'I also have a head. Do you wish to see it? This one is a truly famous head. Not a former prostitute,' I said arrogantly.
'I think I know you,' he said with an ice-cold voice, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the leaders of the old families who were all thoughtfully staring at the skull and suspiciously at Maroboodus.
I spat and threw back my hood. 'Oh, you do. And I know you. I am the boy who killed for you. I helped you devise foul plans for the deaths of honorable men, and you, turd, manipulated us all so you would seem a hero in the eyes of our kin. You named me the Oath Breaker. I name you Father's Bane, or perhaps, Mother's Tears? You conspired with Rome so your very own family was murdered to make you look a sad hero, a valiant man who had been wronged. You are a Roman, who will betray us all to the legions. Oh, you know me. I am your son, the one you first denied, then used, and finally abandoned.'
They all stared at me.
Some mouthed my name, others cursed me, but I heard some curse Father as well. All father's warriors stared at me in utter stupefaction.
'You know this as well, perhaps?' I said, and I rolled the rotten, stinking head of Vago on the table. I turned it slowly by the hair to face him, and he furrowed his brow. Guthbert was grunting in agitation, as Gunhild was pleading with him. He half pulled his blade, a gladius of fine make.
'It is familiar, certainly,' Maroboodus said darkly, his eyes darting from the head to me.
'Let me remind you, Lord Maroboodus. It is the head of the man who killed your wife and father, another one you fooled, but one who did you a great favor.' I said venomously, but men around me surged up, and many suddenly knew the features of the head, the King of the Vangiones.
'Vago? King Vago! He lost his head then!' men shouted around us, and mighty cheers were echoing in the hall, and I grinned. Maroboodus got up unsteadily, but the noise did not abate. Mead was offered to me, despite the terrible promise of violence lingering between father and son, but I drank it down and threw away the horn. And Fulcher had said I could never get my fame back? Bah! I gazed at the elders, some of whom were now celebrating me, having forgotten the blood about to flow in the hall, as the great king's head was on the table. Many saluted me, but even they had a glint in their eye, reflecting hidden thoughts, and guarded approval. They did not trust me, I decided. But, Balderich would change that. I would get what was mine. If Father died.
After a long while, men went quiet, some still grinning. They were all on their feet now. My father lifted the head by the hair and looked at it. He spat in the eye, and placed it next to Agrippa's head. 'A man I hated, and a man who took a woman important to me. I thank you, Hraban. But, the rest of your speech is meaningless shit. You lie, my former son. A bad seed, rotten and bloody useless, you are. I doubt you killed him.'
'I bit his damned throat out, next to his own bed,' I hissed at him. 'And did you not tell everyone you would make their wish true, should they bring you this head?'
'What is it that you want for the head?' he asked sarcastically, his muscles rippling as he was readying for the inevitable.
I shrugged. 'I have something in mind, Lord Father of Lies. Perhaps something to be discussed in a Thing? Surly there is one tonight? It is not the custom to hold one at the end of the month? Or have you already turned into a king? As you always planned.'
He huffed, and looked around carefully, aware that men looked at him with hostility. His men glowered at the villagers. 'More lies, Hraban. There is no Thing. I am the war king, boy. The Thiuda. Things are places of discontent, and it is better that one man decides when war is afoot.'
'But, when war is no more, a Thing is to be held?' I sneered. 'One where one can settle scores, blood feuds declared? No? For I want to challenge you, Father, under the eyes of the gods. Woden—'
He slammed his fist on to the table with enough force to break a part of it. 'To Hel with the Thing! We need no simpering old men to decide on blood feuds, and we settle it now,' he shouted so hard the rafters shook. Some few of the elders, high men, got up, gnashing their teeth at him, and left the hall in a hurry. They were the leaders of the tribes, old men of much honor, and Maroboodus had been slowly choking the lot, especially the unyielding ones. Maroboodus glared at their backs with a vengeance, and then at me. 'You bring discontent to us, my boy. You sow evil, sad seeds to a merry field. What is it you want for the head?' he asked. 'And I don’t care about the Thing.'
I nodded at my grandfather. 'I will let the ghost ask for it.'
