The Blood-Tainted Winter (22 page)

Siv was waiting at the gate with a pair of horses. Outside, the water level had dropped, revealing the dead that had lain submerged upon the muddy plain. “It was a great reaping for Odin’s hall,” Siv said as she and Raef rode out of the fortress.

“Greater than any I have ever seen,” Raef said. “And yet I think there will be much more to come.”

They rode first to inspect the forested hills to the north. It was not difficult to find evidence of Fengar’s recent stay among the trees. Ash piles indicated where fires had burned in the night and Raef found several broken shields and other discarded items. Some of Fengar’s men had eaten well; deer bones littered the ground. Leaving the forest behind, they started their search for Vakre on the battlefield, looking close at the faces of the dead. Water and steel had done much damage, but not so much that men were not recognizable. Raef found the body of Hawthor, the Hammerling’s captain who had sustained four arrow wounds in the taking of the stronghold. Not far from him lay the mangled body of Tyrvin, lord of Ragmoor. By the looks of his corpse, he had taken an axe to the face.

“The Hammerling will not be sorry to lose him,” Raef said. Of Thorald, his own captain, Raef found no trace, but he did not know if Finnolf had already taken the body from the field. Of the fourteen warriors who had climbed Fengar’s wall with him, five were among the dead. Of Vakre, there was no sign.

Leaving the corpses to the gathering crows, Raef and Siv turned to the rivers, crossing to the far bank of the western fork. The water had receded there, leaving behind sediment and dead fish. Raef and Siv followed the bank south, checking the underbrush and the trees. The dead were spread out but not hard to find, for the fluttering, fighting crows gave them away. On and on downstream they rode, saying little to each other, until midday, when they crossed at a narrow point in the river and retraced their steps on the eastern bank.

“If he lives, we will not find him here,” Siv said.

“If he lives, and can walk, why has he not returned?”

“He may have been swept even farther south than you were.”

“I heard Leifnar say only seventeen men returned from downstream and I was one. How many more do you think there could be?” Raef heard anger in his voice and fought to control it.

Siv’s voice hardened, too. “I do not wish to think he is dead. I would not think you would wish it either.”

“I do not. But my question still stands. If he is alive, what prevents him from joining us?” Siv had no answer. Raef let it go, but the question burned still inside his mind.

They returned to the stronghold at nightfall. Much had been done while the sun shone. The bodies had been heaped together and surrounded with dry wood smothered in oil. The piles stood silhouetted against the still-bright horizon. As Raef and Siv crossed back over the river, the wood was set alight and soon the field was a blazing sea of fire.

They found the Hammerling in the midst of it all. He stood straighter than he had that morning and his eyes were clear and bright. “Wolves came down from the hills at sunset, hungry for flesh. We drove them off.”

“Fengar should thank you for burning his dead, not just your own,” Raef said.

The Hammerling shrugged. “To leave them would prove nothing and would only make a nasty stink. If we are to stay awhile, I do not want wolves on my doorstep.” The Hammerling took a drink of ale. “Did you find your friend?” Raef shook his head. The Hammerling offered him the cup and Raef took it. “A few more stragglers made it back today. I do not expect we will see more tomorrow. If any are left alive, they are not coming.” Brandulf took the cup back. “His uncle is lord of Finnmark and with Fengar.”

“Yes.” Raef could see where the Hammerling’s thoughts were headed. “They are not on good terms.”

The Hammerling turned to look at Raef and asked the same question that had plagued Raef all day. “If he is alive, where is he?”

“He is not with Fengar,” Raef said.

“Trust can burn.” The Hammerling held Raef’s gaze for a moment and then emptied his cup. He gestured to the far side of the fire closest to them. “Your shieldmaiden waits for you.” He was right. Eira, her arm held close to her body, stood behind the flames. Raef was reminded of his first sight of her, for her eyes drew him in just as they had then.

Circling the fire, Raef came to stand in front of her, taking in every feature, every detail with his eyes, as though he could fill all his thoughts with her and push out the gnawing loss of Vakre. Whether it was death or betrayal, Raef could not decide which was worse, but Eira’s soft lips and grey eyes might help him forget.

With the light of morning came acceptance of Vakre’s death, for Raef would not believe him a traitor. There had been too much venom in Vakre’s voice when he spoke of his uncle and too much spirit for him to be cowed by his uncle’s authority. If, in the aftermath of the flood, Vakre had come into contact with his uncle, he would have died rather than fall under that yoke. As the sun rose, its rays filtering across the still-smoking meadow, Raef wondered if Vakre, his father, and Thorald shared mead in Valhalla.

