The Blood-Tainted Winter (12 page)

“What has Torrulf been doing since the gathering?”

Gudrik buried his axe in a sapling, wrenched it free, and then felled it with another blow. “Rallying support. Before reaching that plateau, he had not spent more than two nights in one place since leaving Balmoran.”

“And this fighting to the south that the villagers speak of? Was that you?”

“We skirmished with men of Ver half a moon ago. Beyond that, our blades have stayed clean and bright. If this was not the fighting they heard of, I do not know what was.”

“What of the Palesword’s allies? Who fights with him?”

Gudrik paused and looked at Raef, sweat dripping from his brow. “If the Palesword did not tell you, then I shall keep silent on that.”

“I do not ask for the Hammerling, Gudrik. I ask so that I may better know the mind of the lands we travel in.”

Gudrik wiped the sweat with his sleeve and contemplated this. “The Palesword numbers his surest allies at five. Others offer him words but nothing else as yet.”

Raef wanted names, but he could see Gudrik was not yet willing to part with that information. He would be patient and not let his frustration betray him. “Could one of these men have battled an enemy to the south?”

Gudrik shrugged. “The Palesword gave instructions. I do not know of specific plans for battle.”

They continued to gather wood until they could carry no more. Two men, Hamil and Soren, had the fish waiting and Gudrik started a fire, working carefully in the snow and using stones to shield the ember from the dampness. Soon a small flame erupted and grew into a steady fire. The fish were set up over the flames and their skins grew crisp and brown. Soren offered his mead skin to Raef, who took it with a grateful nod.

They waited for the fish in silence, the woods growing darker around them, until one of the older warriors, Eldun, spoke up.

“Give us a story, Gudrik.”

“Tell us of Thor and the wolfchildren,” said another.

“No, the lay of Nanna.”

“Let us hear of Skrymir the giant.”

Gudrik listened to the requests with a smile but ignored them all and looked to Raef. “I think Skallagrim shall choose.”

Raef sat back in surprise but all eyes were on him. To refuse could give offense. He thought for a moment, one story clear in his mind like a horn sounded in the wood. “The shaping of the nine worlds was always my favorite.”

Gudrik smiled and nodded in response, his eyes bright. He took a deep breath and began. “Hail to those who listen. In the beginning there was only burning ice and biting flame.” And then followed the story of all life. Gudrik’s words had all the flow of a river and all the sharpness of a sword. Though Raef had heard the story countless times, never before had he heard in it so much vivid beauty, power, and spirit. Any other telling was washed away in the wake of the spell Gudrik cast with his voice and words.

When Gudrik finished, his final words hung in the cold night air like frost and the camp was silent for some time. Ragnarr broke the stillness to stand and go relieve himself among the trees and the others began to eat the hot fish and talk quietly amongst themselves.

“The Allfather has favored you with his gift of poetry, Gudrik,” Raef said.

Gudrik smiled a little and twisted the pair of silver arm rings on his left forearm. “Your words are kind, Raef.”

“I speak the truth. Never have I heard better.”

Gudrik bowed his head modestly. “It is a good story. I need only tell it.”

The fish came easily from the bones and Raef ate two and wished for more. A skin of ale was passed around the fire. Soren challenged another man, Ormundir, to a wrestling match. The men laughed loudly and money changed hands when Soren won by holding Ormundir’s hair to the fire.

The night was clear and the moon was long-risen when the watches were set. Raef drew no watch and fell asleep quickly.

He was jolted from a dreamless sleep in the dead of night. Raef sat upright, his hand on his sword in an instant, but nothing seemed out of place. Hamil and Eldun had the watch and sat on the other side of the fire. All was quiet but for the crackling of the burning wood. Raef looked around then lay down. He had just closed his eyes when the voice of a single wolf split the night.

Raef sat up again and saw that Hamil and Eldun were also alert. Raef rose from his blanket and went close to the fire. “The first?”

Hamil nodded.