Balderich stepped up, standing in the doorway. He pulled down the blanket, and all could see his haggard, tortured face, his lank hair drooping, and his one vacant eye and the rheumy one. The rest of the elders got up, their mouths open, their beards shaking with fear. 'Nay. I am no ghost. But, I was his prisoner, friends. For Vago's head, we want yours, Maroboodus, you winded bag of lies, and we shall piss in your skull. And Hraban does not lie when he says you had your wife and father killed, and he speaks the truth when he tells us you serve Rome. You traitorous scum, my torturer.'
People looked at him, astonished beyond words, save for Gunhild, who tried to run to him, her eyes running with bright tears, but could not, for Guthbert grabbed her. Many invoked the names of the gods in wonder, and there was not one man who did not look at Father, who, for once, had a brief moment of weakness. His face went blank and his mouth hung open. All his plans, his delicate schemes, his small games, and deceitful steps. Laid open like a gaping wound.
Balderich laughed hollowly. 'I am no ghost, no, honored men of my village, the best blood of the Marcomanni. I am your high lord. A fool lord, to be sure, a coward for not challenging him when he rode to this village, but I had a weakness. I wanted to retire, I did, and this slithering snake betrayed Lord Bero, who was nothing short of a great man. We shall honor him, we shall. So says a wronged lord, who was imprisoned by this Maroboodus, the liar,' said the old man with a quivering voice.
'So, Father, shall we get it over with, then? Your head, my worthless oath lord, I would have it for Vago's,' I spat as I pulled Nightbright out, my eyes seeking Gunhild who was being pushed by Guthbert to the side door. Ishild's eyes were strange, uncaring, but she followed Gunhild nonetheless. Her belly was round, and so I had a good reason to fight and win. I grabbed my helmet and pulled it on. Hate spilled out of the helmet's eyeholes, brimming over as I remembered the false tears of my father over the bodies of the ones I had loved. I got up to my full height, rivaling my father, and my knees shook, I thought at least, for if I died quickly, everything would be wasted. I would die a joke. I shook such gloomy thoughts far and grimaced. Fulcher stepped forward, and gave me my sunburst shield.
A violent energy was rippling in the air, something dangerous, coiling like a snake, building like a terrible storm, a primal creature you could almost touch. Soon, it would burst out into acts of murder, hacking and stabbing until flesh was dead. Balderich spat. 'Get out, my old Marcomanni, and leave the guilty to their judgment,' he said callously, meaning Father, his men, and his few truly loyal supporters in the village, his oaths men, and perhaps, me. Only the soft drawing of the weapons in the meeting hall broke the silence.
Fire crackled as the remaining lords of the finest families of Hard Hill, indeed, of the Marcomanni, took steps for the door. Men, who had cheered for my father, fought for him under his banner and believed in him, would do so no more, unless forced to. One-by-one, they disappeared out of the hall, pulling on coats and furs, mumbling in wonder, many touching Balderich's arm as they passed him. My father’s face shook and looked like a man a vaettir possessed, his moods changing from rage to denial, his riders now a glittering wall of men, ready to kill as he gazed at the departing men he had duped. A dozen of his sturdiest followers stayed on his side of the hall, supporting their lord. More were in the side rooms.
'Nihta?' he gestured at the door, with a guttural voice.
I shook my head with a leer, for I was not feeling sorrow that moment. 'He is not likely to make it back here. Neith
er will your armored oaths men.'
As if to prove me honest, one could hear distant screams, for a battle had been joined. Then, outside the hall, horses neighed. The two guards ran in, snow billowing after them, barely dodged me, and went to my father. 'There are riders coming! The harbor is on fire! Men are fighting all across the town below. They slew some of the men who left here!' I glanced outside quickly. Burlein was supposed to spare the men leaving this hall voluntarily. Was he reneging on the deal, or just a fool?
My father pulled the guards aside. 'Who did you sell us to, Hraban? Vangiones? Matticati? Hermanduri, perhaps?' He pulled out the Head Taker, Grandfather's legendary sword, and the long blade glittered in the firelight, his eyes regarding it and then me. He grasped Balderich's ancient shield, the shield Aristovistus had once carried in his war against Caesar.
