by A. J. Smith
‘I gave you an order, Master Wulfrick.’ Halla didn’t yet feel totally comfortable giving orders to the fearsome axe-master of Fredericksand, but she tried to disguise her unease whenever she had to appear commanding.
‘Yes, you did,’ he said with a smile. ‘You know, you’re getting quite good at this, one-eye.’
She glared at him. ‘I’ve castrated men for calling me that... and Rexel’s right, that armour stinks.’
‘So do I... we belong together.’ His smile was now very broad.
‘Wulfrick,’ she said, in a disapproving tone of voice.
‘I know, I know – get the men ready.’
He strode back a few ranks until he was standing within the company of Fjorlanders. Oleff Hard Head came to join him and a few words were exchanged between the two before Halla’s orders were carried out. Almost in unison, the company began to heft axes and hammers and to fan out across the snowy ground. They had emerged from the rocky gullies a few hours previously and the ground was now level enough for them to form up properly. Oleff, Wulfrick and Heinrich Blood emerged through the line of battle-brothers and took their places next to Halla.
‘What needs killin’?’ asked Oleff, with a violent look in his eye.
‘Not sure yet,’ replied Halla. ‘Let’s hope, nothing.’
She turned to Heinrich. The young novice of Rowanoco was holding a fur-wrapped short bow and, at Wulfrick’s urging, had stopped attempting to use his axe. ‘Will you stand, Master Blood?’ she asked.
‘At your shoulder every step of the way, my lady,’ he replied. The words were spoken with conviction, though the young man’s hands shook as he nocked an arrow to his bowstring. ‘Though I wish old Father Crowe were here.’
Wulfrick snorted with amusement. ‘Brindon would already be running at whatever’s up there, swinging his hammer and frothing at the mouth.’ A low murmur of amusement rippled through the men, most of whom either knew Brindon Crowe or had at least heard of the old priest of Tiergarten’s fearsome reputation.
‘Let’s concentrate on those men who are here,’ said Halla, silencing her men. ‘If we make it to Tiergarten, you can all tell Crowe how much you missed him. Until then, keep your mouths shut.’
They waited. Halla looked along the line of men – two hundred armed battle-brothers, each looking meaner and angrier than the next. Word of the situation had spread quickly and the few cloud-men of Hammerfall in the company were vibrating with anger at the plumes of smoke rising from the Vale. The rest stood with weapons drawn, waiting for the order to advance or for Falling Cloud to return with news. Rexel and his twenty men were now out of sight and had entered the tree line of the Wolf Wood.
‘Death comes to us all,’ muttered Heinrich, largely to himself. ‘But we need not fear. Rowanoco the Earth Shaker sits in his hall beyond the world to welcome his fallen warriors. We will drink with the Ice Giants before we feel fear.’
Halla and Wulfrick both looked at him and nodded with respect. ‘We will drink with the Ice Giants before we feel fear,’ they repeated together.
Then a sound reached the axe-maiden’s ears. It was distinctive and left little room for doubt. She heard a blade shearing steel, immediately followed by a death rattle, the unpleasant gurgle that signified the end of whoever had been struck. It was a distant sound, but it was all Halla needed.
‘Forward!’ she roared.
The company of Fjorlanders erupted into a sprint and, with Halla and her captains at the front, they approached the burning village. She kept her eye open and her wits about her, ready to assess the situation as it developed. As they reached the tree line, the source of the smoke became all too apparent and her men gasped. Strung up against hastily erected pyres were the charred remains of several hundred men, women and children. Around them, the buildings of their village had been all but destroyed, with the flickering remains of wood and thatch showing how recently the attack had taken place. No cattle or crops could be seen, leading Halla to think that whoever had assaulted the village had done so in order to take supplies. A clatter of armour came from nearby, but the sight of the burning Ranen pushed other thoughts from her mind.
‘The banner of Ursa,’ growled Wulfrick, pointing to a pennant hanging over the largest pyre.
Halla blinked and focused beyond the fires to take in the thick fabric banner. The heraldry consisted of a bear’s claw on a red background and indicated who had been behind the attack. Why the battle-brothers of Jarvik should have assaulted a village so far from their home was a mystery to Halla but, before she could puzzle it out in any detail, she saw Falling Cloud and his men. Several were already dead and the remainder were retreating quickly across the snowy ground. Behind them charged a sizeable force of Fjorlanders, wearing the same bear’s claw heraldry on their tabards.
