The Blood-Tainted Winter (11 page)

Torrulf prodded at a wound on his upper arm, deemed it negligible, and splashed water on his face before speaking. “How is it that you came to be with Fengar?”

“We happened upon him by accident. I thought to acquire information and then leave. I misjudged the situation.”

“Information? For the Hammerling, then.” Raef did not deny or confirm this. “How did you escape?”

“Fengar had returned from battle. Some kind of scouting party, I gather. Yours?” Raef cocked his head to one side and Torrulf nodded in response. “A diversion. Something to draw him into the trees where you could descend like wolves upon him in a place of your choosing.”

“Answer the question.”

Raef spread his hands as far as the ropes would allow. “Simple. In the commotion of his return, we slipped into the trees. We left behind several of our party.”

“Those ropes are not the first to encircle your wrists this day. What about your bonds?”

“We acquired a blade while we waited.”

Torrulf studied Raef for a long moment. Blood dripped from his wound. “I think there is much you do not say, Raef Skallagrim.” He turned and mounted a horse that had been brought.

“What of Fengar?” Raef said.

“Fengar is in the wind.” The Palesword gave a shout and urged the horse away, leaving Raef once more with a spear in his back. As he was steered from the clearing, Raef saw a white beard, matted and black with blood, among the pile of dead. He knelt and turned the body on its side to see death on the face of Tormund Ravenbane for the second time. Whoever this man had been or whoever Raef had met that night in Darfallow, there could be no doubt now that Tormund was truly dead.

The Palesword took the living as prisoners either to press into service or to ransom. His men scavenged the bodies for any weapons, tools, or food worth having. When everything of value had been plucked from the corpses and wagons, a captain gave the call to move out. Not a moment after the last men crossed the tree line, circling crows dove from the sky and began to scavenge in their own way, a gory, gleeful chorus.

The march to the Palesword’s camp was long and leisurely. The warriors were strung out among the trees, vulnerable if the woods had been filled with anything other than birds and rabbits. By the time Raef emerged from the forest, the moon was high in the sky and his stomach ached for food. The makeshift camp was ensconced on a sloping plateau among hulking boulders and their shadows, overlooking a lake and empty plains below. A narrow stream provided water and access was limited to a single path. Torrulf would not be easily set upon in this place.

“We should have killed those men when we had the chance,” Eira said. They had found a campfire to linger near and she sat with her arms on her knees, her long hair hanging over half her face.

“And be hunted by both Fengar and Torrulf?” Raef sat beside her.

“Better that than be chained by both.”

“The moment Vakre grabbed that axe, I would have had a spear in my belly. Is that what you want?”

Eira’s face was inscrutable. Raef knew his own showed frustration but instead of speaking, he leaned over and kissed her. His hands, despite the ropes, pulled her close and she responded eagerly, a warm, wild thing against him. Raef had nearly decided to take her behind the nearest boulder and tear her clothes from her body when Vakre cleared his throat and Raef’s attention was claimed by the approach of Torrulf Palesword.

The Palesword had removed his leather armor, but the firelight, dancing across his face, cloaked him with a different sort of shield and he was no less imposing. The wound on his arm had been tied up with black cloth and the blood of his enemies had been washed from his hands and face. He held his hands over the fire.

“You must be hungry.”

Raef did not answer. The Palesword had not yet earned any trust.

“We have meat for plenty. I will see that you get some.” Torrulf fingered something around his neck. “What am I to do with you, Skallagrim? I have here before me the lord of Vannheim, promised to the Hammerling, but not in his heart, I think. Fengar threatened death, I am sure. The Hammerling?” Torrulf cocked his head and looked hard at Raef. “Perhaps the same.”

When Raef kept silent, the Palesword shrugged. “No matter. Death is too easy and I am in the middle of a war. I do not intend to throw away lives lightly. Not if I see use in them.”

“What use do you see in me?”

Now it was the Palesword’s turn to evade. “You keep odd friends, Raef.”

“They are here of their own free will.”

The Palesword laughed. “I never said you coerced them. I only wonder what drives them.”

