by A. J. Smith
Ingrid left the tents and crouched next to the closest dog. He was thick-bodied with a long muzzle and dense, white fur, but his face was happy and his eyes sparkled. Brytag’s illusion didn’t appear to affect the dogs; the husky looked her in the eye and then licked her hand enthusiastically. Those dogs nearby looked up, as if happy to have someone pay them attention that didn’t involve a whip or a boot. The men in the vanguard ignored the activity and Ingrid moved silently among the dogs, stroking and patting each animal. When she reached the middle of the mass of sled dogs, she began to loosen their tethers. They were just simple metal clasps attached to a leather strap, and it was easy to unclip each restraint.
‘You should be free,’ she whispered, nuzzling into the beautiful furry face of a huge husky.
It took less time than she had imagined to unclasp every restraint. The dogs remained still, but each mouth was open and panting, and each tail wagged excitedly. Corvus sat nearby, on the high glacial wall of an inland gully. He was quiet, with his beak tilted to one side as if concentrating and, with a sharp twist of their necks, every dog turned to look at him.
‘Something’s spooking the dogs,’ said a man of Ursa, rising from his fire.
More men joined him and they warily approached the clustered huskies.
Ingrid moved to the gully to stand beneath Corvus’s wall, and looked at a hundred pairs of sparkling eyes and a forest of wagging tails.
‘What’s the matter with them? Why are they being so quiet?’
Caw
As one, the massed dogs leapt to their feet and ran into the gully. Ingrid ran with them, excitedly petting each dog that passed, until the whole white and grey wave of fur had sped inland, followed up the gullies by the echoing cries of their handlers. When they’d outpaced her, she stopped with a broad grin on her face. Corvus would make sure the sled dogs kept their freedom and Rulag would have to send men back to Fredericksand to get more dogs. Two or three days at least. Ingrid would return to her tent and play the part of a good little prisoner... until her next opportunity to cause mischief.
CHAPTER 4
HALLA SUMMER WOLF IN THE CITY OF TIERGARTEN
‘TWENTY MEN, I think,’ said Falling Cloud. ‘Scouts. Men of Ursa. They didn’t spy me.’
‘Did you see it?’ asked Halla. ‘The city?’
He smiled. ‘I did. It’s still there.’
She smoothed back her hair and took a deep breath. They stood in a crevice, ahead of her main company, looking down on to the plains of Tiergarten. They were on the high plateau, east of the city. The crisp sea air was the same. The wind, the pine trees lining the ridge. Even the black sea, rolling away from them. It was all the same. The Crystal Fork River marked the north–south road and its frozen surface added texture to the vast, open plain.
‘You’re almost home,’ said Wulfrick, nodding at her. ‘You’ve got that faraway look in your eye.’
For a moment she softened and allowed herself a smile. ‘Don’t pretend you aren’t itching to see your young thain.’
His wide, bearded face split into a toothy grin. ‘Wasn’t trying to. Alahan Teardrop is down there and I want to see him as much as you want to see Tiergarten.’
Falling Cloud waved his hand, breaking their eye-contact.
‘Twenty men,’ he repeated. ‘I think they’re scouts, watching the city.’
Behind her, practically vibrating with anticipation, were a hundred of her battle brothers. These men were all survivors of the dragon fleet, warriors who had travelled thousands of miles and killed hundreds of men to get where they were. Many were from Summer Wolf or Teardrop and had not seen this land for almost a year.
‘There are twenty men to kill,’ she whispered behind her. ‘We move forward and kill them. Then we knock on the gates of Tiergarten... and go home.’
‘Aye!’
She unslung her axe and strode along the crevice. Wulfrick and Falling Cloud followed, leading the rest of the men. Their boots formed a rhythmic stomp on the ice. A dull thud, barely announcing their presence.
She was in the lead, two strides ahead of Wulfrick. He could outpace her easily, but he was letting her get first look at the city. Round the corner, over a thin gap in the crevice, in the shadow of an icy overhang of Giant’s Gift, she saw Tiergarten. It appeared in increments, a glimpse of cold, grey stone, then a tower and a ballista. Finally, as the cliffs sloped downwards, she saw Kalall’s Steps and knew she was home.
‘Halla, to the left,’ said Wulfrick, nudging her with his axe.
