The Wolf

by Alaric Longward

  “They are different,” Bero said. “Much different than the Semnones were, and they were queer, with queer people in Stone Home. There are lots of odd looking people in the village. Riders, Suebi with knotted hairs, and men with colorful trousers.” He was nodding. “Celts,” Bero said. “They are Celts. Boii. Rich Celts live across those mountains. Traders, more than warriors.”

  “How do you know?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “I listen. His son told me.”

  “He spoke nothing to us or even his father,” Ingulf said. “I suppose you will be useful, you slippery tongued bastard.”

  He smiled. “Heinrich told you as well. Those mountains guard the land of the Boii, and they are rich in trade that comes down the up the rivers from north and those plains far in the west. Where Stone Home was a fine trading center where many roads met, it is here where the worlds truly begin to meet,” he explained like a father lecturing a stupid child. He spoke slowly, and I wanted to slap him. “You weren’t listening. The Danubius is the border for Rome, but they have lots of traders and power with the Boii. Slaves and beasts go south form the lands of the Celts.”

  I sighed. “I was listening," I said. “Heinrich spoke of the Boii, but never mentioned them being weak warriors and great traders.”

  He shrugged. “You might have thought me incapable to rule, but I am not a fool. I listen. I ask questions. I suppose that is why you employed me in this ruse. I have the brains to get answers. You think this vitka will know anything?”

  I nodded. “He will. But you get close to the Sarmatians. Tamura, her captains. Tell them nothing of us, but try to be useful and clever in your speech.”

  “Of course, indeed,” Bero said. “Just remember. We work together, and when Maino and Erse are free, you will deal with him. The first wound, and—”

  “I fight him,” I said. “And no first wounds. It is to the death. And you shall keep your scheming mind in check, or I shall find you.”

  He nodded. “I will do my best.”

  We rode through the middle of the Wolf’s Field, and rode for Akkas, the man who wanted to be a king, and for his Sarmatians guards, and Roman secrets.

  The land would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER 6

  The land began to elevate as we rode for the hall. There was, we noticed, a large village nestled by the woods and around the Wolf Hall, and the land around it had been churned into mud. All along the wood’s edges, tents and camps dotted the land. Many fires burned across the land. The weather was pleasant, and the rays of Sunna stroked our necks as the horses whinnied. It was nearly midday.

  “I don’t like it,” said Ingulf. “I just do not.”

  I snorted. “You wouldn’t like a woman with tits to kill for, and you’d probably hate it if Woden offered you Sleipnir as a steed. You’d spit on his spear, too, you suspicious lout. You would probably frown if you were made the king of demi-gods and a father of Midgard itself. We are doing well.”

  “Ware,” Ingulf muttered. “Here we go.”

  I noticed them. We had arrived at a southern end of the valley and fields and rode on resolutely. The riding contest was over, and many richly armored and armed men were standing around a large hall. There seemed to be no feast, and those we saw were dour and ready for war.

  “They await Heinrich,” Bero said softly.

  “Aye,” I agreed. “They get us, instead. See, they smell trouble.”

  Indeed, many turned to look at us as we arrived, all around the field. There were warbands marching near and riding in the woods, and many faces were looking at us. Amid the chiefs, many men were walking forth to see, if we had red shields. When they saw we didn’t, they didn’t move, but kept staring.

  Near the hall, there was something we had not seen before. It was the splash of color we had seen earlier.

  “It is…” I wondered and squinted my eyes. “What is that?”

  “Dangerous. It is dangerous,” Ingulf said.

  Bero was nodding.

  Ingulf wasn’t talking about the dozen riders guiding their horses for us. He was talking of the Romans.

  It had to be Romans, I was sure of it.

  We were looking at a lofty tent with gilded posts. It was red and huge, almost as large as the hall, and half hidden in the woods. There were armored guards in splendid chain, gold glimmered on the men’s necks. They had bronze helmets, round shields, trimmed beards, and heavy shields. There were twenty or more of them, all identically armed and armored, and they wore pale-red capes. They had bracers of silver, and their horses, corralled next to the tent, were tall and powerful.

