He stopped. They had reached a fork in the trail. There was another camera perched on a trunk and Calder stared at it, again wondering what eyes lay behind.
‘Which way?’ the boy asked. ‘You can choose.’
Both paths looked identical, angling away from each other through the trees and thinning so that they would be forced to progress in single file. She feared their empty stillness. ‘Perhaps we should each take a different one? If we find anything we can shout to the other.’
Einar looked at her uneasily. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘We stay together.’
‘If we split, we’ll be more able to cover the ground. We could agree to meet back here in fifteen minutes once we’ve scouted both routes.’
Einar shifted his gaze between each path. ‘Safer to remain together.’
Calder wanted desperately to get away from him, but dared not flee down one of them in case he pursued. ‘Okay,’ she said, trying to sound resolute. ‘Let’s take the left, it’s leading in the direction of where the others must be.’
They stepped off and as the trees tightened around them, he stood aside and waved his arm to let her lead. She tried to make him go first, but he wouldn’t move and so she walked steadfastly ahead. Now she no longer looked to the side or worried about what perils might lie in front, she only listened for his tread behind and thought of his hands beneath his cloak, and her neck burned where she imagined his eyes upon her.
Punnr and Gulbrand had been walking for almost an hour. What little snow had managed to fall through the trees was now turning to slush and the path was treacherous underfoot. They reached a place where the woods opened out, but the ground between was boggy and sucked at their boots. Punnr swore as his leg sank up to the knee, but to his surprise, Gulbrand grabbed his arm and pulled him out. They made it to the other side and the trees arranged themselves back around a single path. Gulbrand strode ahead and Punnr followed.
‘Why does Ulf hate us Thralls so much?’ he found himself asking aloud.
‘Ulf is a friend to no one.’
‘But he’s detested us from the moment he set eyes on us in the abandoned warehouse.’
‘Isn’t the reason obvious?’
Punnr thought about it. ‘I goaded him that night.’
‘Ulf hates you because he’s spent years under the yoke of the Valhalla Schola, years of discipline and training. And what for? So he can get to this point – here and now – with a chance to enter Valhalla as a Thegn. And then you six Thralls turn up with a few months’ preparation and you’re offered the same opportunity. Do you think he finds that fair? Do you think he’s going to let you take his chance away?’ He shot Punnr a brief look. ‘Do you think any of us is?’
They came upon a stream and they had to track along the bank until they could find rocks to step across. It was precarious, but both made it to the other side dry. They walked back to the path where the trees were thinning. Punnr was watching his footing and didn’t notice that Gulbrand had stopped until he almost walked right into him. He froze behind the stationary figure and peered passed him. Ahead the track led into a clearing, where an ancient tree rose, its trunk the breadth of two men and its roots contorting across the ground. Laid out against the base of the trunk was a sack, two shields and two swords. But these weren’t the ponderous wooden training tools they had been using. They were iron, real and razor sharp.
Gulbrand looked from side to side, checking that the forest remained silent. Without a word, he began walking towards the tree. Punnr followed, quickening his pace. Gulbrand strode even faster and Punnr felt a sudden panic. They reached the tree together and both snatched a sword and faced each other. Punnr thought how weightless the blade felt compared to the wooden ones, but also how perfectly balanced and brilliantly sharp.
‘So are we supposed to kill each other now?’ he asked. ‘Is that how we get down to seven?’
Gulbrand nodded grimly. ‘Yes. Why do you think there’s a camera above your head?’
Christ. Punnr gripped his weapon and tried to think, not daring to take his eyes from his adversary.
‘However,’ Gulbrand continued cautiously, ‘I’m not sure it would be the most sensible course of action.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘With shields and working as a pair, we can defend ourselves effectively if we meet the others.’
‘And how long do you suggest we work as a pair? Just until my back’s turned?’
Gulbrand didn’t answer, but instead he straightened slowly, never taking his eyes from Punnr, and lowered his blade. ‘It’s our best chance of making it to the tower.’