“With any luck, the only,” Eldun said. Raef was wide awake now, though the wolf had fallen silent. He did not think he would sleep more. A few of the horses shuffled their feet, ears swiveling, but did not seem too concerned. Raef knew to watch them for growing signs of fear.

“I will stay awake, if one of you wants to get some rest,” Raef said. Eldun and Hamil looked to each other.

“We drew the watch,” Eldun said. “We will stay.” Raef nodded and walked halfway around one of the massive oak trunks to take a piss. He had no sooner refastened his belt than the air came alive with the sound of wolves and Raef knew they were watching him, perhaps no more than twenty paces away. Hastening back to the fire, Raef grabbed for his sword. The horses now snorted and pulled at their ropes.

“They are close,” he said. The noise had awoken the others, who also reached for weapons. Gudrik began to light torches and passed them around the circle. The new sources of light pushed the shadows back and Raef was sure he saw swift-running feet dance away into the dark.

“There!” Raef spun around at Soren’s shout. Two wolves walked from the shadows, eyes unblinking. Savage, rolling growls came from deep within their throats. So fixed was Raef on the yellow eyes of one that he barely saw the other wolves emerge, one by one, from the trees. The beasts stopped ten paces from the men, who began to shout and brandish their torches.

“Go back to Hel!” Eldun roared. He flung his torch at the wolf closest to him, a tall, black one. It leaped back, snarling, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Eldun mirrored the wolf’s stance and snarl. “I will gut you like a pig.” The torch sputtered in the snow, but the wolves were wary and began to back away. Then, at a silent signal, they all turned and sprinted off, disappearing into the trees, their prints in the snow the only sign of trespass.

The men stayed alert for some time but the wolves did not return. Some slept, others kept the fire burning. Raef used the time before the dawn to sharpen his borrowed weapons, his mind on the wolves and their intent. It was only just before they broke camp in the grey light of morning that he spoke what had been growing in his thoughts.

“The black wolf,” Raef said, “this is not the first we have seen him.” He looked to Ragnarr. “He showed himself to us the night before last.” Ragnarr nodded his agreement. “We are being hunted.”

“Let them come,” Soren said, laughing. “I will wager any man here that I will have the first kill.”

They pushed the pace that day, trying to outdistance the pack or find territory the wolves would not venture into. The day was quiet and the land empty of villages or even far-flung farms. If they still rode in Darfallow lands or had crossed into the lands of Gornhald or Skolldain, Raef did not know. Whatever lands they were, they were filled with hills, trees, and little else.

Raef called for a brief rest late in the morning. They had climbed a tall hill in order to take in their surroundings from the summit. Sun spots dotted the tree tops and hills around them, but the light was dim and the air was without warmth. The men passed an ale skin and laughed at something Ormundir said. Raef was readjusting the small pack behind his horse’s saddle when he heard the snarl behind him. Turning, he was too late to avoid the black wolf’s charge. The wolf leapt, striking Raef in the chest. Raef tumbled backward, his hand fumbling for the knife at his belt, but the beast was on him and it was all he could do to fend off the jaws that snapped at his throat and face while he lashed out with his feet.

An arrow buried itself in the wolf’s flank, giving Raef the chance to kick and scramble out from under it. His knife was out before he found his feet. The wolf charged again. Raef sidestepped just as it jumped and he swiped at the wolf’s throat. His blade came away red with blood, but the wolf was not deterred. It barked and snarled, crouched close to the ground, ready to spring again. As he locked eyes with it, he became aware that the pack had followed the leader and engaged the men.

Another arrow pierced the wolf, this time in the shoulder. It staggered and the third attack was slower. Raef did not even try to evade, but instead took the hit and let the wolf’s weight do the killing for him. The beast snarled to the end, Raef’s knife imbedded in its chest, and then Raef saw the hatred and fear disappear from the green eyes as life ebbed away.