‘Rexel,’ roared Wulfrick. ‘No need to run.’
Falling Cloud grinned at the presence of his friends and held up a hand to signal his men to stop retreating. The battle-brothers of Jarvik numbered around a hundred warriors and showed no signs of backing down at the sight of Halla’s company. A quick look at her men told the axe-maiden that they were equally prepared to fight.
‘This is the land of the high thain,’ shouted a man of Jarvik, ‘and we claim it in the name of Lord Rulag Ursa, Bear Tamer of Fjorlan and killer of Algenon Teardrop.’ The man’s voice carried far.
Wulfrick, whose massive stride had taken him to the front of the company, began to roar unintelligible sounds of anger and foam appeared at the corners of his mouth. The axe-master had been Algenon’s friend and his closest ally, and he had not yet forgiven himself for letting his thain die. Halla sped up alongside him and saw an unknowable, depthless rage in his eyes.
Then came a colossal roar as the battle frenzy of Rowanoco entered the axe-master. The ground seemed to shake as the rest of her men joined in, roaring and sending a shiver of pride down Halla’s spine.
‘You die for that,’ shouted Oleff.
‘And for the betrayal of your master,’ offered Heinrich in as loud a voice as Halla had ever heard from the young novice.
‘We fight for Fjorlan.’ The last words were roared by Halla just before the two forces clashed.
The battle-brothers of Jarvik were outnumbered and outmatched, though their ferocity showed they were no mere raiding party. Many carried glaives, long-handled weapons with serrated axe blades, the signature weapon of Jarvik.
Halla’s first axe blow severed a man’s arm, her second opened another’s stomach and her third cleaved in a skull. Wulfrick quickly moved beyond her until he was amidst the press of enemies, swinging his two-handed axe from high above his head, killing men as if they were unarmed children. Soon, a wide channel of snow had turned red as Halla’s company cut through the battle-brothers of Rulag the Betrayer.
Falling Cloud was quick and deadly with his two hand-axes, using speed rather than strength to deflect blows and cripple enemies. The axe-master of Hammerfall severed more legs and arms than heads, and a trail of maimed bodies lay behind him. Oleff Hard Head, the old chain-master of Fredericksand, was more brutal but no less effective as he employed head and elbows along with his axe. Heinrich Blood stood a little way past the others, killing men from a distance with his short bow. The novice of Rowanoco was becoming a good bowman.
Oaths were shouted from both sides – swearing and guttural growls of challenge and vengeance, but the outcome was not in doubt. Halla spared a glance to her side to take in the efficiency of her company as the men unleashed weeks of pent-up aggression. Their last serious fight had been against the Purple clerics and king’s guardsmen outside Ro Hail, and these men of Jarvik were easy foes in comparison.
Then they broke. The battle-brothers of Ursa, fearsome and violent though they were, began to realize there was little but death awaiting them should they continue to fight. A few at first, then more, until the remaining men of Rulag the Betrayer turned and attempted to flee.
‘Don’t run,’ growled Oleff, ‘w
e wanna be friends.’ He punctuated the last word by burying his axe in the skull of one of the fleeing men.
Wulfrick showed no sign of stopping the fight and used his lengthy stride to run down the nearest retreating foes. Other members of Halla’s company roared their victory to the skies as they mopped up the remaining warriors who had not escaped.
When the sounds of battle had ceased, it turned out that fewer than a dozen had got away, and they were being pursued by the frenzied figure of Wulfrick.
‘Let him go,’ Halla said calmly to Heinrich who was following the huge axe-master. ‘He’ll burn himself out of his rage soon enough. In the meantime it’ll do him good to release some anger.’
Panting and bloodied men stood all around her and she was gratified to see that fewer than ten of her company had died. Falling Cloud had a nasty cut down his cheek and several others carried superficial wounds, but their victory had been an overwhelming one.
‘Oleff,’ she shouted, ‘get over here.’
