The Song of the Ash Tree 03 - Already Comes Darkness

by T L Greylock

  It was not the question the Far-Traveled had expected, Raef could see. The laughing eyes had grown subdued as Raef spoke and Finndar Urdson no longer looked young.

  “It would change their lives to know the truth, Raef. Are you prepared for that burden?”

  “What I am prepared for makes no difference. I would do what is right.”

  Finndar drained the last of his mead. “I think you know already what I will say. You must decide for yourself. This question is not one I possess an answer to.” The Far-Traveled got to his feet, cast a glance at Vakre, who relaxed with his feet up on the table next to Raef. He nodded once to the son of Loki and Raef wondered what might have passed between them while they were beneath the same roof. But then Finndar’s gaze came back to fix on Raef and he felt the blue eyes pull him in. “Farewell, Skallagrim. You and I will not meet again.”

  And then he was gone from the hall.

  Four days of confinement had muted some of Aelinvor’s defiance, though Uhtred’s daughter bore no visible burden of guilt on her slender shoulders, or if she did, she hid it away under a careful face when Raef came to visit her at last on the morning after the Far-Traveled’s departure. Her keepers said she had eaten and drunk what was given and had suffered her isolation without complaint, indeed, without many words at all. But he would not have called her meek, no, and she greeted him with poise.

  Silence followed their initial words. Aelinvor seemed content to wait for Raef to continue, but he found he still did not know what to say.

  “The strength of your ambition was always clear to me, Aelinvor. You were not shy about conveying your desires to me. But what I do not understand is when it all became worth your father’s life.” Raef had meant to sit, as she was, next to the fire, but instead he paced between the pair of windows that overlooked a grove of trees. “He was proud of you. Your happiness and future were important to him.”

  “Have you ever set about a task and found that, through no fault of your own, the desired end result was out of reach and impossible to attain?”

  Raef frowned. “If I believed that, I would still be starving in the wilderness, not standing once more in my hall.”

  Aelinvor smiled a little. “These are the words of a man. A man who has been bred and trained and taught to be as he is. Imagine instead that you were raised without all this,” she said, gesturing to the walls around them. “That your place in the world was much smaller and that no one had any expectation of you but that you would exist as you have always existed. Imagine that you wished to rise above your small place, but that you do not have the tools to do so.”

  “Then I would make persistence my friend.”

  “As I have done.” Aelinvor’s voice sharpened and she stared hard at Raef. “It is no easy thing for a woman to make her mark upon the world. I have done little but weave cloth and ride horses and comb my hair for most of my life, and no one, least of all my father, has expected me to do more than this. I have chafed, Raef,” she said, desperation creeping in, “chafed against this since I was five years old.”

  “I have known many women who are not content with weaving.”

  “Not all of us, even men, take to the blade and the warrior’s way with ease. I did not have the skill or the talent or the teaching to become a shieldmaiden. And I have always meant to rule, Raef, not fight.”

  “Why? Why do you wish to rule?”

  Aelinvor frowned. “Because I am suited to it. More so than many men.”

  “Torrulf Palesword was suited to be king. You know his fate. But let us not speak of that,” Raef said, as Aelinvor began to argue. “Let us speak instead of your father. You were his only surviving child. Would Uhtred have cast you aside and named someone else to rule Garhold after his death? I think not. Many women have ruled after their fathers and have done so without murdering them. Bryndis rules well in Narvik, despite her youth, and long has Kollumheim prospered under Leska, lady of the sapphires. They have earned places of respect on their own merits. You sought to bind yourself to me, or even Isolf, in an effort to raise yourself above others. You are driven by greed.”

  Aelinvor had gone still and stiff, and her voice was cold when she spoke again. “You will not cause me to regret my actions. I would have wielded the knife that killed my father myself, if need be.”

  Raef looked at her, so young, so beautiful, and felt the strength of her resolve as though it had struck him. “I will grant you a quick, clean death, for your father’s sake.” He pushed off the window ledge he had been leaning against and left the room.

