He flicked his gaze over me. 'I said, I have payback to do, as well. That they understand, at least.'
I nodded. 'Ah, they would, perhaps.' I fidgeted uncomfortably, and then pointed for the north. 'You see, I am not entirely sure where I am going. Hard Hill? Under cover of the night, like a thief? I cannot promise you vengeance, not even the safety of your skin. So I think it is best you went with them.'
He nodded towards north. 'That way. Quickly.'
'Why that way?' I said, as I sipped some sour ale out of a water skin strapped on my horse. 'Did you have a sight? Gods whisper to you?' I sneered.
He spurred his horse. 'I need no sight for this, just my damned ears. There are filthy dogs coming. Two- and four-legged,' he said, and rode off, leaving his hall and burning son behind.
He was right. The dogs were barking, howling like denizens of Hel. I cursed, and spurred the horse after him, my doubts forgotten in a common plight.
CHAPTER III
The dogs were herding us mercilessly for some hours. There were few things as scary as a pack of fleet, slavering beasts loping after you under the boughs of the forest. Should they catch you, you would suffer, bleed, be torn and ripped, until you could not move. You would be waiting for their masters to show up. We could see fleeting shadows of the beasts far in the woods behind us, but Fulcher knew the hidden, useful trails, and we kept riding hard. At one point, we briefly saw some horses and men far in the thick woods to our left, but they disappeared into the forest.
Another hour went past, and we heard no more hounds, saw no men or horses.
I let myself dream we had lost them. Fulcher, as if reading my thoughts, turned his head around as he guided the horse forward, avoiding a tangle of slippery roots. 'They might have men with them, people who know these lands. Some people were missing from a household near us the other day. Prisoners likely, forced to help them, so let us not smile yet,' Fulcher said and grunted as he stopped for a while, and I joined him, both sitting on lathered horses.
I nodded, tired to the bone. 'No, they will not stop. At anything short of an army.'
He nodded at the bag, suspiciously. 'What's that then?'
I opened it up to him and he nodded, squinting the head of Vago. 'Rations?' he asked calmly, face slightly green.
I shook my head. 'Not that desperate. This is Vago, formerly a king to the lot. He lost his head, and I picked it up.' I nodded backwards. 'His son is a bit upset, though. Should have killed him as well, but there are always brothers and relatives to take up the vengeful sword. I bested him last time we met, but this time? Gods know.'
Fulcher nodded and looked ahead. 'That man who led them to us. I will want his head when I ride home. But, now, Hard Hill, eh?' he asked curiously.
I shrugged. 'I have a friend in Hard Hill. I hope he is alive. Another might be there as well.' I thought of Wandal, and prayed it was so. My mountainous friend had fallen from the palisade in the battle for Castrum Luppia, and I had not seen him since. 'I will sneak in there, take them out, their women as well, and figure out a plan on how to gut my father and regain my fame.' I shuddered as I thought of the women. Cassia, the Celt I had promised freedom, was a dark-haired beauty of a biting tongue, but she had promised to heal wounded Ansbor when Maroboodus had sent me away. Then there was Ermendrud, the girl who had thought she would marry me, but whom I hitched to Wandal. Neither loved me, I was sure.
And Ishild.
Tear's daughter, held by my father, as was Tear. Odo was at large, still serving the prophecy, certain Ishild will one day be with him again, as would be my unborn child. The bastard hoped to whelp two children with her, his own sister, as the prophecy demanded. I often wondered if this was the reason Ishild slept with me that one night, hoping to curb his plans.
Yet, the plans were there. Odo would sire two children, or take mine, and they would survive the end of the world. Gods only knew if one of them was to be my child, or if he had to kill it and make his own. There will be a boy and a girl, the prophecy claims, but I spat at the ancient words, determined to take Ishild to safety with my daughter. Wherever that was.
Fulcher was observing my inner turmoil calmly, nodding softly every now and then, as if reading my mind. I gave him the evil eye, and he pointed at the fine bronze helmet Tudrus the Older had once gave me. I loved the Quadi like a father, and wondered where he was and how he was doing. Father had ousted him from the Quadi tribes with the help of renegade Quadi, men who served Maroboodus now. 'You might want to take off the helmet; they have heard of the Oath Breaker here. The day you betrayed Isfried and Melheim, Burlein's brothers, is not a day they love. Gunther, their second cousin, ruled us. A good man,' he said glumly. 'Now buried.'
