The Blood-Tainted Winter (15 page)

“I do not know. He seemed certain.”

“Then I am sorry to disappoint him and you.”

As they rode, the snow continued to fall, though it was light and peaceful. Gudrik’s revelation revolved in Raef’s mind for some time. A small part of him wondered what it might be like to be a half god, to have Frigg or Freyja as a mother, or Tyr, Thor, or even Odin as a father. But most of all he wanted to know how Torrulf could have been so certain and yet so wrong.

Hamil kept his distance from Raef the remainder of the day, though he stayed close to Kennet. If he filled Kennet’s head with corrupt thoughts, Raef did not know or much care, though the separation in the group concerned Gudrik.

“What will you do about him?” Gudrik and Raef were coaxing a fire to life as evening sank into night. Hamil was skinning rabbits while Kennet unwrapped Thora’s bread.

“I will not provoke him by intent, if that is what you mean.”

“But if he insists on provoking himself?”

Raef blew on the ember before answering. “Did you attend the gathering, Gudrik?”

“I did.”

“And were you in the Great-Belly’s hall when I killed Jarl Thrainson, the murderer of my father?”

“I was.”

Raef’s eyes were on the small flame that had flared up, but he saw instead blood seeping from his father’s body, the blue eyes unseeing in a grey face. “Then I think you know what I will do to Hamil.” Raef looked at Gudrik and softened his words. “I do not wish to harm him, Gudrik, but neither will I let him stand in my way.” They were silent for some time. “Which god did the Palesword see in my ancestry?”

“I never heard him say.”

“And you?”

Gudrik did not hesitate. “I see Odin in you.”

“How so?”

“I see in you the unfathomable depths beneath the still surface of the sea, the evening clouds hiding thunder behind their pale faces, the strength of the earth that withstands even the harshest winter.”

Raef thought back to his father’s cautionary words against trusting a half god. “And would you call such an offspring of Odin a friend?”

“Yes. But I would never think to understand him.”

“You make me out to be a poor friend, Gudrik.”

The skald smiled a little. “Then it is a good thing you are not a son of Odin.”

Two more rumors of Finndar, the Far-Traveled, reached Raef’s ears the following day as they crossed through the lands of Freywyn. Pieced together, the information suggested they were headed in the right direction, but they still had little to go on. A merchant driving a cart pulled by oxen said the Far-Traveled meant to pay a visit to Thollgrim, while a blacksmith in a small village was sure he was headed to the sea. Raef did not know where to turn and the knowledge that the others had thought that somehow he would know the way slowed his ability to decide.

In the end, Raef stayed true to their southern course but they saw no further sign of the Far-Traveled for two days. It was a lonely two days. They kept single watches at night now and Hamil did not speak except to Kennet. Raef retreated into a quiet watchfulness and Gudrik did not play his flute when they were gathered around the campfire. Only Ragnarr seemed unaffected, but Raef had no way of knowing for the silent warrior’s expressions seldom changed.

On the second night, Raef kept the last watch. He enjoyed those moments before the dawn, waiting for the first signs of pink on the horizon, waiting for the first birds to greet the day. The horses shuffled their feet and Raef went to them, stroking the soft, grey nose of the horse the Palesword had given him. As he rubbed the spot between the horse’s ears, a rustle in the trees drew his attention. His hand went to the knife at his belt and he drew it as he turned, ready to fight.

Finndar Urdson was unchanged in the grey, shrouded morning. He was more than ten paces away from Raef and a hood added shadow to the features of his face. But Raef could not mistake the tall, lean form, the eyes that had looked at Raef with such understanding. Raef stayed still, his knife out, as though the Far-Traveled were a deer that might startle and sprint away.

“I think we have done this before, Raef Skallagrim. Again, you show me naked steel.” The Far-Traveled’s voice was light and dry. Raef thought he saw a smile curve on his mouth.

Raef sheaved the knife but did not move closer. “I should have known that it would be you who would find me, not the other way around.” Finndar said nothing. “You know why I am here.”

“More or less.” The Far-Traveled glanced to the glowing fire and the men who slept around it. “Come, walk with me.”

Raef hesitated, unwilling to leave his companions, but he was too close to obtaining his goal to let it slip away. He followed the Far-Traveled from the fire and they climbed the rocky knoll that stood above the campsite and served as meager shelter from the elements.

