The Summer Sword

by Alaric Longward

  It was like it had been before. I had been chased that time too.

  This time, I would fight them.

  I would let the bastards kill each other first.

  ***

  Up that hillside and for the mountains, where the Svea of Segestes had chased me, I rode. I led our new enemy forward under dark, and we camped near the cave, where Wandal had contemplated on killing me, and had begun a long journey with me.

  Thinking of him was painful.

  The pain was not for the plan I had made with Adalwulf. I couldn’t undo what I had done.

  I would likely do it again.

  It was the thought of him losing so many years on lies, and never had I asked him what he would want. I thought he would have no plans, other than friendship with me. He had been treated like Cassia.

  It was a fine thing. Friendship. It took time for a man to learn to appreciate it.

  It had to go both ways. It had not, not in my case. I was not worthy of Wandal.

  I begged to the gods his father yet lived, and I begged life had treated him well. I begged Tudrus would be alive as well, my once rival and then a staunch ally, and his brother, and Euanthe and Tudrus’s children.

  Many had died. Some dear to my former friends.

  They could be my enemies. In one way or other, they might one day ride after me.

  Perhaps they were too tired to hunt me.

  But there was one friend that was not like them. He was a bastard and still a friend who took what he wanted and didn’t follow me. He had always had his own roads. That man knew how to defend himself and had been a good ally and he knew what I was.

  I looked below and then up until I saw the cave where we had once fought and where a bear had nearly killed me.

  Bones were still visible amongst the grass. In the cave, darkness beckoned for us. I turned to Gervas and Wulf. “Wait here. And be ready.”

  They nodded nervously.

  Then I pulled our horses to the cave, chuckled at the littered bones, picked clean of meat long before, and pulled Wide Snout out. I leaned down at him. “Do you feel lucky, boy?”

  He blinked. “No. I never feel lucky.”

  I shook my head. “That is not good. You need to be very lucky now. I need you to lead me down, and then we shall find the enemy camps. If they are not camped, and sneaking up, you have to see them first.”

  He squinted down the hill to the darkness. “I suppose we can try. So, I find them?”

  I shook my head. “Not only that. You lead me along. We must deal with the lot.”

  He nodded uncertainly. He had a bow and many long shafts. “You want me to kill their horses?”

  “Kill the men,” I said. “Those men have to die here on this mountain. At least most of them.”

  He looked pale. “What? You will want me to kill them? And you will watch and cheer?”

  “Don’t be a fool. We will kill as many as we can,” I said. “And we have to do it now.”

  He frowned. “I should get paid for it. This is much more than guiding you around, lord.”

  “You’ll get paid either by me,” I said, “or by Woden, but I think only by me, for I think you are very brave, and also lucky. You’ll live.”

  He grinned and jumped on his horse.

  ***

  We found a camp of Donor’s. Wide Snout had been right. He was there, far closer I had guessed. His men were exhausted, and they had ridden from the Black Lodge, alerted soon after we left. Donor had seen his opportunity and was there in person. I saw him, leaning on a tree, dirty, tired, and I knew he must have ridden like a Valkyrie with his best men to get there that fast. They had been burning no wood and had made no food, and their horses were silent shadows in the woods.

  Their guard, a young man, was dozing, apparently too exhausted to be what he should be; one of the best in the land.

  They had slipped past what we had seen or had not seen a thing.

  No, I thought. They had not seen Raven Catchers. They wouldn’t be asleep otherwise.

  Donor’s men, no better than Ourbazo’s scum from my point of view, wanted to get on our trail first come morning.

  I begged the gods they were not allied.

  They did, after all, have a common enemy. I would soon find out. I nodded at Wide Snout. “The others. Find the others.”

  He cursed and went.

  We led the horses down, well down, on a game trail, and Mani suddenly came out from a bank of clouds and lit up the woods with pale light. Below, I glimpsed a large clearing, one we had passed, and Wide Snout held a hand up.

  There were thirty men there now. They slept in a circle.

  Wide Snout was gesturing for them, but I shook my head. “Anything else?” I whispered. “Guards?”