  “Soldiers?” I wondered. “They are Roman soldiers?”

  “Shit,” Ingulf said softly. “Perhaps. Looks like a war-tent for the gods, but one of them is coughing, so they are mortal enough. They are short as well. No god would take such short men to service.”

  They were not that short, but they did look different. They were robust, but shorter than our men, and their skin was darker.

  Bero was whistling. “He is right. It looks like Donor’s own dwelling. I’ve never seen a…tent? Yes. A tent like that. Have you seen—” he said and waved his hand. “Of course, you haven’t. Only seen your arse. Those must be the Romans. Look, their horses have horned saddles.”

  “You can stick such a horn up your arse,” I said with tension. “Of course, they are Romans. What else could they possibly be.”

  “Slaves,” Bero said stiffly, insulted. “Do you see them? There are pens of them.”

  There were wagons near the horses. They were heavily guarded and had dozens of prisoners.

  “Do you see him?” Bero said chokingly.

  “Erse?” I wondered. “Or you shit-footed boy?”

  He snorted. “The boy, of course! No, I cannot…can you?” he answered.

  I let my eyes go over the people sitting in the caged wagons. I saw only shadowy faces and lumps of still bodies. “I cannot be sure. They are here to buy slaves, as well as to scheme. We’ll have to deal with Akkas to make sure. Remember your place, Bero.”

  He nodded. “Miserable way to treat them. They must be exhausted.”

  “Not as exhausted as I was in the care of Iron Eye in the Winter Island. That looks like a feast in comparison,” I said darkly.

  He went quiet. He knew it was true.

  We kept riding for the hall, and the riders that were coming for us were in no hurry. I gave one last look at the wagons and saw many were women, most young, and no children could be seen. Akkas’s deals with Rome were profitable, but I had a feeling Bero was right. These people would not enjoy their slavery and had no hope for coming back home.

  “That might be him,” Ingulf said stiffly. “Look fast.” We would have to stop in a moment, for the riders were spreading out and hefting their spears and stopping. “Iazyges. See? Look, there.”

  I looked past the Hermanduri line. There, next to the Wolf Hall, a great number of men were sitting on their horses, looking down at us. They had blond hair and tall lances, round wicker shields, heavy leather armor, and two were hulking bastards in terrifyingly tall horses. “The riders of Tamura.”

  “Looks like a party of damned spirits,” I said, uneasily touching my weapon.

  The Iazyges were speaking to a tall Germani amid them, who was nodding back at them. I couldn’t see the man well. So, I wondered at the riders. The Sarmatians were all powerful riders on small horses, with long, wild hair, and many had their beards trimmed. Tattoos were plentiful in their arms and faces. Their bows were study and holstered. Others had a rope, a long one draped on the sides of their mounts, and while it had many uses, I rather suspected it was meant for war, not only for corralling beast or hapless prisoner. Daggers, swords, and golden jewelry gleamed in their wrists and around their necks.

  “Shit,” Ingulf whispered. “See?”

  “What?” I asked. “Does one have a cock hanging out?”

  “No,” he hissed. “Not at all, in fact. Many are women. You
ng women.”

  I squinted. “You didn’t see what happened last night, did you?” I whispered, my mouth tight with fear. Sitting with the group were at least four younger women. Tall, lithe, beautiful in a wild way, they looked even more ferocious as the men. Two wore robes, and I was sure one of them, a slightly older, short woman with a fierce red-blonde hair hanging to her waist, would be Tamura, who had lost some kin that night. I watched her, and she watched me, and for some reason, I knew she knew me.

  I wondered if my luck had run out.

  Tribes worshipping gods of fire and swords would not fear the Bear of Lok.

  I saw the Germani walking forward, pushing past the Sarmatians. He had two, very tall men behind him, both holding spears, and their faces were painted black. They looked like twins and seemed to be so close to Akkas, their cocks likely touched him. Akkas himself was short, wide shoulders, and had a bristling brown hair. He was armored in chain, carried a shield, and had a troll-like face, heavy and brooding. I lost sight of him as he turned to speak to the Sarmatians.