“I have orders to bring you to the Palesword. Will you come willingly or must I find a means of forcing you?”

The Far-Traveled held up his hand, his eyes on the starry sky above. “Peace, Skallagrim. See there,” he pointed at a bright star near the horizon, “lovely Laerke shows her face to us tonight. Do you know why Freyja placed her in the night sky?”

Raef shook his head.

“She wished to marry a man who was not of her family’s choosing. They fought bitterly and she pleaded for help from the gods. Frigg would not hear her, but Freyja, gentle, beguiling Freyja, came to Laerke’s aid. But the goddess was too late, for Laerke’s lover had been sent to Valhalla, not to return until Heimdall’s horn is sounded and the days of battle begin. To save Laerke from the unhappy marriage, Freyja did the only thing she could and set the girl among the stars to await that day in peace, her ever-shining love a light on the world of men.”

“Will you find refuge beside her, then? If I were you, I would not want Torrulf Palesword for a husband either.”

The Far-Traveled laughed. “Your wits do you credit, Raef, son of Einarr. But I do not compare myself to Laerke. I merely sought to enjoy her beauty for a moment.” He looked at Raef squarely, the stars no longer of concern. “Do you know why the Palesword sent you after me?”

“To use you as he is using me.”

“True, but did he share his full purpose?”

“No.”

“Long ago, in retribution for dishonoring herself, Odin the War-merry made a demand of Freyja: that she bring war to the world of men, that she set two great lords of war against each other, and that she prolong the war by returning dead men to the battlefield. This Freyja did, and with relish, for chaos and bloodshed are her domain as much as the Allfather’s. This army of undead warriors wreaked havoc until the Allfather was satisfied and restored peace. But the warriors were not placed on a funeral pyre, for Odin would no longer accept them. Instead they were buried deep in the heart of a mountain, and some say the man who finds them can bend them to his purpose and set their tide against the world again.”

“The Palesword seeks this mountain?” The Far-Traveled nodded. “And he believes you know where it is.” Another nod. “Do you?”

Finndar gave no answer at first, but stared deep into Raef’s eyes. “Yes. The choice is yours, Raef. I am no warrior, I cannot stop you from binding me and tossing me over the back of a horse. If you wish it, I can be at the Palesword’s feet in a matter of days and you will help him unleash an army that will bring him certain victory. But know this. It will also bring ravaging death and destruction unlike any you have seen. A man might wake this army, a man might even think he commands this army, but only Odin can do that.”

“The Palesword holds my friends captive. You are their release. If I bring you before him, can you not speak falsely, or even not at all?”

Finndar smiled a sad smile. “There are ways to make even a half god tell you what you want to know.”

The sky was lightening, a blush of pink behind black trees, as Raef mulled over the Far-Traveled’s words.

“If I let you go, you must do something for me in return.”

“I would expect no less.”

“I will not abandon my friends. If I return without you, their lives are forfeit. Tell me how this can be avoided.”

“A fair price. A small force of the Hammerling’s warriors is roving through Kelgard lands as we speak. Find them and I think you have your answer. Their numbers are not so many that you could attack the Palesword and win, but I am sure you can think of what else you might do with them to save your friends.”

“If they will follow me.”

“Ensuring they do rests on your shoulders, not mine. Have you so little faith in yourself?”

Raef did not answer this. “You have your freedom, Urdson. Will we meet again?”

The Far-Traveled’s face was grave. “Yes, but the time and place is veiled from me. I fear much will have happened to change the world between now and then.”

It was the most forthcoming the Far-Traveled had ever been about the future in Raef’s hearing, and it filled him with unease.

Finndar extended his hand and Raef clasped his forearm. “You have my thanks, Raef Skallagrim. I will speak well of you to any and all who will listen.” The Far-Traveled turned and descended from the rise. Raef watched him walk away, his stride long and purposeful, until he disappeared into the trees.

The dawn was breaking and Raef knew he had only moments before the others awoke. His choice made, he would not dwell on his course and risk losing his chance. Returning to the campsite, Raef bundled up his belongings and added a bit of food to his pack. He untied his horse from the rest, soothing the others who wondered why their friend was leaving. Before mounting, he looked back at Gudrik. He would miss the poet and did not know if their paths would cross again. Raef reached deep into his pack and fished out Soren’s empty mead skin. Smoothing it between his fingers, he set it as close to Gudrik’s hand as he dared. Gudrik would recognize it, he knew, though whether it would serve to give him any kind of understanding of Raef’s departure, he could not say.