  “Two guards,” he whispered back

  I couldn’t see them. “Can we get closer?”

  He looked at me with terrified eyes.

  “Closer,” I snarled. “Close enough so you can hit them for sure.”

  “Hit them for sure,” he murmured. “Of course.”

  There was a smell of smoke in the air, and it was drifting up from below. It was not thick in the air, but fading, and a dim fire was still playing in their midst. He led us forward, very carefully now, taking barely a step at a time, like he would hunt a deer, and he gave me exasperated looks, and shook his head at my feet and tugged at my armor, making choking sounds. I pushed him forward, not in a mood of being admonished by almost a child. He stopped me suddenly and pointed at a shadow.

  I stared at that shadow for a long while, until it moved.

  Mani’s light showed the man’s face, and I saw a beastlike creature of evil and blood. His face was painted in black, his eyes were red, and he was murmuring as he held his spear, as if he sensed our presence.

  I nodded at the man. I was whispering very softly. “You will put an arrow into him. Then we get closer, and you will put a few more into others. I’ll have a dance with a few. After that, you and I shall flee. We shall mount up, and we shall ride through Donor’s camp. Can you find it?”

  He nodded, eyes round. “You will dance?”

  I slapped his head gently. “And after that, we shall have to kill the rest,” I said. I leaned close to his ear. “Do you see that man near the fire, with dark hair, and black leather armor?”

  It was Ourbazo. He was asleep, hand on a lance shaft.

  He nodded.

  “He is your first target,” I said. “After the guard.” I clapped his back. He took a ragged breath.

  The boy lifted his bow and aimed for a long time. I waited and nearly pissed my pants, and then again, as he suddenly released the arrow. I didn’t see it fly.

  I didn’t see it sink in.

  I noticed he shot another long shaft.

  The shadow didn’t move.

  We waited.

  An owl in the boughs was making a sound that seemed almost confused. Then the owl took flight, like a soul escaping the woods.

  The shadow fell to his knees and then his face.

  Wide Snout grinned and shook to his bone. He wiped his mouth and threw up very silently, to his great credit.

  “First?” I asked him.

  “Aye,” he whispered, and vomited some more. “Shit. I—”

  “You sent him to Hel,” I told him. “They’re mercenaries. Filth from beyond the rivers. Trust me on this. You are saving good people’s lives.”

  “They are like the Roxolani?”

  “Worse,” I said. “Go.” I tied our horses down.

  He shuddered, though he had no idea what I was talking about, and went forward, advancing one step at a time. I followed him, and soon, we came upon the clearing in the wood. It looked dangerously crowded.

  There was no sign of Ourbazo.

  He was gone.

  The boy looked at me in confusion. I had no answers.

  It was clear he was somewhere near.

  There was another guard who was slinking in the shadows beyond the camp, back and
forth like an agitated lynx.

  I watched, waited, and cursed, and Wide Snout, surprisingly calm, as if he was watching a family of deer, stood his ground.

  “Shoot the guard,” I hissed. “And then some of the men sleeping. Then we run.” I tapped his head. I pointed a sword. “Do not kill that one.”

  I pointed my sword at a fat, ugly man.

  He looked at me. “Why? You like him?”

  “Not really,” I whispered. “Do it.”

  I watched him raise his bow and take aim at the man that was walking on the edge of the camp. I hesitated, not sure if we were being set up or not, and then Wide Snout released the arrow. It flew to strike true, the point disappearing into the body of the man pacing. I walked forward, fast as I could, sword out. Wide Snout hissed in surprise, and I ignored him.

  The guard fell against a tree, holding the shaft. The next shaft missed his head by an inch and struck the tree.

  “Help!” he called out, gurgling, and at that moment, I was amid the enemy. They were rolling and sitting up, confused. I hacked my weapon down on first, squashing his head in the middle, and hopped to the next one, the rage building up in my chest. I hacked him down as well, and two of them were now sleeping the eternal sleep of the dead.

  Arrow struck a fleet, thin man in the neck, and the knee of yet another.