The old chain-master was sweating heavily and picking chunks of enemies’ flesh from his matted beard. ‘Good bit of afternoon exercise, Halla,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Almost made me forget about that.’ He pointed to the smouldering corpses of the villagers.
‘Round up any prisoners. I want a little chat with our brethren from the plateaus of Ursa,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Let’s find out why they chose to slaughter women and children.’
Oleff screwed up his face into a look of mischievous relish and nodded. ‘At once, my lady.’
‘For Teardrop!’ Falling Cloud roared in victory. ‘And Summer Wolf.’
Rexel was using his voice to good effect, keeping up the men’s morale as they looked at the bodies both of their own fallen allies and the treacherous battle-brothers of Jarvik. Whatever else those men might have been, they were still Ranen, and that gave the conflict a bitter aftertaste.
When Rexel had finished shouting calls of victory and honour he returned to stand by Halla, leaving the rest of the company to kill the wounded who couldn’t survive and to assemble the supplies that could be salvaged from the dead.
‘I wasn’t aware you held such goodwill towards my house, Rexel,’ Halla said, querying his use of her family’s name.
‘Like it or not, my Lady Summer Wolf, this is your company. You’ve pledged for Alahan and the house of Teardrop, yes?’ It had never been explicitly stated.
‘I’ve pledged for Fjorlan,’ she stated proudly, ‘and will not accept Rulag the Betrayer.’
Falling Cloud nodded. ‘That’s close enough... until we find Alahan. Then you might find you need to offer a more definite oath of support.’
He was probably right. She had met Alahan Teardrop a few times and he had never struck her as the kind of man to accept half-hearted support. However, try as she might, Halla could not forget that Algenon Teardrop had killed her father.
She turned back to the man of Hammerfall. ‘Rexel, get those bodies taken down and have Heinrich check the buildings for survivors.’
He nodded with a thin smile and went about his duties, leaving Halla Summer Wolf, axe-maiden of Rowanoco and heir to the hall of Tiergarten, to ponder her situation.
Her company did not pause to rest and she inferred they were deliberately occupying themselves in order not to have to think about the killing of Ranen by Ranen. The stakes to which the common folk of Hammerfall had been tied were disassembled, the dead collected together, and the few surviving battle-brothers of Jarvik tied up and closely guarded. They had eight prisoners in various states of injury, from missing limbs to light bruises, and Halla kept them waiting under the watchful eye of Oleff Hard Head before she deigned to interrogate them.
Wulfrick returned quickly, a look of exhausted confusion on his face as he came out of his battle rage. He carried several dead men with him, dragging them casually behind him as he trudged back to join the rest of the company. His eyes still showed his anger at the situation in Fjorlan, the death of Algenon, the loss of the dragon fleet, and the treachery of Rulag Ursa.
‘Halla,’ barked Oleff from where he guarded the prisoners. ‘The hairless cunt on the end wants a word. He’s an axe-master of Ursa apparently.’
She peered across to where the man sat. He was completely bald, with no hair or beard, and his appearance stood out among so many hairy-faced Fjorlanders. Halla glared at him for a moment, before striding deliberately across the shell of a village.
‘Speak,’ she said plainly.
‘I speak to men, one-eye. Who is commander of this company?’ The man of Ursa had a number of minor wounds but was otherwise unhurt. He had requested to speak with whoever was in command and was taken aback now by the presence of a woman.
Without waiting for an order, Oleff smashed the hilt of his axe into the speaker’s face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling to the ground. ‘She is Halla Summer Wolf, you treacherous bastard.’
‘Thank you, Oleff Hard Head,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now, I’ll say it again... speak.’
The axe-master of Ursa did his best to straighten himself, but the pain of his newly broken nose made him look up through watering eyes and he did not attempt to stand.
‘The Bear Tamer of Fjorlan, High Thain Rulag Ursa, has claimed these lands. By what authority do you kill his men?’ He spat out the words and Halla could see he was a fanatically loyal follower of the Betrayer.
‘Your master is a traitor to Fjorlan, to Rowanoco and to the houses of Teardrop and Summer Wolf. That is all the authority we need.’ She glared down at him.
‘What’s waiting for us at the Bear’s Mouth?’ asked Oleff with a lighter blow from his axe’s hilt to emphasize the question.