I did not remove the helmet. 'I did what my father asked me to do. And to be fair, I only escaped by hair's breath. They did not mean to keep their oaths to me any more than I to them. Wandal saved me that day, my friend. I'll keep the helmet, thank you,' I said, tired and irascible.
He did not give up. 'It is no excuse, Hraban, that they meant to betray you as well. And your father's men spin a different kind of a story. That he wanted a peaceful solution to the problems.'
I spat. 'Peaceful? No, he wanted the southerners all dead and buried in pig shit. I knew it, Fulcher, and I went along with it. It was something I had to do, and I nearly died doing it. A lord is a lord first, and lords, they told me, have no qualms.'
He nodded as he gazed at me. 'That might be the prerogative of a lord, my lord, having no honor. Such a man might have fame across the land, but is rotten inside. Are you such a man? A broken soul?'
'Am I a broken man?' I asked him dangerously.
'Are you proud of the deeds you performed for your father?' he sneered.
'No, of course not!' I told him with a scalding voice. 'Who would be?'
'Then how is it that you could ever regain your fame?' he asked simply.
'With vengeance?' I sneered.
He laughed, and his eyes glinted. 'Vengeance is a fine thing, Hraban, but it won't change the things you did. They will never forget. No, you can only try to find your honor. Forget the fame.'
'I have honor, and I have also had enough of your advice. Is this why you came with me?' I ground out, trying to quell my anger.
'Perhaps,' he agreed. He looked away, as if searching for the right words. He waved his hand. 'Go and avenge yourself, Hraban. I will help you. I will help you until you are happy again, until Bricius's head is rotting in my bag, and then I shall return to my family, if you have no need of me. Just remember. By being an honorable man, Hraban, you need no fame. Men will see you as a good person, the few who matter.'
He said nothing for a while, and eventually spoke softly. 'You will like yourself better. Watch the lords in the halls, the famed ones. Some are honorable ones, who truly deserve the praise poets pour on them. Others look embarrassed as children, for they are like you. The lords who have both deserved fame and honor suffered and fought to remain pure. The ones who betrayed and murdered their way there cheated the gods. You are not innocent. Never will be. You can only be the sort of a lord who is ashamed of the songs in his halls. Perhaps it would be best you had no hall with false poets but only your horse and people who know you as honest and just?'
'I am done speaking about this, Fulcher,' I told him with finality.
'Fine,' he growled. 'I have said my peace. Now, as for your vengeance. You have to settle things with Burlein. I know you had a part in his family's death and that of our lord's, and so you will have to speak with him. Grinrock is over that hill.' He nodded behind my shoulder.
'You have led me to the man who has a hard time deciding if he hates my father or me more? After I saved your wife and daughter?' I asked. 'He will never let me go. None shall speak for me.'
'I shall, and others will,' he said resolutely. 'You will sleep better.'
'Sleep?' I sneered. 'I made myself a man by slaying a king, and decided I would not let anything stop me from slaying my father and gaini
ng my goals,' I told him. 'Dying in Burlein's spear point would give me eternal sleep, but no vengeance.'
'Meet with Burlein,' he told me frankly. 'There are a lot of people you need to compensate, and start with him. What you did with our lords, Hraban, might have been just in your father's eyes, but it was still dishonest, a murderous treachery.'
'It is my guilt, Fulcher, not yours,' I growled. 'And I feel much more guilt for the pains and losses of my friends who have suffered, than for these nobles of yours.'
'Yes,' he said stubbornly, 'but with Burlein, you can start rebuilding the things you lost. Your honor.'
'And honor again,' I sneered.
He ignored my contempt. 'It will be hard, but it will also be well. It is a man's duty to set wrongs right, yours as well.' He leveled his spear at me calmly, his grip steely on the shaft. 'I will help you with your vengeance, will gain mine, but only when Burlein believes in you. That is my duty, to take you to the lord of the land, and hope you both find ways to trust each other.'
I cursed him and shook my head tiredly. 'You think I came back from Hel itself to fall into his vengeful hands? He might kill me, easily. Even torture me, certainly. He might hand me over to my father. No!'
