The Oath Breaker: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  'Aye,' he said. 'Tear gave you a fine choice. Why didn't you take her offer?'

  I looked at him incredulously. 'To die?'

  He chortled. 'Oh, she offered the snake to you, no? No, that would be foolish. The other way of avoiding all of this.' He waved his hand around lazily. 'Buggering the hell off?'

  I shrugged. 'Why didn't I take coin, and go off to the woods like a filthy bandit? Leaving everyone I know?'

  He chuckled. 'Yes. A man who believes in the gods would take such an offer seriously, especially coming from a völva.'

  'Because I don't believe in the prophecy?' I said, morosely. 'The ring is a ring, my father is no Bear of world-breaking proportions, and I am no Raven of some god-cursed, twisted lie or drunken dream. Come! Look at me.'

  He grimaced. 'Indeed. I have looked at you. I do not agree. Well, I was late. Had I come earlier, I would have taken you away from your father.'

  'I am a hard man to take against my will, lord.'

  He looked at me strangely. 'You only think so. But I failed. Like Hulderic failed, with his son. Sad it is that Hulderic did not kill him when he was young. He could have strangled the bastard easily, no doubt. So much for that. Staying with this story, Hraban, well, it was your choice. The problem is grave. I think you would have chosen to stay, no matter if you were the most devout believer. I think you stayed because you are overly proud, willful to the point of being an idiot, quick to anger, and monstrously greedy.'

  I tried to get up in indignation, but he kicked me so I landed on my rear in a huff.

  'You are just that. I feel Woden's Rage in you, a gift for hardheaded fighters. You have no humility, being dangerous and selfish. Entirely different to others from your long line who have preceded you. Funny enough, you're much like your father, though he does not see it.'

  'Oh yes, I am a dangerous game piece,' I told him, sullenly. 'A boy who risks the world! Come now…'

  He rolled his eyes. 'A damnable game piece you are, and a dangerous one. Prophecy is a moving thing. Like our wyrd, fate, it depends on our orlog, the choices we make. You make one choice, and things can change. You take a long, pleasurable shit one day, and it is possible that the spinners make it so an arrow does not hit you the next day. A wind can change quickly, and things can be different for it. Do you get it, boy? The gods fear our choices.'

  'Woden…' I said savagely, 'does not fear.'

  He shook his head. 'Of course he does. He fears his mistake at our shoddy creation will undo all the finely woven worlds, and put others of lesser breed on the throne. It might be a better world, the new one. I grant you that. Forever your ancestors, who have faced the prophecy of the Bear and the Raven, have been stout-hearted and very noble. They have feared the gods, as they should. Gods are a bunch of sodden bastards. For a man who does not fear them, does not fear the terrible consequences. If mortals fail, gods fall. This is the curse of Odo's god, and it is a real thing.'

  I shook my head stubbornly. 'Tear thinks her god will rule after this thing would come to pass.'

  'You just do not believe. Hulderic was right to worry. Tear does not lie about her tainted blood. If the world ends, a new one is born, and there will be few left to inherit it. If Woden falls to Hel, it is possible that the ones to survive will be of Tear's lineage, of their god. Take them seriously.'

  I huffed and kicked at the dirt.

  'Theirs is a god who is trapped.' He looked strangely sad. 'He is trapped. But, for eons, he has desperately looked for a way out of his torture. Woden has forever muddied the waters and helped your family save this Midgard, but you make it hard for him.'

  I spat. 'Tell me, what should I do then?'

  He poked my chest again. 'You could try being a better man. Make sacrifices. Refuse the enemy, even when they threaten you with harrowing promises of loss, or beguiling promises of power. We need a man who is willing to be poor and blind, not content to die old and fat.' He shook his head. 'You run after petty vengeance, and look for dog-like approval. You seek silly trinkets, and mope about the impossible-to-change past and a father who is bent on his own stupid goals. You met your father, which is bad enough. The Bear roared. Your great-grandmother saw this happening, but Hulderic would not deal with Maroboodus. Therefore, he failed. Now, it is up to you, and I have little hope. Bah! You will learn the full prophecy one day, and so will he,' he glanced at Odo. 'If you work with them, you will make an enemy of me, boy. If you work against them, or at least try, you will be my friend, and I will aid you three times. If you heed me, you might do well.' He continued chipping away at the block of wood. 'It will not be easy. I want you to become a man who stops worrying about his low place and sad position.'

