Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  I waved him to keep his voice down, as men ran past. 'We need to run, now. Nihta killed Burlein. Do not ask me to explain,' I said, looking suspiciously at Ishild, who was not surprised by father’s arrival, her face not betraying her feelings under a fur cap and tunics. 'Can she travel?' I asked, regarding Lif. I cursed myself for not having listened to Cassia. Or even Hands.

  Cassia spat. 'Yes! You know she can!'

  Ishild put a hand on the forehead of the child. 'If she is part of the prophecy, she will survive even this cataclysm. So, we go, Hraban. At least for a while. We must not be captured by your father.'

  'Where is Gunhild? Have you seen her?' My horse started to prance as the horns sounded shrilly again, and the ground shook a bit.

  'I have not seen her; perhaps the harbor? Burlein was going to buy some weapons, and she has his wealth,' Cassia told us. 'He is truly dead?' Her voice cracked.

  'Yes, he is truly dead, and so are the lords of this village soon enough,' I spat, hating the traitors who put us in such a situation. That damned song, that stupid poem. Gunnvör had been robbed his fame, feeling his honor insulted. Like I had been by Father. Betrayed. But, I no longer cared for the fame, only Lif. I was happy I had managed to slay Gunnvör, at least. All around us, men were running for their homes, worried for their children, while others were convinced it was the Hermanduri arriving to join us for the war. Some had weapons, and they were staring at the mists carefully; nobody were leading them.

  'Which way, Hraban? Quickly now,' Ansbor asked.

  From the north, dark lines of horsemen rode up.

  They were but shadows in the deep mist until the familiar standard could be seen emerging over a small hill. It was a red rampant bear on a dark cloth, and a wrathful man rode in front of it, wearing a helmet that was formerly Hulderic's, my grandfather's. The line stopped for a while, rippling into a shape, the horses prancing, the men enjoying the moment of surprise, the foe at their mercy, savoring the cruelty of the moment before the butchery begins. I guessed many were from the east, men Maroboodus had begun to train in the Roman way. They had unusual discipline and did not yell out, as would any other Germani army.

  Then, they attacked, a thousand men.

  All were hungry men, lean as hunting wolves and eager for revenge, for many had likely lost family in our rebellion. The men of Maroboodus poured into the village and the sloping banks of the river, their shields banging on saddles, thick spears and quick darts clutched in eager hands. Some carried fluttering torches and others bows. None were drunk. We had been lulled into a mortally false feeling of security, and now we were to pay as his men charged through the deep mists, scattering fumes and anyone who stood before them. They started to dismount and form packs of killers, and our men fled or fell before them.

  It was my fault, I thought. I had been enamored by Lif, and had forgotten Father.

  There were many men in Grinrock, but they were in no way prepared for a fight; most had celebrated all evening, some had no weapons in hand, and those who could, would fight in small, isolated groups. I gazed as a chief of Burlein's built a shield wall of drunken and tired men. Many others joined that wall, until a hundred and more were there, facing out from the harbor. They were backing off towards the woods, and Gunhild, to my horror, was amongst them.

  My father saw her as well.

  He yelled and screamed, and a group of two hundred bloodthirsty men formed around him, led by him and his fighters. He was in a rage, battle mad as a bloodied boar as he pointed his gladius at the retreating band. They dismounted and formed a cunus, a bristling column of spears. They did it uncannily quickly, horses bolting wildly, and the lot charged, my father's standard bobbling in the air above them, Father and his well-armored men aiming for the middle of the line.

  The defenders yelled encouragement, shields banging on top of each other, men bracing, but the foe was brutal and strong, shields getting hammered by axes as the men met. Maroboodus's men were jumping on top of the foe, and breaking it in a jumble of sundered shields and stricken men. They started to butcher Burlein's men, who saw their chief dead, half his face missing. Screams filled the night as Hard Hill was avenged, blood spilled for bloodshed, insults answered with a point of spear. Women suffered in the shadows, fiendish laughter drifted through the town, most children were tied down for slavery, and oldsters butchered without emotion. The Gaul's Roman ships rowed back to the shore, the traders turning into slavers, ready to buy the merchandise with their newly made coin as warriors herded captives that way.

