The High King began to pace in a circle around the backs of the Council, his hands thrust behind him. ‘The Raiding Season is only a precursor to the Blood Season, but it does serve two vital purposes in its own right:
‘Firstly, it provides ample opportunity for the Caelestia and the Curiate to place wagers on the Season outcomes. Let us not overlook the significance of this. We stand here today because we are paid handsomely. And why do our betters pay us to do this? Because it gives them pleasure. Between them, they have the means to ensure no force on earth can deny them this pleasure. So keep this at the forefront of your minds. Your individual actions – and those actions of your troops – will almost certainly have direct consequences on the myriad gambles that will be made. Money will flow constantly and inexorably. So they will be watching our actions not only with pleasure, but with the earnest interest of investors, competitors and paymasters.
‘Secondly, the Raiding Season provides us with the opportunity to consolidate our strength before the Grand Battle.’ He was enjoying holding the Council’s attention. ‘Success in warfare depends upon a series of key factors. The first and most obvious of these is the number of troops that can be put into the field. We know our Horde considerably outnumbers the Titan Palatinate. However, this advantage doesn’t guarantee success. Previous Pantheon Seasons – and indeed many of the great battles of the ancient world – tell us that troop numbers alone rarely determine victory. We need only look at Hannibal at Cannae, Caesar at Alesia, and Alexander at Gaugamela to see that history is rife with forces that have defeated far greater armies through better deployment, discipline and sheer leadership verve. The art of all successful warfare, my Council members, is preparation, knowledge, deception, speed, the capitalisation of the landscape and the audacity to strike with maximum violence at the exact point where your enemy is weakest.’
Sveinn let his words hang in the air and walked again to his place at the table. ‘Radspakr will now enlighten the Council about the Pantheon’s plans for this Season. The floor is yours, Thane.’
Punnr shot a glance around. The others were studying the map. Like him, they were dressed in belted tunics. Sveinn had a wolfskin fastened around his shoulders and Bjarke wore his usual bearskin. Radspakr was in his woollen robe with the diagonal buttoning and the silver Odin amulet hanging from his neck.
‘My lord. As we all know, the rules of each Raiding Season are drawn up afresh every year and the objectives are always different. It is this fluidity that characterises the Season and sets it apart from its more rigid sister – Blood. Every year we must master these new rules from scratch and play the game that is set for us. So here are the details of this Nineteenth Raiding Season:
‘Within a radius of one mile of the Tron Kirk above our very heads, Atilius’ Pantheon planners have concealed four Assets. As my Lord King Sveinn has just been explaining, victory in the Grand Battle will be determined by more than just our warrior numbers. These four Assets will be critical success factors for each Palatinate and so we must compete with the Titans to find them.’
Punnr sensed movement around the table, eyes catching each other. There was palpable excitement. After Sveinn’s extensive introduction, they were finally getting to the crux of the matter.
‘Here are the rules. In this – the Season of the White – each Palatinate will have what will be known as a White Warrior. High King Sveinn has decreed that this year the White Warrior will be Punnr, hence his presence at our Council.’
Punnr could feel the gaze of the others on him.
‘It will be the task of the White Warrior to find each Asset. It will be the task of the rest of us to protect him in his quest, to confuse and hamper the enemy, and to seek out their own White Warrior. Likewise the Titans will array their forces to best find the Assets and kill our White Warrior.’
Punnr’s head jerked up. Radspakr was looking at him, his eyes as black as the burning coals in the hearth behind. The others too were staring his way, all except Sveinn who studied the map.
‘Your selection for this role, Thegn Punnr, is a great honour,’ Radspakr continued. ‘The King believes you have the necessary courage and aptitude.’
‘And he’s expendable,’ growled Halvar, shooting a piercing glance at Radspakr.
‘If you wish to put it that way, Captain, then I will concur. In our considered view, Thegn Punnr is courageous, committed and, in the unfortunate event of failure, he is of a rank that would not prove a grave loss to our forces.’ The Thane stared steadfastly at Halvar and for several tense seconds Halvar returned his hostile look. ‘May I continue, Captain?’