  I stopped my horse. Ingulf did as well. We waited as the Hermanduri stared at us. The lot were staring at us intently. One, a man sitting under his hood, was eating a bit of dried meat and looked supremely bored. He was short and thin and seemed to be thinking and waiting for his prey to make a mistake. There were no threats, and silence ruled the field.

  Bero looked nervous and was about to speak. I rode to him and slapped him. He went quiet and rode to the side. I pointed a finger at the man who was eating. I sat up in my saddle and spoke loudly. “Where is Heinrich, the lout who calls himself the Red Raven? I would have words with the goat-loving shit.”

  The men stared at me intently, some with surprised humor. The hooded man was shrugging and wiped his greasy fingers on his pants. “Heinrich? The Thiuda Heinrich? You seek the man who sits, or sat, in the Wolf Hall beyond.”

  I spat. “Is that his hall? Looks fit for a thief. A warrior would live in a braver abode, with fewer men around him.” I got up and shouted over the men’s shoulders. “Heinrich! Come here, Thiuda!”

  Silence. I saw Akkas was turning and gesturing. Tamura was shaking her head.

  I cursed and yelled again. “Come, now! Does he fear me so? Drag the thieving drunk out of his shit-built hall! He has a meeting! A meeting with a sword!”

  Another man, thick and with a vest of furs, spat and spoke. “He is not there.”

  “Oh? Is he not?” I laughed. “Did you check under his bed? Behind his seat? He might, who knows, be hiding in a cellar?”

  The man chuckled. “He is the king of goats, indeed, and many call him a thief and a coward. You are unwise to ride here with such words, but you are lucky, for things are changing. He is not here. He should be, and men have been seeking him, but he isn’t.” The hooded man shifted on his horse. “So, who are you? Hermanduri with a grudge? An outsider? Did he call you bad names, or did he actually steal from you?”

  I shrugged and took a ragged breath. “He dared call me no names, other than ‘friend’ and ‘ally.’”

  The thin man was nodding. “He has no friends, and his allies are growing fewer by the day.”

  I looked around. “No red shields in sight.”

  “He still lives in the hall,” the man said. “But his men are not here, and neither is he. It is the day of the Thing; we should all be here. Sacrifices were held last night, Woden and Tiw blessed us all, a meal was had, but he wasn’t here. He sent word he would be here today. And now, there is only you. What happened? I assume it happened last night?”

  I nodded. “It did. We were being pursued by our relatives. Bandits and murderers, out to kill their rightful king.”

  He smiled. “A king? Germani don’t have kings, only Thiuda when there is war.”

  I shrugged. “In truth, what else is there but war? Even your Heinrich said he had ruled like a king for many years. I am of the blood. The best blood.”

  The cowled one nodded and pointed at a great mound in the middle of the Wolf Field. I had not noticed it before, but it was like a small hill. “That, is the mound of Thiuda, the great southern Hermanduri, called Badurad the Wolf, son of the Sky Wolf, son of Woden. It is a decade ago he died. Some say the Red Raven, his war-chief, killed him. None know for certain. What is certain is that he drove away all the best blood of the land, the sons of Badurad. Blood means shit, guest. Shit. Tell us the tale, and stop trying to look better than we are. I’m a war-chief in the land. I command two hundred men. I am Tyr. You have one.”

  I bristled at his insolent tone and spat. Then, I spoke on. “We met him, and he offered us hospitality. That sort of hospitality a wolf might offer a rabbit. I should not wonder if he killed the old king of yours. When I asked his help, he granted it. He led us to battle, and we attacked. Then, we were all attacked.”

  The hooded man nodded and glanced up to the hall. He turned back. “Go on.”

  “We fought, and he fled,” I said. “I nearly died, but he didn’t. I barely made my way out of the trap and escaped the people who attacked us.”

  “Who were they?” he asked, cocking his head.

  I shrugged. “Odd people. Never seen their like before. Riders, who…” I looked up. He grinned. “They? Were they—”

  “Do not challenge them, guest,” he said. “They are not from these parts, and they have their ways. You were unlucky, perhaps? You need no new feuds, though, judging by the moaning in their camps, they might have a feud against you. Someone died. Red Raven, man. Speak.”