  Fulcher and Ansbor were turning their horses around, looking for an escape. 'The woods, as she said? What the Hel else is there?' Fulcher asked desperately, but I did not answer. I saw Maroboodus walk towards Gunhild who was on her knees, apparently begging amidst the many dead and dying. Then. he struck her. Hard. She fell. and blood flowed from her face. I swore as the bastard dragged her off by her hair, her pregnant belly mocked by the men they passed. He would hurt her.

  'Hraban! We cannot do anything! We must go!' Ansbor yelled at me while poking at my horse to get my attention. Finally, I nodded, spitting phlegm out of my throat. I longed to ride down and kill him, falling in the attempt, no doubt, but could not. I had Lif. I shook my misery away. as I stared around the strangely ethereal chaos around us. and there seemed no way out of the trap. Many wary men were riding around the perimeter, and they were not from the south. They were viciously herding back those who tried to escape, killing any who resisted. One spied us, riding closer.

  'Take him,' I told my friends, and Fulcher screamed a challenge and rode to the man, who was not prepared for him. My friend speared him so hard it seemed he folded over the spear. 'We have to go, to the woods!' Fulcher screamed, as another bearded man converged on us, but blanched and rode away, calling for more men.

  It was a desperate escape.

  There were fleeing people everywhere, wounded men fighting and rolling on the grass and sticky mud, sudden fires springing up, and all sorts of ungodly chaos. A group of Maroboodus's Marcomanni found us, and saw the women with us, hoping to capture them. They would be both very entertaining for the night and then, profitable in the morning. We nodded at each other, then to them.

  'The women are ours. We are not going to share,' I told them, and the helmet and rich sword made them think they had made a mistake. One shook his head, trying to encourage the others to charge us, and I heard him whisper my name. So, we spurred the surprised horses at them. I slashed one out of the saddle while another fell to Ansbor's dart, but the rest charged us back, and my shield was torn apart by a vicious axe. One toothless man spurred for Ishild, seeing an opportunity. I screamed a warning at her, but my foe was skillfully guiding his horse before me, and I could not disengage while my horse was furiously trying to bite his.

  More of Maroboodus's riders spied us from afar, some guiding their beasts our way.

  We fought, we fought hard, and Fulcher finally killed one enemy in his saddle, Ansbor intercepted the axe man fighting me, clobbering him insensible from behind, and I turned to see what had become of Ishild, feeling terror to my bone.

  Cassia was tearing an axe from a man's skull, bloody to her elbows, a fierce look on her face. She then mounted and grabbed Ishild's reins, as Ermendrud shook in fear and shame. The baby was crying. We rode like mad men and women for the deep shadows.

  'You wounded?' I asked Cassia, as I spied her near me.

  Cassia spat. 'Men tend to underestimate women. He ignored me, but that was fine. He did not see me coming.'

  I laughed, but Ishild looked ill. I stopped and steadied her. 'Take the baby, Hraban. I cannot be sure I can hold on to her.' I did, cradling her gently.

  'We must hurry,' Fulcher hissed from nearby. 'Must not stay.'

  'Ride,' I told him, and pulled Ishild after me.

  Ermendrud was up ahead, dodging a thicket. We plunged in to the woods, some fugitives following us, men on horses. Horns sounded angrily behind us, few raiders taking after us, but Ansbor pull
ed up and threw one dart to impale a horse that fell heavily on its side in to a tangle of roots. The rider howled in pain, and he hopped back towards the dying village. The rest scattered, and did not come near. The screams and crackle of fiery inferno behind us began to fade, as we rode hard. We went east as far as we could, then turned south. We soon spied the Marcomanni riding the far valleys, blocking that way, though we could not be sure if they were father's men, or men riding to help their lord. We could not risk it.

  'North?' Ansbor asked dubiously

  'Yes, that is the only way for us,' I told him worryingly, for that way took us deep into the lands of Maroboodus. In the west, the Hermanduri were coming, unaware of what had taken place, and no friends to us in any case. Therefore, we flew North like a flock of terrified birds, riding through flowery valleys and clear streams of the springtime, searching for a peaceful way out. We had four men with us. They were all looking back ruefully, all carrying shields and spears, survivors. My father was sure to look for us, and the Marcomanni living in the lands of the north would keep an eye out for us. We avoided all the people we could, and saw only a few, thankfully.

  For now, we were flying free.