Halvar grunted and dropped his eyes.
‘Thank you. The four Assets are as follows: One – Time. Find this Asset and the Palatinate will have two weeks’ notice of the Grand Battle during which to plan its deployment. Fail and we’ll learn of the battle only twenty-four hours in advance.
‘Two – Field. Hold this Asset and we’ll be told where the battle will take place and will be able to study the terrain. Failure will mean we arrive on the field with no more information than our scouts can hurriedly identify.
‘Three – Supplies. Water and rations. Enough to maintain our army on full rations for as long as we are in the field. Failure to find this Asset will mean we march with empty stomachs and face our foe wracked with thirst.
‘Four – Distance. Obtain this Asset and we’ll be deployed close to the field of battle with time to set it to our advantage. Lose and we’ll be deposited a day’s hard march away.’
Sveinn interrupted his Thane. ‘I hardly think I need to expound upon the seriousness of these challenges. The Council will be experienced enough to see that if we fail in this task, our greater troop numbers could count for nothing. We may arrive on an unknown field, exhausted, hungry, cold and unprepared. And then we will face the sarissas of Alexander’s phalanx. Continue please, Thane.’
‘Thank you, lord. The Raids will take place on four separate nights, with a week between each. One o’clock to four are the hours of operation. So we have an overall total of twelve hours to collect the Assets. And let me be clear – this is not a case of he who finds an Asset owns it. The Titans may find the same Asset within the four nights and claim it as well. The most certain way of winning this task, therefore, is to slay the enemy’s White Warrior. Fell him and the foe can find no further Assets.’
‘At which point,’ Freyja interrupted him, ‘they are free to focus entirely on disrupting our own attempts.’
‘Precisely, Captain. If the White Warriors from both Palatinates are felled, the challenge is over. I believe that explains the rules. Questions?’
‘How does Punnr find the Assets?’ Halvar asked.
‘At the Agonium Martiale tomorrow night we’ll be provided with a clue to the first location, which is for the eyes of this Council only. Find the Asset and Punnr will also find a clue to the next location. We don’t know the order of the clues. Likewise, we don’t know what the Titans will be given.’
Sveinn leaned forward. ‘So this is an exercise in understanding our foe; in always being one step ahead of his thinking; in acting – first and foremost – to deceive him. The Titans are no fools. They will have their scouts arrayed across the rooftops and if we solve our first clue and stampede straight to our first location, we will have solved it for them also. So instead we will take them in the wrong directions. Lead them a merry dance.’
Radspakr waited until he was sure Sveinn had finished. ‘The Council will meet after the Agonium Martiale when we have the first clue. In the meantime, you may brief your Regiments. Jarl Bjarke, Hammer Regiment will defend the Valhalla Gates, but you will also handpick a group of Shieldmen to act as close bodyguard for Thegn Punnr.’
The huge warrior looked across the table at Punnr. ‘Aye, I can do that.’
‘Good,’ Sveinn said with finality. ‘We have two days to prepare. I suggest you assemble your litters and brief them. Thank you for your attention.’
&n
bsp; It was their signal to leave. Punnr followed Freyja as they descended back down the steps to the Throne Room. She stopped at the bottom and touched him to pull him aside. They waited as first Bjarke passed without so much as a look, and then Asmund, who smiled and gave Punnr a quick wink. Halvar brought up the rear and he joined the two of them.
‘Are you okay with this?’ Freyja asked Punnr quietly.
‘Do I have a choice?’
Halvar bent in close to his face. ‘Every shield of the Horde will protect you. Every arrow, sword and spear will fight for you. You just focus on finding the Assets, getting the next clue, and staying alive.’
XXV
The Horde waited in South Tunnel. All two hundred and twenty warriors, lined in their litters, companies and regiments.
The tunnel’s walls allowed for no more than two abreast and the tightly packed space felt hot and claustrophobic. There was a murmur of low voices and the movement of impatient bodies flushed through with adrenaline. The time was almost three in the morning on the second night of the new year and the city above was still sleeping off the excesses of Hogmanay.