  I stood. 'Wulf wanted Draupnir's Spawn. If I get it, I can hide it.'

  He laughed raucously until he wiped tears off his cheeks. 'Ah, you have heard part of the riddle. Boy, in the end, it will be about you, not the silly ring. Prophecies are hard things to fathom. Hiding these things and thinking you can avoid the coming evil is naïve. You must leave, or grow up quickly, perhaps even die in your shifty father's mad schemes. However, I doubt you will leave us, so let the fates see how this will turn out. Gods help us.'

  I shifted uncomfortably, then started to walk away.

  'Hraban?' I froze as he looked at me keenly. 'Gods want to live. Hence, they have men and women trying to thwart you and Tear. Like Wulf, and others. Shayla, as well, the druid daughter of Vago. Fear her the most. She is both Germani and a Gaul. Young or not, she knows things. She will be ruthless. They will kill you, if they can. Perhaps not the weak Wulf, but the others might. They have been trying to kill Tear's kin for eons. Many, many have died. On both sides. It's a terrible mess.'

  'I can handle Wulf, and others,' I said, glowering at him, not sure I could, feeling hunted like a wounded rabbit. 'Why were you late?' I asked, shrugging off the sense of doom. 'Hulderic said—'

  'I am old. I do not move fast,' he told me morosely.

  I rolled my eyes, not believing his excuse.

  'Yes, I was drunk for three days at a wedding I was invited to. But it would not have changed anything if I was permanently bedded to you. The Chatti were looking for you. I cannot help you. Not with them. Happily, you have a seax, and know how to use it. Be a man, Hraban. Your grandfather wants to see you, alive.'

  'I have no seax,' I said, confused, wishing I had the long, thick dagger common to our people. Then my eyes bulged in surprise as I felt a weapon the length of my forearm in my loins. I stumbled, afraid it was unsheathed, and dropped my pants.

  Adgandestrius passed by and frowned at my stark nakedness as I stood before the old man.

  We were all silent for a second, and then Adalfuns growled at him. 'Do not let your strange imagination wonder, Prince. I have been married four times, and fancy women. Perhaps even your Albine? He claimed to be large, and I dared him to prove it. He lied.' The adeling went away, unconvinced, but Adalfuns just smiled at me. 'Hope they do not make songs about that. The Raven and the lecherous old man, eh? Would quite ruin our reputations. Go now.'

  I looked at him in wonder, nodded, and went away hurt at his insinuation that I was not large, and finally gazed at the weapon. It was in a sheath, it turned out. Later, I slept, dreaming of the recent dead and of a great bear dancing around them.

  Nihta came to me in the darkness. He was silent as a cat and devious as a rat. The alert Chatti guards did not notice him moving from one deep shadow to another shadow, and when they looked his way, Nihta did not move. I followed his progress with one eye open, and he noticed me looking.

  'Well, young lion,' he whispered as he got close. 'The Chatti are going to your grandfather, but I think they have already been there. I spied them yesterday, riding in wide circles, asking questions. They were looking for someone. And it is probably true the adeling will get his dowry for your head. They take us close, I think to Bero, and then give you over. So, we will go.'

  I rolled over silently, looking around. 'Where? Just you and me?'


  Nihta nodded. 'No horses. The fat man is suspicious, and put extra guards out there with the beasts. But worry not. I will get you to your grandfather.'

  He started smearing dirt on my face, making sure I carried no item that made noise, strapping my clothes so they were skin tight on me and would not catch stray twigs and unseen roots. His eyebrow shot up as he found the seax, but he said nothing about it.

  'I saw you at the Marmot's Ford. You will be what you want to be, if you learn how to survive and do not die of disease. You got the cunning of a fox and the strength of a bear. You just need to get past some hard years and survive many stubborn enemies, yourself not the least of them. So learn and follow me.'

  We slithered on our bellies, and to me, it seemed I made a horrific amount of noise. A Chatti guard was lounging near a tree, eating something tough, and we slipped ever so slowly by him, on our knees, one step at a time, one limb moving, and the other raising up, like animals. After an eternity, Nihta smelled the air, peering about like a silent forest mouse, he grinned and got up. We made it. Night was young, and we were free.

