The Blood-Tainted Winter (17 page)

Nineteen

T
he Hammerling found
them long before they drew near Finngale’s border with Axsellund. Raef’s party was set upon by a pack of warriors as they summited a ridge. Their captain looked hard at the rope binding Ulrik’s hands and looked even harder at Cilla as she shadowed Raef and the two younger children tagging after Sigvard, but asked no questions. They were escorted the remaining distance to a windswept moor, spotted with dozens of lakes no larger than houses. Among the watery footprints, the long, strung-out line of the Hammerling’s allies was an imposing barricade to the lands beyond.

The bright banners whipped in the wind as Raef and his men approached. The Hammerling had maintained order among his warriors, no small feat for a large host, and Raef saw no fistfights, no drunken brawls, no knives thrown in anger as he was led to the Hammerling’s tent. While waiting for the captain to announce them, Raef asked Sigvard to accompany him. The children he left with Vakre, while Eira gladly kept Ulrik close.

The tent opened and Brandulf Hammerling stepped out into the air. He studied Raef for a moment, and then his gaze took in all those around Raef.

“Skallagrim. I began to wonder when I might see you again.” Raef started to speak but was cut off. “The tent is dingy and smells of sheep. Walk with me.” The Hammerling turned and set off through the snow. Raef followed and Sigvard moved to do the same. Brandulf looked back. “Just you.”

They walked in silence until they left the tents behind. The Hammerling stopped at one of the small lakes and picked at something in his teeth. “Day by day we grow in number, a few spears from Ragmoor one day, a party of swords from Norfaem the next as men trickle forth to answer the call. Still it is not enough. It will not break the lines of Fengar or the Palesword.”

“More will come. But how long will you wait? I had thought to see you strike quickly and force the first true battle in this war. I have seen nothing but skirmishes.”

The Hammerling grimaced. “Would that all my allies thought as you do. They all council me to wait, and so I have. For better or for worse. Am I not king? It seems even a king cannot do as he wishes.”

Raef asked the question he should have asked first. “And Vannheim?”

“They wait, too. They sit in the hills where Vannheim, Finngale, and Axsellund all meet, waiting for you. Their mouths tell me they will protect my back. I wonder if they might stab it.”

“They will come.”

The Hammerling shifted subjects. “You return to me with men different from those who left with you and many days after I had expected you. Did you see the Deepminded?”

For an instant, Raef was back in the mountain cavern and the Deepminded’s face flashed before him. He blinked and pushed it away. “Her, and more. There is much to tell. But first, tell me, have Norl and your warriors returned to you? Have you seen the men of Vannheim who followed me east?” Raef asked, thinking of Sindri.

The Hammerling shook his head. “None have come. What has happened, Skallagrim?” And so Raef related nearly all of what had transpired since setting out from Finngale. He kept his description of the events in the Deepminded’s cave brief. The Hammerling expressed disappointment that so little had been learned there. Raef recounted the strange death and rebirth of Tormund Ravenbane and what he had learned of Fengar and the Palesword, their numbers and their movements. When it came to the Palesword’s part, Raef held off from revealing Torrulf’s true purpose for seeking the Far-Traveled and all that Finndar Urdson had told him about the dead warriors sleeping in an unknown mountain. That he had found the Far-Traveled, spoken to him, and chosen to let him go free, Raef intended to share with only a few and the Hammerling was not among them.

When he had finished, the Hammerling was quiet for some time. He twisted a silver arm ring absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere, perhaps flying over the land like a bird, seeing the enemy below him, assessing their strength. When he did speak, it was not to ask after more information on his enemies. “Ulrik Urgilson returns to me less than a free man. Why?”

“He attempted to kill a defenseless child.”

Brandulf nodded but said, “You know I will not hold him. He is one of my captains.”

“I know.” Raef had not expected Ulrik to receive punishment from the Hammerling. “He has promised to rip my heart from my chest.”

The Hammerling laughed a little. “And you?”

“I would not forgo a chance to do the same. I am your ally and he is your captain, and we both follow your will. But if he crosses me, I cannot guarantee his safety.”

