by A. J. Smith
She kicked a pile of grain out of the way and approached him. ‘That seems to be the trouble with trusting such things to a bloodline, rather than to merit. The same is true of me, though my name is not as renowned as yours. Perhaps neither of us truly deserve our stations. Our fathers condemned us to our responsibilities, we didn’t choose them.’
‘Does it always come back to them?’ he asked, meeting her gaze.
‘They cast a shadow,’ she replied coldly. ‘It’s hard to forget that your father’s hand killed my father. And now I hear that he was Rowanoco’s chosen when he threw his axe.’
Alahan averted his eyes. She felt that he was as uncomfortable speaking to her as she was to him. Especially so when Algenon Teardrop was mentioned.
‘I ask that you don’t blame the Ice Giant for what my father did,’ implored Alahan. ‘He needs your faith as much as I do.’
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. ‘Many of my friends drink with him in the ice halls. My faith in him is undimmed, but my faith in you...’ They locked eyes, two children of dead men and two thains of Fjorlan. ‘If you are his exemplar, you must prove it. Rowanoco must show me you’re worthy of my faith.’
***
She’d ignored Wulfrick’s prattling. From his rising, through breakfast, to their exit from Tiergarten, the axe-master had spoken of nothing but his young thain. He stopped just short of insulting her, rising to a height of calling her unreasonable but wisely not going any further.
‘Wulfrick, give it a rest,’ said Falling Cloud. ‘We’re scouts. Scouts should be quiet.’
There were ten of them, lightly armoured, moving through the foothills. They were some of her most trusted and loyal men, men who had been with her for a year. She hadn’t needed to command anyone to accompany her; the best few were simply waiting outside the great hall, among them Rudolf Ten Bears, Lars Bull, Colm Tide Bound and Heinrich Blood.
The Crystal Fork River was ahead of them, flowing over rapids to the Fjorlan Sea, with endless icy gullies cutting through the rocky terrain. The mouth of the river was within sight of the city gates, with the north–south road the only practical way of moving an army. So far they’d seen nothing but empty trenches in the rock.
‘What are we scouting for?’ replied Wulfrick. ‘There’s nothing here.’
‘They wouldn’t camp within sight of the city, you idiot,’ said Halla.
‘Oh, you can talk. Good to know you were just ignoring me.’
‘Seriously, give it a rest,’ repeated Falling Cloud. ‘They’ll have scouts too.’
Wulfrick spat on the ice and meandered off on his own, grumbling something about loyalty. He turned a corner and disappeared down a nearby trench.
‘He can fight and he can shout, but he’s terrible at conversation,’ observed Falling Cloud. ‘You know what I mean – he doesn’t express himself well... unless he’s fighting or shouting.’
‘Let’s keep moving,’ she replied. ‘He’ll catch up.’
They were now distant from the city, with only plumes of smoke telling them of Tiergarten’s location. They’d stayed off the north–south road, keeping to the craggy trenches cut by the river. The snowy hills and the crisp, blue sky melted together into a vast canvas. An army – even a large one – could hide in any number of locations in the north of Summer Wolf.
‘We need some high ground,’ she said. ‘They can hide the men, but armies make noise. They need fires, supplies.’
Falling Cloud nodded and scanned their surroundings. He pointed to a landslide that appeared to provide a way out of the trenches, and darted up it in a few long strides. Halla smiled. She couldn’t have done that, at least not so fast and with such dexterity. Falling Cloud shielded his eyes from the glare and peered to the north.
‘Anything?’ she asked.
He shifted position, leaping on to a higher rock. He was not a tall man and had to stand on tiptoe to see further. ‘Yeah, you should probably come up here.’
‘Wonderful,’ she replied, looking at Rexel’s route upwards. Falling on her arse in the snow would not be a good way of showing leadership.
The young priest Heinrich Blood, bringing up the rear of the group, sensed her reluctance and lent a discreet hand. She may not have been as dextrous as Rexel, but she made up for it in brute strength, tensing her thigh muscles and powering her way upwards.