She looked across, to a snowy ledge out of the wind. Skulking behind a rock wall were a few shoulders and a shield or two. Only three men were visible, but the rest would be further round the ledge, spying on Tiergarten. She couldn’t tell if they’d seen Halla’s men.
Then an arrow thudded into the ice next to her head. Ten men of Ursa stood from the rock wall and drew short bows.
‘Cover,’ she commanded as the scouts launched a volley at them.
Her men halted in the crevice, hunkering down. She pointed to Falling Cloud’s throwing-axes and motioned for ten men to step forward.
As one, they rose from cover and threw their blades, end over end, towards the enemy archers. Four died instantly and three more were wounded. The rest – twenty men, disorganized in a mob – dived for cover.
‘Up and over,’ said Halla, waving her company forward.
‘Bloody axes, boys,’ roared Wulfrick, carrying her command to everyone within earshot.
They rushed the men of Ursa, forming into lines and vaulting over the rock wall. Halla’s axe struck first, thudding into a man’s shoulder and splitting his flesh to the bone. The other men, startled by the number of attackers, tried to run. They were far from their allies and knew they couldn’t win.
Wulfrick and Falling Cloud led her company in two waves, cutting down the smaller force. Necks were sliced, limbs were severed, chests were caved in. It was quick, clinical and brutal. The men of Ursa had little fight in them.
‘Enough,’ she shouted when only cleaved bodies remained. ‘Falling Cloud, check for signal fires. They must have had a way of reporting back.’
‘Aye.’
He sheathed his axes and moved along the ledge. After a few moments, he shook his head. ‘A few embers. Looks like a cook-fire. If they’re reporting back, they’ve already done it.’
Halla kicked a twitching body off the ledge, sending it tumbling to the plains below. ‘The main army must be close,’ she replied. ‘Let’s get everyone behind big, stone walls. We’ll worry about Rulag’s dubious tactics later.’
Falling Cloud vaulted over boulders and hefted himself up out of the ledge. On the plateau above, illuminated by the winter sun, he waved an axe behind them.
‘Up!’ he roared.
From every visible angle, stretching east from the city, Halla’s full company emerged. A thousand warriors rose from concealment. Rudolf Ten Bears and Heinrich Blood led the survivors of the dragon fleet. Rorg and his Low Kasters stayed back, with Unrahgahr and the trolls well away from the main company. Moniac Dawn Cloud led the ranks of cloud-men, and it looked more like an army than ever before.
‘That’s a tough bunch o’ bastards,’ observed Wulfrick. ‘Even with the trolls.’
She looked at him. ‘Don’t forget the youngsters and the old men. Not every axe you see is held by a tough bastard.’
He shrugged. ‘Enough. Enough are.’
***
The route down to the plains of Tiergarten was steep. Men stumbled, axes clattered, curses were made, but they arrived at the city gates intact and in boisterous good humour. Bugles sounded from the walls and hundreds of men appeared on high battlements. The city ballistae were turned and short bows were aimed, but they appeared more confused than aggressive. Where did this bunch of laughing warriors come from?
She stood within an axe-throw of the huge city gates. Beyond, in stepped sections of grey stone, the ancient city rose away from her. At the base, it was level with
the rolling sea and the Crystal Fork River; at the top, behind the Hall of Summer Wolf, was the high plateau and a ridge of spiky pine trees.
‘Point arrows somewhere else,’ shouted Wulfrick. ‘Do we look like men of fucking Ursa?’
More laughter, now flowing across her entire company.
‘Rexel, shut them up,’ she said, trying to stifle a smile.
Falling Cloud, a broad grin on his thin face, turned and let his voice boom up to its highest volume. ‘The lady wants quiet. You... will... be... quiet.’
They stopped laughing in gradual waves, taking note of Falling Cloud’s smile. After a few minutes, giving the city defenders ample time to get a good look, the army was quiet.
Halla took a deep breath, feeling goose bumps on her arms and neck. Stepping forward of her company, she pointed her voice at the gatehouse, where stood a red-haired axe-man with a huge, bushy beard. She recognized him as Tricken Ice Fang, her father’s chain-master.
‘I am Halla Summer Wolf,’ she announced. ‘I stand in the realm that bears my name and I ask entrance to the city where I was born.’