Mounted at last, Raef turned the horse west, thankful for the dry ground that would not easily show his horse’s tracks. Raef wove through the stand of trees until they gave way to an open, gently-rolling plain. Glancing to the southern horizon, he found Laerke, still burning bright, and then gave the horse his head. The grey horse was swift and nimble and they covered ground quickly, the horse’s tail a pale banner in the dim light. Raef leaned low over the horse’s neck, his eyes on the ground ahead, but his mind on Vakre, Eira, and Siv, and the Far-Traveled’s troubling words of what lay ahead.

Seventeen

R
aef rode hard
and fast for six days, pushing the horse as far as he dared through the lands of Lilleval before crossing into Kelgard, which lay south of Balmoran. What purpose the Hammerling’s men might have there, Raef did not know, but they were not hard to find for the people of Kelgard lived in fear of them. They told Raef that Halgeir, the ancient lord, and his many sons were leading a host to join Fengar, leaving his people vulnerable. The Hammerling had not hesitated to strike, sending a small force to lay waste to the land.

Raef found them by following the smoke. Their path was laid out before him, marked by the smoking remains of farms and half a village. Raef saw no survivors save one ragged dog, whose tail was singed by fire. Perhaps some had fled. Beyond the village, a still-burning fire was visible and Raef raced to find the Hammerling’s men, perhaps thirty in number, celebrating their victory over sheep and three children. The children cowered while the men drank.

Raef rode straight into their midst. Some of the warriors were too drunk to notice while others squinted at him and reached for their weapons.

“Stay your hands, I am a friend of the Hammerling.” This earned Raef a moment to prove himself, though he knew he would have a single chance. If their blood was up, they would not hesitate to tear him from his horse.

“What brings you here?” The speaker’s hand was on his axe and his eyes were unfriendly.

“I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim, ally of the Hammerling, and I have been the Palesword’s prisoner. Do you lead here?”

“I do.” The unfriendly eyes looked up at Raef, unblinking.

“You know my name, now give me yours.”

The warrior did not answer right away but finally spat it out. “Ulrik.”

“Ulrik, friends of mine, friends of the Hammerling, are yet held captive by the Palesword. You and these men will help me free them.” It was bold to make such a demand with so little preamble, but Raef sensed Ulrik would not be won over by nice words.

Ulrik glanced at the rest of the men, a harsh grin spreading on his rough face. “Prove who you are. I am not a fool nor will I run like a dog after you.”

“I have nothing on me that can do what you ask.”

“Then I suggest you turn that horse and go.”

“A wager, then. I win, you do as I ask. You win, I will go. Or will you shy away from such a challenge?”

Ulrik frowned and Raef knew he had him. The warrior would not back down now that Raef had questioned his courage in front of his men. “A wager on what?”

Raef spread his hands in a gesture of generosity. “A contest of your choice.”

Ulrik thought this over for a moment, but Raef could see his desire to win prevailed over any feelings of caution he might have. “I hope you have come to lose, then, lord.” He turned and Raef waited for him to produce knives or spears for a throwing contest, or perhaps strip to the waist for a wrestling match, but instead Ulrik whistled and one of his men led a horse forward.

“See her?” Ulrik rested his hand on the mare’s neck. “We found her yesterday.” He grinned. “We have worked hard to keep the stallion away from her.” Ulrik eyed Raef’s grey horse, which, smelling the mare, snorted and strained to reach her. Raef pulled back hard and circled him away to preserve some distance. “I hope you trust your horse, lord.” And then Raef understood what contest Ulrik had in mind. He grimaced, having no love for horse fighting, but did not protest. Ulrik called for another man who brought forth a stallion, a great, black beast, much larger than Raef’s mount.

The black stallion was already inflamed, both with lust for the mare and with hatred for the new male he could smell. He stamped his feet and it took three men to hold him steady. Raef dismounted and removed his horse’s saddle and his gear. The grey was responding, showing his own fire, and Raef had barely stepped away when Ulrik gave a nod and the black horse was released.