The glare was considerable. From her elevated position, the northern plains appeared endless. Summer Wolf flowed into Teardrop, then there was nothing but ice and snow until the northern realms of the Volk.
‘Look west,’ said Falling Cloud. ‘The break in the river.’
Shielding her eyes, she saw at the edges of her vision muddy black plumes of smoke. They rose in irregular lines, bisecting the featureless white of the coast and the undulating black of the sea.
‘That’s a lot of fires, Halla. And lots of fires means lots of men. Hard to tell the number from this distance, but a few thousand at least.’
‘We need to get closer.’
‘Aye, my lady.’
There was a maze of deep trenches between them and the smoke. They couldn’t risk the road, so would have to pick their way through zigzag fissures in the ice. Falling Cloud stayed on the high ground, leaping across the gaps, but she doubted any more of her men could manage such a thing. She knew she couldn’t.
‘Rexel, don’t get too far ahead,’ she ordered, as Heinrich helped her back down. ‘Find us a way through.’
‘Aye,’ replied the cloud-man.
Her men – nine without Wulfrick – moved quickly along the trenches, with Falling Cloud giving directions from above, and Heinrich and Colm bringing up the rear. They moved left, right, left again, straight on and over a ridge. Within half an hour they were next to a narrow spot of the Crystal Fork, and closer to the open plains. Wulfrick had been spotted, trudging reluctantly behind them, but hadn’t rejoined the group.
‘Halla, something ahead,’ said Falling Cloud, emerging on a high ledge. ‘Dead trees, looks like.’
The trench they were in was wide and got wider still as it met the river. On either side a vertical escarpment blocked their view, rising twenty feet or more in a jagged line. They were close to the army now, but the trench didn’t allow even a glimpse of the smoke from their cook-fires.
‘And past the trees?’ she asked Rexel.
‘The river. Then the plains open out. There’re banners... a red splodge, looks like a bear claw. There’s a shitload of men, Halla. Siege towers too.’
‘Get down here, Rexel, they’ll have scouts.’
He vaulted to the trench floor in a single leap.
‘We’re safe up to the trees,’ he said. ‘We can get a good enough look from there.’
Halla signalled for her men to draw weapons, and they edged quietly round a sharp corner.
‘Rudolf, Bull, take the lead.’
The two men, both survivors of the dragon fleet, crouched and kept their footsteps light. Ahead, the trench sloped away from them, ending in an icy waterfall that flowed into the Crystal Fork. Beyond the three black trees, the smoke from cook-fires was now obvious. Hundreds of grey plumes mingled in the air, making a fog above the plains. Rulag Ursa’s army, many thousands of men, was camped less than a day’s march from Tiergarten.
‘Seen enough?’ said Wulfrick, appearing behind her.
His face was sullen and his great-axe was still sheathed. He was taller and bulkier than any of her men, but, at that moment, he looked like little more than a sulking child.
‘Are you and I having a fight?’ she asked, not looking at him.
‘I think maybe just a disagreement,’ he replied. ‘I only have so much loyalty to go around.’
She felt for him. She really did. He was Alahan’s axe-master and would be loyal to the house of Teardrop until he died. That was as sure as anything. As sure as the axe that had cut down Lord Algenon.
‘I didn’t challenge your young thain to a duel. I just said I won’t swear fealty
to him.’
‘You owe him your allegiance.’
‘Based on what? The ancient traditions of Fjorlan? Those traditions got my father killed – for what? For disagreeing with Algenon fucking Teardrop?’
He looked at her. His wide, hairy face was creased and emotional. He was almost a foot taller than her, but he shrank under her gaze.
‘I’m your friend, Halla. I am. But I’m a man of Fredericksand... I’m axe-master to the house of Teardrop. I always will be.’
Falling Cloud took a step backwards. ‘Err, Halla...’
‘What?’
‘One of those trees just moved.’
She broke eye-contact with Wulfrick and they both looked along the trench. Some distance away, on the edge of the ice, three black shapes began to sway against the white background. The trees had thick trunks and rope-like branches. They had appeared dead at first, cracked and dry, but their movements now, although strange, seemed organic.
‘Those are not trees,’ said Wulfrick, slowly reaching for his great-axe.
