The Blood-Tainted Winter (8 page)

“Sigurr. We will bring him to you.”

Sigurr was barely conscious as they lifted him down from his horse. Siv and Vakre helped the woman bring him into the house and emerged soon after, their faces grim.

“I tried to tell him what was happening. I do not think he understood me,” Siv said.

“He is beyond the voices of men,” Vakre said. “Only the gods can speak to him now.”

Eleven

T
he last leg
of their journey to the Deepminded took them into the northern mountains. Here Raef had a better sense of the land, though he had never traveled there before. But it was common knowledge that the Deepminded could be found in Darfallow land.

Raef risked a visit to Darfallow’s lord, Tormund, in the hopes of refreshing their supplies before tackling the mountains. Tormund was old and his sight was failing, but he could still choose to detain them for Fengar.

Tormund’s fortress was a deteriorating, crumbling giant. Raef had heard of its former glory and current decay, but to stand close to the broken towers and collapsing walls that could still dwarf their brothers in other lands was something he had not imagined. Even in its shattered, half-empty state, it was still a mighty place, and the blanket of undisturbed snow surrounding it gave it an unearthly stillness.

As Raef’s party approached one of the massive gates, it rumbled open and a single, unarmed man stepped out to meet them.

“Your name, friend?”

“I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim. I seek Tormund Ravenbane,” Raef said, wondering why warriors with gleaming axes were not there to meet them. There was not another man in sight as they passed through the gate. Towers rose around them, but Raef could not see any sign of spears or arrows.

A large hall rose in front of them, but their guide passed it by and led them instead to a smaller building, one Raef would have overlooked amid the sprawl. Inside, a fire crackled merrily, warming the sole occupant.

Tormund Ravenbane was much like his fortress in appearance. A giant of a man, but worn by age and showing signs of a hard life: a slight limp in his right leg, a scar carved along his jawline through the white of his beard, a hint of milkiness in his eyes. He rose at their entrance and his eyes were good enough to recognize Raef, though they had only met in passing at the gathering.

“Young Skallagrim,” he said in a thin, hoarse voice that did not match his bulk. “What brings you to my door?”

“The hope of food and supplies to further our journey.”

“You seek the Deepminded, do you not?” Tormund asked. Raef hesitated. “Come now,” Tormund said, “no need to deny it. War is upon us and men look for answers.” Tormund’s voice turned bitter. “You will not find any there.”

“And yet there I must go.”

Tormund nodded. “So they all say. We will speak more on that later. Come, sit down. I have a pig that needs eating.”

The pig was juicy and the mead abundant. Raef ate until he was full and then ate some more. Tormund was quiet, as though he was enjoying the pleasure of his guests and did not need to join in. Still, not another person was seen. The man who had met them at the gate tended to their food and drink and kept the fire roaring.

It was only later, after the mead was depleted, that Tormund Ravenbane took Raef aside. They left the small hall and ventured outside into the ruins of Darfallow. The air was still and big flakes of snow fell silently around them. Tormund led Raef to the steps leading up to the vast, unoccupied hall Raef had walked by earlier.

“I was a boy when last we welcomed guests to this place,” Tormund said, gesturing to the wooden doors in front of them. “Even then, most of the towers were in ruins.”

“Why not restore it?”

“It suits me better this way, I think,” Tormund answered, but did not elaborate.

The snow fell and Raef wondered why Tormund had led him here. He finally asked the question that had been on his tongue since their arrival. “Where are all the people? The warriors?”

“Better that they defend their farms and families than this old place. It has a way of defending itself.”

“Then you do not mean to fight in this war?”

“I will die with blade in hand, if that is what you mean. But send my men to all corners of these lands to fight for someone else? No, this I will not do.” His voice, so light and soft, defied his straight back and proud grimace, but Raef believed every word.

“What of those who call themselves kings? Does not one of them ask you for your spears?”

“I left the gathering just hours after you did. I did not give any of them a chance to ask me.”