  But in the end Aelinvor denied Raef. She was found at dusk, a ragged cut carved into her wrist by a dull piece of iron meant to stir the logs in the fire, her blood emptied across the fine cloth of her gown, her determination and persistence carrying her into death, for it would have been no easy thing to end her life in that manner.

  A funeral pyre was built in haste, small and not fitting for the daughter of a lord, but Raef did not feel he owed her anything else. He watched the first flames lick against the oil-slick logs and then turned away as the heat flared and left Aelinvor to burn alone as the stars unveiled in the darkness.

  By dawn, all that was left of the daughter of Uhtred was a hint of smoke in the air, and it was under this shadow that Raef said farewell to Visna.

  The Valkyrie had been restless, Raef could see even in his distracted state, since the victory over Isolf, and so he was not surprised when Visna came to him in the early light of the morning dressed for travel. She said nothing at first, and went to look out his window, but her mind was clear to him and so he said it for her.

  “You mean to leave.”

  She turned from the glass and nodded, her hand going to her belt and the sword that was sheathed there. “I must not fail my father. There must be nine Valkyries. Too long has he been without me.”

  “You know you do not need my permission,” he said, glad to see his teasing bring a smile to her face.

  “No, but I find that I would not wish to part without knowing that I have your friendship.”

  “You have it.”

  “And I would thank you.” Visna paused, her uncertainty forming furrows in her brows. “You have shown me something of this world that I did not understand and because of you my heart is not so darkened with fear as it was.” She stepped close and placed a light kiss on his cheek, then brushed past him and out of his chamber. Raef listened to her footsteps fade and then, from the wide ledge outside his window, watched her descend the hill. A tall, broad figure approached her, the bald head gleaming in the sunrise, a horse in tow, and Raef watched with a smile as Dvalarr offered the mount, which Visna quickly refused only to be won over by Dvalarr’s humble doggedness. She took the reins and the Crow watched until long after she was out of sight.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Hammerling’s banner fluttered outside the gates of the Vestrhall on the sixth day after the Far-Traveled’s departure. A single rider carried it in the afternoon breeze and braved the spear-lined path to reach Raef. Warriors had come from across Vannheim, boys no more than fourteen, men with grey beards and gnarled hands, women with long plaits in their hair, each answering the summons to defend their home, and now the walls were flanked with their makeshift shelters and the smoke of many fires.

  The rider was not a stranger to Raef and he was sure the choice of Eirik of Kolhaugen was no accident, for the Hammerling was no doubt aware that they had struck up a friendship while fighting together in the east. But Eirik’s strong face displayed no warmth or eagerness at seeing Raef.

  “Greetings, Eirik, son of Brynvald.”

  Eirik did not return the greeting. “Raef Skallagrim, I name you oathbreaker.” The lord of Kolhaugen’s voice rang out and gripped the ears of the watching warriors. “I charge you with treachery and deceit and summon you to answer for these crimes. All this do I do in the name of Brandulf Hammerling, lord of Finngale and king above all.”

  “How does the Hammerling wish me to answer?�
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  “As you must, as dictated by the laws of gods and men. You swore your life belonged to the Hammerling and now he will take it as punishment for the breaking of your oath.”

  “Be gone, cur,” Dvalarr shouted from beside Raef. The Crow took a step forward as though he might leap at Eirik and Raef put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

  “To demand my life, the Hammerling himself must come for it. This is the way of both gods and men, as he well knows,” Raef said.

  “I speak with his voice and authority. I am the mouth of his justice and in this way I am the Hammerling.”

  Raef moved past Dvalarr and Vakre and went to Eirik’s horse, placing a hand on the brown mare’s bridle. “Then I have no choice but to give Brandulf a name in exchange for the one he has given me. I call him coward, for that is what he is if he will not speak to me in person, if he will not demand payment in the flesh.”

  For the first time Eirik’s stony countenance shifted, betraying a hint of sorrow. But his voice remained as sharp as a blade. “With these words you have sealed the death of those around you. All of Vannheim will pay for your arrogance and betrayal.”