With a scream, the black charged, hooves flying, and Raef’s grey answered in kind. They kicked and bit, wheeling over the ground so quickly they seemed to dance above it. The black struck first, though whether it drew blood on the grey’s neck with its hooves or teeth, Raef could not tell. The grey did not back down and soon the black’s shiny coat was marred by blood as well. On they went while the men made wagers, until the black showed signs of tiring. Ulrik stepped in with a spear and goaded it on, shouting curses as he prodded the animal’s flank. The horse responded with renewed energy and thrust out at the grey with vicious kicks. The grey stumbled back and nearly fell, to the delight of some of the men. Raef felt his hopes dwindle, but the horse kept his feet, turned, and landed a kick directly on the black’s eye.

The black screamed again, but this time in pain, for the socket was broken and the eyeball dislodged. The horse backed away from the fight, pain overcoming the need to dominate, and he began to run wildly. Raef immediately grabbed for his horse and managed to calm it. The black stallion, half-blind, careened into the still-burning farmhouse, splintering what was left of the walls as the house crumbled around him.

Raef drew his sword and, holding his arm across his mouth, approached the fire. He could see the horse still, though there was no doubt the animal was trapped. Its mane and tail were no longer silken black hair but a blaze of light and the screams were unbearable. Raef could not move the fallen timbers in time, even if the fire was put out and the other men helped him. He had only one choice. Plunging in through a small opening, Raef stepped close to the terrified animal and slashed once through its neck. The horse sank to the ground and Raef, coughing, stumbled back out of the building. He thrust his sword into the earth and patted at his smoldering sleeve, all the while glaring at Ulrik.

“A waste of good horseflesh,” Raef said. Ulrik scowled but said nothing. “We ride north.” He turned and began to saddle his horse, and for a moment he heard nothing behind him to indicate the men would follow. Then they sprang to life, gathering their own gear, the wagers they had made forgotten for the moment. They could not doubt that Raef was the victor.

Before remounting, Raef took the mare from the man who had been holding her and walked her over to the children, who stood mute and frightened apart from the rest.

“She is yours now. Go some place safe,” Raef said. He handed the rope to the oldest, a skinny girl who could not have yet been twelve, and then turned away. When he urged his horse away from the ruined farm, the men fell in behind him.

Though the men were his now, Raef kept apart as they traveled. Ulrik’s distaste for him was palpable and Raef, certain the captain would not hesitate to oust him if he could, did not desire to stir up more trouble. But more than that, his time with the Palesword’s men and the Hammerling’s before that had made him weary of riding among strangers, weary of wondering where to place his trust, weary of gratifying other men’s whims. And a small part of him, remembering Gudrik, Soren, and Vakre most of all, knew he did not want to make more friends only to lose them again.

In his self-imposed silence, he fixed his mind on making plans to obtain freedom for Vakre, Siv, and Eira. If the Palesword had maintained his position on the lonely plateau by the lake, Raef could not hope to infiltrate the camp for the way up would be heavily guarded. His chances improved if Torrulf had moved on in order to seek out Fengar, the Hammerling, or any of their allies.

It was late on the second day of their journey north that Raef began to sense they were being watched and followed. They traveled across tree-pocked plains with gently rolling hills, cut through here and there by swift streams, and Raef’s sight lines were interrupted in every direction. But they chose to make camp that night in the open, on the crest of a slope, for the ground was muddy and wet from recent rain everywhere else.

As Raef chewed on dried meat and stale bread, washing it down with water from a skin, he glanced toward the nearest group of trees and saw movement that was not a bird or animal. Setting aside his food and looking about to see that no one was paying close attention to him, he walked to the trees, quite certain he knew who he would find there.

The children did not try to hide as he approached. They stood among the trees, dirty and under-dressed for the cold night air. The mare was asleep on her feet already, tired from carrying all three children for two days, though they could not have weighed much.

“Why do you follow?”

The oldest brushed hair from her face. “We have nowhere to go. Our mother is dead and our father is gone.”

“No cousins or uncles?”

She shook her head.

“I told you to go some place safe. Where I go, there is no safety to be found.”

“A lord needs someone to look after him.”

Were it not for her serious expression, Raef might have laughed. “At home, perhaps, but here in the wild, that is no place for you.”

“I can sharpen your sword and axe. I can wash your clothes. I can cook rabbit and mutton.”

Raef sighed and looked into her pale blue eyes. “What is your name, child?”

“Cilla.”

“Cilla, I am sorry for the loss of your home, but I have nothing to offer you. We ride to battle. I cannot allow you to follow.”

