The Oath Keeper

by Alaric Longward

  Tudrus the Older – brother of Tallo andSibratus, father to Tudrus the Younger, Agetan, and Bohscyld, a Quadi noble, and leader of the westernmost of the Quadi.

  Tudrus the Younger – eldest son of Tudrus the Elder, brother to Agetan and Bohscyld, the brains of the three Quadi brothers. Husband to Euanthe.

  Ulrich – Ubii Guard. Another Ulrich is a companion of Hraban

  Vaettir – Germanic nature spirits.

  Vago - king of the Vangiones, foe to Marcomanni and the Quadi. Leader of I Vangiorum, a Roman Auxilia unit. Father of Shayla, Koun, Vannius, and Hunfrid.

  Vala – Legatus of XVIII

  Vangiones – a Germani tribe serving Rome.

  Vannius – a Vangione noble, son of Vago, brother to Shayla, Koun, and Hunfrid. Also, a king of a tribe of Hermanduri.

  Varnis – Sigambri Germani noble.

  Varro – the lanista of Dead Mars ludus

  Varus - Publius Quinctilius Varus, supporter of Augustus, took over Germania from Saturninus. Did not understand how to treat the Germani, and Armin took ample advantage of Varus's shortcomings, causing the destruction of three legions.

  Veleda – the girl Hraban must find for Tear and Odo.

  Visurgis River – Weser River.

  Volones – a Parthian agent

  Wandal – Hraban's ham-fisted, slow-witted friend. Son of Euric.

  Woden – also known as Odin, the leader of the Aesir gods, one of the creators of men and the world.

  Woden's Gift – spawn of Draupnir, Woden's ring, the influential ancient ring of Hraban's family.

  Wulf – a vitka from village of Hraban. One of the few who are trying to stop the prophecy that will end the world. Hraban's former tutor, foe to Maroboodus.

  Wyrd – fate in Germanic mythology.

  Yggdrasill – the world tree, where the nine worlds hang from. Source of all life.

  Zahar – see Tear.

  PROLOGUE (GOTHONIA, HOGHOLM, A.D. 44, June 1st)

  The trip to the islands of Gothonia had been eventful.

  It had been murderously dangerous—happily, for those who had tried to rob or kill us.

  Both Luigsech and Seisyll, survived it, the trip through the north, past the lands of the poor Frisii and much reduced Chauci. There treason was boiling against Rome.

  No man should travel with but a woman and her son.

  Danger was never far when you traveled in Midgard without a band of lucky warriors, and the north did not disappoint, since we expected trouble. Old men must rely on wits, when the young find comfort in the sword.

  My wits had been enough.

  After the dangerous lands of the Frisii and of the Chauci, we came to the Saxon coast, and there, found the gray and green Mare Gothonia. We passed the Saxon lands for the coast of the Langobardi, where war with Goths had recently raged. We found a boat to take us north across the sea, and then the great Gothonia itself had been before us. It had not been hard to find the ancestral home of our kin, Hogholm.

  Long had been our route, but now, standing on the great island, the home of Goths, where God Woden and his brothers had once created men, our family, the first, I was finally home.

  It was a home I had never seen.

  I had only heard of it, in our exile with the Marcomanni, when Hulderic had been of a mind to speak of it. He, Bero, my father, had had a bloody adventure here, and once, my father had stood right there where I now stood, before the doors of Hogholm’s great hall, and here, he had killed an evil man, brutally and with vengeance. That man had taken the life of his loved one, Saxa.

  I looked around the hall’s entrance.

  There was no evidence of it now.

  I had read his story too. He had been a prisoner in Ravenna, and I had been the Raven of Rome, finally serving Tiberius in his time of need, our distrust forgotten for the time. Tiberius had been the dark cloud over Rome, I had been the rain, and on the side, I had seen to it that Father wrote down his tale. Tiberius had wanted it. I, also. I had read much of it.

  It bothered me.

  Had I known more about him earlier, I might have been less easily deceived by my father, and perhaps, possibly, even understood his coldness, and evil.

