”

  “He also said he would never name one friend.”

  “Fathers need not always be right.”

  “No,” Raef said, “no, they do not.” Raef exhaled, sending a puff of white vapor into the air. “When this is done, when Vannheim is secure, I will go in search of Hauk of Ruderk. I will scour every cave, every mountain, every glen of Midgard until I find him.”

  “What of your people? Your warriors? They have named you king and they sing the song of war. They will expect you to meet the Hammerling and Fengar in battle.”

  “I will not leave my father unavenged, Vakre.” Once, Raef might have spoken those words with heat on his breath and anger in his gut. Now he felt only calm certainty and knew that Vakre did not question his resolve. “I would gladly trade what I did not ask for and do not crave in return for the traitor of Ruderk’s blood on my hands. Being king means nothing to me.”

  “And the alliances you have made?”

  “Let them band together, let them name Uhtred king, let them go to war under my banner if they wish while I hunt him down, only let me do as I must. It is selfish and negligent, and more than a little rash, I know, but I cannot live another way. I will not.”

  “You do not have to explain yourself to me, Raef. Only answer this. Will you seek Hauk of Ruderk alone?”

  Raef grinned. “And deny you the chance to use that flaming cloak? Never.”

  At sunrise, Raef found Siv outside the walls. She was perched on a stone at the edge of the fjord,
her hair vibrant in the purple and orange light of morning. When Raef approached, her eyes were closed, and he waited, hesitant to disturb her. But his footfalls had made enough noise in the snow and she opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder at him.

  “If I were a deer, I would be long gone,” she said, grinning. “Your footsteps are those of a giant.” And she hopped from her rock and mimicked a lumbering, stone-footed giant, closing the distance between them with heavy, hulking strides. Raef laughed, but Siv placed a finger over his lips, her eyes beyond him. “There, at last.”

  Raef turned. The ice bear drank from the fjord, its white coat blending with the snow. Siv watched it, her eyes bright.

  “I have watched for him these past three mornings,” she said. “Your smith, Hoyvik, he told me men had seen him by the water four mornings past. I wanted to see for myself.”

  The bear raised its head, looked up and down the shore, then resumed drinking.

  “Seldom do they venture so close to the hall,” Raef said. “They keep to the high hills in summer and deep valleys of the north in winter.”

  “He is beautiful. A fine prize for a hunter, but even finer in a moment like this, full of life, a lord in his domain.”

  Raef watched Siv watch the bear, taking delight in her smile and the joy in her eyes. Their green depths seemed more vivid than he remembered and he caught flecks of gold and blue, calling to mind the skins of the dragon-kin of Alfheim.

  “Tomorrow we ride north to confront Tulkis Greyshield, whether Isolf has returned or not,” Raef said. “Will you come?”

  Siv tore her eyes from the bear. “How could I not?”

  “Any number of reasons. Because you long to rejoin your fellow shieldmaidens. Because I have not treated you with the respect you deserve. Because the nine realms are in their last days and this is not where you wish to make your end.”