Cilla looked up at him. There were streaks in the dirt on her cheeks where tears had fallen before, but she was not crying now. “I do not ask your leave, lord.”

And so the children followed when they broke camp in the morning, for Raef could not see how to keep them away, apart from maiming or killing them and that he would not do. They followed at a distance but it did not take long for the men to notice their three shadows. When Raef said the children were not to be harmed, they gave him curious looks but kept their opinions to themselves and their weapons sheaved. Only Ulrik grumbled about their presence in Raef’s hearing.

That night, Raef brought them scraps of meat, but found Cilla was already skinning a squirrel and the other two, a boy of eight and a girl of five, were tending a meager, but burning flame. Cilla’s knife was old and bent, perhaps long discarded by the absent father, but she worked diligently until she had strips of squirrel meat resting over the fire. The day had grown cold and the night promised to be colder still, so Raef exchanged the scraps of food he had brought for a spare blanket. It was thin and torn at one corner, but would serve a purpose.

Cilla was so efficient with both the food and her younger siblings, giving them quiet directions that were promptly fulfilled, that Raef began to wonder how long they had been alone on that farm. All three were exhausted, he could see, but they worked, ate, and bedded down for the night under the blanket without complaint. Before walking away, Raef, who had sat to the side, watching, battling feelings of responsibility, tucked the edge of the blanket away from the fire. The youngest, her curly hair askew, was already asleep.

When Raef returned to the larger campfire, a pair of warriors were lingering near where he had placed his belongings. They glanced at him but seemed unwilling to approach him.

“Speak your mind.”

One shuffled his feet and looked away, leaving the other to answer. Raef thought his name was Sigvard. “We wondered what you mean to do with them, lord,” he said, pointing to where the children lay. Raef did not detect malice in his voice.

“I do not know. I did not wish for them to follow. If I can bring them to a place of safety, I will do so, though I do not know where that might be. I am not the one who destroyed their home, though.” The men had the sense to look guilty and Raef seized on it. “I do not trust Ulrik,” he said. “Do you think that wrong?” The warrior who had spoken shook his head. “Then do something for these children and see that he leaves them in peace.” The two men did not agree outright, but as they walked away Raef sensed he had won them to his side.

Raef’s hopes were answered on the fourth day when a woodcutter told them the Palesword and Fengar had clashed on Kulfell lands. Raef knew it might be that Torrulf had chosen to hold his ground on the plateau while sending men out, but there was a chance his whole force was on the move. Though his numbers would grow as they went, Raef’s best chance at a successful rescue would come on the march.

The next day, as they crossed into Kulfell, Raef had the men spread out and ride in pairs so as to cover more ground, looking for any sign of men and horses. It was midday when they entered dense forest thick with unbroken underbrush and Raef knew they were the first to pass that way in some time. But soon after, word came from the far left of Raef’s line that tracks had been found and the Hammerling’s men converged on that spot, their faces bright with the anticipation of battle.

The tracks were fresh. Raef counted no more than ten or eleven horses and no one on foot. As they followed, it began to snow, gently at first, then with more urgency. Raef kept the children in the middle of the group and rode near them.

Raef leaned close to Cilla. “If we fight, do not look to me. Take the horse and ride, as fast and as far as you can.” For a moment he thought she would protest but she bit her lip and nodded, the snow already thick on her hair.

They increased their pace, eager to close the distance before the snow covered the track and their quarry was lost. Whether they were pursuing followers of Fengar or Torrulf, Raef wanted whatever information he could get. After crossing a small stream, the track diverged. Mirroring the men they followed, Raef split his force and led half on the left track. Though he might have preferred to keep Ulrik with him, he did not dispute the captain’s right to lead the other half.

They moved with as much silence as they could muster, aided by the snow underfoot. The flakes swirled in front of Raef, rising and falling with the breath of the wind before coming to rest on tree limbs and the forest floor.

The first arrow was no more than a rush of air passing in front of Raef’s face. It thudded into a tree trunk.

“Archers!” Raef shouted. The men raised their shields just as the next four arrows were let loose. Raef scanned the trees and saw movement. He dismounted and, staying low, circled wide to approach the archers from behind. The arrows continued to fly. Raef could only hope the Hammerling’s men would form a wall and hold their ground on the path long enough to give him time.