A clank of axes started on the battlements, rising in volume as each man of Tiergarten saluted her. Then cheering from behind them. Shouts of welcome and howls of fidelity to her and her house.
‘Open the gate!’ commanded Tricken. ‘And welcome our lady home.’
A deep creak of old, old oak and the foot-thick gates slowly parted. Kalall’s Steps appeared again and a tear appeared in Halla’s eye. She was home.
***
All Halla could think about was her father and Algenon Teardrop’s axe. Her people had welcomed her home with gusto, fighting to shake her hand and praise her house, but she could no longer enjoy it. As soon as the gates opened, Wulfrick was no longer her man, and all that mattered was his young thain. A brief moment of elation had been cut clean through by thoughts of all that still needed to be done. And thoughts of a thrown axe embedded in Aleph Summer Wolf’s chest.
‘Wulfrick, slow down, you’ll give yourself a heart attack.’
He’d almost run up the last few landings of the steps.
‘Was Kalall a fucking sadist? Why did he build so many steps?’
‘He was a good man,’ she replied. ‘The first priest of the Order of the Hammer. My great, great, great... grandfather. Maybe a few more greats. He planted the first crops, built the first ballistae.’
‘And caused me to get fucking backache,’ replied Wulfrick.
They were in front of the Halls of Summer Wolf at the top of the endless steps. She glanced behind and saw the entire population of Tiergarten welcoming her company. She could see Scarlet’s Edge, where she was born; the Nook, where she’d won her first fight. It was eerily empty. So many men had left with Aleph and so many men had died with the dragon fleet. She’d seen glimpses of the toll, travelling through Hammerfall, but the true cost of Rulag’s treachery was suddenly visible. Tiergarten had barely a garrison to defend her.
‘My lady,’ said Tricken with a polite cough. ‘Things are not well here. Since Alahan killed Kalag, we’ve been functioning on adrenaline – and the odd angry speech from Old Crowe. Your men are not the worst thing we’ve seen this year.’
‘Is that a thank you?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s nice to have a Summer Wolf here again. I’m sick of being a chain-master to this Teardrop cunt. I suppose he’s all right, but he ain’t you or your father.’
Luckily, Wulfrick was several steps ahead and hadn’t heard him.
She put a hand on Tricken’s shoulder. ‘Is it still my city? Or does Alahan Teardrop command?’
‘He’s a tough cunt. Can swing the axe, shout the words. Crowe gives him shit and he shrugs it off. The people are pretty taken with him. The young high thain and all that. He killed Rulag’s son and everyone saw. They’ve even named his axe – Ice Razor.’
‘Well, I need to speak to him,’ she replied, gritting her teeth.
Halla and her captains reached the top of Kalall’s Steps. Most had never seen Tiergarten and stood in awe of the stone spectacle. The Hall of Summer Wolf was immense and carved out of the mountain. The cliff face was called Giant’s Gift and had provided every brick within view. There was thatch and wood too, but the city was made of more stone than any other in Fjorlan. It was older than Fredericksand and Ranen Gar. Old Father Crowe said it was the oldest city of men.
‘Where’s my thain?’ roared Wulfrick, bent over and out of breath.
‘Can we see the men tended to first?’ she replied. ‘There must be empty houses, we can use them. Food, clothing, fresh weaponry. The city has a garrison now, let’s settle in.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ said Tricken. ‘These your captains?’
She nodded. ‘Rexel Falling Cloud, Heinrich Blood, Anya Cold Bane, Rorg the Defiler. You know Wulfrick. Everyone, this is Tricken Ice Fang, my chain-master.’
He smiled at her. ‘That I am, my lady. Go remind him of that.’
From the stone archway and the oak door, two men approached. Tricken saluted and left with Falling Cloud and Heinrich to see to the men. Wulfrick ran forward to greet his high thain.
Alahan Teardrop was a young man, bearded and tall. He looked like his father, with black hair and wide shoulders. His eyes were blue and sad, pinched slightly into a look that approached guilt. He looked more thoughtful than Halla had expected. Next to him was the old man of Tiergarten, Brindon Crowe. Even taller than Alahan, but much thinner, clad in leather and furs, with grey hair hanging from his head and face. His expression was scornful, and exactly as she remembered.
‘Halla, welcome home,’ said Father Crowe. ‘I am your servant, as I was your father’s.’
