by A. J. Smith
‘If the man of the sun is true to his word, the beasts may end this fight before we swing an axe,’ replied Harrod. ‘Tiergarten’s walls are high; I’d just as soon end this without a siege.’
‘They’ve only got a few hundred men. Old men... kids, angry women.’
Ingrid vomited again. There may have been a man in the way. Certainly someone swore loudly and stood up. It was mostly bile, but it smelled really bad.
‘Send the little fucker to the ice halls. She’s puked on my axe.’
‘So clean it and shut up.’
Harrod loomed in over her. ‘Are you listening, you little shit? Or have you lost your mind?’
She groaned, trying to frame an insulting response. Dogged by the constant urge to vomit, though, nothing came to mind. The vision of the risen man was slowly fading from her eyes and her head no longer throbbed.
‘I’m okay,’ she mumbled.
She looked up and saw that she was in a tent. Maybe five men. Everything smelled of vomit. She sat up. She was back in her own, isolated tent, her arm chained to the same metal ball. She had a horrible taste in her mouth. Her throat was raw and her teeth felt sticky.
‘Old metal links. You should get them replaced,’ she said, pointing to the broken links.
‘Nice trick,’ replied the priest. ‘Or good luck.’
‘The world conspires to free me whenever I get trapped. It’s a gift.’
Harrod crouched down next to her bedroll. He picked absently at a splodge of mud on her cloak.
‘Do you know where I’m from, Little Wolf?’ he asked.
‘No. Just that my dad and my Uncle Magnus hated you.’
‘Your father took my name,’ he replied. ‘Dishonour, he said. Old man Teardrop was not a thain with vision. Strength will always defeat honour.’
‘According to you,’ she replied. ‘So, where? Where are you from?’
‘Old Gar,’ replied Harrod. ‘I came to the fine realms of Fjorlan to seek strength. I found it in Jarvik, not Fredericksand.’
‘My brother’s stronger than Rulag.’
‘Stronger than a blade in the dark? Your family are soft. They have ruled too long.’ He sat on the floor, crossing his legs. ‘This is what I want you to understand, girl – your brother is going to die. He’s going to die and you are going to live. How easily you live is up to you. You’ll be the bride of the high thain, in a new land.’
‘I don’t want Fjorlan to change,’ she replied.
‘Not your decision to make. We have decided to free ourselves from Rowanoco and force our will on this world.’
‘I still don’t want it to change.’ She coughed, her throat scratchy and painful. ‘Can I have a drink?’
Harrod put a hand against her forehead. ‘You’ll live. The things have a disquieting effect. Good thing too; Tiergarten might consider fighting otherwise.’
He grabbed a dirty canteen and removed the stopper, slowly pouring water for her to drink. It was cold and stung her tongue, but it soothed her throat. She took the canteen and swilled out her mouth, spitting into her washbasin. The taste of vomit didn’t disappear.
‘Now, I’m going to leave you,’ said Harrod. ‘There will be five guards outside. They will not be drinking. If you try to escape – or go on any more night-time adventures – I’ll cut off your foot and Rulag can marry a cripple. I am not bluffing. Good evening, Little Wolf.’
He walked from the tent with his men, leaving her alone. He probably wasn’t bluffing, but she was going to escape anyway. When they were close enough to the city, she’d make her grand exit. He could cut his own stupid foot off.
***
After a few hours of dreamless sleep, Ingrid opened one eye and looked out of the tent flaps. Snow fell thickly across the gap, masking those outside, but she could hear them. They grunted and cursed, complaining about the cold, the food, their hangovers. Men of Ursa appeared always to be miserable. They didn’t laugh or tease each other. They just swore and bullied each other. She didn’t like them. In fact she hated them.
Shielding her eyes from the snow, she took a peek outside. Everyone was moving. Most tents had already been broken down and packed on to sleds. The clank of arms and armour carried far across the snowy expanse and Ingrid had a sudden sinking feeling. Even more so when she saw the siege equipment, which had obviously been transported from Fredericksand in pieces and was now fully assembled. Six large wooden towers mounted on a wide base, pulled by teams of dogs, alongside thick tree-trunks swinging on chains from a wooden frame. Battering rams and siege towers. She’d never seen them before, but she knew what they were. Suddenly things seemed awfully real – and awfully serious.