  I was, after all, far more evil than he was, for when I went back to Rome for that final long twenty years I did not let Hadewig know about, I followed the gods of vengeance, not of mercy.

  Now I stood before the hall where his tale had begun.

  The Boat Lord of that far gone time, our relative, was dead. He had been ancient even then. Father’s actions had seen him dead.

  Who survived Father and followed that Boat-Lord, was of our blood. Who sat on the throne now, was a relative. It was hard to fathom.

  “What is his name?” asked Seisyll, with his small, boyish, and clever voice, eying the great hall inside.

  “Bernhard the Whale Killer,” I said. “They call him the Scourge of the Svea and of the Langobardi, the Slayer of the Fenni and the Burner of the Österland, the King of the Boats, the Boat Lord.” I turned to look at two burly guards. “Is this correct?”

  Neither said a word but glared at me unkindly.

  “That is right,” I told Seisyll, the boy’s eyes round with wonder as he stared at the sights from the hillside.

  I turned and saw Luigsech was gazing back the way we had climbed, at the town. I joined her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Not quite like Albion. Colder. Sparse.”

  “Nothing like Albion,” she agreed huskily, holding a hand on her rounded belly. “But free of Rome. And beautiful. Rough, like you.”

  I nodded. It was odd. It felt familiar.

  Downhill, a great, walled town thrived. Filled with halls and houses, taverns, and stables, it was prosperous, but also smoky and muddy. The harbor was a mad beehive of activity, with an odd seawall with chain blocking the entrance next to an old tower. The chain was now lowered to the sea. All across the bay, men were rowing sleek ships, as families were leaving the island for the south and the west.

  Langobardi had been beaten. The Goths were pushing to their lands. It was either that or starve.

  Gothonia was full of people.

  It was filled to the brim, and more were coming. The harvests had been blessed, the long years good on the people, and warriors had grown restless. One bad year would bring famine and death, so Bernhard had turned his weapons on the Langobardi, and was now sending people to live there.

  I turned to look at the young conqueror.

  The doors were open.

  On the throne, inside the hall, sat a man with very blue eyes. You could see them even all the way from the other end of the hall. He was plain and pleasant looking man in his thirties. He smiled easily and nodded at chatter not aimed at him, murmuring near silent assent on some point and joining in on the laughter of his kin readily.

  He seemed more like a merchant, than a recently victorious war-king.

  He had an uncomplicated way about him.

  But it would be a mistake to think he was weak. He navigated the hard people around him; his power was clear. Under the laughter and smiles, there was a grimacing bear warrior, not far at all, and the sword that leaned on his wooden throne was unsheathed and ever near. His warriors—tall, fierce, with chain and leathers—had their hands on their weapon’s hilts as they stood nearby.

  The man was a proper mix of a kind lord and fierce killer.

  He was a king of kings in the making, though he would flinch away from the title. All Germani would, since Armin.

  Even now.

  I watched him and then the others whom he was listening to.

  “Do you see him?” asked Luigsech, clutching my arm. “Has the king invited his family to receive you? Surely, then, he is here too.”

  She was speaking of my son.

  I shook my head. My heart fell.

  Had Gervas died?

  I froze.

  I saw a man I knew. A fat warrior moved away and revealed many tall men and women.

  There was Wulf,
Adalwulf’s boy.

  His long, blond hair was lustrous and wild, and he had a new scar on his cheek. He had aged and was, by many accounts, already past his prime. He was speaking to another, a great bear of a man. I did not see his face, but I knew him at once. His hair was like mine had once been—long, black, and wild—and I knew it was Gervas.

  “Thank Woden, thank Frigg, thank you all,” I whispered, and Luigsech grinned and clutched my arm with her happiness. She was a good woman—fair, just, and a rare gem amid coal.

  And still, I was suddenly nervous for that grip.

  I was a bastard.

  I had enjoyed her, me, an old, ancient man, and her company, and had made commitments. She carried my child, by Woden’s sake.

  The fact she was pregnant and cared for me, and aye, I for her, would be awkward with Gunda, to whom I was still married.

  I did not see her, but she could be anywhere.

  I wondered if she had married again. It had been ages since I had sent them north.