Punnr struggled with his panicked mind. Get yourself on your own, Freyja had told them, but what Gulbrand was saying made sense. Better, at least, than a one-on-one life battle right there beneath that bloody camera.
‘Okay.’ He tried to sound confident and lowered his blade. The two men studied each other warily. ‘What’s in the sack?’
Gulbrand pulled at the cord, still watching Punnr, then took a quick look inside. ‘Provisions,’ he said. He hunched down on a root and placed his sword close beside him. Then he pulled out a flatbread and flung it over to Punnr. ‘There’s cheese as well. We eat a little now and take the rest with us. We don’t know if it will be our last.’
Brante had been following his companion at a distance for over an hour. They had exchanged no words since the gate, when Brante had introduced himself and even offered his hand. The man had replied to say he was Eluf, but he had been nervous and hostile, refusing to shake hands and wanting only to get through the gate. He was shorter than Brante, but broad at the shoulder and waist, and had a habit of clearing his throat and spitting.
When the horn cut through the silence, the Perpetual strode off at pace in the direction of the far hill. The land in this sector wasn’t forested for the first part and they had a clear line of progress down through the heather moorland towards the sloping valley bottom. Brante had been uncertain about his strategy. Should he angle away from the figure in front, put distance between them and then lose him altogether once they reached the treeline, or was it better to keep the man in sight? He went for the second option and followed Eluf down the slope, leaving about thirty yards between them.
Occasionally the Perpetual looked back, but mostly he peered from side to side as though searching for something, his cloak brushing the snow powder from the low heather. They crossed a stream and then an area strewn with boulders. The daylight strengthened, but the sun was lost behind a blanket of cloud which leached the land of colour, painting the whole scene in the black, white and grey pallet of an old photograph. Their russet-red cloaks were the only splash of contrast.
As time passed, Brante became more apprehensive. He felt exposed on the open hillside and didn’t like the way Eluf kept looking around. His companion was slanting northwards across the slope towards a forested area where the next pair had probably been let loose. On this open ground, the two of them would be spotted easily by the other group. Did that matter? He made up his mind that once they reached the trees, he would let the man get well ahead and then set off in a different direction. Better to be alone.
The stocky Perpetual was almost to the trees and was peering into them. Then he checked back at Brante and made a sudden change of direction, veering down the slope. Brante also altered his course and when the man realised he was still being followed, he broke into a run. What the hell? Brante thought, his heart spiking. He stared into the woods and checked behind, but he could see nothing untoward. What’s the bastard up to? He broke into a jog, tracking after the receding figure.
The man was moving faster, angling towards the trees further down the slope, wanting to get somewhere before his adversary. Brante threw himself forward. What the hell is he doing?
And then it was clear. Spears! Shields too. Positioned against a trunk so that anyone coming from the open land should detect them. Oh my sweet god! He accelerated. His long legs churned up the
yards. Feet don’t fail me now. Don’t catch on the heather and send me sprawling. The other man was labouring heavily across the ground, but he had a twenty-five-yard lead.
If the weapons had been a dozen paces further, Brante would have caught him. But they were not. He was too far behind. The Perpetual would get there seconds before him. Brante hit the brakes, his feet pedalling frantically on the slope. Got to get out of here, off this open ground! His ankles screamed as he veered towards the wood. Eluf reached the tree, slammed right into the trunk and grabbed both spears, then spun around and brought his right arm up ready to throw.
Brante fled across the last few metres of open ground, but it seemed to him now that his legs were as heavy as stone and his entire cloaked back stretched wide. Any moment the spear would thrust into his spine. There was a rush of air behind his neck and the smack of something into the heather upslope, and he knew the man had missed. The world rushed back to him and he flew into the forest. He ran blindly, crashing into trunks and slipping on the needle carpet. Spiky pine branches whipped at his face. His cloak slowed him and he wrenched at it, tearing the Odin clasp and leaving the garment caught on the branches. He thought the Perpetual would let him flee into the thick fastness of the woods, but then he heard the man in pursuit. He was coming at him low between the trunks, carrying the other spear.