Punnr waited nervously towards the rear, behind Sveinn, Radspakr and Bjarke, and surrounded by household shieldmen from Bjarke’s Hammer Regiment who acted as Royal Bodyguard. They were strong men, heavily bearded and smelling of ale. They wore mail brynjars, iron vambraces on their forearms and bearskins across their shoulders to indicate their status. They carried broadswords at their hip and giant war axes, and each held a circular crimson shield with the hammer insignia.
They eyed the slim figure of Punnr curiously. And well they might, for he was clothed like no other warrior that night. While the rest of the Horde had gone through their dressing rituals in the Reception Areas, transforming themselves from their arrival garb into their full battle regalia with regimental colours, Punnr was escorted to a small room off the Central Tunnel where a boy from the Schola waited with his panoply. Punnr had pulled on a grey long-sleeve tunic, black breeches and knee-length boots, then turned in silent wonder to the armour. There were two iron vambraces with ancient designs inscribed across them, a front-and-rear iron corselet engraved with rune snakes, and a curved helmet with eyepieces, ornate cheekguards and chainmail hanging from the back to protect his neck. Each item was rendered in spotless white. The boy helped strap on the armour, then gave him the helmet to tuck under his arm. Next came the sword and seax he had been presented beside the loch, belted tight across his corselet, and finally a cloak and shield, also both white. Instead of his Wolf Company insignia, his shield bore a simple black image of the Triple Horn of Odin curving around the iron boss. Only Sveinn carried a similar design.
He sensed change far ahead of him in the tunnel. It was time. The South Gate Keepers would be checking movement outside and folding back the non-descript steel doors at the foot of an iron ladder that ran down from street level. The first of the troopers would be slipping up into the night air and Punnr knew this would be the elite litters of Freyja’s scouts and Calder would be among their number. Not a moment too soon, he thought. The tunnel was beginning to reek of sweat and leather and oil.
‘Helmets on!’ came the whispered order down the line. Every helm was designed to hide the nose and eyes and, once above ground, no face was ever revealed consciously. Ahead of him, Sveinn pushed on his silver helmet. It was banded with gold and curved up to a gold spike on the top. He too had chainmail to protect the nape of his neck, but his was silver.
Punnr forced his head into the white helmet. He thought it too tight as he crammed it down, but once it was in place he realised it fitted perfectly. He had no memory of anyone ever measuring his head, but the helm clung to him like a glove, the inside softly padded and the eyepieces just wide enough to give him a good field of vision. Sveinn and Radspakr were moving and he followed them along the tunnel.
On that second night of January the Horde was arrayed in its customary order of march. In the vanguard, Raven Company scouts formed into their two litters of eight and armed with bows. Followed by one half of Storm Regiment light troops, twenty-four in all, armed with eight-foot spears. Then came Halvar and his four Wolf Company Kill Squads. Next was the might of the Hammer Regiment Shieldmen. They numbered ninety-six and carried an assortment of spears, warhammers and axes. Then came Sveinn and Radspakr, with Punnr stepping up through the opening and breathing in the night air. Around them were the sixteen-strong Royal Bodyguard with Bjarke, and the rear of the Horde was brought up by the second half of Asmund’s Storm troops: another twenty-four, lightly armed with bows.
They dropped down the slope to the long road of Cowgate, which ran parallel with the Royal Mile, but sat deep in the bowels of the original valley. South Bridge crossed above their heads and over the centuries vast tenement blocks had grown up either side, like writhing plants fighting each other for sun. Even during the day, Cowgate was wreathed in half-light. Now it was pitch dark. Pantheon runners had earlier ensured the main streetlights were knocked out and CCTV had also been dismantled at the last minute. The Horde would progress east towards Holyrood, but Punnr glanced the other way as he emerged and thought he saw figures standing further up the road ensuring no unwanted traffic or pedestrians got through.