“And if they come and demand what you have not offered?”

Tormund smiled a little. “Come all the way north for my spears? The king who makes that trip might be worth the trouble.” The smile vanished. “Fengar is not our true king. He was chosen without the voices of the warriors.”

“And the Palesword?”

“Torrulf, I like. But the voices did not choose him either.” Tormund gave Raef a sly look. “But you are not here on Torrulf’s behalf, I think. I have heard the Hammerling desires to be king.”

Raef saw no point in denying it, but was surprised. The news could not have traveled much faster than his own party. “You have heard the truth. What else have you heard?”

“Little enough and all of it at odds. Some say that a great battle has already been fought. Still others talk of skirmishes and raids. I think they are all still waiting to strike.”

“And the Deepminded? Earlier you said it would be a waste of my time.”

Tormund was quiet for a moment and stared into the snowy darkness. “It has been my experience that no good can come from asking questions of the Deepminded.” His milky eyes looked hard at Raef. “But if the Hammerling demands it, then I will tell you what I know.” He shifted his feet and brushed snow from his shoulders. “Tomorrow. It is time to rest my bones. Farro will show you where you and your men can sleep.” Tormund’s eyes twinkled a little in the moonlight. “And the women, unless one of them wants to share a fur with me.” He let out a great, barking laugh and clapped Raef on the shoulder.

They spent the night in a long, low building that Raef suspected had once served as a stable for horses. There were four similar buildings, all clustered together, and their horses were in one that still functioned as such.

“Not much for guests here,” Farro said as he showed them around. “But you will stay warm and dry.”

“Where does Tormund sleep?” Raef asked.

“He does most of his living where he welcomed you. There is a kitchen attached and a few small chambers in the back. He keeps a simple life.” Farro moved as though to leave them but Raef laid a hand on his arm and spoke quietly to him.

“Tell me, Farro, are you the only other person here with him?”

Farro laughed a little but seemed uncomfortable and tried to withdraw his arm. Raef held tight. “No, there are a few boys kept to do whatever work needs doing.”

“I know Darfallow is not the fortress it was and has not been for many years, but you cannot expect me to believe that it has been this empty for very long. Where are all the people? And Tormund’s sons? I know he has several.”

Farro kept his gaze downcast. “It is not for me to say, lord.”

Raef let his hand drop. “Then go.” Farro disappeared into the night. Raef stood in the doorway and watched the snow fall long after his people had gone to sleep.

The long, low note of a horn woke them all deep in the night. Raef lurched to the door, grasping for his sword as he went, and raced outside, his men following. The snow had stopped and all around them was still. The horn paused and began again and only then did Raef realize it was coming from one of the stone towers. When it ceased, the silence was unnatural.

A raven broke the peace, screaming once as it took to the sky, its wings pumping furiously. Raef watched it for a moment and then Farro appeared outside Tormund’s small hall. He beckoned to them; Raef and Vakre hurried after him while the others watched and waited, tensed for a fight. Inside, the fire still burned strong and Raef at first thought that Tormund slept by it. A closer look showed that this was a sleep from which he would not wake.

Tormund’s eyes were closed, his face peaceful. His size and strength were not diminished by death. Clenched tightly in his hand was a sword, long and gleaming in the firelight, the word raven worked into the blade.

“What happened?” Raef asked. There was no sign of struggle, no wound.

Farro’s face was drawn. “He sometimes likes to sleep out here, so I awoke to check on the fire. At first it seemed everything was as it should be, but then I saw the blade and knew. The gods called him home.”

“And the horn?”

“I sent one of the boys to sound it. It has signaled the death of every lord of Darfallow.”

“Fitting that we were here to hear it,” Vakre said. “Otherwise the world would not know of the death of Tormund Ravenbane.”

By dawn, they had prepared a funeral pyre and put a torch to it as the first rays of sunlight reached Darfallow. Raef and his companions helped themselves to supplies and then set off for the mountains, leaving Farro to stand vigil over Tormund. They left Darfallow through a different gate, a small one that pointed them toward a path that would lead them into the mountains. Farro had said it was the best and easiest way.