‘Eluf, this is madness! Let’s take a spear and shield each and we can go together to the tower.’ But the time for bonding had been on the walk in.
Brante altered direction, crashed through a low-hung section of pine and weaved around more trees, but the mass of the forest flowed ahead. He grabbed a trunk and spun around. Eluf could never throw the spear in such conditions, but he could gut him if he got within stabbing range. Then something caught his eye at the edge of the trees.
He turned and fled deeper. Eluf came with him. He was breathing heavily, but his smaller stature made it easier for him under the canopy. Brante subtly changed direction and angled uphill, then began to head back towards the light. He peered through the trunks and panicked because he had lost sight of what he had seen a few moments before. He must find it. He couldn’t risk heading out onto the open hillside at the wrong spot.
Yes. There it is! The man was cutting back across his path, closing in towards him. Fifteen yards. Ten. They would be together in moments and the Perpetual could drive his blade through Brante’s back. But the object was still there. The discarded cloak, hanging in the tree like a beacon in the black shadows of the forest, telling him exactly where he was on the hillside. He tore past it and out into the vast openness of the heather moorland. Please god, let me be right. Eluf was only steps behind him, his breath wheezing and panting. Where is it? Where the hell is it?
And then he saw it. He flung himself onto the heather and rolled up onto one knee facing his charging assailant. A camera on a tree nearby monitored everything in unblinking silence. It saw the fleshy young face of the Perpetual frozen in surprise. It saw the thin rivulet of scarlet blood slip from the corner of his mouth, bright against the monotone glen. And it saw the first spear embedded blade-deep in his gut.
It was late morning and Calder had been walking with Einar for several hours. They had broken free of the plantation pines and were moving down the hillside through a more open area. It was beautiful and in different circumstances Calder would have wanted to dally and soak in the views. Ancient Caledonian pines stood scattered at wide intervals, more like oaks than conifers. Heather and blaeberry grew in abundance, perfect habitat for a range of Highland wildlife such as grouse, capercaillie, pine marten and wildcat. There were birds now. Groups of tiny crested tits milling from one tree to the next. The snow was gone and the place had come to life after the still of the forest.
In this more open space she tried to keep a distance from Einar, but he stayed never more than a dozen yards away and if she shifted direction, he changed as well. When his eyes weren’t on her, they were shifting across the landscape. They reached the river at the valley bottom and found it was full with meltwater and much wider than they had expected.
‘Left or right?’ he asked.
Right led to the valley head and the slope steepened. Left seemed flatter and easier. She indicated in that direction and they walked along the bank, looking for an opportunity to cross. The water was loud and the tumult added an edge to her fear because now she couldn’t even hear him. She tried to keep him in the corner of her eye, but whenever she lost him, she panicked that the water’s rush would smother the sound of his approach.
They must have covered almost a mile along the bank and Calder was starting to feel weak from hunger. It had been many hours since breakfast in the castle and she needed sustenance. Looking across the river, she could see the forest was thickening again. Not the rigid rows of plantation, but a mixed woodland of ash, alder and rowan, gloomy beneath the bare boughs but giving enough room for passage.
Ahead of them was a wooden footbridge. It looked dilapidated and insecure, but it was preferable to an attempt across the rocks, and Calder felt thankful for this small boon. When they reached it, they realised there was a camera at either end, giving clear images of the bridge and the land on both sides. Einar refused to cross first and so she stepped carefully out over the water, sensing him close in behind her as the river churned below.
When she was halfway across she realised there was a giant ash ahead, set back from the bank. And against its trunk rested a row of weapons. A shield, two swords and a longbow, along with a sack and what could be a quiver. The forest grew in a semi-circle around the bridge, with twenty yards of open ground in each direction. Had he seen? If she rushed to the weapons, what would she do then?