The Hammerling called a council in Fengar’s hall just after sunrise. The lords and captains were fewer than before, but their faces were grim and determined. With Tyrvin, the dissenting lord, dead, there were few who were likely to argue any plan that involved certain battle.

“I mean to chase Fengar into the ground,” the Hammerling said. “There will be no refuge for him. The moment he thinks himself safe, our spears will be on the horizon. To begin, we must know where he is headed. Our one hundred most able-bodied men will begin the pursuit today. When his whereabouts are known, they will send word to those who remain here.”

“And the Palesword?” The speaker was Vathnar of Norfaem. “We know he has remained in the northern lands.”

“I will deal with the Palesword later. If he pushes Fengar back into our waiting host, all the better for us.”

“Do you lead the first chase group yourself, lord?” Leifnar asked.

The Hammerling did not answer at first and Raef could see he still wrestled with the question. “No,” he said at last. “I give command to Skallagrim, who won us these walls, and Hauk of Ruderk. Leifnar, you will be first among captains.” Raef accepted with a nod and then the Hammerling cleared out all save Raef, Hauk, and Leifnar. A fire burned in Fengar’s hearth and the Hammerling turned and held his hands over it while the men filed out of the hall. The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty hall. Only then did the Hammerling sit on a bench. Raef could see the leg bothered him more than he wanted to show. The relief at having weight off it was written plain enough, though.

“I am not so proud that I will lead this pursuit. I know my leg will only hinder me. Lead them as you see fit.” The Hammerling looked from Raef to Hauk and then back to Raef. “Follow whatever path you think best. Engage the enemy when you judge the time to be right. But this one command do I give you. Fight Fengar, capture Fengar, detain Fengar, surround Fengar, do what you must. But do not kill him until I am there. I will see him dead myself.”

Raef could not help himself. “And risk losing him?”

The Hammerling pushed himself to his feet. “There is nowhere he can go that we cannot follow.”

“And yet if we hold him captive and keep him alive, we invite an attempt at rescue and we leave our force vulnerable.”

“You will not sway me on this, Skallagrim. To pass judgment on Fengar is my right and I will have it.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. The Hammerling’s eyes were hard and unyielding. Raef wanted to argue further, but Hauk of Ruderk spoke first.

“It will be as you ask, lord,” Hauk said, bowing his head at the Hammerling.

Raef’s gaze shifted to Hauk and he did not attempt to hide his displeasure. But it was done. The order had been given and accepted. Hauk kept his eyes on the Hammerling. Raef, though he knew it was a slight, knew it would not be forgiven, turned his back on the man he had sworn allegiance to and left the hall.

Twenty-Three

I
t is foolish,”
Raef said to Eira. They were in their room and Raef was packing his travel bag. “I have trusted his judgment this far, but now I wonder at the wisdom of such trust. He is not a stupid man, but today he acts as one. It may be our ruin.”

Eira, whose arm would prevent her from riding with Raef, did not offer any sympathy. “Did you not choose him? This is the king you wanted.”

“I did not choose him. I accepted him because I had no other choice.”

“That is a lie.”

Raef stopped stuffing his pack and turned on Eira. “What would you have done in my stead?”

“I would have chosen the king who offered me the most for my blood and blade.”

“Yes, silver, that is all that matters to you.” Raef advanced on her until he was but inches away.

“At least I know what I want.”

“As do I.”

“Do you?” Eira’s face curled into a sneer. “Do you want to follow the Hammerling? No, and yet you do so. You claim to seek, above all things, justice for your father, and yet you do nothing to find it. You have earned a position of honor here, and yet it does not satisfy. You are not a man who knows what he wants.”

“Enough.” Raef’s voice was quiet. “Cilla stays with you. Look after her.” He turned to gather his bag and weapons but her voice stopped him.

“You might have been king, if you could but see the path before you.”

Raef did not look over his shoulder at her. “That is not what I want.” He left the room. He had not expected kisses and words of affection upon saying goodbye to Eira. It was not in her nature and her disappointment at not being part of the chase had made her sullen. And yet he had not thought to leave with such a rift between them. It both angered and troubled him.

In the yard outside Fengar’s hall, Raef, Hauk, and the captains that would accompany them said a formal goodbye to the Hammerling, promising with fine words to hound Fengar to the ends of the earth. Raef said as little as possible and held his anger in check.

“May the gods go with you,” Brandulf Hammerling called out, his voice reaching all ears. “Ride now, for wrath and for victory.” Raef, glad to depart, led the way down to the gate where their horses and the warriors waited. Siv handed him his reins and gave him a questioning look. Raef looked away and attempted to wipe his emotions from his face. Giving the signal to depart, Raef let his horse run and the warriors fell in behind. The plain trembled beneath the many hooves. Crossing the battlefield, they rose up and over the first small hill and then the stronghold was out of sight.