  I wondered if my son had married. I wondered if I was a grandfather.

  “Will you go and greet them?” Luigsech asked tartly. “Or are you ashamed of us? Should we be prettier to fit a Goth hall? Catuvellauni not good enough for—”

  “Shh,” I said with a smile. “I’m terrified they will not know me.”

  “Everyone will know an old bastard like you,” she murmured. “Few men live so old.”

  I slapped her rump. She was right. Few did. Age was the gift from gods, and it had been lavishly thrown over our family. Not only did we live ancient as gods, we looked half the age. My hair was streaked with white, and I was no longer as powerful as I had once been, but I was tall, fierce, and still able to strike down a foe with a fist or sword. I preferred my wits, but I could use a sword still.

  Father had been like that as well.

  Gervas was stepping closer to the young Thiuda, and then I saw a familiar ring on the king’s finger.

  It was the Draupnir’s Spawn.

  Gervas had, as I had asked, brought him that treasure of old. He had given our family treasure over to the highest in the family and submitted himself to the great man, or perhaps to his father…

  I wondered how much the ring had to do with the prosperity in the land.

  It was Woden’s own, his gift to our family.

  It gleamed on his finger, and I stared at it for so long, that I had to be nudged by Seisyll.

  “What?” I murmured.

  “They are looking at you,” he whispered. “All of them. They are calling for you too. Twice now.”

  I watched one of the guard pointing a spear inside. There, Gervas was staring at me with incredulity.

  It had been so long. So awfully long.

  I had gone to Rome to find Ulrich, to serve Tiberius, and I had sent them away north with all my blessings. I had gone to finish my business with Ulrich, and Livia, to serve Tiberius until the latter died.

  Here, they had prospered.

  I had…endured. I had suffered, and I had pursued my revenge.

  It had gone far further than it should have. I could blame Lok for that, but it was…Hraban.

  A terrible cause. Revenge.

  I had found revenge is a duty one must perform to appease stained honor and to seek justice, and only you are left lacking any. It is a snake that eats constantly, more and more, and forever starved of sustenance.

  Like power, it corrupts.

  “Come in, father of Gervas!” called Bernhard with a clear voice. “Enter the hall of your kin, and be welcome, famed Raven of Rome!”

  I hesitated at that name.

  It was a name any man of Rome spat out, when it wanted to curse someone.

  None were spitting in the hall.

  Then I walked forward and stepped under the roof.

  My eyes were on Gervas, and he smiled at me briefly. I saw a beautiful young woman, who stood near him. And there was another. Both were blonde as wheat. They each held sons and daughters, six each, and I guessed they were sons and daughters of Adalwulf and Gervas.

  I felt tears falling down my cheeks, and Gervas looked down, in tears too.

  He was trying to find words as I approached, and the great hall’s guests staring at us in wonder.

  “It is not often,” Bernhard said, with choking voice, also moved, “that I see Gervas the Wall Keeper weeping. Only widows weep when he is done.” A gentle, rippling laughter echoed in the wall, and Gervas smiled, not insulted in the least.

  It made me happy they were apparently friends.

  So few lords I had met had become my friends.

  Only the first one.

  Drusus the Elder.

  The man who had led me to Rome.

  I opened my cloak, and they saw I was armed and armored. Luigsech and Seisyll were gyrating behind me for the women and children, fitting in naturally, and Bernhard was gazing at my armor and clothing. The leather caligae, the rich balteus belt with golden and silver studs, and the rings and bracers were clear proof of my position in the lands of the south. It was rich attire, that of a Roman centurion, and my swords were well-used, and one an obviously famed blade that had claimed lives for long years. One was a long spatha, the other a gladius. The latter was ancient. It was something I had carried through the lands and it was something Claudius greatly desired.

  The dark leather breastplate held two faded, silvery ravens.

  His eyes enlarged at the sight.

  And so, perhaps, I was also infamous in the north.

  I stepped past Gervas and pulled off a bracer of gold and pale red jewels and kneeled before Bernhard. I handed him the rich treasure, and he took it gratefully, smiling, and men in the room were murmuring appreciatively.