Pulling his knife from the corpse, Raef turned to the fight around him. Two other wolves were dead, but half a dozen more still attacked. Hamil’s arrows had found many targets and Raef helped Gudrik finish off a wounded wolf. Ragnarr was beset by two, as though the animals sensed his father’s blood would make him the most difficult to kill. But Ragnarr fought with speed that Raef could only imagine as both wolves leaped at the same time. Ragnarr ducked and stabbed up at one, piercing its belly. It dropped, lifeless, but not before Ragnarr had thrown his axe at the second, savaging the neck. Their deaths seemed to take the fight out of the remaining three wolves, all of which were wounded. They barked and growled, but turned and slunk away to lick the blood from their fur. One limped away on three legs, a front leg nearly torn off, and Raef was sure he would not last the night.

It was only when the danger was past that Raef realized one of their own was badly hurt. Soren lay on the ground, his hands clutching his neck. Blood gushed from between his fingers and though Hamil hurried to add his hands and a cloth to the wound, Raef had seen enough to know that Soren would die.

The dying went quickly. Soren could not speak, but his eyes asked what he could not and his sword was placed in his hand. He gripped it firmly and, holding it to his chest, stared up at the cloudy sky until the last breath escaped from him.

“A warrior goes to you, Odin Allfather, swift as an arrow shot into the sun,” Gudrik said. “He is Soren and his fathers are there before him. Welcome him, for he will serve you well in the last battle.”

Raef had but a single slash on his forearm from the black wolf’s teeth. His leather forearm guards had prevented the damage from being worse. Hamil, Gudrik, and Ragnarr were unscathed while Eldun, Orvar, and Kennet bled from minor wounds that were easily dressed.

They built a crude pyre on the hilltop and lay Soren’s body on it. Eldun set it alight and they watched over it until Soren was ash. Raef tucked Soren’s mead skin into his pack as a reminder of the warrior’s kindness to him, a stranger, then mounted his horse. The others followed and they descended from the hill in silence, the wood still burning and smoking behind them.

It was some time before Raef spoke to Gudrik, who rode next to him. “Nine wolves, Gudrik. There were nine of us.”

Gudrik looked at Raef. “You believe there is meaning in that?”

“I only know that I have seen more things I cannot explain since the gathering than in all my life before. It may be mere chance. But I think not. Wolves do not attack in daylight.”

A moment later, Gudrik smiled a little and said, “At least Soren was true to his word. That wolf was the first to die.”

The sun was descending as they emerged from the forest and hit a wide, shallow river traversing a flat, open plain. It was the wider fork of the river Idis and the first certain landmark they had come across. Raef knew they were entering the lands of Skolldain, which sliced between Gornhald and Norfaem.

“Is Brynjar of Skolldain a friend to the Palesword?” Raef asked.

“He is among those who have not yet given answer,” Gudrik said. They searched out a shallow crossing point and gave the horses a moment to drink from the cold river, then urged them through the water to the other bank. “He thinks himself safe.”

“His lands extend beyond the two forks of the Idis, yes?”

“They do. But the waters of both forks are swift and would be difficult to cross in large numbers. He could hole up here and trust to the river to keep him safe.”

“He would be content to wait on this plain? What of his warriors? Do they not wish for glory in battle?”

“Brynjar is a selfish man. He seeks only to bring renown and riches to himself.”

“How can he do this if he does not let his warriors fight? If he waits until he thinks he sees an easy victory?”

Gudrik looked surprised. “Have you not heard?” Raef shook his head. “Brynjar carries a spear forged by the same brothers who crafted Freyja’s ill-fated necklace. A mighty thing. He will risk no hurt to it and to lose it to another would bring him unending grief and shame. It is to be an heirloom of his house and he thinks that his possession of it will bring him all the glory he could desire, even if he never spills blood with it.”

“He is undeserving, then, and the Father of Battle will scorn him. Such a weapon must be wielded with deadly intent. A fine prize for the man who can take it.”