They picked up Fengar’s trail in the woods, though their pace slowed as soon as they crossed the tree line. Speed was not a concern for Raef, for he knew that as a healthy, mounted group, they would make better time than Fengar’s large host with its straggling wounded and many on foot. Catching them was inevitable as long as the track was followed.

Twice before nightfall did Raef spot diversions in the path where a small party of perhaps ten or twelve men separated from the main group. Whether these were desertions or scouts, Raef could not tell. They made camp among the trees under a clear night sky, eating dried meat and bread that had been baked that morning in Fengar’s kitchens.

Many Vannheim warriors were among the group and Raef visited them all that night, learning who had been lost in battle and who yet marched on foot to join the Hammerling. For the first time since the gathering, Raef heard talk of home and it brought some measure of peace to his unsettled heart. Of Eira’s words, he decided not to think, though Siv’s face reminded him of them every time he looked at her. He could see she wanted to ask what troubled him, but she kept her questions to herself. He was grateful, for the answers eluded him.

But in place of Eira, he found himself thinking of his father and sleep would not come. It was true that the vengeance he had sworn had not come to pass beyond the death of Jarl Thrainson. Yet in his heart, Raef believed his desire to find the origin of the murder had not waned. The world was a different place than the one he had known at the time of his father’s death. He hoped Einarr, feasting at Odin’s long table, would understand that Raef had to navigate the treacherous waters of war before he could turn to the task of justice, or risk more than his own shame. Fingering the Thor hammer at his neck, Raef watched the stars wield overhead, threading paths through the whispering tree branches, and abandoned his blanket long before dawn.

They continued their trek through the forest the next morning, breaking out of the trees at midday. Ahead of them lay a rough, rock-strewn valley. A lake sparkled at the far end, bright in the winter sun where the ice was not thick, and the hills behind were covered with snow. It was there, looking out over the open land, that Raef’s tired eyes spotted the group of travelers.

Four horses, three with riders and one loaded with many burdens, and two figures on foot were visible near the lake. They traveled south and, if they stayed on course, would pass just east of Raef and the Hammerling’s men. Raef called a halt and sought out Leifnar. Raef and the captain watched the small party for a moment.

“Approach and question them or stay within the trees and let them pass by?” Raef asked.

“They are no threat to us. And the whole world will know of our chase soon enough. We need not hide.”

“Come with me, then. We will see what they have to say.”

Riding forward with two warriors and Hauk of Ruderk in tow, Raef and Leifnar approached the travelers, who had halted upon sighting them. Splitting at the last moment, Raef and Leifnar circled and came at them from behind, letting Hauk and the warriors take them head on.

A woman led them. She was richly dressed and sat tall on her horse. As the riders circled and came to a halt, she watched them with a calm expression, but Raef could see her breath came fast and she gripped her reins hard. The others, servants by the looks of them, showed their fear. One, a young girl, even cried out and then clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Your name, lady.”

“I am Dagmaer of Hullbern. My husband is Sveinn, lord of those lands.”

“Hullbern is far from here, lady. What brings you so far south?” Raef urged his horse closer. “And where is Sveinn?”

“I do not know where my husband is.”

“What do you mean?”

The lady Dagmaer did not falter. “I mean I do not know.”

“What is your destination?”

“Finnmark. I was born there.”

“An arrow shot from Hullbern to Finnmark does not swerve this far west.” Raef watched the woman for any sign of dissembling.

“We sought a path that would not take us through the eastern lands. It seemed safer.” Dagmaer’s face remained composed.

Raef brought his horse even closer to hers, knowing he loomed over her, knowing her heart was beating harder in her chest, and spoke so only she could hear. “What do you run from?”

She looked him in the eye. “War.” But there was something else, something she did not say. Her eyes spoke of fear.

Raef held her gaze and then gestured to the rest of the lady’s party. “Your servants?”

Dagmaer looked at the other mounted young woman. “My friend Lifrasir. She is wife to one of Sveinn’s captains. The rest are members of my household.” The two male servants and the young girl kept their eyes on the ground. Lifrasir did the same, though her streaked cheeks and red eyes told of tears.

Suddenly tired of the audience, Raef swung down from his horse and held a hand out to Dagmaer. “Walk with me.”

Dagmaer hesitated, her eyes unsure, and then let Raef help her from the saddle. Raef led her away from the group, though he could see Hauk of Ruderk’s disapproval. They walked among the rocks in silence until Dagmaer spoke. “I have given you my name. Now you should give me yours.” She spoke as a lady, not demanding as Eira might, not pleading or harnessed by fear.