  Nihta clapped me hard on the back. 'Right. Let us go then. It is more than a day's ride to Hard Hill, but that is far away on foot while trying to hide. We will run. and trust fair Fortuna.'

  He took off in an unsteady trot, strapping his sword on his belt, grinning back at me with a blackened face. Harii, a night fighter he was, and now, so was I.

  'They have fine horses and terrific trackers. Won't they find us?' I asked, while starting to jog after him.

  He laughed. 'Maybe!'

  'They have dogs, Nihta,' I whispered.

  'The dogs are dead, Hraban, I killed them in their sleep, so we better not let them find us. There is no way to apologize for that to Hands,' he said.

  I felt cold shivers on my spine. The dead dogs promised death, or at least pain, if we were caught. We crossed the river with a stolen boat. We took to the rocky ground, went south, deviously not towards the Hard Hill, and ran through the night. An owl followed us, hopping from tree to tree. We stumbled along in the dark, more afraid of the Chatti than anything living in the fields and woods of the Marcomanni gaus. I was nauseous most of the time, and Nihta cursed me, but I kept up, barely.

  'It is good training for you. We will be running a lot in the future!' Nihta spat phlegm out of his mouth and nostrils.

  'You will train me? Is that what father said?' I asked, trying to draw breath.

  'I asked to train you.'

  'Hulderic,' I told him while stumbling on a rocky incline, 'has already trained me.'

  He grinned. 'Roman training is what you will need, boy. You will see the great difference.'

  We stopped at a small settlement, hiding at the edge of a field. It was not a rich house, and had a few ill-tended fields and some sheds. Most were in bad repair. Yet, it had a well-tended stable, and the corral held a horse. It was wary, smelling or sensing us, and whinnying gently, walking nervously back and forth. An ugly man showed up on the door, looking around with a cudgel in his hand, wearing nothing but a cloak.

  Hands followed him out of the cabin.

  We froze. Nihta was frowning and fingering his sword. 'He is good, truly good. Or lucky. However, you need to be both,' Nihta whispered. 'Luck is not overrated, Hraban.' Hands and the farmer conferred for a while, and the fat man clapped a hand on the shoulder of the farmer, handing him something. Then, the Chatti walked behind the cabin. We gazed at him riding away, looking around, alert.

  'We are still a few hours away from Balderich's town. With that horse, we can make it, if we are careful. And lucky!' He crept off, telling me to lie still in the tall grass.

  Soon, I saw him steal the horse with the aptitude of a god of thieves and then start to lead the confused horse away. I waited until I saw him beckon at me from near, sitting on the horse under a shading tree. The horse looked happy enough to be free of his former master.

  'Climb on. It's a nag, but it will have to do.'

  I did, and we got on a westerly course, towards Balderich's town.

  Before we disappeared from the field, the horse neighed loudly, and the man came out of his hall, staring at the corral, utterly bewildered, scanning the area haphazardly with his eyes. They fixed on us, and he took some involuntary steps forward.

  Nihta grinned at him from afar, I waved, and we both laughed. The peasant dodged inside, grabbed something, and we could see it was the same thing the fat bounty hunter had left him. He unrolled the package, looking at us grimly as he pulled out a brown stub of a horn, which he deliberately put on his lips, beckoning us to bring the horse to him.

  Nihta hit his heels on the horse's sides, and we stormed off.

  A wailing note trailed after us. It was returned south, north, and far off.

  Nihta cursed. 'Well, Raven, it is going to get nasty. Hold on!'

  He hit the heels on the horse's flanks, harder and harder, and the horse galloped, almost stumbling on the forest track. I held on to Nihta. We rode for a long hour, and another. The horse was shaking, wheezing, and clearly tiring. Then, on the far horizon, we saw a hill. A hazy hill next to Rhenus, lightly wooded and shrouded in smoke. It was the Hard Hill, filled with trees and painted buildings.

  It was named after my distant relative, Aristovistus, who, after fleeing the battle with God Caesar, the many tribes slaughtered and most splitting from his power, stood on top of that hill and saw how few of the Marcomanni survived. He died a hard death there as well, slain or of old age, the poems do not say.