  Cassia rode next to me that afternoon. 'He has not given up. I saw some men on horses not long ago.'

  I had been looking around, but trusted her. 'I saw none. Where?'

  'Behind us. Where are we going?' she asked, her pretty face worried.

  I shrugged, trying to seem hopeful. 'I will ride to the lands of the Chatti. Then, I hope to find Tudrus the Quadi in the lands of the Sigambri. Perhaps go northeast to the Cherusci. Any place where Ishild, you, Ermendrud, and the baby are safe,' I was scowling at the hills and woods behind us. 'I see nothing.'

  'There as well,' she said and pointed at a low hill to the west, where a flock of birds flew to the air, angrily circling their disturbed home.

  'Yes, I see. We will camp at night, and I shall go and see,' I told her.

  We crossed some farms, the fields forlorn and ugly, and the cows were out after the long winter indoors. There were occasional riders, and most waved at us. They suspected little, but Father was sure to be on our trail.

  Ansbor was grunting as he was observing the land around us. 'Wonder why they didn't take after us immediately? Surely they knew your helmet.'

  'Father likely wanted to deal with the pressing problem,' I told him, thinking about Nihta's words. Someone was coming after me, for sure. 'He can lose anything but his hold on the Marcomanni. He had settling to do. Then, there are the Hermanduri, somewhere out there.'

  'But,' he said, 'he should have sent men after you, harried you mercilessly.'

  I nodded, not mentioning what Nihta had said. I gazed behind at our sorry troop, riding forlornly forward. The women, Ermendrud and Cassia, were calm enough, but Ishild was miserable. I handed the baby to Cassia, who took the small one happily enough. One man of the four was lagging, his face a red mess as he was bleeding from a cut. He slowed his horse, and I knew he wanted to go on his own way. I turned my face away, and let him go.

  I rode next to Ishild, who was not saying much. 'Odo. You have met with him this week? During nights when the fools slept. Your friends.'

  She said nothing, gazing ahead.

  'Why?'

  'I cannot tell you,' she told me with a small voice.

  'Did you betray us?' I asked her.

  'I did not, but when the time comes, trust,' she whispered.

  I cursed and feared, for there were many men after us, and likely they belonged to my father and Odo both.

  That first night, we stopped by a small pond. I sat next to Cassia and the baby. The small one was crying some, whimpering really, very gently, and it did not seem she was doing badly. I was fidgeting as I hesitated, giving Fulcher meaningful looks. He was nodding, and so was Ansbor, who was standing guard a little way off.

  'You going to go back to see who those men are?' Cassia asked as she glanced at my horse, which had not been prepared for the night.

  'I will go and see who they are,' I agreed, 'and then I will slit some throats, Cassia,' I said as I kissed Lif's hand.

  'Slit one for me, and please remember to search them; we need food,' she told me in all seriousness. 'Oh, yes, be careful,' she added.

  'Not sure how careful I can be, but I will try,' I said and patted Nightbright. I decided to leave the Head Taker with Fulcher. I watched the horse and then the fire. 'Where is Ermendrud?' The three men with us jerked up and squinted into the dark.

  'That one blonde girl?' said one tall man. 'I do not see her. She was here.'

  'She went to check on Ishild,' Ansbor said. 'Just there in the bushes. She was feeling sick.'

  'Where?' I said thinly, as Fulcher's face grew alarmed. We rushed forward, the spears brushing aside some ferns, taking steps further into the darkness. Somewhere up ahead, I heard running steps, a person crashing through the underbrush. A curse, it was Ermendrud. Ishild had left us, and Ermendrud had taken after her.

  'Woden's fiery shit, damn it,' I cursed. 'Make the camp ready, Fulcher. I will fetch them back.'

  'Let me come—'

  'Take care of them, with Ansbor,' I said with rippling anger. 'You two, come with me.' I pointed at two of the Marcomanni, who nodded.

  'Has she left?' Cassia asked, with a told-you-so tone of voice.

  'I'll fetch her,' I spat, and whirled my horse around savagely, and rode like a madman to the night, followed by the two men. I was cursing Ishild and cursing Odo, for I had no doubts about what, or who, was following us.