  Raef lowered his voice and spoke now only for Eirik’s ears. “Do you condemn me so easily, Eirik?”

  “What has passed between us will not sway me.”

  “I would never ask you to be disloyal, but I will not let my friend depart without offering him meat and mead. Will you refuse?”

  Eirik’s eyes lost their edge and at last Raef could see that he bore the Hammerling’s task with an uneasy heart. “No,” he said quietly, “I will not refuse.”

  Dvalarr was loath to leave Raef with Eirik, but Raef was firm and Vakre soon led the big man away, leaving Raef and Eirik alone in the hall.

  Raef prodded at the lone fire with a half-charred branch, sending up a shower of sparks, then added a pair of fresh logs. After he was sure they would catch, he turned to the jug of mead that had been set out on one of the long tables and poured two cups full to the brim. Eirik hesitated when offered one, but then took it and drank as Raef did the same.

  A long silence followed the draining and refilling of their cups, and then both men sat on benches facing the fire. Raef spoke at last.

  “Your brother is dead.”

  Eirik glanced up from the fire. “I come to you as your enemy, Skallagrim, and now you tell me this.”

  “I did not kill him.” Raef spoke of the battle in the gorge and the avalanche, of Fengar’s flight and Alvar’s death. “Your brother’s mind was gone, his body not far behind. We sent him to the gods as best we could.” Raef watched Eirik’s face but could read little there. “Is that what you would have wanted?”

  “He was my brother.”

  “That is no answer. The enmity between you was known to all.”

  Eirik sighed and ran a hand through his wild, pale hair. “Yes. I hated him with all my heart and he felt the same for me. I often wonder which of us is to blame for that. Some part of me wishes I might have been there to see his end, perhaps even to bring death to him myself, but then I see him as the boy he was and I grieve for the both of us, for the brothers we might have been.” Eirik paused and then changed the subject. “The Hammerling outnumbers you,” he began.

  “Let us not speak of the Hammerling,” Raef said.

  “For the news of my brother,” Eirik said, trying again.

  “You owe me nothing. For my part I am sorry that I do not know you better, and that it comes to this between us.”

  “Yes,” was all that Eirik said.

  They drank another cup of mead, the golden liquid warming Raef’s belly, and whether it was the drink or the heavy silence that prompted him, he could not have said.

  “I do not know if I speak now as a friend or an enemy, if these are words that you would want to hear, or if you will dread the knowing of them, if I am warning you or filling you with fear, but I find that I must speak.” Raef took a swallow of mead and studied Eirik as the other man frowned. “The twilight of the gods is at hand.” Eirik met Raef’s gaze and did not look away. “Believe me or not, as you see fit. Tell the Hammerling if you wish, or keep this to yourself, it matters not to me.”

  “The time of the wolf,” Eirik whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why fight? Why bring suffering to your people when instead you might fill their last days with peace? He will spare them if you give yourself up.”

  “Will he also hand me a sword so that I might take Hauk of Ruderk’s life? I have made a vow I hold above all others, and that is to my father and to the gods. Hauk Orleson will answer for my father’s murder before the end comes.”

  They did not speak again of the Hammerling, or Hauk of Ruderk, or the fate of the nine realms. A small meal was brought and shared and they parted after nightfall as friends who will face each other in battle.

  “I will ask Thor to strengthen your sword arm,” Eirik said in the torchlight at the gate.

  “And I will ask the Allfather to shield you.”

  Eirik turned his horse into the darkness and was soon gone from Raef’s sight.

  “The captains know their places. The warriors know who to follow.” Raef looked across the snow-covered ground that would see battle the next day, at the fires that smoked there and the warriors sharing bread and meat. Vakre and Dvalarr stood beside him. The Crow was now inked all over his bald head, the three crows joined by fresh patterns weaving together to form a winged creature that resembled the smoke-colored kin. Vakre was as quiet as ever, but his eyes rested on Raef, rather than the spread of warriors before them.