Raef felt an echo of the Deepminded ripple through his head. He pushed that thought away. “Perhaps because I did not threaten them.”

The laugh came again, this time with mockery. “A nice belief. The world revolves around threats and counter threats, Raef.”

“When we fled the gathering, you could have put a blade to my neck and demanded Vannheim’s spears. But you did not.”

“Only because I was in no position to do so.” The Palesword turned and looked at Vakre, Siv, and Eira. “You see, Skallagrim, it is not your neck that matters.” He drew his sword. The firelight made the pale blade flicker with orange. “I could lay this on your skin and give you a final choice, but the blade’s kiss will not influence you. But if I do this?” The sword was up against Eira’s neck in an instant, so gracefully and so quickly done that it seemed not to have happened at all. But it was deadly all the same and Raef’s breath caught in his throat and his pulse quickened.

“You sacrificed men today and it did not bring you Fengar. Perhaps you even had him within your grasp. This eats at you. Do not take your frustration out on me,” Raef said, coming to his feet.

The Palesword gestured to Vakre, Eira, and Siv with his other hand. “Will you sacrifice them out of loyalty for the Hammerling, a man you do not trust?”

“You know I will not.”

“You are right. I do know.” Torrulf sheathed his sword. Eira spit at the ground near his feet. “I do not ask for your shields and spears, Skallagrim. But there is something you will do for me. I do not need to tell you what happens to them if you refuse.”

“What do you want?”

The Palesword drew back from the fire and paced around it until he came to stand closer to Raef. With the fire at his back, his eyes were black and bottomless.

“You will find the Far-Traveled and bring him to me.”

This demand was not what Raef had been expecting and questions flooded his mind, most of which he knew the Palesword would decline to answer. He made a stab at one he thought least intrusive. “What makes you think I can find him?”

“Because you will want to find him.”

“And if he does not come willingly?”

“Persuade him.”

“Am I to go alone?”

“I will send some of my best with you.”

“Watchdogs.”

Torrulf shook his head. “They will aid you in any way they can and do what you command. Take whatever you need. Arm yourself. Some fine weapons have recently come into my possession.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“First thing.” Torrulf drew a knife and cut the ropes on Raef’s wrists. He went around the fire and did the same to Eira, Vakre, and Siv. “But know this. If you return without the Far-Traveled at your side, you will see their heads on spikes.” It was said without cruelty or malice. A simple statement of fact. Raef did not doubt the honesty and intent behind the words. The Palesword held Raef’s gaze for a long moment and then left the circle of firelight.

Raef looked at his companions but did not speak. Bitterness was on his tongue and it would do no good to let it out. There was nothing to do but prepare for the morning’s departure. True to his word, the Palesword sent over meat and ale as well as a selection of weapons for Raef to choose from. His own were not among them, as he had hoped, but he found a solid, well-made sword, an axe with good heft, and a pair of knives that would serve many purposes. They were strangers in his hands, but they would have to do.

“Spill blood with them and they will seem to be better friends.” Vakre took a long drink and then held up a shield for Raef to inspect. It was the least battered of the bunch and was of fitting height and breadth. “That will do.”

Raef ate though the hunger he had felt had vanished. The ale was easier to get down but the silence around the campfire made him uneasy. He lay flat on his back and looked up at the stars.

“Where will you begin your search?” Siv asked, her face half in shadow.

“I do not know. I saw the Far-Traveled on the Great-Belly’s lands, but he could be anywhere now.”

“You saw him?” Vakre sounded puzzled.

“The day the gathering began. By chance we visited the stone ruins at the same time, before Erlaug hunted me in the trees.”

“The Far-Traveled does little by chance, Raef.”

“You think he sought me out? What purpose could he have?”

“Only he knows the answer to that.”

Eira stirred and spoke. “What did he speak of?”

Raef thought back. “The ruins, the gathering.”

“Nothing of your future?”

“He said we would meet again. I did not ask him when.”

Silence fell again and one by one Raef’s companions drifted into sleep. Raef watched Mani drive the moon across the night sky and imagined that he could see the wolf, Hati, dashing through the stars, hard on the heels of the moon.