  I heard a horse whinny. Dreading what I would see, I looked behind, and my heart froze. The Chatti prince, his party, and the bounty hunter were speeding behind us on fresh horses.

  'Nihta!' I screamed.

  He looked behind and hit the horse so hard, it neighed in surprise.

  The Chatti were gaining on us. The bounty hunter was grimacing as he sat on his Roman-style saddle, untying a rope with a weight. Nihta saw what the man intended and steered away from him, but the distance grew less.

  'Come on! Come easily, Hraban!' yelled the adeling of the Chatti as he spurred forward breathlessly.

  The hill was close, so close I could see some men looking from the closest buildings, and someone was on a horse. The prince was laughing madly, also taking a risk by trying to clutch me from the very mouth of the Marcomanni power.

  'We will not hurt you!' he screamed. 'Trust me!'

  I grinned back at him sarcastically, showing strength, and I almost slipped.

  Nihta leaned on me as the riders got ever closer. 'He lives on top, it's called the Red Hall, we cannot miss it. Whip the horse until it dies, and then run for it!' He guided my hands on the bridle and jumped off.

  I could see the riders rein their lathered horses, except for the bounty hunter who grimly kept closing on me. I looked back, and saw Nihta waving his hands at the milling horses, an act that spilled one rider painfully over the neck of the horse. Then he was dodging a cautious spear thrust from an angry Chatti. Some armed Marcomanni were advancing on them, spears held on guard, confused.

  I sped on, hearing rope whirling in the air as the fat man prepared to bring me down. I was in the village now. Men and women were dodging aside, a scared dog was barking at me, cursing slaves were ogling the sight of us ripping through the grass and yards of the halls, and a white-faced mother grabbed her toddler out of our way. I could see the impressive hall of a lord on top. Its timber had a curiously red-tinted shade. I was getting closer and closer. There was but a small wood between my goal and me.

  'Stop, fool! It is no use.' Hands was panting while twirling the weighted rope.

  'We can discuss it on top,' I screamed at him.

  He laughed, while throwing the rope. It tangled my horse's rear legs and quickly, so fast I could not register it, I was flying in the air, falling heavily. I hit the harsh ground, and my face kissed the turf painfully. There was a bone crunching sound from behind as the unfortunate horse rolled and hit an equally unfort
unate tree.

  I saw the bounty hunter stalking close by with rusty manacles, growling at some stray men who were approaching us cautiously. He got on his knee and placed the manacle on my wrist, eying the top of the hill carefully.

  'Off to the man who wants you then, boy. A nice, refreshing run though. Who is that man with you? One of your father's? I could use someone like him,' he talked as he was turning me.

  His surprise was complete when I pulled out my hidden seax, the dagger with the fat, long blade. Raging and despairing, I stabbed his thigh and then ripped it out. He screamed and stared at the shallow wound furiously. I clouted him on the head with the manacles, he fell heavily and I ran off, panting like an old dog, bruised with many hurts and jingling like a swamp spirit, my bloody nose sprinkling droplets on my chest and arms. I ran out of the woods, and could see the bounty hunter staggering behind me, but soon stopping and slinking behind a tree.

  There was a steady hand in front of me.

  I stopped and recognized Catualda's fat-lipped face. He was armored in fine leather, held an axe at ready, and was flanked by two large men.

  'Hraban?' he asked incredulously. 'Maroboodus's son? From the meeting? Wulf pointed you out before we left.'

  The Chatti prince was thundering up the slope.

  I turned on Catualda. 'My grandfather. Is he in?' I was fingering the seax as I moved around him. He looked down the slope, and did not move his hand, his men tense. I growled at Catualda. 'I will see him. I will talk to him. He is waiting to see me. No matter what, or who stands before me,' I said grimly, and I could feel rage building inside me. Woden's legs were pumping the dirt in my mind, his dance a savage one, and I was getting angry.

  'My father seems to want you, too?' he mused as he ogled over my shoulder.

  I nodded carefully and grinned maliciously.

  He shrugged and pursed his big lips, stroking his scratchy beard. 'In that case, your grandfather is inside. He is well, today at least.'

  He walked away, whistling, and I laughed happily. It seemed Catualda was not on good terms with his father.

  'You owe me, Raven,' he called out, mischievous bastard that he was.