The laugh came again, louder this time. “When we win this war, I will see to it that both of you have your chance.” He clapped a hand on Raef’s shoulder. “Now, let us find our other friends and tell them the time for waiting is over. The time for warring has come.”

The Hammerling’s allies, greater in number than when Raef had last met with them, greeted Raef with stern faces and wary eyes when they gathered that night in the Hammerling’s tent. They had built an army in his absence and did not see him as one of their own. All but Hauk of Ruderk, who smiled openly and welcomed Raef into the circle. Mead was passed around and the Hammerling bid them all to drink a full cup and then called for the mead to be poured a second time.

“I gather you here this night,” the Hammerling began, “to make it known that tomorrow we leave this place.” A few voices made murmurs at this but soon quieted. The Hammerling looked at Raef. “With Vannheim now joined securely to us, it is time to march on our enemies and test our shields against theirs.”

“Would it not be prudent to wait, lord? Others will yet join us.” Tyrvin, lord of Ragmoor, spoke clearly but quietly.

“Are we not here to spill hot blood with our shining blades? Are we not here to howl in battle against our foe? Are we not here to win a war against a false king?” The Hammerling’s voice had risen with each question until it rang out, clear and compelling.

“If we let Fengar and the Palesword fight each other,” began Tyrvin, but the Hammerling, his voice roaring, cut him off.

“I mean to win my place through glorious battle, not prey upon an already-weakened foe.”

“And risk all so soon?” That Tyrvin persisted, Raef found strangely admirable, but severely wrongheaded.

“Yes, and yes a thousand times!” The Hammerling shook with anger and his face was gaining color swiftly. “I will risk all! My life, your life, you pig-faced bastard, the lives of all these men. And if I fail, at least I will find my way to Valhalla and drink with heroes until the days of battle come. But you, you will snivel on in life until you wither away to dust. And then Odin will pass you by.” Taking his fiery gaze from Tyrvin, the Hammerling looked at all the men. “If any man here does not have the thirst for this war, let him take his men and depart at once. There is no room for a coward in the shield wall.”

Tyrvin had the sense to be silent. The uneasy quiet was broken by Hauk of Ruderk. “You are right, lord. With Vannheim joined to us, it is time to make our move.”

“I do not need to be told I am right,” the Hammerling growled, but seemed more content. The other lords spoke their agreement and the tension lifted.

Further plans were made that night. The Vannheim warriors would be sent for, though Raef was not allowed to go to them. The Hammerling would take the greater portion of his host and march into Balmoran, laying waste to the land as he went. His goal was Solheim and to draw Fengar into battle, for the Solheim lord could not ignore such an intrusion into his territory. “He will come running like a puppy, straight into the wolf’s jaws,” the Hammerling said, his eyes gleaming at the prospect.

A smaller force would be sent to hassle whatever warriors they found in the more northern lands, be they for Torrulf or Fengar. This would be led by the newly arrived Eirik of Kolhaugen, a son of the late high king, not lord of Kolhaugen in name, for he and his twin brother disputed the right to rule. Despite this, Eirik had brought half of Kolhaugen’s warriors with him. The other half had followed his brother, Alvar, to Fengar.

As the Hammerling gave Eirik this role, Raef sensed it was not a choice favored by the other lords. Eirik was the newest of the Hammerling’s allies and Vathnar of Norfaem, one of the first to pledge to the Hammerling, was noticeably upset at being passed over. Raef thought it a well-calculated decision.

As for the Vannheim men, they would travel with all speed to join the Hammerling in the south. Only then would Raef have command over them.

The plans laid, the lords went their separate ways to begin the preparations for travel. A messenger, bearing a letter in Raef’s hand, was dispatched with all haste to the southwest and the mountain pass between Finngale and Vannheim. Sigvard drew a crude map to show Cilla and her siblings where to find his mother’s home. They would be allowed to keep both the mare and another horse to aid in their journey.

The weather turned sour overnight and by the time they broke camp at dawn, a thick, wet snow was falling. Raef overheard more than one man speak of ill fortune and bad portent as he threaded through the array of men and horses to join the Hammerling at the head of his host. For his part, the snow worried Raef only in regards to the messenger. If their own progress south was slowed, it did not much matter, but they needed the Vannheim men to move quickly.