Fourteen

T
he morning came
with snow and frosty breath. Raef rose early, having slept little, and went to the overlook. A thin skin of ice could be seen on the surface of the lake below. A herd of deer stood at the water’s edge and Raef watched a party of hunters approach downwind through the trees. Arrows flew in unison and a dozen or more deer were felled. Others, wounded and slow, were brought down by a second shower of death and the hunters fell on the animals with efficiency. Raef turned away and knelt by a rivulet of water that ran toward the edge of the plateau. He splashed icy water on his face, wondering if it was too late to slip away with his friends. But the camp was busy now and Raef knew the way off the plateau would be heavily guarded.

Hot broth and meat were waiting when he returned to the ashes of the campfire and the others were awake. The Palesword was also waiting, along with eight warriors dressed for travel. Raef ate quickly and assessed his new companions. Three talked quietly among themselves while two boasted of their kills against Fengar’s host to the remaining three. None seemed concerned with their new task.

“Do you have all you require?” The Palesword asked. His breath clouded in front of his face.

Raef pulled up the fur collar of his cloak. “No, but I have all that a prisoner might expect.”

“You are not a prisoner, Skallagrim, but a tool I have seen fit to wield. I do not threaten the lives of your friends lightly. What I ask of you is of great importance.”

“Not ask. Demand.”

The Palesword acknowledged this with a nod.

Raef, itching to break Torrulf’s patience and calm, burst out. “If finding the Far-Traveled is so crucial, why me? Surely there are other men, close to you, long-trusted, who are better suited to this task.”

“And they are otherwise engaged. A tool, Raef. Wars are won by how we use those around us.” He whistled and servants appeared leading ten horses. Nine were fitted with saddles and small packs, the tenth, a burly, shaggy thing, loaded with supplies. “And now it is time you were on your way. I will not send you blind into the wild, though. When I left the gathering, I crossed paths with the Far-Traveled. He meant to continue east. There. You have your direction. The rest is up to you.” Torrulf took the reins of a sleek, grey horse and held them while Raef mounted. The Palesword looked up at Raef. “May the Wanderer guide you, Skallagrim. Your friends will be treated with all kindness in your absence. I look forward to your return. See that you do, too.” He strode away and did not look back.

Raef urged the horse close to Vakre, Eira, and Siv, who had observed the exchange. It was good to see them unbound, but Raef knew there was no mistaking their situation. “I will not fail you,” he said to them.

“Would that I could go with you,” Vakre said. Raef nodded in return.

Eira’s face was calm but Raef could see the tension in her limbs. She was angry, likely as much at him as at the Palesword. Raef searched her eyes for some sign of affection, some memory of shared lust, but found nothing. This did not surprise him nor did it bother him much.

It was Siv who found the courage to smile. “With any luck, we will escape before you return.”

Raef found himself smiling in response, then he forced himself to turn the horse away. With a shout, he urged his mount forward and heard his new companions do the same behind him. They raced across the plateau and down the narrow access route until they reached the snow-covered plains and icy lakeshore below. There Raef turned south, to skirt the lake. Once around the other side, they would head east on a course that would take them into the lands of Skolldain, avoiding, for now, Stefnir of Gornhald, Fengar’s ally. From there, Raef hoped word of the Far-Traveled might be found to guide them further.

The winds howled down from the north that day, blasting the riders until Raef was numb in both body and mind. It was a welcome numbness, for it meant Raef did not dwell on those he had left behind and the near impossible task he had been set. Instead, he felt the drumming hooves beneath him and the muscles of the grey horse moving in rhythm, and watched the world pass by.

Their pace was unhurried for speed would only tire their horses before they had news of their quarry. When clouds rolled in and showed signs of a storm, Raef called an early halt to the day and they made camp in a cave that would protect them from wind and snow and was large enough to shelter the horses. A fire was built at the mouth of the cave, two of the men set to work preparing a deer that had been brought down earlier, and two more, axes in hand, went in search of good wood.

