The Blood-Tainted Winter (34 page)

Gudrik followed Raef’s gaze. “Shattered,” he said. Even this brief statement seemed to sap him of strength and Gudrik closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “Is the Palesword truly dead?”

“Yes.”

“I have sworn myself to the Hammerling in exchange for my life. At least, I think I have. Much of yesterday is hazy in my mind. But my life will be worth little to him. I expect I shall limp.” Gudrik smiled a little. “I think it will become me. The limping skald. I shall seem wiser, do you not think?”

Raef was glad to hear Gudrik had not resigned himself to death. An impulse made him speak. “I am leaving, Gudrik. The Hammerling has commanded me long enough.” The poet’s face registered surprise. “Come with me. I would not like to abandon you here.”

“Do your eyes yet see? I am not going anywhere.”

“On horseback. You may ride with me, if that would help.”

“Raef, you speak of betrayal and oath-breaking and you will need to travel with the greatest speed. I will only hinder you.”

“I will carry you away from here on my back if I must. You are coming with us.”

Gudrik smiled again. “It seems I yet have one friend in this world.”

“You do.”

The night was dark and moonless. The only light came from a bonfire that burned on a flat stretch of ridge. The able-bodied warriors gathered there, eager to share in the ale that the Hammerling’s men had stripped from Gornhald. Deer and rabbit carcasses were strung up and had begun to char on the flames. From a distance, Raef could smell the meat but he pushed away the hunger that gnawed at him as they gathered the horses away from the light of the fire and any watching eyes. Not wanting to leave any of his warriors on foot, Raef intended to take a horse for every man and woman.

In small groups, the Vannheim warriors crept down out of the hills. Raef had instructed them to ride west along the lake, not stopping until they reached the woodlands beyond. Only there would they regroup and continue west as a single party.

Raef sent Gudrik with the first group, in the capable hands of Finnolf Horsebreaker. The pain Gudrik endured as he was lifted up on the horse in front of Finnolf was great, but he made no sound, no complaint, though Raef knew every step the horse took would be agony.

“He needs a splint,” Raef told Finnolf. “When you reach the trees, see if you can fashion one while you wait for the rest.” The relief for Gudrik would be minimal until they found herbs that would dull the pain and reduce the swelling, but it was the best Raef could do.

The final group consisted only of Raef, Eira, Vakre, Siv, and five warriors. By that time the celebration by the fire was a raucous, wild affair as warriors drowned their pain with drink. The shouts and laughter and curses muddled together as Raef began the descent, and followed them until they reached the shore of the lake. In the dark, the signs of recent battle were hard to see, but Raef knew that countless dead littered the ground and the snow was tainted with gore. Crows, scavengers by day or night, flapped away when they rode too close. The lake, free of the ice by this shore, was as black as the pitch that had made it burn and for a moment Raef thought he felt heat yet rising from its surface.

The journey around to the far side of the lake was quiet and they soon regrouped with those who had gone ahead. As promised, Finnolf had fashioned a crude splint for Gudrik’s leg. The skald’s face, though, was ashen and he clutched hard to Finnolf with his eyes closed. Raef sent forth a small vanguard to lead the way and determine the safest path before them. The rear guard, made up of the Vannheim warriors who had suffered the least in the battle, would be much larger, for Raef knew what lay behind was more likely to trouble them than what lay ahead. It was no small thing to break an oath, especially in a time of war. Raef did not need anyone to tell him that and he was thankful that his remaining captains and warriors followed him without question. Their desire for vengeance for Einarr’s murder was nearly as strong as Raef’s and Raef knew they would go to the ends of Midgard, even into the depths of Jörmungand’s sea to see it done.

They rode through the night, heading west, and the sun rose at their backs, sending shadows ahead of them. Raef kept to his own thoughts as the sun warmed him, letting his grief for his father sit foremost in his mind for the first time since Einarr had made the journey to Valhalla. Much had consumed him in the days since but the grief slipped back over him like a familiar cloak and the weight of his responsibility to his father was welcome.

Finnolf rode beside Raef. Sharing the saddle, Gudrik’s eyes were closed and he swayed slightly with the rhythm of the horse. Whether he slept, Raef did not know, but he hoped the poet had found a measure of peace.