The Hammerling sent off Eirik of Kolhaugen and the men he led with a frown, then turned his attention to their own path. With a great heave, like a bear waking from his winter sleep, the mass of men and horses began to move. Raef set Cilla on the path north and watched them until they were out of sight, then rode to catch the Hammerling.

The pace was easy, dictated both by the poor weather conditions and the large portion of men on foot. As for the tents and other comforts, much was left behind so as not to burden their movement. The abandoned tents soon fell out of sight behind a heavy veil of snow.

The weather did not improve that day or the next two, and all the world was white. Sometimes the snow was mixed with rain, sometimes it fell in icy shards, sometimes it floated gently to the ground. They kept on course and limited their raiding to only those farms that had the misfortune to fall directly in their path, for nothing else could be seen.

Through it all, the Hammerling remained loud, boisterous, cheerful even. At first Raef thought his good humor all for the benefit of those around him so that their own spirits did not sink into the snow, but he soon realized the Hammerling feigned nothing.

The Hammerling summoned Raef to his fire on the second night. Thinking he wanted to discuss their course, Raef did not at first notice the small girl that stood among the men. The Hammerling prodded her forward and Raef closed his eyes in dismay. It was Cilla.

“I think you know this girl, Skallagrim,” the Hammerling said, not ungently. “She hid among the men until one brought word of her to me.” He stepped close to Raef. “Do what you will with her, but see that she does not get in the way.” All the while, Cilla stared straight ahead, her face set with determination.

Raef held out a hand. “Come, Cilla.”

She followed him back to his fire and spoke first. “I have done everything I can for Brig and Ynna. For two years, I alone kept them alive. They will be in good hands, better hands, in the home of Sigvard’s mother, and for that I am grateful. But it is time I made my own way in the world.”

It was said with such conviction that Raef did not even for a moment think to question her. “And what way is that?”

“The way of the shieldmaiden.”

Raef brushed snow from Cilla’s shoulder. “So be it. I happen to know two shieldmaidens who could teach you much. But I will not be the one to persuade them to take you on. You must do that for yourself.”

Cilla did not rejoice as a child might be expected to do upon getting something much desired. Her face remained solemn as she nodded in agreement to his terms.

On the fifth day, the sun broke through and a large village in Bergoss fell prey to their swords. The snow was blazingly bright in the sunlight, save for where it turned black with ash in the wake of the warriors. The village yielded little in the way of goods or even food, but it gave something more to the men, even those who had played no part in its destruction, and Raef felt the overall mood of the host improve. There was no sign of Bergoss warriors, no shadow of retribution on the horizon, and Raef wondered where Sverren Redtail’s warriors were.

When they reached the lands of Karahull, the raids were halted. The Hammerling made it clear that not a person should be harmed or a barn set alight until the allegiance of the Karahull warriors was determined, for Karahull had lost its lord in the fire at the gathering and nothing had been heard from its warriors in the opening days of the war. Raef was not even certain a new lord had been proclaimed. Gudrik of Karahull had left only young children to take his place. If there was a chance the Karahull men could be persuaded to join them, the Hammerling would not risk it by violating their homes.

Though they passed several farms as they dropped out of the high hills that marked the northern lands of Karahull, it was not until they reached a long, narrow lake that they saw signs of life. The village across the lake could only be reached by ferry, but it was here that Gudrik of Karahull had lived, so the Hammerling was determined to cross. Leaving his vast force behind but taking his allies with him, Brandulf commandeered the boat and took an oar himself. Raef settled on an oar and soon the men fell into a rhythm and crossed the lake quickly.

Fishermen plying the waters watched them cross and tether the boat. They called out no greetings but made no move to impede the docking either. The Hammerling jumped ashore and they made their way to the largest building, a modest hall that stood on the water’s edge. Still, the villagers watched and said nothing.

As the Hammerling mounted the steps to the hall, Raef hung back near the dock. He touched the shoulder of a passing fisherman.

“Who rules in Karahull?” Raef asked.