Raef set up his blanket and belongings at the rear of the cave, leaving the area closest to the fire for the Palesword’s men. The others, relaxed and jovial, took little note of him and joked amongst themselves. It was the type of familiarity among warriors who had fought in the shield wall together many times and Raef had not had it since parting ways with the Vannheim men after the gathering.

When the deer was done, the youngest of the Palesword’s men brought some to Raef in a shallow bowl. It was charred and bloody and made Raef’s mouth water.

“Thank you.”

The young man nodded and made as though to return to the fire, but he stopped himself and looked back at Raef. “My name is Gudrik.”

“I am glad to know you, Gudrik.”

Gudrik retreated to his companions and pulled a small flute from his pack. The others stopped talking and waited eagerly. He began to play a swift, cheery song, the kind that would have enticed dancers at a festival of farmers. The warriors around him tapped their feet merrily in time and some challenged Gudrik to play faster. This he did with ease, his fingers a blur, until he came to a gleeful, crashing halt. The men cheered but Gudrik paused for only a moment before launching into another, this one slow and haunting.

The listeners grew somber but were no less fixated. Raef closed his eyes, his mind carried far away to the seaside forests of Vannheim. He could almost taste the briny sea air and the smooth birch trees were at his fingertips once more.

The sound of a wolf howling interrupted Raef’s memories and he and the others were instantly alert. Gudrik ceased to play and three men went to the cave mouth, weapons at the ready, while a fourth lit a torch and carried it to them.

“Can you see the bastard?”

“No, but the snow is thick.”

The wolf grew quiet and Raef sensed some of the men begin to relax. But the howl started again and this time was joined by a second and then a third. Soon the wild voices filled the night air and there could be no doubt that an entire pack was near.

There would be no more music this night. Gudrik slid his flute back in his pack and the men settled in for a watchful night, the time for jests past. Watches were set in pairs and torches were kept at the ready. Raef drew the third watch so he settled into his fur cloak and blanket and tried to sleep.

The chorus continued off and on and Raef found unsettled sleep in bits and pieces. When his watch came, Gudrik was the one to wake him, and he took his post on a stone by the cave mouth, torch in hand. His watch companion exited the cave for a moment, a shadow among the swirling snowflakes, and then situated himself across the entrance from Raef. The wolves were silent then and Raef wondered if they had caught the scent of prey.

The fire had been maintained through the previous two watches, so Raef rose and stirred the crumbling wood before adding another log. Sparks flew and one settled near Raef’s foot. He watched it burn and then smoke away into nothing before returning to his position. The man across from him had taken no notice of any of Raef’s actions, instead keeping his eyes on the outside world, so still he could have passed for stone. Raef might have wondered if he slept were it not for the torch, steady in his hands, its light playing in his eyes.

The hours passed and the snow, so furious at times, stammered to a halt. Twice more Raef added wood to the fire, using that as a measure of time. The wolves returned just as the third log snapped in two and there was no doubt that they were closer to the cave than before. Though Raef could only detect four separate voices this time, he felt certain the rest were near. He glanced to his right as his partner rose from his rock for the first time and ventured into the night, his torch raised high, casting flickering shadows on the blanket of snow.

He did not go far, but looked back and beckoned for Raef to join him. Raef did so, his feet sinking silently in to the fresh snow until he was shoulder to shoulder with the other man.

“What is it?” Raef kept his voice down, barely above a whisper.

The other man said nothing but pointed to the trees.

It took only an instant for Raef to see what had drawn his watch companion from the cave. A single pair of green eyes watched them from the thicket of a dying hazel bush. It was then that Raef realized the howling had ceased.

The other man took three steps forward, his torch brandished ahead of him. The wolf watched, showing no fear, and then turned and trotted away. Raef scanned the rest of the trees for signs of the pack but saw none. Either they were well hidden or had followed their leader into the darkness. After a moment, Raef and the other man returned to the cave.

“Do you think they will return?”

The other man shrugged in response, a gesture that told Raef he did not know and did not care.

Clouds covered the sky so he could not track the progress of the moon, but Raef estimated that their watch was ended. He woke the last pair and went back to his blanket. Sleep came more easily this time, though dawn arrived too soon, claiming him from his dreams.