  “More welcome than you were moments before, you are,” Bernhard laughed. “Come, stand up, old uncle!”

  I had made it clear I was there not to challenge him, but to meet him as my ruler.

  Amongst the Germani, honor was all.

  I had honored him greatly.

  I was far older than he was, of the same blood, but everyone had seen I had revered him.

  And yet, I had reputation. I saw it in some men’s eyes.

  The Oath Breaker.

  Some would wonder if I would give the king homage one day and stab him down the next. I saw his eyes were amused, but also guarded. He knew what I was. He knew of me, and what I was, and I wondered how was that possible.

  Surely Gervas had told him little.

  He sighed. “We have men, who have traveled in Rome. One saw you ride to the city with the man called Gaius Julius Caesar. The second, I think.”

  Caligula.

  He brushed the air, as if trying to be rid of suddenly dark mood. “I won’t ask you about the tales they told us. I am sure you had your reasons.”

  I nodded. “I went there to kill a man who killed my wife. I found another cause later. I wanted to kill Rome itself.”

  He stared at me with huge eyes.

  Aye, that had been the cause. Lok told me it would save Midgard. I had believed him.

  I had wanted to believe him. I had wanted to…

  To kill Rome.

  To poison the wolf that was unfit to rule, led by men so cancerous and weak, I had felt the need to do something.

  I was ashamed of what I had done. Finally, I had been. It had taken a dying girl to pull me from Lok’s despair.

  I had changed Rome, nonetheless.

  Not for the better.

  Not for Rome, at least. It had cost Rome much. I still had nightmares of the dead.

  “Greet your valiant son,” Bernhard murmured. “Long has he waited for you.”

  “Father?” said Gervas, and I turned to face him. His eyes flickered to the flock of children.

  “You have been busy, I think,” I said with a smile. “I wonder if too busy?”

  He laughed, and the pretty blonde near him giggled. Gervas shrugged with a shy grin. I then noticed something odd. A large man was standing near
the wife, draped in furs.

  A guard? A tutor?

  I found Gervas coming for me.

  “Father,” he said, and crushed me in a hug. I grasped him, but not harder than he grasped me, and Cassia’s face came to my mind unbidden, and tears came to my eyes. Wulf was stepping back and touching his sword’s hilt, and I wondered at that.

  His father. Adalwulf.

  Had he been found?

  I did not see him.

  I pushed Gervas back and smiled at his family. Then my eyes were drawn onto the dark, hooded figure, and I wondered if it was death, and only I saw it.

  Then the king cleared his throat.

  I turned to face him.

  “Welcome yet again,” said the lord as he gazed at me. “I hear you are a miracle maker, the Raven of Woden, rather than of Rome. Hraban, son of Maroboodus, and a man seldom at loss for words, I am told. Alas, some say you come with ill tidings in your wake, but others praise you for a great friend to those who treat you well. So, I shall do just that.”

  He leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed. “I am the grandson of a great man your father once killed in battle. You sent me a great gift, once.” My eyes went to the ring. He smiled. “Nay. Your son. You sent us Wulf and Gervas, and great has their service been to the Goths, and us.”

  He smiled and waved a hand at the women and children. “They have grown roots here. We trust each other. That you entrusted your wife, Gunda, and unborn child to our care, and your son, and the ring, told me all I had to know about you, long before, and so I have never listened to rumors and gossip. Let a man have enemies, and let him be brutal to them, if he is honorable to you and your own people. You were, and are, I think.”

  I blinked.

  Unborn child.

  Gunda?

  I remembered what Hands had said the day he had led them off. Or rather, left unsaid. He had known.

  Bernhard nodded at a dark-haired boy, tall and fierce, near Adalwulf, and that boy gaped at me like I was a monster from the deep lakes.

  I smiled, and he flinched and bowed.

  The scars and the age, I decided, and then my head spun.

  It was all too much. While I had been taking lives in Rome, my family had grown in the north. As I had hoped for.

  Where was Gunda?

  “She is dead,” Gervas said softly, reading my face. “Illness. Winter took her. She was incredibly happy here, Father. Never regretted a thing.”