“Do we ride for Vannheim, lord?”

“Yes. The wounded must be brought home to recover fully.”

“And you?” Finnolf was no fool.

“It has been long since I have seen the sea. The salt air calls to me. My woodland realm beckons and I would float upon the fjords once more. But I have failed to avenge my father, Finnolf, and I will put that off no longer. I will go where I must, for vengeance will be mine and I must not rest until it is done.”

“I will do whatever you ask of me, lord.”

Raef smiled. “I know.”

They rode in silence, the sunlight sliding through the trees, until Raef’s horse flicked its ears and began to dance sideways. Others did the same, showing fear, but of what Raef could not see, though he turned in his saddle as much as his ribs would allow. The whole party was in disarray and several horses reared up and tossed their riders to the ground before bolting into the trees.

When the howling began, it was so close that Raef’s skin prickled. The single wolf was soon joined by voices beyond Raef’s count, and though the sun was bright in the sky, the creatures of the night sang a bold song of death. Between the trees, Raef saw the grey shapes of two, then five, wolves, then so many Raef did not bother to count. They circled and prowled but came no closer as though they were laughing and taunting the men.

The wolves howled long and loud as a large cloud slid over the sun, but then their song stopped as suddenly as it had begun and the beasts disappeared so quickly that Raef might have thought he imagined them were it not for the shaken faces of the men around him and the still nervous horses.

“They did not seem to fear us,” Finnolf said quietly as the men regrouped and continued on. “I have never seen wolves move so boldly in daylight.”

Raef had, once, though not so many as this. And even the nine wolves that attacked under the sun and left Soren dead had not moved with so much purpose as these. It was as though the wolves were sending a message, a warning of what was to come.

The grey cloud lingered between the earth and the sun, chilling the once bright air. Raef increased their pace, eager to put distance between them and the wolves and, though nothing untoward occurred the rest of the day, Raef’s uneasiness remained with him. They stopped for the night just as the last drops of sunlight faded on the horizon, chased by gathering clouds that swept in from both north and south. Their chosen site on a shoulder between two hills offered only trees for shelter and when the icy rain lashed at them, there was little protection.

The lightning began not long after. Raef, his hood pulled down to his eyes as he huddled beside his horse and tried to ignore the throbbing of his wound, did not at first notice. But the thunder sounded, long and low in the distance, and Raef ventured out from under his meager shelter as the storm drew closer. Holding a hand to his ribs and trying to breathe through the pain, he clambered onto a slick, bare, rocky outcrop. The rain pounded at him and so bright was the next flash that it lit the sky as the sun would and Raef felt the crack of thunder shudder through every bone in his body. The sky to the west split once, twice, three times with jagged bolts of lighting and the earth trembled at such fury.

This was not the weather of winter, not even the weather of the world. Raef knew such a storm was the work of Thor, but never before had he felt such untamed, blistering rage from the slayer of giants. And then, as the sky seemed to break open above him, Raef felt something else, something that echoed his own troubled heart. The storm was not just Thor’s anger; it was grief, anguish, and sorrow.

“Woe to him who crosses paths with Thor this night.” Vakre had followed Raef to his lookout. His voice was nearly drowned out by the thundering sky.

“He mourns.” Raef said.

“Surely not for the Palesword.” Vakre tried to joke, but his face showed that his heart was not in it. The storm was moving quickly to the north and its grip on Raef’s hilltop loosened. They watched it long after the thunder was nothing more than a murmur and the lightning a spark in the distance. In its passing, the world seemed itself again. The clouds broke open, revealing the stars hidden behind their thick folds. Strong and brave the orbs glittered on high, but Raef’s mind followed the storm.

“Only one god is fated to meet an early death.” Raef looked at Vakre. “Only one.” Vakre held Raef’s gaze, neither wanting to say more.

“Wise, shining Balder.” The voice was Gudrik’s and he limped toward them, his face tight with pain. “Best of all the gods. Odin’s ill-fated son. His death begins it all.” Gudrik stumbled and Raef caught him as the skald cried out in pain. He clung tight to Raef’s shoulder but his gaze was on the lightning that still flickered in the north as he spoke the words they all knew. “A wolf-age, a wind-age,” he said. “An axe-age, a sword-age. The earth will shudder. The cocks will crow. The wolf and the serpent will break free. The sun and the moon will be swallowed. The gods will meet their doom. The stars will go dark and the earth will sink into the sea.” At last Gudrik met Raef’s gaze. His eyes mirrored the dark sky and Raef could not look away. “The twilight of the gods has begun.”