‘At last,’ he said from her shoulder and she knew he had spotted the cache.
They dropped off the far end and Calder stood rooted to the spot. Einar paused next to her, then started to walk towards the tree. In moments he would be there. In seconds he would be armed. She thought to flee back across the bridge, but the ground was too open on the other side. She looked left at the treeline and saw gaps under the bare branches and felt them calling her.
Knowing the sound of the river covered her movement, she began to pace away. He was focused on the tree and it was the first time all morning that he wasn’t watching her. She quickened as he reached the ash and bent to inspect the sword, and then she was at the edge of the forest, the first tendrils of woody boughs catching at her. She ducked beneath them and ran, seeking the deeper darker parts of the forest. The ground rose and then dropped away and she leapt down into this groove and fell to her knees. The river’s tumult had dimmed and she could hear her heart pounding against her temple. She crawled back to the top of the slope and peered in the direction she’d come from.
There was no movement. She could see the clearing and the weapons beside the ash, but not him. She held her breath. Then he appeared from behind a large alder, staring into the trees, searching for her.
‘Calder! Where the hell are you? There’s food here. Bread and cheese in the sack. Come and eat.’ His face showed concern, but he was holding one of the swords, the point hanging loosely against his leg. ‘Calder! You need to have something to eat to keep you going. Don’t be stupid.’
He turned towards her hiding place and she dropped her head below the slope. The soil was cold and iron-hard against her chin. She counted to ten, then looked again. He had the shield now as well and was walking into the trees.
‘Calder? Don’t be foolish. I’m not going to hurt you. We arm ourselves and we’ll be fine.’ He stopped and listened and turned on the spot. ‘We can share the weapons and the food. Here, you can have this sword if you want.’ He stalked towards her and she dropped down again, not daring to breathe. She thought he would appear above her, but when she peeked again, he had changed direction and was groping through the trees further off to her left. ‘Goddamn, Calder. Just come out wherever you are.’
Slowly he returned to the clearing and then his att
ention was drawn across the river. She followed his gaze. No, no, no. Hertha was running along the far bank. She was bright red with exertion, panting and stumbling. She had seen the bridge and also Einar in the clearing.
‘It’s okay,’ he called and pointed at the bridge. ‘Come over. I have food.’ Hertha paused in confusion, then looked back fearfully along the bank as Einar started walking towards his side of the bridge. ‘Come over.’
She looked at him, hesitant and afraid, then stared again along the bank. ‘They’re coming for me.’ Her words made up her mind. She pulled herself onto the bridge and ran over.
Einar strode across the clearing. ‘Who’s coming for you?’ he asked, four paces from her.
He dropped the shield and held out a hand in reassurance, but the other still grasped the sword. Hertha started to speak and point towards the far bank, and something in Calder knew already what was about to happen. She rose to one knee and drew a breath to yell at her friend, but even as she did, Einar drove the sword into Hertha’s belly so hard that it took her back three steps.
‘No!’ Calder screamed. It tore from her and Einar’s head whipped round. Hertha had fallen onto her back and he stood over her, trying to pull the blade from the body. It was stuck and he had to yank with both hands. Survival instinct kicked into Calder and she fled. She ran blindly, hitting branches, tripping over roots, not daring to look back.
No, no, no! Finally, exhausted, she stumbled into an area of juniper and blaeberry bushes and fell to the ground. Hertha! She sobbed into the earth. My friend.
XVIII
Punnr and Gulbrand reached the river a mile downstream from Calder. They had eaten and had made good progress over the last few hours. Each had a sword thrust through his belt and carried a shield, and Gulbrand had the sack with the remaining provisions slung over his shoulder. They had seen no one since leaving the Vigilis at the gate, but they had spied several cameras. The day was reaching afternoon and the snow had melted. Occasional shafts of sunlight energised the valley, but were quickly closed down by regiments of cloud.
The Wolf Mile Page 14