Calder and her scout teams were already loping far down the street and Punnr wondered where within the helmeted Wolf squads Brante was striding. This was no parade. The purpose was to get to the agreed destination as unobtrusively as possible and so silence reigned. Even the largest warriors were practised in the art of stealth. They moved lightly on their feet and their armour and weaponry had been oiled silent. Little did the residents high above know that Valhalla’s Grand Heathen army passed them by that night.
There was, however, one exception to this rule, and as Punnr walked silently behind his King, he looked at his iron clad arms and comprehended that Cowgate might be as black as death, but he stood out like a spectral apparition. With grim realisation, he understood that the White Warrior wasn’t simply symbolic. He was clothed to ensure that even the most short-sighted Titan could single him out as the primary target.
The column dropped down Cowgate for almost a mile and Punnr noticed more groups of figures at each junction. This was an important night in the Pantheon and he guessed Atilius’ men were out in force, cordoning off the route, ensuring the Horde progressed undisturbed. He began to wonder about the numbers of souls that must work behind the scenes of the Pantheon, in the shadowy wings, rarely seen, never highlighted, but each a vital cog in the whole machine and each as embedded in the secret bloody drama as any frontline Palatinate trooper.
They reached the empty taxi ranks behind the Scottish Parliament and wheeled right along The Mall until they broke away from the buildings and found themselves on a road that circumnavigated Arthur’s Seat. Such transitions were a magical part of Edinburgh. Still deep within the heart of the capital city, they were nevertheless now facing swathes of rough open ground. The lead scouts left the road and began to move up a rising slope of grass. Punnr looked up and realised the sky was starlit. He could see the granite buttresses ahead and he thought he could make out small groups of figures on the crags. To his left the partially lit towers of Holyrood Palace came into view.
They rounded the northern point of Salisbury Crags, where these dropped to meet the road near the Palace, and Freyja brought her Raven Company to a halt. The rest of the troops fell into column behind and a calm settled. Ahead of them the Crags rose away to the right. On the other side, the even higher walls of Arthur’s Seat reached for the sky. In the centre, however, the land remained lower, inviting them up into a wide bowl, a windswept grassy valley, and from within the bowl there was the glow of fires.
‘Colours,’ Bjarke growled to the sergeant of his Bodyguard.
The man pulled away wrappings from what Punnr had thought was a long spear shaft. He hoisted it above his head and the great royal banner of Valhalla unfurled. It was red, black and white, with the Triple Horn at its cent
re and crimson ribbons that rustled in the slight breeze. From further up the line other banners rose: Hammer, Storm, Wolf and Raven. Punnr noticed more of the silent figures in the wings and realised some carried cameras. Once again, the actions of the Horde were being relayed to an unseen audience.
The scouts moved off and the rest of the column followed. They rose steadily over the brow and dropped into the wide valley of Hunter’s Bog. The land around was dark, but the starlight was enough to show that it comprised open treeless scrubby ground. In the deepest section at the far end there was a small loch and the column set a course higher and to the right, taking them along the sloping inner flanks of Salisbury Crags so they wouldn’t be ensnared in the bog that gave the valley its name. All eyes were fixed on the valley beyond the loch. It was an area about the size of a football pitch, enclosed at the far end by the rising lip of the bowl once more, and the site was ringed by a fence of flaming torches. More torches studded the hillsides above, their reflections dancing in the waters of the loch. The flames lit the central area, yet the natural tilt of the land hid this from the surrounding city.
On either side of the field were two wooden platforms, themselves lit with braziers. The one on the right, towards which the scouts were heading, bore the flag of Valhalla. The other displayed the standard of the Lion of Macedon. Punnr stared ahead as they approached. There was a knot of masked figures on the Valhalla platform. The column wheeled in front of it and dropped down through a gap in the fence of torches onto the brightly lit field. Punnr looked up as he passed and saw the lead figure in the knot step forward. It was dressed in long robes, but what entranced Punnr was the huge horned mask of silver that enclosed the head. He had seen an artist’s impression of that mask on Oliver’s iPad. Punnr thought the figure was looking back at him and he remembered his white apparel which shone like a beacon among the torches.
The Wolf Mile Page 21