I shook my head. 'No, someone closer to home. Burlein has come to get vengeance for his people. Not to revenge himself against Hard Hill, but you, though both will suffer this night! We killed his family together, Father, but you fed his men as baits to Hengsti the Matticati!'
Maroboodus sneered at me. 'And worthy baits they were, for I fished a fat victory with their guts. They were worthless. It was just they died.”
'Come now, you worthless father,' I laughed at him, and spat at his feet, over the table that separated us.
'Yes, we shall come,' he said, then kicked the heavy table into a heap of tinder, and they charged.
Balderich dodged out of the door, and Ansbor and Fulcher closed up on my back, a brown and red hair flanking my dark one, as we backed up towards the door. Men got in each other's way as we retreated, especially the men who had not been with Maroboodus in Rome, untrained and wild. Ansbor grunted as he threw a javelin, piercing a man's thigh. I carved a piece out of a man's face with a flick of my wrist, and Fulcher slammed his shield on a thin Marcomanni, who was struggling with too much mead in him. Father was pushing and pulling in the sudden press, to gain a foothold in front of the men, his fiery hair a halo of hate. We backed up, pushing at the enemy, getting minor scratches as our shields kept them at bay.
Outside, Burlein's best men stood in a spear-filled crescent on red, slushy snow, where lay many of the noblest Marcomanni who had left the hall. There were fierce fires all around the Hill, and Balderich was there, looking aghast at the carnage, talking to Burlein in agitation, but the young blond man had no interest in words.
I nearly fell as desperate men tried to pull me down, but managed to escape, and fell aside and out of the doorway.
Burlein pushed past Balderich, screaming a thin order, and a dozen of his demonically grinning men released their javelins at the fools trying to push out. Many of them died on the doorsteps, others screamed painfully inside. Some fools still tried to get out, another volley of projectiles impaled one in the mouth, and he shuddered in a pool of blood, dying in the snow.
I climbed up and ran to Burlein. 'Gunhild did not get them out! And why in Hel’s name did you kill the men here?'
He snarled. 'To me, they are the enemy, just like he is. It is time to bleed this nation so it is more accommodating and easier to rule. And where did Balderich come from? That was not part of the plan! Only after your father is dead, were we to … wait. Didn't get them out?' Burlein said quickly, at a loss. 'That means we have to go in, after all.'
'Yes! Call off the men who were supposed to burn the hall; stop them! Post a guard at the side doors, but stop the burning! Call more men here, and we rush in and butcher them.'
He looked haunted, eyeing the burning town. There were sounds of fighting all over the Hill, hoarse screams mixing with alarmed cries. 'I do not think we have more than the fifty here. Nihta's men are facing a hundred, and we have another hundred riding outside the village, keeping reinforcements out, but it is impossible to pull the men here. Some will trickle in, but they are fighting. No, this is all we have.'
'You had five hundred! Are they looting the town wildly? Send a man to fetch those who killed Nihta!' I screamed at him.
'Nihta is still fighting!' he shouted back. 'Listen!'
I did, eyeing the harbor, where a mass of men was struggling. The best-armored Marcomanni had been surprised there by overwhelming odds, but would it be enough to push Nihta to Woden's arms? I knew not. 'Stop the fires, at least. They must not burn the hall!' A great number of other halls were to burn, nonetheless. A terrible number of fires were spreading across the Hill while the snow billowed in the air. Inside the Red Hall, Father gave terse orders amidst curses, and a huge table was moved to block the door, pushing out two wounded enemies into a sad heap before our eyes. I cursed and shook my head. 'We have to finish here. I'll go and stop the men from torching the place.'
He grabbed my arm. 'But, how will we conquer here, Hraban? He has to die.' I opened my mouth to curse him, but realized he was actually thinking about letting the enemy burn, and Gunhild and Ishild with him, rather than face Maroboodus with a sword in his hand. I shook my head tiredly.