  The rest were up, blinking.

  I spat on a face of a corpse, danced before their unbelieving eyes.

  Then I turned and ran.

  I grasped Wide Snout and practically threw him on a horse.

  “After them!” I heard a man screaming. “Do not let him get away!”

  I grinned, suppressed the need to piss, and jumped on my horse. I saw Wide Snout releasing an arrow, heard man screaming with pain, and then I pulled Snout’s horse with me. I kicked it and rode low, through branches, and stopped.

  “Go!” Wide Snout shouted and let go an arrow. A horse whinnied wildly. I heard curses and men crashing through shrubs behind, and I rode on, sure I was lost, and then I remembered it had been Wide Snout’s job to guide us.

  I was lost.

  Until I wasn’t.

  We crashed to Donor’s camp. His men were arming themselves, and the guard was tottering out of the woods. Donor’s eyes looked up at me in astonishment, and then I rode through him.

  I smashed my sword down on him, struck his shoulder, and tore his chain.

  “Hraban!” he roared. I trampled the guard and killed him with a stab. Javelins crashed into the woods next to me.

  We rode through the trees, and I turned to watch.

  The bounty hunters rode in, one by one.

  Donor was whirling, bleeding form his armored shoulder. The enemy, their shields painted black, faces as well and their spears flashing, rushed to a line of spears.

  A few of them were killed, surprised. One by one they came, and Donor’s men were slaying them.

  Then no more came. Donor’s men shifted and tried to make a shield and spear wall.

  “Look sharp!” Donor howled. “Hraban’s devilry! We can best it!”

  Then, javelins tore from the night, and Donor’s men took them. Some bashed to shields, others to flesh, and some of his men fell.

  Then Ourbazo rode in. He jumped from his horse and tossed his lance at a man. The man fell on his knees, and Donor roared at the Sarmatian, his ax cutting down. Ourbazo’s men came in, ten, more, many more, rushing like a wile band of spirits.

  “Shit,” I said. “Shoot a few.”

  Wide Snout was already aiming and releasing.

  I watched Donor. The bastard had been there to hunt me down. Now, he fought to survive.

  He had no chance.

  Ourbazo danced under his swinging ax, and the sword thrust into his gut. Donor slammed his ax down, roaring, and killed one of the mercenaries. His men were being stabbed down. They fought well, taking many of the foe with them. They were the best of his men, the sons of some of the old families, and they died like any lesser man, swimming in sea of foes.

  I watched one crying, spears in his gut. Another was howling, his arm hanging out, an ax tearing at bone. Their horses fled.

  Dozen men of Ourbazo lay dead around them, but none of the Cherusci would flee. The last ones were being pummeled to death in the clearing.

  Donor was about to join them.

  Ourbazo was panting and dodging Donor’s roaring attacks. The man’s ax was heavy, he was fast, but Ourbazo was cutting wounds with each dodge, until Donor slowed down with pain. He tried once more, the ax coming for Ourbazo’s head, but the Sarmatian stopped it with his free hand, and pushed his blade to Donor’s belly. Twisting his blade, he looked at Donor with no emotion. Donor yet stood. He tried to fight. He struggled and wept. The Raven Catchers were around them, watching on. Some ten stood still.

  Then, Donor fell on his back.

  An arrow transfixed itself on Ourbazo’s thigh.

  He stared at it and then at Wide Snout. His eyes were full of surprise, his mouth spitting curses. “Take them!” he hissed. “Now!”

  Snout shot an arrow into a man’s throat.

  Then we were surprised.

  A man appeared, dark of face, arms painted red, and stabbed a spear at me, missing by an inch in the dark. Wide Snout shrieked in surprise, and I bashed my sword into the man’s shield. He fell back, his arm broken. Javelin sailed past me and took Wide Snout’s horse. He fell, and I kicked past him and felt a blade slam into my back as I pulled the boy to me. They were all around us, spears and axes swinging as they get to a position to kill us.

  I rode up the path and heard the enemy coming. “How many?” I panted.