“I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim. We seek Fengar of Solheim and know he has passed this way to the north. Did you see him?”

“No.”

“He leads an army. He would be hard to miss.”

“You are the first we have encountered in two days. We came through Ruderk lands, not Lilleval.” She spoke with confidence, but there was sadness in her voice as well.

Raef stepped close to her and repeated his earlier question, this time gently. “What do you run from? Do not say war. Battle and bloodshed would not drive you from your home and through the wilderness. You are fleeing. Tell me.”

Dagmaer was quiet, her eyes seeing something other than Raef. “Lifrasir weeps for her husband and I should do the same, for there is little chance he lives.” She looked squarely at Raef then. “My husband had not yet chosen a king. Our warriors are few and dear to us and he would not throw them away without careful consideration. But when word came of raiders on our northern border, Sveinn rode out to face them. They did not return.”

“A sad tale and yet common enough in war. What is it that you are not telling me?”

Dagmaer took a deep breath. “Three days after leaving, two survivors returned to us, pale shadows of the men they once were. Their wounds were many and their hold on life feeble. But more than their bodies were ruined. Their minds were lost and they could speak of nothing but savage slaughter. To hear them tell it, they had battled monsters, not men.”

“You say their minds were lost, and yet if you did not believe there was some truth in their words, you would not have fled.”

“The words they spoke, it is madness, I know it is.”

“But?”

Dagmaer looked at Raef and then closed her eyes. “One of the survivors was Sveinn’s brother. He begged me to leave Hullbern, to go some place safe. It was his dying wish and in that moment I believed him.”

“And Hullbern? Do you carry Sveinn’s child?”

Dagmaer shook her head and looked, for the first time, on the verge of tears. “No. There are one or two who will likely claim Hullbern for themselves. If there is anything left to claim.” She took a deep, steadying breath and regained her composure.

“Or if the Palesword or Fengar does not give Hullbern as a prize to a loyal ally.”

“Your words tell me you follow Brandulf Hammerling. Will he not also lay claim to my lands?”

Raef shrugged. “Perhaps. But his attentions are elsewhere for now. And, lady, they are not your lands anymore, not if you left them to the wolves.”

Dagmaer’s voice was small. “I know.”

Raef gentled his voice. “Do you have family yet in Finnmark?”

“My father and mother keep a small farm there. I will go to them. Perhaps I can be of some use.”

Raef looked at her slender body, her soft hands, her thin shoulders. Though healthy, she was not fit for farm work. “And your servants? What will they do?”

“I do not know.” She grew flustered and her voice rose. “I have no answers. I must find a husband for Lifrasir. I must find positions for them. For myself.”

“Surely you have friends there?”

“Yes, a few.”

“As a child growing up in Finnmark, did you know a boy called Vakre? He was nephew to the current lord.”

Dagmaer’s eyes widened at Vakre’s name. “Yes, though not well. I saw him at festivals. A strange boy.”

“How so?”

“Feasts ought to be a happy affair, a time to celebrate a harvest or the coming of spring. I remember a lot of smiles. But never from him. He kept to himself. I seldom saw him play with other children. But neither was he angry or sullen. Do you know him?”

“I did.”

They were quiet for a moment, and a gust of wind blew the hood from Dagmaer’s head and her long hair streamed out behind her. Raef watched her tuck it all back under the hood.

“It is time I continued on my journey,” she said.

They returned to the horses and Dagmaer remounted hers. She looked down at Raef. “Your path is dangerous, Raef Skallagrim. I hope Thor will walk it with you.”

Raef inclined his head. “And I hope you find the peace you seek, lady.” He released the horse’s bridle and Dagmaer moved forward, Lifrasir and the servants following. Dagmaer looked back once and raised her hand in farewell.

Raef watched her go until she was far in the distance. Hauk of Ruderk came to stand by him. “She has news of Fengar?”

“No.”

“Then you have wasted our time.”

Raef turned to look at Hauk. “No.” Without another word, Raef climbed into his saddle and raced back to the waiting warriors. They continued on, pushing hard through the northern reaches of Solheim. Raef rode ahead with a small group of scouts for the remainder of the day. The trail was still easy to track and Raef estimated that they had closed considerably on Fengar’s less mobile force.

“We will catch them tomorrow,” Raef said to Leifnar as they made camp that night. “Perhaps before the sun peaks.”

“What is your plan, lord?”

“Until we can assess how many men Fengar has and how many of them are in fighting condition, we will simply observe from a distance and follow.”

“And when we have Fengar?” Leifnar stood in front of Raef and did not bother to hide his doubt.

“You know as well as I do that what the Hammerling asks is foolish. Keeping Fengar alive puts us all at risk.”