'He has but some thirty men,' I told him as I gritted my teeth, trying to mold him into a confident leader with words alone. 'Nihta is likely dead. He will not be here. I saw Leuthard die at my feet. They are doomed.' At that point, some arrows shot out of the hall, hitting a horse that fell heavily on its side, its eyes large in pain and terror.
He was swallowing, holding his spear like he was a dead man already. 'Many inside. Some will be wearing Roman armor. We have to roast them. We—'
'Let go of me,' I told him, and he did. 'We have to get the women out, and keep the men in. We will need a miracle to do all that, but let me go and try.' I despaired as other fires were spreading downhill. Balderich was standing on the side, his face deathly pale as he regarded Burlein.
Burlein shook himself free of his terror. 'Go then, quickly, for they were supposed to block the doors and torch the rooms.' He turned to the blocked door. 'Come out, Maroboodus! Come, come alone and make a brave memory of your ending, one that is more befitting an honorable man than the memories of your past deeds! We have a score to settle with you!' Burlein shouted, but apparently, Maroboodus was not interested in such an arrangement, as a spear hit Burlein's shield.
'Let him rot inside,' Ansbor crumbled. 'Let us go!'
'Go, and stop them on the other side; we go this way!' I yelled at him, and pulled Fulcher after me. Ansbor hesitated, made some sort of an oath, and rushed off towards the cattle shed end of the hall.
I rushed, aiming to the left, to the side of the living quarters. Gunhild had been herded that way anyway, and so we ran in the slippery snow, begging fierce Woden and gentle Frigg to spare them. If they had torched the hall, then it would be desperate indeed. We heard warning shouts around us; riders were seen in the dark; confused scuffles were taking place. In the harbor, men were dying; it was evident by the high-pitched yells and screams. Women were sobbing or making oaths, children were horrified, dogs barked. It was utter chaos, a scene from some mad god's feast.
A hall was burning fiercely near us, one that once belonged to Fulch the Red, Ermendrud's dead father. Inside it, cattle cried with their pitiful squealing voices. Down in the harbor, a huge conflagration was suddenly spreading, and I wondered what in Donor's name was happening there. I rounded the corner, and noticed how a dozen of Burlein's men were throwing torches on the roof.
'Stop with the torches, the women are still inside,' I shouted to the men, but they ignored me, grinning like evil spirits as the flaring missiles arched over the roof. I stopped and grabbed a torch from a skinny man of Burlein's and eyed the doorway. It had been blocked well. A man of Maroboodus's was dead over it, having tried to get up and out.
'What are you doing, you rotting cadaver?' the man demanded, trying to grab the torch back, but I growled and punched him in the face so that he flew on his back crazily.
'The women are still inside!' I told him with a growl, as the other men were looking on in unreadable expressions. On the other side, I could hear Ansbor yell impotently.
<
br /> The man nearest to me shook his head uncertainly. 'Lord, they are armored. We have to roast them inside their iron. This was the plan, no?'
'Plans change,' I spat. 'I will go in.'
'Lord! Do not! They will—' the man said, as Fulcher pulled me around.
He pointed up to the roof. The torches were sizzling in many places, but on some places, real fires had begun. 'We must hurry,' Fulcher urged. I nodded, and climbed the barricade so I could see inside. There, in a small room at the end of the house, two bearded Marcomanni with loose Suebi knots were surprised as my face appeared, but they swore quick oaths, and threw spears that missed me by a hair's breadth, spinning to the darkness.
'It is not possible, you turd humper, to get in anymore,' said the man I had struck as he got up, spitting blood and teeth fragments. I glanced back inside, and noticed many men milling in the corridor behind the two men. I grabbed Fulcher as some ten men rode up to the hall. One was apparently a man of Maroboodus's, nine others Burlein's. The man of Maroboodus sat there, looking terribly confused for a moment, until an arrow pierced him in the chest, and he fell from the horse.
There was now smoke coming from inside the doorway, as the thatch had begun to burn. 'Go and tell Burlein he must charge the door. Tell them they must do so on the other doors as well!' I yelled, with a hint of desperation ringing in my voice. 'They must try very hard to get inside, enough to convince Maroboodus to guard those doors well.' Gunhild was near, so close, yet I needed time.
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 14