‘Does anyone else have a sudden headache?’ asked Falling Cloud. ‘I think I feel sick.’
The three black shapes juddered and their branches reached downwards, pushing at the icy ground. Snow and rock flew into the air as they clamped on to the earth with bizarre strength.
‘Halla...’
She didn’t understand what she was seeing. Was the glare playing tricks on her eyes? They weren’t trees any more. The branches were now legs and arms – no, tentacles. They lifted the trunks from the snow and exposed circular mouths, shaking snow and earth from needle-like teeth.
‘Halla...’
Her feet wouldn’t move. She wanted to turn and address whoever was speaking to her, but the black shapes wouldn’t let her. They came together, writhing across the ice as one black blob of tentacles and grotesque mouths, crawling over each other.
She could hear Wulfrick next to her. He was panting and stamping at the ground.
‘I think we need to leave,’ she whispered.
The shapes darted forward, covering the ice with alarming speed while groping at the air with their tentacles and roaring. It was a guttural bellow that made her skin crawl. No natural beast could make such a sound. What the fuck were these things?
‘Halla...’
She couldn’t turn and she couldn’t run. Her mind twisted before the monsters, as a hundred points of pain erupted in her head. It was more than a headache; it was a feeling of near-madness that rooted her to the spot.
‘Halla!’ screamed Falling Cloud, shoving her aside as the creatures approached.
The monsters were upon them quickly, barrelling Wulfrick to the floor. There was a scream of pain as Lars Bull, barely able to raise his axe, was lifted from the ground and torn in two. Another man was driven into the ice, his head smashed to a red smear. Wulfrick was vibrating with rage, leaping to his feet and frothing at the mouth. His eyes were now black and his knuckles had turned white against the haft of his axe. One of the beasts reared up at him, but he didn’t flee.
‘Run!’ she ordered, her voice cracking with fear.
She turned and saw a clear path behind them. Everywhere else, the creatures loomed. They blocked out the light, reaching for men and swatting aside axes. She screamed in anger and swiped at a tentacle, but the flesh was tough and her axe barely cut the surface. Heinrich sent arrows into them, but they didn’t slow. Rudolf Ten Bears buried an axe in the trunk of one, but it barely flinched. She stood with her back to the rocky wall, keeping her axe close to her body.
Then Wulfrick attacked. He seemed to have lost all sense of reason. He leapt at the creature before him, burying his axe in its trunk and pulling himself upwards. The rest of her men – four or five now – were trying to flee along the trench, but they were struggling, their bodies frozen in fear. Falling Cloud pulled at her shoulder, dragging her away from the wall.
‘Run!’ she repeated, shoving Heinrich backwards as a fleshy maw grabbed one of the fleeing men, dissolving his flesh into gooey pink liquid.
Wulfrick was roaring and pulling his way up the creature, chopping chunks from its mass as he moved. It flung him left and right as if he were a minor annoyance like a fly, grabbing at him using its tentacles. Black ichor sprayed from the tree as Wulfrick hacked at it, covering his axe-blade and running down his face. The other two beasts moved to block their retreat, stretching out, with their limbs whipping against the snow.
‘Up!’ shouted Falling Cloud, doing his best to marshall the remaining men.
He leapt on to a ledge, out of immediate reach of the creatures, and waved frantically at the others to join him. Heinrich followed, loosing an arrow behind him and slipping forward on the ice. Halla wrapped her arms round his waist and hefted him upwards to Falling Cloud’s waiting hand.
‘Get up there! All of you – now!’ she screamed, trying to climb to the ledge.
A dead man was flung at them and a beast loomed. Its maw was inches from Halla when Falling Cloud launched an axe into its mouth, making it buck with alarm and pull back. The axe sliced open the circular orifice, but quickly disappeared into the mass of black.
‘They won’t die!’ shrieked Heinrich, his eyes deeply bloodshot.
‘They’ll die!’ replied Wulfrick, no sanity in his bellowed words.