List of Characters

Raef Skallagrim

Vakre, nephew of the lord of Finnmark

Eira, shieldmaiden, foreigner with a past

Siv, shieldmaiden, follows Eira

The Men Who Would Be
King

Brandulf Hammerling, Finngale

Fengar of Solheim, drew the short straw in the name pool

Torrulf Palesword, Ulfgang

The Hammerling’s known
allies

Hauk of Ruderk

Vathnar of Norfaem

Tyrvin of Ragmoor, the cautious one

Eirik of Kolhaugen, half of a whole

Fengar’s known
allies

Stefnir of Gornhald, overbearing

Sigholf of Freywyn

Rikar of Danewyll

Halgeir of Kelgard

Romarr of Finnmark, a family man

Alvar of Kolhaugen, the rest of the whole

The Palesword’s known
allies

Sigun of Ingis

Karlin of Forehald

Harald of Ervard, a thorn

Yannolf of Wayhold

Unknown
quantities

Einarr Skallagrim, Raef’s father, lord of Vannheim

Thorgrim Great-Belly, Balmoran, self-explanatory

Hymar of Grudenhavn, drunk

Uhtred of Garhold, too poor

Tormund Ravenbane, Darfallow, too old

Andrik of Ver, too disliked

Brynjar of Skolldain, jumpy, owns a spear made in Asgard

Sverren Redtail, Bergoss, invisible

boy-lord of Karahull, likes it hot

Sveinn of Hullbern, deceased, we think

Warriors of
Vannheim

Rufnir

Asbjork

Thorald, captain, steadfast

Finnolf Horsebreaker, captain

Sindri

Erling, captain

Warriors of
Finngale

Jarl Thrainson, killed a boar

Sigurr, the one who gets left behind

Norl

Ulrik Urgilson, captain, naughty

Sigvard, has a soft spot for children

Hawthor, captain

Leifnar, captain, stubborn, loyal to a fault

Warriors of
Ulfgang

Gudrik, warrior, skald

Ragnarr Silenthand, half god, son of Heimdall, of few words

Soren, the one everyone likes

Hamil

Eldun

Ormundir

Kennet

Orvar

Other
Notables

Brynvald of Kolhaugen, the last king, older than Frigg’s teats, deceased

Finndar Urdson, the Far-Traveled, half god, son of Urda, must have great calves

Erlaug, son of Hymar of Grudenhavn, knows how to hold a grudge, stinky

Daughters of Thor, so-called, three sisters, sworn to Fengar

Farro, Tormund Ravenbane’s servant, stellar multi-tasker

The Deepminded, wise woman

Cilla, girl of Kelgard, competent

Dagmaer, lady of Hullbern and wife to Sveinn, far from home

Acknowledgments

To my early
readers, Melissa and Lauren, you have no idea how great it was to be able to prattle on about this story to someone and know they at least sort of comprehended what I was going on about. Thank you.

Thanks to Alisha and the team at Damonza for helping me create a beautiful finished product. It pretty much knocks my socks off.

To Ann and Rick, also known as my parents, thanks for plunging into a book you would not have picked up off the shelf.

Finally, I have to extend my gratitude to my loyal band of Norsemen and Norsewomen, without whom this book would not be in your hands:

Michelle Alamdari

Jeanne Bailey

Emil & Janna Borg

Kent Borg

Sandra Borg

Scott Borg

Todd Borg

Wayland Campbell

George Carmel

Maureen Conway

Dennis J Dietzler

Russ Doubleday

Mike Doubleday

Erik Heim

Allison Hosgood

Radu Jianu

Jane Lansing

Ann & Rick Latham

Erika Latham

Thomas Mikkelsen

Kit Night

Michael Norfolk

Joan Borg Olbrantz

Olivia Pietrzak

Shawn Reid

Nancy Ruehle

Dave Schumacher

Jay Taylor

Ben Warner

Rissa