The Bear’s Mouth was a fork in the river that marked the southern border of Jarvik. It was a naturally defensible position in a narrow gully which was almost impossible to bypass.
The man of Ursa grinned, showing bloody gums and missing teeth. ‘Grammah Black Eyes awaits you,’ he stated with confidence, ‘the new thain of Hammerfall.’
Halla was glad that Falling Cloud was out of earshot as she had no doubt he would take exception to Rulag appointing a new thain for the realm of Rexel’s birth. ‘Rulag too busy to bring his law personally?’ she asked.
‘The Lord Bear Tamer sits in the high thain’s hall in Fredericksand, one-eye. His son hunts down the son of Teardrop and he leaves the lands of Ursa and Hammerfall to the governance of loyal men.’
Halla and Oleff exchanged a look. ‘He’s been as useful as he’s going to be, I would guess,’ she said.
Oleff grinned and, without hesitation, buried his axe in the man’s head, killing the axe-master of Ursa instantly and sending a spray of blood across the ground. The other captives winced at the sudden display of violence and looked at Halla and her captain with terror in their eyes.
‘I can put up with one insult,’ she said in a commanding voice, ‘but two gets you killed.’ Halla made sure that all of the prisoners had heard her, before continuing. ‘This streak of troll piss tells me that your lord is in Fredericksand. He tells me that the Betrayer has claimed the realms of Teardrop, Ursa and Hammerfall.’ She was shouting now, letting her voice carry to her own men as well as the prisoners. ‘I am Halla Summer Wolf, heir to the hall of Tiergarten, and I say that Rulag Ursa is a murderer, a coward and I name him Betrayer.’ She growled the last word. ‘The realm of Summer Wolf does not recognize this new high thain and we will die before we put down our axes and bend the knee to Rulag.’ Her last words were directed at her own men and she received a cheer of approval for her bluster. Wulfrick had a look of determination on his face as he listened to the axe-maiden. Halla spat on the ground in front of her to seal her oath and turned sharply away from the remaining prisoners and the pool of blood spreading from the dead man.
‘Strong words,’ said Wulfrick respectfully, as she approached. ‘Your father had a silver tongue as well.’ The warrior was bloodied and his skin pale and clammy. Halla surmised that he was h
anging on to hope by the thinnest of threads. ‘You know what loyalty is, Halla?’ he asked quietly.
‘What is loyalty, Master Wulfrick?’
‘Fighting for the son of the man who killed your father...’ he paused, ‘because you know it’s the right thing to do.’
Halla was not yet fully reconciled to where her loyalties lay. She would oppose Rulag with her last breath – having seen his treachery first hand in the faces of a thousand drowned men of the dragon fleet – but she knew that Algenon had killed her father for no other reason than to secure the rescue of his brother, Magnus, from Ro Canarn. If Algenon or his son were worthy of her loyalty, they would have to prove it, and one of them had died without doing so.
‘I fight for Fjorlan, Wulfrick, as I hope you do. That’s where our loyalties lie and that’s why we’ll carry on fighting.’ Deception was not in her nature and, of all her captains, the axe-master of Fredericksand was the one she needed most. She would not lie to him or pretend that she would readily swear service to Alahan Teardrop – but luckily they were a long way from having to decide.
‘That’s fair,’ said Wulfrick. ‘But I swore loyalty to the house of Teardrop and I am Alahan’s man until my last breath.’
Halla nodded as she saw how deeply the words were meant. She knew that his father had turned against Ragnar Teardrop and had lost his family name as punishment. Lars the Enraged’s son, Wulfrick, had been allowed to remain alive provided he swore a lifetime’s service to the family of Teardrop. Oaths of this kind meant everything to the battle-brothers of Fjorlan, and Wulfrick’s commitment had led him to become axe-master of Fredericksand and friend to the late high thain.
She tried to smile. ‘Those also are strong words, but we need to keep these men alive a while longer. At least we know Alahan’s still alive. If he escaped Fredericksand and can get to Tiergarten...’
‘He’s still alive,’ interrupted Wulfrick. ‘Yes, that seems to be quite good news.’ The huge warrior closed his eyes and for a moment Halla thought she saw a tear. They remained silent as the men around them cleared away bodies and put out fires.