He looked at me steadily. 'The first two, yes, certainly and easily. The last one? We have few men who returned from your father's war with the Matticati. They say he let the southern men die in his war, betrayed, and punished Burlein, even after we lost Isfried and Melheim, and most of the nobles. It is a dark land, Hraban, with much sorrow and sad contemplation. When you arrived, I saw the chance of a bright future again. Go to Burlein. Trust me. Hard? It will be hard, but I did not see aught but possibilities.'
I wondered at him, his calmness, and the spear in his hand. He was resolutely demanding I do something that might doom me before I reach my rightful home. He spoke of honor and separated it from fame, and I saw both equally important. I wanted to feel like a good man, yes. Yet a peasant had honor, and I wanted poets to sing my praises, for that was a warrior's true measure. Honor without fame felt like a kiss from a favored dog. Loving and wet, but still a kiss from a dog. Fulcher seemed utterly courageous, and righteous to his core. I felt ashamed of my fears, but I would not risk avenging my family. Burlein hated me deeply, very deeply, and I did not really know the third brother of the southern lords, except for a brief feast in their hall, and for his spite later.
'Very well,' I said, and rode up to him, holding my hand out, eyeing his spear, planning on hamstringing his unsuspecting horse. He smiled and nodded, as he raised his hand to grasp at my wrist.
I tightened my grip on Nightbright.
A line of brooding, tense men on large Roman horses followed some muzzled dogs out of a thicket. Bricius was there, his lank hair covered by a cowl, and Hunfrid as well, his face a mask of surprise, then of hate. They stopped, the dogs baying softly under their muzzles, and we stared at each other. My hand was still stretched to Fulcher. Hunfrid broke the idyllic scene. 'There! Finally! Bring him to me! If you cannot capture him, slaughter him. Rip him apart. I want the heads, at least. Both heads.'
He meant Vago's and mine, likely, but Fulcher did blanch.
Men vaulted down from their saddle, un-muzzled the dogs, and all of them flashed a feral smile full of sharp fangs. One of them was the damnable dog I had kicked and suffered for. Some ten men kicked their horses' flanks.
'Tyr's lathered balls! Come on!' I turned the horse so quickly I nearly fell and then I rode off, towards Grinrock. There was no need to think about my options anymore. Hanging there later would be vastly preferable to getting disemboweled and skinned at Hunfrid's cruel hands. Bricius would make me squeal, I was sure of that as well.
It was a madly wild, very dangerous ride as we kept guiding and whipping our horses through the perilous wooded hill. One wrong turn could cost one of us our lives, and the nimble dogs kept gaining on us, the constant baying reaching a near unbearable level, disturbing our efforts.
I dodged an old alder tree just to see a jutting boulder behind it. The horse nearly fell over it, just managing to keep its footing on the slippery grass and moss. Glancing back, I saw a dog streaking very close, a brown hound, mouth full of teeth and eyes glittering with determination. It was the bastard again. Thus, we rode for ten long, suffering minutes, and the enemy was gaining steadily. The dog was running next to my horse, its tongue lolling as it enjoyed the chase and the eventual joy of sinking its fangs into my calf. I could see its eyes measuring the thickness of my muscles, its mouth salivating with the anticipation of blood, skin, and meat filling its maw.
Suddenly, before us there was a former field with some uncut trees, and we ploughed amongst the old abandoned stalks of barley growing wild, aiming for a village that was very near now. I saw Hunfrid curse at his men, and the dog snapped at my horse's legs, but my beast had had enough and stepped on the ugly thing, leaving it yelping and barking with but three legs in the mud. I laughed like a lunatic and grinned at Hunfrid, who leered back, knowing he would reach me unless something stopped him from doing so.
He did not know Grinrock was near.
Some twenty Marcomanni rode up from the village now in sight, men ready for war, armed, and some even armored in leather. Hunfrid spat in distressed anger, and yelled at his men to attack.
'Hraban, be brave!' Fulcher yelled nearby, and he did not mean the mercenaries, the Vangiones, or even Hunfrid. Burlein, the young, blond man with an unreadable look on his wide, formerly happy face, rode a bit further than his men, gazing at us. He saw me, I was sure, racing for him, but not a muscle moved on his face, his long moustaches and plaited beard prominent on his chest. Behind that callous look, I was sure he was contemplating ways of impaling me, disregarding one after another as too kind.