  He peeked over my shoulder. “Eight.”

  “Shit,” I said. I rode like a mad man up forest hill. Then I found a familiar route, Mani’s light helped me, and we rode to the cave’s entrance. I jumped down and ran away to the cave. Wide Snout was panting, hauling his bow and some arrows, and there, we turned.

  Gervas was looking out. “How many?”

  “Too many,” I said.

  “We heard there was a—” Wulf began.

  A group of shadows appeared. Spears and swords out, the enemy dismounted in front of us in the empty field. They saw the cave, and Wide Snout released an arrow.

  A man howled, dancing wildly, a shaft in his balls.

  The group of savages came straight in. They were not like the Svea had been. They were far less sophisticated.

  One took yet another in his face and he crashed in the cave’s entrance.

  They crowded in, and Wulf and Gervas killed two with swift spears. They stabbed up to their chests, tore the men down, spears out, and chose new victims.

  I jumped next to them. Nightbright out, I stabbed it into men’s bodies, and they fell, howled, and died in the doorway.

  Ourbazo came in.

  His sword slashed for my face and cut at my cheek. He kicked under Wulf’s spear and slashed savagely at him. The young man fell back, his shield split, and fell over a corpse. I grabbed Ourbazo, who ripped out of my grip, stepped under my arm, and I had to parry his sword. Gervas’s spear tore at his already wounded thigh, making his hiss with pain, and then, the bastard kicked back at him. Gervas fell over Wulf. His men charged in, last three of them, and he roared as he pressed the blade to my throat.

  He shook his head, spat and cursed, and that is when my last loaded dice rolled on the board.

  It was Hands.

  The grisly, fat bounty hunter had been there when I had seen Ourbazo in the Sarmatian camps, and I had felt Woden throwing dice in my favor or just handing me one advantage in the great game of life. He had later been in the village of filth, and there, we had spoken at length in secret, in shadows. He had confirmed me what Vannius had told me, that we were hunted, and though he had not known if any of the Sarmatians, even Ourbazo was involved in Maroboodus’s plots, and that Ourbazo had simply hinted he might need all of them for something profitable later, he had agreed to help me if he would be needed
at some point. He had, at great price, agreed to change his allegiance.

  He would have done it for free.

  He was still the guardian of my daughter, and Veleda.

  I had made a pact, and he was delivering, and would, even more.

  I saw the ax go up, and it cut in a wide arch, as the half toothless, both muscular and fat bastard tore the blade through a mercenary’s neck and slashed at Ourbazo’s side.

  The man was hurtled to the wall. He was hissing, cursing, and crying, and like a cat, he turned and ran. Arrow flew after him and missed.

  Gervas and Wulf were up, stabbing spears at the last mercenary and staring at the grisly man.

  He smiled down at me. “I thought,” he said, “that you were not supposed to come here again.”

  I looked back at Heinrich, for that was his real name.

  He grinned softly.

  Or rather, as softly as he could.

  He had ever been huge, fat even, and nasty, even as a young man. He had been a bounty hunter since his youth, and he and I had met in very unlikely circumstances. He had once saved my daughter and had saved Veleda before that, though he had broken his oath to my father and Odo. He had been an enemy and servant to Maroboodus, but not for long. He, too, was Chatti, though he had once been something else, a Langobardi or even a Goth, and gods knew how many men and women Hands had captured and killed in his time.

  We were panting after the fight and still smiling.

  “We must go,” he said after a while. “We go up there this night.”

  ***

  Sunna was up already. We had left our horses and were high up the mountains, climbing a stone road above craggy canyon and the great mountain’s sides.

  “You fought badly,” Hands said, pushing up and sweating. He was addressing me.

  “You struck him from behind,” I said. “You try it from the front.”

  “He is the least of your trouble,” he went on, panting. “You still have to destroy Rome’s legions.”

  I thought about it and knew he was right. I wondered if the cat was going to come and lick the milk from the plate, and what would follow, if he did.

  Germanicus would be tempted. He knew I had been in Mattium for year. He would know I had lied I would be there for another.