  I tracked in the moonlight, finding broken twigs and a footprint, as I stopped by a copse of fir trees on a small hill, looking around carefully. There was not a trace of the women anywhere. I lost the tracks in the dark, and my companions did not see them either. The land was quiet, the wind fair and gentle, and stars twinkled across the sky. There were some fires burning all around us, signs of life. I sat on the horse for minutes, my companions growing impatient, all staring at the dark surroundings. I was feeling hopelessly anxious about the women in our lives. Then, a man appeared in a grove of wood, followed by another, not very far, both seated on ponies, or very small horses. I put a hand on my horse's mane, begging Tiw the beast would not neigh in greeting, and I sat as silent as a corpse. They were following something, and I bet these were the tracks I had lost.

  I grunted and dismounted, led the horse aside, and tethered it to a tree. The two men followed suit. I pulled out Nightbright, and walked forward vigilantly, choosing a spot behind a large tree, one that we had passed. The men's voices could be heard in the night, hissing and whispering. One was very upset, and another was demanding something, in a surprised tone. There was an argument, a violent one as they shouted briefly, and then I heard Ishild answering. She was protesting, and I took a step forward.

  'Show us their camp, now, and then we will go, not before,' said one man loudly and imperiously, and I froze. They would come my way. Soon, I saw them walking, pushing petite Ishild before them. She made a meaningless gesture towards the north, and the man behind her pointed his spear that way, making clear what he wished. They wanted to see us, scout our camp, and then they would heed her request.

  To go to Odo.

  Where the hell was Ermendrud?

  'What shall we do?' asked one man, when I spotted Ermendrud, squatting on a hillside not far, watching the men. She was shaking with fear, but trying to conquer it, her face pale in the moonlight.

  I grunted at the two men. 'Go and get her.' I pointed at her. 'Go, and do not alarm the two. I will deal with them, but keep Ermendrud safe.'

  'Fine,' said the other one, grinning at me, and they sneaked to the dark.

  The two men escorting Ishild walked briskly, and they were closer; I saw their faces and gear. They looked ragged, and were wearing animal furs and old clothing, and even their spears were untended and in bad condition. They were Odo's men from the north. Servants to their clan, from Gulldrum, or whatever it was. Cold shivers
went through me as I stalked the men, trying to get ahead of them. Skull-faced Odo was coming for little Lif and me, and the idiotic, willing Ishild as well. Animal-like fear filled me, and I licked my lips, as they got closer. I would have preferred the men of my father, even Nihta to be there. Well, not Nihta, but anyone else. There was no running from men driven by a god. They would be heedless of danger, mad to the bone marrow. I managed to get ahead of the men, and waited as I saw they would pass me by. I leaned on a tree, hoping they would not smell me.

  They did not.

  The first man passed cautiously, stalking after Ishild, walking his horse, almost bent to the ground, swearing as he was trying to see any signs of danger. I let him pass, even when his horse sensed me and whinnied. The second man rode after the first one, tired and bored, picking at his tooth, for he only had one I could see. The horse ambled past me; I stepped up and stabbed the man in the side, pulling him down from the saddle. He was dead as a sack of barley.

  I turned and faced the white, scared face of the tracker. He fumbled with his spear, but I shook my head at him. He looked at his horse, but I slapped it on the rump. It bolted madly.

  I ignored Ishild, who was taking a small step backwards.

  'Where is Odo?' I asked the man harshly. He shook his head dutifully.

  'Odo. Where is he?' I said as I poked the sword in his face, drawing blood from a thin wound.

  'Odo is near, and your brother and his man are the ones chasing you,' he told me, carefully.

  'His man?' I asked, dreading the answer. Gernot and Ansigar. Both had escaped death, despite their wounds.

  'A scarred man, Ansigar,' the creature answered carefully, confirming my fears. 'Bent as a storm-battered tree.'

  'I was the storm. They want me, the ring, and the poor child,' I stated maliciously, glancing around in the dark that suddenly felt sinister danger looming near. 'And her.'

  'Odo wants these things, yes,' he said, grinning briefly at my apparent fear.

  I grunted as I quickly crouched and cut the tendons in his legs. He stared down in horror and shock, and then he tried to take a step, but the legs would not budge and he fell down on his face. He screamed himself hoarse, and Ishild watched me as I stood over the man, thinking. Finally, I turned to her. 'I will do the same to you, if you try to run again.'