‘Hey, stop gawking,’ grunted another fat axe-man. ‘Go back inside and I’ll unchain you when we’re ready to move.’
‘Are you attacking?’ she asked. ‘Today?’
He laughed, a gross gurgle that ended with a messy spit on to the snow. ‘We’re not that close, you little idiot. But we need to be ready to fight.’
‘And the tree-things?’ she asked, with a quiver to her lip.
He glared at her, no longer laughing. ‘I don’t know nothing about them things.’ He marched off.
She frowned and went back into her tent. Her bag was in the corner, still fastened tightly shut. She’d not felt like opening it since they left Fredericksand, knowing that looking at her collection of stones would make her upset. The last thing she wanted was to be reminded of when she was happy. Ingrid didn’t know how she would get out of her current predicament, but she was sure that she needed to be tough, not crying all the time. Her stubborn disobedience and her smile were the only things she had left, and no collection of pretty stones would change that.
She left the bedroll and her blanket in a haphazard pile, and pulled on her boots. Her toes tingled in the freezing air, but she quickly got warm under her thick, woollen cloak.
‘Time’s up, girl,’ said a voice.
She took a moment, trying to breathe slowly and compose herself, then she slung her rucksack on and left the tent. Within a minute, two waiting men had struck her tent and stowed it. All around her the camp quickly disappeared, becoming a convoy again. Men who’d been permanently drunk as they waited were suddenly soldiers again, formed into columns, units and mobs. However rough and ready they appeared when at leisure, they had an air of professionalism when moving. But there were fewer of them now.
The endless gullies leading from the Crystal Fork were now full of men as Rulag squeezed his army towards the plains of Tiergarten. Orders were shouted and relayed by men now holding axes, glaives and shields, with their personal gear stowed on sleds. Last to leave the camp was the siege equipment, each protected by its own crew and followed by a heavily armed rearguard. Ingrid felt like a speck of dust on a huge canvas of brown and black.
‘Things progress, young mistress,’ said the Karesian, Kal Varaz, appearing silently on her left. He rarely made any sound.
‘Don’t sneak up on me,’ she replied. ‘I can’t smell you coming like Beirand... or my grotesque future husband.’
He grunted. It may have been a stifled laugh. Or it may just have been a grunt. She glared at him. His dark face was pinched, with creases across his usually smooth cheeks.
‘You saw my mistress’s gift; I can see it in your eyes.’
She nodded, gulping down a wave of sudden fear. ‘No-one would tell me what they were.’
‘They are children of the Forest Giant. You should remember them, for they will be your priest and your altar.’
She gulped again, searching for, but not finding, a clever response. ‘Will you tell me what they are? What they are now, I mean. I know they were forest-dwellers.’
‘Some knowledge is dangerous,’ he replied. ‘Some dark corners of the world are not to be explored with freedom... and young minds are fragile minds.’
She was suddenly indignant, as if her fear had been displaced by the suggestion that she was in any way fragile.
‘I saw them once,’ she said, as if bragging. ‘They were horrible, but my mind didn’t unravel. I must have a strong mind.’
‘Indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘Perhaps you do.’
‘So, tell me.’ She was staring at him now.
‘Hmm... let us just walk for now. Enjoy some of this beautiful scenery.’
She looked around. Beyond the solid line of marching warriors and laden sleds were endless plateaus of rock and ice, with a liberal sprinkling of dusty snow. Harsh, barren, featureless – certainly not beautiful.
‘I’d never seen snow until I came to your delightful, barbarian nation. I find it strangely calming.’
‘You don’t have snow in Karesia?’ she asked. ‘What do you have instead?’
He smiled. It was still sinister, but she no longer felt as if he meant her harm. ‘We have sand... and heat... and culture.’ He suddenly laughed. It was restrained, but definitely laughter. ‘Thank you, young mistress.’
‘For what?’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘For taking me out of reality for a moment. For engaging me in a mundane conversation – talk of the weather, the landscape.’