As they began their ascent, Raef spoke to Vakre, who was riding close to him. “Be on your guard. Tormund did not trust the Deepminded.”

Vakre nodded but asked, “Why not?”

“He was going to tell me more this morning.”

“And you trust his words?”

“Yes.”

“Raef, all was not as it should be in Darfallow. Surely you could see that.”

“That was all I saw. But not Tormund. You did not speak with him as I did.”

“That is true, but consider his death.”

“He was old,” Raef said.

Vakre became more insistent. “Something is at work here that is beyond us.”

“Then we should turn back?” Raef could hear his voice rising. “First you say you do not trust Tormund’s words, but now you want to heed them? What is it that you think we should do?”

“I do not know!” Vakre shouted as he pulled his horse to a stop.

The men kept riding, but Raef knew all ears were on them. He did not care. “Enough,” he snarled. “I will not hear this.”

Vakre stared hard at him, his eyes full of wrath, something that Raef had not seen there before. It was unsettling. Then Vakre broke eye contact and urged his horse forward until the group separated them.

Soon after, the path forced them to spread thin into a single column as they began a steep, twisting climb. Raef stayed at the rear and let his anger warm him as they rode. The path drove ever upwards and then faded away as the riders leveled off onto a wide saddle between two peaks.

It was this mental state that was interrupted by a single flaming arrow that arced down out of the air and sizzled into the snow less than a sword length from Raef and his horse. The horse reared up in fright and Raef fought to keep his seat. Another arrow followed, landing close to Siv, who rode in front of him. At this, the warriors dismounted and swiftly formed into a tight shield wall, the horses secure behind them. Raef stayed on his horse, watching, waiting. Then six more arrows rained down, all harmless in their distance but with obvious warning, and Raef was able to see that they originated from behind a rocky outcrop that loomed some distance away. With this knowledge, Raef dismounted and indicated for the shield wall to break apart.

Cupping his hands together, Raef shouted in the direction of the invisible archers. “We seek the Deepminded. We do not come to fight.” The wind, whistling by and blowing snow across rock, was the only answer. “Show yourself or prepare to meet the Allfather.”

With this warning given, they advanced, matching Raef’s pace and keeping close so they could quickly form the wall again if need be. The arrows stayed silent at their approach and it was only when Raef was less than a spear’s throw away that a figure stepped out from behind the rocks.

The archer was female and dressed all in white. She carried a bow and a quiver with perhaps a dozen arrows was belted around her hips. But she was no warrior, nor had she been in younger days. Her long hair was grey and Raef estimated that she had just enough strength to bend the slender bow, but only just. There was an arrow nocked on the string, but she kept the bow low.

“You are alone?” Raef asked.

“I am always alone.”

“A single archer cannot loose six arrows at the same time.”

She smiled, her lips pressed firmly together. It was a cold smile that seemed to hug the wintry winds that blew around them. “And yet it seems I have done so.” She gestured to the rocks behind her. “You may look for yourself.” Raef did not need to look for three of the Hammerling’s men had already circled around the rocks, prepared to apprehend or kill any lurkers. They had emerged behind the woman, empty-handed.

“Why fire at us?”

“Tell me, what would you do if strange men with weapons ventured into your home uninvited?”

“Then you are the Deepminded.”

The smile returned. “Follow me.” She turned her back on them and walked away, not looking to see if they followed. Raef saw little choice and gestured for his men to fall in. He did not need to tell them to remain on guard. His own sword he kept in hand, and his eyes flickered continuously between the woman leading them and their surroundings, scouring the landscape for movement and danger.

He had not expected the Deepminded to welcome him with a warm hearth and friendly smiles. But neither had he expected sly hostility. His knowledge of her and this place, though, was minimal and based on little more than stories. That there had always been a Deepminded in this place, was certain. That there had at times been more than one, perhaps even many, was accepted.