Falling Cloud grunted with exertion and pulled Heinrich up out of the trench, stepping backwards on to the plateau to get clear of the beasts. Colm Tide Bound interposed himself between Halla and the closest creature, giving her time to tense her arms and heft her body up to the ledge. The man was swallowed whole, his feet disappearing in an instant. The creature’s trunk rocked backwards and rippled, like a snake swallowing a rat. When it turned its mouth back to her she was on her feet, on the high ledge, being pulled away by Heinrich. Rudolf followed, but the others were cut off.
She turned. One beast was sluggishly trying to digest Colm; another was methodically tearing apart the last man. Wulfrick was still attached to the back of his creature, driving his great-axe into its black flesh with tremendous strength. He was in a deep frenzy, clearly thinking only of destruction. Retreat would be impossible for him, she realized.
‘Halla, we can’t get to him,’ said Falling Cloud breathlessly.
One of the tree-things began to pursue them, climbing vertically up the walls of ice. The other loped towards Wulfrick.
‘We need to leave,’ snapped Falling Cloud, grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘Now!’
They ran. Rexel, Halla, Heinrich and Rudolf. Five men were dead and Wulfrick could not survive against all three tree-things. She wanted to turn and help him, but once she’d begun running it was all she could do. Her mind recoiled from what she’d seen, hiding in a corner of her head, just wanting to scream and hide. What the fuck were those things?
***
Halla stood by the huge door to her great hall, looking nervously into the stark white morning. Her eyes were haunted and she refused any offer of a seat or a drink. Her men, still wearing their armour and clutching weapons, were all covered in a flaky, black substance, too thick to be blood. It clung to their skin, hair and under their fingernails, giving the appearance of them having rolled in mud and let it dry.
‘They weren’t trees,’ mumbled Heinrich Blood. ‘Tentacles... mouths... just black.’
‘Talk sense,’ snapped Brindon Crowe. ‘Halla, please, come sit. Talk to us. What was it?’
‘Halla,’ said Alahan, ‘is Wulfrick dead?’
She turned away from the door for the first time and looked at him with moist red eyes. With a shaking hand she pushed a stray tendril of red hair from her face and swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know. I – we – couldn’t get to him.’
Falling Cloud stood and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him and then they fell into a tearful embrace. She broke down on her captain’s shoulder, hearing Wulfrick’s frenzied roaring in her head.
‘Easy,’ said Rexel, wiping away his own tears. ‘We’re still al
ive... we’re still alive.’
She had seen so much, weathered so many trials and defeated so many enemies. But the trees... Could they kill Wulfrick? If a hundred men had attacked the axe-master, Halla would have put her bet on Wulfrick. What could a black tree do that a hundred men could not?
Brindon Crowe took charge. The old priest made sure Halla, Rexel and Heinrich were seated comfortably while Tricken directed servants to stoke the fire-pits, allowing warmth to flow over the hall and through shivering limbs. The last survivor of Halla’s patrol, Rudolf Ten Bears, was still outside, clinging to his axe at the top of Kalall’s Steps. He’d refused to move and appeared to be guarding something – perhaps himself.
‘Rudolf’s lost his mind,’ said Halla. ‘He ranted the whole way back.’
‘He puked at the gates,’ offered Tricken. ‘He’s thrown his axe... just give him time.’
Water and cloths were brought into the hall and they cleaned black ichor from their armour and faces. It came off only reluctantly and Halla scrubbed manically at her hands.
‘It won’t come off,’ she mumbled. ‘It won’t.’
Rexel grabbed her hands. The cloud-man had a stoic expression, as if his mind was stronger than the others’. He held Halla’s black-smeared hands and made her look at him.
‘Halla, I’ve seen you fight and kill to defend yourself, your men, your land... I’ve seen you survive the dragon fleet, Ro Hail, the ice spiders, Jarvik, the Bear’s Mouth – don’t let a fucking tree bring you low.’
She tried to smile, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her stained hands. ‘It won’t come off,’ she repeated.
Heinrich Blood joined them and they fell together in a tight clinch, breathing heavily, with Falling Cloud whispering to his two battle brothers. It took a few minutes, but gradually her breath became less pained and the sound of Wulfrick’s shouting faded from her mind.