Hunfrid's men stopped as some of the Marcomanni lifted their arms and launched swift arrows at the first dogs, hitting one. The beast yelped and flew on its side, breaking the arrow with a nasty, meaty crunch. The others stopped and put their mottled tails between their legs, taking off as more arrows hit the muddy ground around them. The enemy stopped their horses, and blithely ignored Hunfrid's frantic commands to charge.
I prayed to the gods, plunged to the group of Marcomanni, and stopped the horse amidst the glowering men, none of whom liked me. I looked at Hunfrid who was in the forefront of his own men, cursing, hissing, and agitated, riding back and forth. He did look like Koun, having the same eyes, the Vangione Maroboodus had captured the night my grandfather and mother died. Koun was the man who had killed Hulderic, my grandfather, in battle. He had something of Vannius as well, the youngest of brothers, the one who had been given to the Quadi after the battle, and the one who had betrayed Tudrus for Father.
Hunfrid was the eldest, and now impotent in his rage. 'You possess something of mine!' he yelled at Burlein, pointing his spear at the Marcomanni lord. And then he spat at my direction. 'I want him. And he has something that belongs to my father!'
I nodded, catching my breath. 'That I do, Hunfrid. Your father did not let go of it willingly, but as you know, he thought killing me would make him a god. I wonder if it would have been so, but now, we shall never know,' I mocked him and then cursed softly, not knowing if Burlein might entertain similar aspirations. The Marcomanni lord had not moved, not one bit. 'Yes, I have his head. Come and take it? I will meet you halfway?'
He guided his massive horse back and forth, a beautiful beast, contemplating on taking my challenge. I pulled my sword; he had an axe and a spear, but he did not come forth. 'Ah yes! Ride forth, and fall victim to another treachery! No thank you, but I shall meet you on another field, if you evade me this day,' he hissed, and pointed a finger at me. 'You shall never humiliate me again.'
Silence reigned as we stared at each other.
I grew bored and looked down to Rhenus River. I noticed Grinrock could be seen from there. The familiar jagged harbor was intact, and fires burned in houses sprouting hazy smoke. Winter was quickly arriving, and deep cellars wer
e being packed with precious food and drink. I realized it was the end of the Haligmonath, the month when warding spells were cast before the cold arrived. A thanksgiving celebration was to take place, one that lasted much of the month.
In Grinrock, there was not much to give thanks for.
Burlein's blond hair and beard was whipping with wind as he rode forward easily, swaying in his saddle as if weary and uninterested in anything that was happening on the field. He spat at the direction of the Vangiones, and stopped the horse in front of us, facing Hunfrid. 'I do not recall inviting you beggars. Did I?'
Fulcher grunted and rode to him. 'Lord. This is Hraban—'
Burlein’s voice was as cold as the north wind at Yuletide. 'I know who he is. He always appears from the woods, riding with ill will as a companion, death as a mate, and is often followed by men with readied weapons. He is an evil omen, like a crippled raven. That the case now? You have a thing they want?'
Fulcher nodded and answered for me, adjusting his seat nervously. 'He is running from the Vangiones and carries King Vago's head. They chased after him and started to loot our lands in the meantime. They killed my boy, raped my wife.' The dog my horse had stomped on howled pitifully, suffering, and the wind blew. 'He killed most of them, save for that one rat bastard.' Fulcher pointed at Bricius amongst the Vangiones, and scowled, hefting his spear.
'Sounds like Hraban,' Burlein said dejectedly, 'except for the saving part. Why did you bring him here? But, King Vago's head? He does know how to make an entrance.'
'Lord,' Fulcher said dutifully, 'he needs help. He has wronged your family, and given you false oaths for his father, but he is out here to avenge himself on his father.'
'A petty vengeance, eh, Hraban? He ousted your womanizing, traitorous ass, and you—'
I grunted rudely, and the Marcomanni tensed. I flipped the heavy helmet off my head and wiped my lathered hair aside. 'He orchestrated the attack on my village, the one that killed my family. He used me like a whore.'
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 5
