The Blood-Tainted Winter (25 page)

“Silence!” Raef’s shout carried over all else and the men grew quiet. “Leifnar is dead by my hand.” Raef let that sink in. “He betrayed my command and I will do the same to any man who makes the same mistake. Remember this.” Turning his back on the assembled men, Raef walked away from the fire and into the darkness.

When Siv found him, Raef was sitting on the bank of a small stream. The water was black and starlit, like liquid night. Siv sat down at his side.

“He brought it on himself,” she said.

“Should I have kept him alive? Brought him back a prisoner to throw at the Hammerling’s feet alongside Fengar?”

“Perhaps. But you made your choice and it is done.”

“A choice in the heat of battle is not much of a choice. He was a good captain.”

“And you are a good war-leader. You cannot please all men, Raef.”

“I do not wish to. But neither can I only please myself.”

Twenty-Five

T
he dawn had
the Hammerling’s men on the move again. Raef kept Fengar tied to his own horse and Siv rode close at all times. Raef did not think there would be another escape attempt. But he did not trust that all the men would quietly accept Leifnar’s death. When he sent another rider south to the Hammerling, he made no mention of the loss of the captain in his message. The warrior delivering the message could choose to reveal it and Raef could not stop him. But any explanation he might put to paper seemed pale and weak, a poor substitute for Leifnar’s courage and devotion to the Hammerling.

In Leifnar’s place, Raef appointed one of his men, Erling by name, as first among captains. “Bring me word of any trouble. Even the smallest thing,” Raef told him. Erling, a man of few words, nodded in response. Raef noticed throughout that day of riding that there were no fewer than eight Vannheim men around him. They were not hostile or aggressive to the other men, but their presence was a clear signal to all that disobedience would be not be overlooked.

Deep into Freywyn they traveled. At midday, a farmer told them the Palesword was ravaging Gornhald. As the sun set, spilling pink clouds across the sky, they passed a pair of travelers coming from the northeast, a father and son leading three goats behind them. The father said the Palesword was burning Hullbern and that the people fled before him in great numbers. Raef spoke of these conflicting reports to Hauk, Erling, and Siv that night.

“He might be anywhere,” Raef said. “We must learn the whereabouts of Eirik of Kolhaugen. Or his fate if he is dead. But the stories we hear speak only of the Palesword, never his opponents.” Raef sighed and posed a question to his listeners. “If you were Eirik, and the Palesword’s massive host was carving a path of destruction through the north, where would you go?”

Silence. Hauk and Erling looked at each other, each wondering if the other might have an answer. They rested near a river that night, their fires scattered among the trees as men sought comfortable ground. Night birds called out to their mates and Raef heard an owl in the distance.

Siv spoke at last. “I would go where the Palesword would not look for me.”

“And where is that?” Hauk asked.

“We know he has been in Gornhald and Hullbern, perhaps is still within the borders of one. Norfaem is rich and not likely to escape his attention. If he has not marched across those lands already, he will. Between those three is Skolldain. A small prize but not one he would pass up given its location. If he has taken the other three, he will have taken Skolldain as well.” Siv looked at the three men. “In this corner of the world, that leaves only one place. Ver.”

Hauk snorted. “Ver borders on Ulfgang. The Palesword will not have bypassed his neighbor.”

Siv persisted. “By all accounts, the Palesword has been away from Ulfgang for a long time. His numbers have swelled only recently. It is possible he has not passed close enough to Ver to give it a second thought. There is not much in Ver worth taking.” Siv looked at Raef. “I told you Eirik was shrewd. What better place to stay out of sight than on the giant’s doorstep?”

Raef considered for a moment. Siv’s reasoning was valid but hardly flawless. “We will start our search there.” Hauk of Ruderk looked as though he wanted to protest but Raef met his eyes. “If there is no better suggestion.” Hauk opened his mouth but then closed it and shook his head.

“We turn east in the morning, then, and head for the gap of Alfvaldr. The winter is young, the passage should still be open to us. Once on the other side, we turn north, but we must keep close to the mountains and away from villages in Ulfgang. The Palesword has been away from home, but he will not have left it defenseless. There will be no more fires at night.” It was a hard thing to take away the promise of hot food and a warm fire at the end of a long day and Raef knew the men would grumble. But all the warriors were well-versed enough in war to know even the smallest flame in the dark would draw unwanted eyes. It was a chance they could not take.

In addition to his other precautions, for the next two days Raef sent out three scouting groups to lead the way and take them on a safe path through the eastern side of Freywyn lands. Three times reports came back to him of sightings of armed men in the distance and three times, after ascertaining the warriors were not with Eirik of Kolhaugen, they altered their course to stay well clear. As a result, it took them twice as long to reach the mountain pass.