  “I expect the Hammerling just after dawn,” Raef said. They had word that the Hammerling’s men were just beyond the first ring of hills and the Vestrhall’s walls had been crammed to bursting with farmers and fishermen seeking shelter. “If he times it well, the sun will aid him and blind us.” Raef turned to Dvalarr. “See that the extra spears are shared among the captains.”

  Dvalarr nodded and walked off, leaving Raef to confront Vakre.

  “Your words blaze unspoken behind your eyes, Vakre. What would you say?”

  Vakre walked to the fjord, leaving Raef no choice but to follow. There, the son of Loki spoke. “You do not mean for there to be a battle, do you.”

  Raef sighed and let his gaze drift to the grey, shifting waters of the fjord. “I should not have tried to keep it from you. I will leave under cover of darkness and make my way to the Hammerling’s camp.”

  “What did Eirik of Kolhaugen say that could convince you of this?”

  “He spoke the truth.” Raef looked at Vakre. “I broke my oath. I cannot deny that. But more than this, I have sought this fight for a single reason, and I can no longer let that reason outweigh the lives of my people.” Raef shook his head, angry with himself. “The vengeance I seek for my father must not cause suffering among the people of Vannheim, and I am ashamed to have let it come so close.”

  “Would not many gladly lay down their lives to know that you have brought justice to your father’s murderer?”

  “Yes. But they will lay down their lives soon enough for the gods.”

  “Giving yourself up to the Hammerling will shame them.”

  Raef was quiet for a moment. “In the heat of battle, amid the chaos and the screaming steel song, am I certain to come face to face with Hauk Orleson? Will we meet at last and clash swords as we should have done long ago? I do not know the answer to this, Vakre, and this uncertainty is a ruthless companion. If I go to the Hammerling, I will see him there and, if Odin wills it, I will kill him.”

  “Then let me come with you.”

  Raef was ready for this. “Eirik says Brandulf will spare my people if I submit to him. But if he does not intend to fulfill this promise, my people will have to fight and they will have need of good men to lead them. Dvalarr is strong, Dvalarr is fierce, and Dvalarr will die for Vannheim, but he is not enough. I will not command you, Vakre, but I ask that you do this for me.”

/>   Vakre was quiet and together they watched the gentle waves lap against the shore. “Vannheim will stand,” he said at last.

  The southern shore of the fjord had sunk into purple shadows and the deep waters were dark and fathomless without the sun to light them. Raef pulled his fur-lined hood over his head.

  “It is time.”

  Vakre nodded and they returned to the camp and the walls. In the growing dark, it was simple enough for Raef to lead a horse unnoticed from the firelight. Around him, voices carried from fire to fire, the voices of warriors who look for a dawn red with blood. Vakre accompanied him across the strip of open ground to the trees, but neither man said anything and Raef did not look back. When he could no longer hear the murmurs of the camp, Raef mounted and rode into the hills.

  The Hammerling was farther west than Raef anticipated, but no attempt had been made to mask the presence of his warriors. Once Raef caught the scent of smoke, his first glimpse of fire between the dark, sentinel trees was not far behind. The Hammerling’s camp overflowed a narrow glen split down the middle by a frozen stream and Raef approached from a steep descent on the northern side of the camp after leaving his horse among the trees above. He had chosen his path well, for the rocks and heavy underbrush were free from patrolling scouts, and Raef was able to reach the light of one of the outer fires before he was spotted.

  He made no effort to stop the four men who wrestled him to the ground and his silence might have earned him a quick knife to the gut had one not recognized him and drawn back in trepidation. A quick argument was won by the one who insisted Raef must go before the Hammerling, though the other three did not hide their disappointment at being deprived of their prize, and he was hauled further into the camp.

  Brandulf Hammerling did not at first notice the growing commotion as Raef was led close. He was bent over a boulder, brushing snow from a map drawn on a delicate skin. At his side, a boy pointed at the map and Brandulf answered his questions in a quiet tone. The boy had grown since Raef had seen him last; his shoulders were broader, his chest thicker, but he still had a boy’s lankiness and a boy’s face, and Raef wondered when Asmund, Brandulf’s elder son, had joined his father at war.