The morning meal was quiet but the liveliness of the night before resurfaced by the time they mounted the horses. As they rode from the cave, Gudrik kept his horse alongside Raef.

“Quiet night?” Gudrik asked, his voice quiet amid the chatter of the warriors.

“A wolf came close enough for us to see it, but nothing more.” Raef nodded his head in the direction of his watch companion, who rode ahead of them. “That man, does he have a name?”

Gudrik smiled a little. “He is called Ragnarr.

“Does he always say so little?”

The smile grew larger. “Do not blame Ragnarr for not giving you his name himself. He has been under a vow of silence for as long as I have known him.”

“A rare thing,” Raef said. “What for?”

Gudrik shrugged. “He has never told me.” The grin flashed again, quick as lightning. “Some think the Palesword knows. Most think it has something to do with his father.”

“His father?”

“Ragnarr Silenthand is a son of Heimdall.”

Raef took another look at Ragnarr. He could believe the warrior was half a god. Ragnarr stood half a head taller than Raef and his shoulders and chest were broader than most.

“A son of Heimdall must be a great warrior.”

“The Palesword holds him above all others.”

“Then why send him with me? Surely he should be at Torrulf’s side in battle.”

“We ride to find a half god. Do not you think it wise to have one with us?”

“Then you expect the Far-Traveled to resist.” Raef said.

Gudrik smiled again. “I only know I do not expect him to come at the sound of my flute.”

Raef was quiet for a moment. “Silenthand. A reference to his vow?”

“Perhaps. Some say his sword is silent death. I do not know which came first, the vow or the reputation.”

“If Ragnarr is here to ensure the capture of the Far-Traveled, what is your role, then, Gudrik called Merrysong?”

Gudrik looked confused. “Must I have one?”

“I only mean to puzzle out who I am surrounded by. The Palesword did not make his choices lightly, that much is certain.”

Any further conversation was cut off by a shout from ahead. They had come upon a small village, no more than a few huts nestled into the fork of a narrow river. Half a dozen men fished from the shore while three boys and a dog chased each other from snow drift to snow drift, all taking equal delight in the snow that caught in their hair and melted on their faces. A pair of women sat outside one hut, skinning rabbits and skewering them over a fire.

The men watched the strangers but did not remove their rods from the river. It seemed the war had not yet made folk in these parts wary of armed riders.

One man spoke up. “Can we help you? Perhaps you would like to buy fish for your dinner tonight?”

Raef urged his horse forward and dismounted. “I will pay you for fish and for information.”

The man took his rod from the water. “Ask what you will.”

“This land belongs to Tormund of Darfallow, yes?”

“It does, though only just. Beyond that ridge,” the fisherman gestured to the south, “lie the wild hills, claimed neither by Tormund nor Stefnir of Gornhald.”

“Have any large hosts of men passed near here?”

The fisherman shook his head. “My cousin brought us news of fighting to the south, but nothing more.”

“South? On Gornhald lands?”

“I do not know, lord.”

“Have there been any lone travelers on foot?”

“No, lord.”

“One further question and then I will look at your fish. Do you know of Finndar Urdson, the Far-Traveled?”

The fisherman looked surprised. “I have heard of such a man, lord, but only in stories.”

Raef nodded. “You have my thanks. We will take twenty of your best fish.”

“Right away.” The man whistled and the boys ceased playing. They hurried over and helped him string together the fish and wrap them in cloth. The dog followed them and sniffed around Raef’s feet. Raef handed over the required coins and then tossed the wrapped fish to two of the Palesword’s men, who tucked them into their packs.

Raef caught the fisherman’s arm before mounting his horse. “One last thing. If by chance the Far-Traveled comes this way, tell him Skallagrim seeks him.” The man nodded.

The party pressed on, following the bends of the river. They reached another village at twilight and Raef repeated his questions there. The answers did not change. They searched for a suitable spot to rest for the night, finding it among a cluster of the largest oaks Raef had ever seen. Though it did not have the shelter of the previous night’s cave, the wide trunks and sturdy limbs would give them some protection. Raef and Gudrik ventured out in search of firewood.