A stranger to these lands, Raef relied upon the knowledge of Ruderk and Norfaem men. Of all the Hammerling’s allies, their homelands were closest to Ver and Ulfgang and some of them had traversed the gap of Alfvaldr in summer. Even so, they disagreed over which approach to take, but at last the warriors climbed the ancient path beneath the shadows of peaks that stretched to the roof of the world, summiting the pass by midday without incident, and coming down the other side into the Palesword’s territory through thick snow drifts as twilight fell. They pushed onward, well after the sun was swallowed behind the mountains, for there was no safe haven here, even if Siv had supposed correctly.

They clung to the mountains for more than a day, until a warrior from Norfaem was sure that turning east would take them into Ver, not Ulfgang. Whether the man was right or not, their presence seemed to go unseen as they worked their way through the deep forests. When Raef called a halt for the night, the last scouts had returned, riding hard and bringing a stranger with them. The man was marked by wounds that looked to be more than seven days old and his hair had been shorn unevenly. He was parched and needed a drink of water before he could speak. As he gulped icy water from a borrowed skin, one of the scouts spoke in Raef’s ear.

“He bears a banner of Kolhaugen, lord,” the man said. “He hardly spoke and did not seem to care if he lived or died, but the banner stayed our blades.”

Raef went to the warrior, who had emptied the skin and now stared at the men surrounding him. His eyes showed fear.

“Come, friend,” Raef said, keeping his voice quiet. “Tell me your name.” He gestured behind his back and Erling understood. The captain began to turn the onlookers away.

The warrior touched a string around his neck. If it had borne a hammer, as Raef’s did, the amulet had been torn off and his fingers grasped at air. The stranger found his voice and it was stronger than Raef expected.

“I am Agmund.” His eyes met Raef’s for the first time. “I know your face.”

Raef nodded. “I am Raef Skallagrim, ally of the Hammerling. Is Eirik of Kolhaugen your lord?”

“He is.”

“Does he live?”

“To say yes or no would be a lie, for I do not know, lord.”

“Are you alone?”

“Three others traveled with me. The last one died yesterday.” Agmund spoke the simple fact without emotion.

Raef scanned Agmund’s wounds and determined the warrior was not in desperate need of care. He could answer more questions.

“What happened?”

“We were all going to die.”

The near echo of the Deepminded’s words sent a spark up Raef’s spine. It had been long since he had thought of that mountain cavern. He would not have thought her words would come to him so clearly still and yet they penetrated deep into his mind. It should not have made him uneasy, but it did. Forcing himself to focus on Agmund, Raef looked the warrior in the eye.

“What do you mean?”

Rather than looking away as he recalled what had happened, Agmund’s gaze seemed to burrow deeper into Raef’s face. “They came to us like a whisper on the wind, swift and silent as the wings of a bird, but with fire in their eyes and death in their hands.” Agmund blinked. “We broke. I am not ashamed to say so. The screams of my brothers followed me, but still I ran until my legs would go no farther and then I crawled until my hands bled.”

“What made you run? The Palesword’s army?” Raef asked.

Agmund lay a hand on Raef’s forearm and drew him close. “I saw my cousin drive his sword through a warrior’s heart. It might as well have been the bite of an insect for all the damage it did. The warrior put his hand on the hilt and drew the blade out of his chest. And then he cut off my cousin’s head with his own sword.”

Raef heard a laugh behind him and turned to see Hauk of Ruderk, a wide smile on his face. “A madman. He speaks nonsense.”

Raef, his own mind churning at Agmund’s words, said nothing and looked back at the Kolhaugen warrior.

“I speak the truth,” Agmund said, his eyes now on Hauk. He did not challenge, did not cry out, did not act as a madman might. He looked back at Raef. “Another man buried his axe in a warrior’s neck. He did not bleed, did not even stumble.”

“The cold has broken him, Skallagrim,” Hauk called out.

“Enough,” Raef shouted. In his thoughts he could hear the Far-Traveled’s story of the army the goddess Freyja raised from the dead and unleashed upon the world of men. Of how only Odin had tamed them and of their burial deep within a mountain. “See that his wounds are looked at,” Raef said to Erling. He pushed past Hauk and into the trees, craving the solitude only a dark forest could give him.

The tall trees stood like silent sentinels around Raef when he came to rest in a clearing. A hill rose up sharply on one side and a waterfall, no more than a trickle splashing down through a trail of rocks, danced in the moonlight. Raef cupped his hand where the water flowed in greatest quantity and drew the icy water to his lips but did not drink. He watched the water drain from his hand and spill upon the thin layer of snow that covered the ground.