  I swallowed my anger and spoke. “They have their ways? Aye. I, too, have mine. Red Raven was not where we had left our gear. A servant of mine was. Dead. Throat slit. Our horses, stolen. My wealth, taken. Even my ring.”

  He smiled. “You trusted the wrong man.”

  “I wonder,” I snarled. “I know not. I know he likely stole our gear, or someone else did. I do wonder, since you speak to me like I were a turd on a horse.”

  The man addressed me like he would a dog. “You wonder? Wonder away, but do it silently. I’m a man for Akkas, and the one who does the wondering in these parts. My thoughts have meaning, you see, and consequences. Yours? Not at all. What ring?”

  I put my hand in a fist. “The one that’s missing. The great ring of the north, Woden’s gift to men. The ring that belongs to my family.”

  “Your family were hunting you.” He laughed. “Perhaps it wasn’t yours, but theirs? Nay. I refuse to—”

  “You have an odd accent, and perhaps I misunderstood,” I retorted. “Did you say you refuse?”

  “You, also, have a very odd accent,” he answered, and tilted his head. “Where do you hail from? Some shit-hold in the north, you said?”

  The man with a vest turned to look up towards Akkas. The man on top, ringed by Sarmatians, was walking forward, unable to hide his curiosity.

  I scratched my beard and tried to look pleased. “From one shit hole to another, I have traveled. There was a war up there. We are Goths, quarreling with Saxons and other scum.”

  “I know of no such tribes,” he said, and looked away, bored. “I was going to tell you I refuse to take sides in your feuds over some damned ring and a dead man. You should take it up with others.”

  “I am happy to,” I told him. “Many great warriors are fleeing the north, and I am one of them. My feud is worth listening to. Red Raven agreed to aid me, but betrayed me. Where is he?”

  The man with a vest shifted in his saddle. “Not here. We told you. Look. Perhaps you could take your grievances up with Akkas and the Thing. We are sitting down today. He might offer you hospitality in his hall. Just do not blame him for your grievances.”

  I shrugged. “I’m more than happy to do so. I have things to say about the Red Raven, and if he steps up, I’ll shove my sword up his arse.”

  They grinned.

  And then, a horn was braying.

  It echoed across the Wolf Field and had an instant effect on the men. The hooded one hesitated, pointed a finger at
me, and then to the side, where a throng of men were getting up. “He comes. Keep your mouth shut. This matter is bigger than yours, and you will wait for your turn. I will tell Akkas about you, but be prepared. There might be a battle here today.”

  They rode away like the wind, and I guided my horse aside, where men, hundreds and hundreds, were gathering. They were all men of Akkas, many war-chiefs and champions stood there, holding Roman weapons, and wearing Roman armor, and we made our way amongst them.

  Ingulf was shaking his head. “You are very good, Maroboodus. Sometimes lying comes so easily to you, I wonder if you are a Germani at all.”

  I smiled and watched the field.

  Far, beyond the gravemound, a mass of thousands of men was riding and marching. Red flashed amongst them, as the Red Raven was coming to give his answer to his foe.

  CHAPTER 7

  For the next hour, we were largely ignored. We were given mead and water by a grinning man in a wolf’s fur tunic, and we watched as a massive number of Akkas’s men arrived in the field from the woods. It was an army.

  “How do they feed them?” Ingulf muttered.

  “Horses and cows,” Bero said. “It is just a matter of being prudent and wise.”

  We watched hundreds of the women of the warriors sitting behind them in the woods and around the halls and the village. They were uncommonly tired. They had to do much of the work.

  “That’s Red Raven out there!” I called out to everyone. “The coward!”

  They were nodding and not really forming a battle-line. They were standing in ragged ranks, mixed ranks, some on horses, most not. They were simply there to show themselves. Apparently, they expected a battle to be something they would have time to prepare for.

  I pulled at the wolf-fur. “Aren’t they afraid the bastard will just simply form a column and attack Akkas?”