‘I prefer conversation over fighting,’ she replied. ‘Maybe we can get all Rulag’s men to stop and chat about the weather.’
‘That would indeed be pleasant,’ said Kal Varaz. ‘Perhaps when the fighting is done, we can all just talk of the weather.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a deafening creak from a nearby siege tower. The six-storey wooden structure had stalled on a patch of jagged rocks and two of the four huge wheels were off the ground. Men whipped the sled dogs, shouting and swearing, trying to free the tower, but it was wedged securely and swaying dangerously overhead.
‘Is that going to fall over?’ she asked eagerly, excited at the prospect of a dozen men being crushed before they got a chance to kill any people of Tiergarten.
‘Doubtful,’ replied Kal Varaz. ‘It is heavily weighted at the base. Though it may not make the remainder of the journey.’
‘How do they work?” she asked.
‘Well, I believe the idea is to get them to the walls of the city. Once they are in place, men will attack from the top levels. I imagine the defenders will manage to bring one or two of them down, but the remainder will form the vanguard of the attack. But they will not be needed. A lucky thing, for the loss of your future husband’s men would make a frontal attack problematic. If he is to rule Ranen in our stead, he will need to inspire more loyalty, or command more fear.’
Ingrid walked alongside the Karesian, not talking or stepping into his eyeline. She wanted Corvus to swoop down and peck him in the face, but her friend stayed away during the daytime. She thought of the night to come and what mischief there was left to cause. She could tip out more ale or blunt more axes, or she could escape and hide, trusting Corvus to keep her hidden. Perhaps it was time to leave Rulag’s army.
CHAPTER 11
HALLA SUMMER WOLF IN THE CITY OF TIERGARTEN
THE ATTACK HAD still not come. Rulag had allowed them ample time to work on the defences, and Tiergarten was now well-prepared for a siege. Early each day Halla toured the walls, meeting defenders and commanders, making sure everyone knew their job and what was at stake. The time had allowed them to lay on extra supplies, which were portioned and protected on every level. Barricades had been erected on each landing, and supplies of throwing-axes and shields were stored at regular intervals. She had even devised one or two surprises for Rulag’s army.
Greta Cloud Seer, the commander of the ballistae crews, was almost as tireless as Halla, snatching sleep as she could while keeping her eyes on the plains. The young axe-maiden was tall and slim, with a terse manner that made her an ideal commander.
‘Anything to report?’ asked Halla.
‘Nothing,’ replied Greta. ‘Though Alahan Teardrop came here looking for you, my lady. About an hour before dawn.’
She had avoided him for over a week. Every time Wulfrick tried to get them to talk, she’d found an essential task to keep her away. Brindon Crowe and Tricken Ice Fang had tried to mediate an appropriate meeting, but she’d resisted. A bit of her hoped that Rulag would attack and she’d be able to avoid the conversation entirely. Unfortunately, the lord of Jarvik had not obliged her.
‘He said that he’d be in the barracks if you wanted to talk to him,’ said Greta. ‘He looked tired, like he wasn’t sleeping.’
‘What would you do?’ she asked the young commander. ‘Would you talk to him?’
‘I’ll never be thain of Tiergarten,’ replied Greta. ‘But, if I was, I’d think that speaking to Alahan Teardrop was the only remaining thing I had to do before the city was truly ready for war. We’ve had two commanders since you arrived, my lady, and he’s been the quieter of the two.’
She nodded, taking a final look across the Plains of Tiergarten. Then, with a deep breath, she left Greta to tend her ballistae crews and headed for Ulric’s Yard and the barracks. The lower streets were clear, with only a few guards on watch. The city had been holding its breath for days, waiting for the attack. In the days of waiting, Halla had spoken to anyone and everyone she could – apart from Alahan Teardrop. She’d given words of encouragement to any warrior wielding an axe for Tiergarten, but she’d avoided the young thain of Fredericksand. Was there truly anything he could say to her that would make any difference? He couldn’t strengthen their walls or provide more defenders. He couldn’t even justify his father’s actions.
She swung open the doors of the barracks, nodding her head to the dozens of defenders within. The axes were sharpened and the armour was ready; the men were concentrating now on preparing themselves with training and tactics. The walls must hold, and everything shouted by Falling Cloud or Tricken had instilled this in the defenders.