He wished for Hauk of Ruderk’s ignorance, wished the Far-Traveled had never told him the story of Freyja’s army. Without that knowledge, he could believe Agmund mad, he could march to face the Palesword without a care.

A rustling in the tallest tree drew Raef’s eye and he looked up to see a raven perched on a branch, settling its wings as though it had just landed. A moment later a second raven swooped across the clearing, just above Raef’s head, and landed opposite the first. The black feathers were glossy and gleaming and the birds watched Raef with steady eyes.

“Is the One Eyed watching me, then?” Raef called up to the birds, not expecting an answer. “Tell him he should have burned that cursed army long ago, not buried them where men might look. Odin is wise, but in this his wisdom has failed him. Tell him I, Raef Skallagrim, say this.” Raef’s voice rose. “Or does he betray those he created, those who have sought all their lives to earn a place in his hall? Does he wish the destruction of the world of men?” Anger made Raef’s body tremble. “He will not have it. I will give every breath and every bone I have to defy him. Tell him!” Raef shouted his challenge to the wind. Silence followed and then the ravens took to the sky, each uttering a single shriek as their wings blacked out the stars above the clearing. And then they were gone.

Raef closed his eyes, half-expecting Odin to appear and strike him down with his mighty spear. There was only the sound of trees and falling water. His heart slowed to a normal pace. He did not doubt the ravens were the Allfather’s. Their arrival was too timely, their eyes too keen, their departure too fierce. But he wondered at their presence and what the Allfather could have hoped to learn. Raef did not want to believe Odin would will the end of the race of men, but if he did, Raef had meant his words. He would fight even the god himself.

“The Allfather will be pleased.”

The voice sprang from the darkness like an arrow shot from a bow and Raef whirled to find the source. Unbidden, the Deepminded’s cold smile filled his thoughts and then was just as suddenly banished as Vakre stepped from behind a tree trunk.

Words failed Raef and his heart began to race again. Vakre maintained his distance, his face somber. He looked exactly as Raef had last seen him save for a new cloak, a skin darker than the night sky.

Suspicions flooded Raef’s mind and body and he closed the gap between them in three quick strides, his knife out and poised to strike Vakre’s heart. “How did you find me here?” Vakre made no move to defend himself but let the knife point rest against his chest. “Where did you go?”

After a moment, Vakre spoke, his voice calm. “I have been with my father.”

“Impossible, your father is dead.”

“That was your assumption and I never corrected it. There is much to tell, Raef. Will you put the knife away?

“I will not.”

With a quickness Raef did not anticipate, Vakre’s own blade was out and at his throat. “Stab me and your throat will be opened.” The blade was cold against Raef’s skin but he did not look away from Vakre’s eyes. “I do not wish to fight you, but I will if I must. Only hear me first.” Vakre pivoted and hurled his knife into a tree behind him. It shuddered in the wood and Vakre looked at Raef expectantly.

Raef lowered his blade but did not sheathe it, not prepared to yield yet. “Explain yourself.”

“I told you once I have never known my father, and that was the truth. Until the day of the flood, I had never seen or spoken to him. But when I spoke those words I did not mean his identity was unknown to me. My uncle knows it and shuns me for it. The truth frightens him. I have never shared it with anyone.” Vakre looked hard at Raef. “My father is Loki.”

Raef’s reaction was instinctual. “You lie.”

“What man would claim Loki as his father? What man would want the world to know such blood runs in his veins? It is the truth.”

Vakre’s words made sense but Raef did not want to believe it. “And I should trust the son of Loki?”

“I am not my father.”

Raef threw his knife to the ground and began to pace. “Tell me what happened.”

“The flood waters took me and I would have drowned had not my father rescued me. I knew him at once. He said he had a task for me. I resisted, but what can a man do when the god dons his falcon skin and takes to the sky with you in his talons? The world was so small from up there. We flew north to the mountains of Norfaem and landed on a high peak. Then Loki cast me down from that peak into a deep abyss and I knew nothing but dark dreams full of unknown and unspeakable terrors. When I awoke, Loki was there once more and we flew away from the mountains. Below us, an army moved and my father praised me for my good work, though I knew not of what he spoke. He flew to the top of a waterfall and asked what gift he could give me in return. I said, ‘You gave me a cloak once, now give me another. Give me the cloak off your own back.’ He was not pleased, but he had promised me anything.” Vakre touched the dark material that draped across his shoulders and then closed his eyes. Raef jumped back as the skin burst into flames. In the blink of an eye, the fire was gone and Vakre stood unharmed. “Loki was always fond of fire,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.