Wulfrick ignored formality and grabbed his young thain in a rough bear-hug, lifting him off the ground and roaring, ‘You do not leave my side, young Teardrop!’
‘It’s fucking good to see you,’ replied Alahan, genuine affection in his eyes.
Wulfrick lowered his thain to the cold stone and took a knee.
‘Alahan Teardrop Algeson, I pledge my life and my axe to you and your house. I pledged both to your father and I had to watch him die. I will not let that happen again.’
‘Stand up,’ replied Alahan. ‘I need a friend, not an axe-master. And I don’t plan to die. Not just yet.’
He noticed her for the first time. His eyes narrowed again and he patted Wulfrick on the shoulders, stepping past him to approach Halla.
‘Welcome home, my lady.’
‘I don’t know how to address you,’ she replied. ‘My lord? My thain?’
‘Call him Alahan,’ said Brindon Crowe. ‘He’s no thain, not yet.’
‘Am I still a Teardrop?’ snapped the young man.
‘Apparently,’ replied the priest.
‘Easy,’ interrupted Wulfrick, rising to stand behind Alahan. ‘The day is good, let us drink and keep it that way. Men are home, other men see a bed for the first time in a year. I see my thain, she sees her home. Arguments can wait.’
From the great hall, running like a troll, came a huge man. He wore leather and furs, but his chest was bare and covered in blue tattoos. His head was bulbous and wrapped tightly in old leather, but the strapping didn’t stop flashes of grotesque skull poking through. He was a Low Kaster, but much more deformed than any of Rorg’s men.
‘You are the Daughter of the Wolf,’ he intoned, kneeling before her.
His head pulsed like an insects’ nest, pressing against the leather, but his eyes were deep and sincere.
‘I am,’ she replied, looking at Brindon Crowe.
‘This is Timon the Butcher,’ said the priest. ‘He’s pledged his fate to your family.’
‘He’s my friend,’ offered Alahan.
She didn’t know how to react. The berserker, the young thain, her homecoming. She wasn’t ready, but she couldn’t admit it. Months upon months of travelling, fighting, shouting, commanding. Now she was home. Now she was the Lady of Tiergarten.
‘Halla,
you’ve got that faraway look again,’ said Wulfrick. ‘We’re all still here.’
‘I might need a drink,’ she replied. ‘And I definitely need to sit down.’
‘It’s your hall,’ offered Old Father Crowe. ‘Lead the way.’
She walked slowly, not trusting her coordination. The arched stone doorway cast a shadow across her face and a gust of warm air emerged from the great hall. Her last visit to this hall had been to tell her father she planned to accompany him to Fredericksand. He’d died in the assembly; she’d gone with the dragon fleet and seen Algenon Teardrop die. The world had changed since then.
Within, a long, stone space emerged, punctured by roaring fire-pits. The Hall of Summer Wolf. Along the left wall, a dozen huge mead barrels; on the right, twenty wooden tables. It was warm, in temperature and atmosphere. Even empty, the hall spoke of hearth and hospitality. Though she had been away for a year, and may have been biased.
‘Forgotten how to sit down?’ asked Crowe. He looked her up and down. ‘You look different, young Halla.’
‘You look the same. Maybe your beard is a bit longer.’
‘Well, I’m going to drink, whether you are or not.’
The Order of the Hammer priest retrieved a well-used mug and poured himself a frothy draught of mead.
‘It’s his seventh since this morning,’ said Alahan, smiling at her.
‘Are we that close?’ she replied, with no smile. ‘You can make jokes like we’re old friends?’
‘Easy,’ repeated Wulfrick. ‘We have warmth and we have booze. Fighting can wait.’
They sat down round the closest table. Halla, Wulfrick, Crowe and Alahan Teardrop. The berserker, Timon, perched on the next table. Standing with a grin at the main door was Earem Spider Killer, a friend of her father’s.
Wulfrick got a drink for Halla and himself, and they sat in silence, the noisy slurping of Crowe the only sound. Before the nervous eye-contact between Halla and Alahan had turned into actual words, the priest had returned to the barrel for a second mug.
‘Honey and water,’ said Crowe, returning to his seat. ‘The purest gifts the Ice Father gives us. Gloriously combined into a liquid solution to any problem... or we could just sit here in silence, lamenting the loss of our fathers.’