‘He’s in the storeroom, Halla,’ said Rudolf Ten Bears. ‘He said he had to think.’
She wanted a reason not to speak to him, and took the opportunity to stand with Rudolf as he wound flammable fabric around huge ballistae bolts. Greta and her crews would be responsible for bringing down any siege equipment that Rulag sent against the walls, and they’d had the leisure to prepare a fiery reception.
‘Are you going to help me, talk to young Teardrop, or just stand there?’ asked Rudolf. ‘The world isn’t going to get any easier while we wait.’
She padded her feet against the stone floor. ‘If Rulag had attacked when we expected him to, I wouldn’t have to talk to him.’
He gave her an amused look, raising an eyebrow.
‘Okay, okay,’ she conceded. ‘That was a stupid thing to say.’
He smiled, but was nice enough not to agree.
She left him to his ballistae bolts and headed for the storeroom. Bushels of food and flagons of water filled the space, ready to be portioned out at any breaks in combat. Through a side door, sitting on a barrel, was Alahan. His feet kicked absently at wooden planks, left over from their barricade-building on the second level, and his eyes widened when he saw her. He was a few years younger than her, in his early twenties, and had a haunted look in his dark brown eyes. He was considered handsome by many, but Halla did not like his thick, black beard or the high cut of his cheekbones. He looked too much like his father.
‘You have words for me?’ she asked, standing just inside the door.
‘Yes,’ he spluttered. ‘I...’ The young thain looked at his feet and screwed up his face, as if he was surprised that Halla had finally decided to talk to him. ‘I wanted us to reach an accord. I don’t care if we’re not friends or confidants, but we must be allies.’
‘Must we be?’ she replied drily. ‘The defences are in place and we are not yet allies. Tiergarten is ready to fight Rulag Ursa with no accord struck between you and me.’
‘You don’t understand,’ he murmured, still not looking at her.
‘If those are all the words you have, I am needed elsewhere. We are going on patrol this morning.’ She nodded and made to leave.<
br />
‘Have you heard of Alguin Teardrop?’ he asked, making her turn back round. ‘The first thain of Fjorlan.’
‘That’s as much as I know about him,’ she replied.
‘He was my ancestor. He built Fredericksand and united the clans of Ranen. My father thought that his bloodline was the oldest in the lands of men.’
‘I’ve heard that,’ she replied. ‘It’s impossible not to if you live in Fjorlan.’
‘There’s something you won’t have heard,’ said Alahan, hopping off the barrel. ‘His bloodline – my bloodline – we have a responsibility to this land. We have ever been the exemplars of Rowanoco. His generals in his Long War.’
She was startled by this, but not so much as to lose her composure. ‘And what does Rowanoco’s general think about the defence of Tiergarten?’
The young thain laughed ironically. ‘I have no fucking idea. My father never told me what I was supposed to do and neither did Magnus Fork Beard, Brindon Crowe, or any other Order of the Hammer priest. I had a friend, someone to tell me what Rowanoco wanted, but I’ve not seen him for weeks. I suppose I’ve been thinking about drinking in the ice halls when all this is over.’
She looked at him, assessing whether or not this was a ploy to curry her favour. In his eyes she saw, far removed from thoughts of a city preparing for war, a rippling well of divine might, locked out of sight. It was a jewel of ice, but it faded, falling further away with each beat of her heart. He did have power, but he doubted it. She thought that he doubted everything. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say. I have a lot of people relying on me, and this doesn’t contribute to the defence of my city. Unless this power you have can crack the sky and summon the Ice Giant himself.’
Alahan kicked the barrel over and stood, gritting his teeth in anger. Grain spread across the stone floor and made Halla step back from the young thain. He clenched his fists and looked as though he wanted to punch something, but composed himself with a few deep breaths.
‘At times I feel it,’ he said, looking at his shaking hands. ‘It’s as if I can reach people’s hearts. But then I doubt it and it scares me. And I have dreams about a twisted tree.’ He glared at her with fear and envy. ‘You reach their hearts, not me. I was a poor choice for exemplar.’
