As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  ‘Master Conrad, I promised you a good death not a squalid end.’

  The voice was that of an old man.

  ‘Hold fast until the morning, that is all I ask.’

  ‘Why?’ croaked Conrad.

  But no answer came and when he looked up again the man was gone. He must have been dreaming. Delirium was taking hold but he welcomed it. After would come death and eternal sleep.

  The morning dawned bright and clear, the sun’s rays hurting his eyes as they rose over the great pine forest surrounding the village. He could barely move such was the weakened state of his limbs. The pain in his back and hand were still present but not as searing as the day before, though only because his senses were dulled and his mind on the cusp of unconsciousness. He knew that this day would be his last on earth and so his lips moved to recite the prayers he had been taught when he had first joined the Sword Brothers and which had been a part of his life ever since. He had served his order with pride but in the end all that mattered was that he had led a good life, remained true to his beliefs and had not abused his position of power. He had been responsible for many deaths, both at his own hand and as commander of the Army of the Wolf, but he had always faced his enemies face to face. He had never sanctioned pillage and wanton slaughter and for that he hoped he would be allowed to see Daina, Dietmar, his parents and friends again.

  He thought he saw movement but his vision was blurred, the sun still shining in his eyes. But then the ground shook and he heard shouts and war cries, followed by screams and shrieks. Out of the corner of his bloodshot eye he saw black figures on black horses. He heard sharp cracks and more cries and then the voices of soldiers.

  ‘Make sure none escape. Search every hut. This one’s mine.’

  Then there were horses beside the animal pen.

  ‘That’s him. Get him up and on a horse.’

  He cried out in pain when hands seized him and lifted him out of the filth.

  ‘He smells like a hog.’

  ‘Silence! Get him to a horse. And put a cloak around him.’

  ‘He’s half-dead, lord.’

  More shouts and screams as he was escorted to a horse, his handlers now gentler in recognition of his parlous condition. They opened water bottles, splashed the cold liquid on his face and let him drink some, being careful not to allow him to gulp any down. A cloak was placed around his shoulders and one of his feet placed in a stirrup.

  ‘Get him a pair of boots first,’ barked a man on an adjacent horse.

  He thought he recognised him, or at least his voice. Gintaras? He saw the black leather breast and back plates of the men around him, their black clothing and black horses and knew they were Kurs. His feet were rubbed with cloth and then black leather boots put on them.

  ‘Get him into the saddle,’ ordered Gintaras. ‘And have a care, he is a friend of the king.’

  A Kur soldier sat behind him to ensure he did not fall from the horse as the party led him away. Conrad saw Petras fall, cut down in a hail of spisas.

  ‘My sword,’ he said weakly.

  The rider holding him heard the words.

  ‘His sword, lord.’

  ‘What?’ snapped Gintaras.

  Conrad pointed at the slain Petras. ‘He has my sword.’

  ‘Says that Samogitian has his sword.’

  Gintaras cursed under his breath and ordered one of his men to retrieve the weapon. A shrieking white-clad priest ran wildly towards them. Gintaras jumped from his horse, gripped his sword with both hands and slashed sideways with the blade to slice open the belly of the holy man. The priest spun, Gintaras delivering an overhead blow to split the priest’s skull and kill him.

  ‘He has my ring,’ said Conrad with great effort.

  ‘The priest has his ring, lord.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Around his neck,’ whispered Conrad.

  ‘Around the priest’s neck, lord.’

  Gintaras wiped his blade on the dead priest’s robe, bent down and tugged the leather thong around his neck.

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Conrad.

  ‘He thanks you, lord.’

  Conrad saw Petras’ family die and wept as Inga was slaughtered without mercy. Timi begged for his life but was hacked to pieces by Kur axes. No huts were set alight to avoid telltale smoke drifting into the clear sky but the Kurs were merciless in their efficiency. They butchered everyone, even snarling dogs standing over their dead masters.

  ‘All dead, lord,’ reported a Kur.

  Gintaras nodded. ‘Then let us leave this place. We have a lot of ground to cover.’

  The following days were a blur to Conrad. He remembered being fed hot broth after a hard ride that first day, which returned some feeling to his injured limbs. It also restored the pain wracking his body and on the second day he developed a fever. The soldiers endeavoured to give him food and water but Conrad soon fell into a state of delirium. Gintaras quickened the pace to get them back to Talsi where a royal guest waited.

  *****

  ‘He is comfortable, highness, though I cannot guarantee that he will last the week.’

  The healer, an old man with a long nose and kind eyes, fidgeted with his hands as he stood before Lamekins. His eyes darted from the king to his two guests, a man wearing mail armour and next to him a beautiful woman with blonde hair whose pleasing aspect was spoiled by the scowl on her face.

  ‘He is strong,’ interrupted Kaja.

  ‘Alas, lady,’ said the healer, ‘his injuries are serious and extensive. The best we can do is make him comfortable before…’

  ‘Thank you,’ smiled Lamekins.

  The healer bowed and retreated from the hall. Black-uniformed guards stood at the doors and behind the dais upon which the three figures were sitting. Out of courtesy Lamekins had seated Rameke and Kaja next to him, as they were monarchs like him. They had arrived two weeks before, Queen Kaja with a strange tale of how Master Conrad was being held captive in Samogitia. In her possession was a very detailed set of instructions about how to find him. King Rameke requested a guide to accompany them but Lamekins would not hear of it. He had met them before, on Oesel, and had taken a liking to the brother of Master Conrad and his very forthright wife. And Lamekins had liked Master Conrad and was sad to hear of his death at the Battle of Saule. He kept a close eye on his Samogitian and Semgallian neighbours. His many spies and scouts reported that all the Sword Brothers had been killed at Saule. But out of respect for the memory of Master Conrad he had dispatched Gintaras south with a party of horsemen and mounted crossbowmen. He was astounded when it returned with the Sword Brother.

  ‘It is a blessing that he will live to die among his friends,’ Lamekins said to Kaja.

  But the queen was not thinking of Conrad’s death.

  ‘You have been most kind and hospitable, majesty,’ she replied, ‘but now we must take Susi back to Livonia.’

  Rameke looked surprised. ‘He will not survive the journey.’

  ‘He will survive the journey,’ insisted Kaja, ‘but not if we delay.’

  She looked at Lamekins. ‘Great king, I must ask you one last favour. That you allow us to take Susi back to Livonia in one of your ships. It is important that he be taken home by sea.’

  Rameke looked uncomfortable, shifting uneasily in his chair, making Lamekins curious.

  ‘And you believe that Master Conrad will live if he makes a sea journey, lady?’

  Kaja nodded.

  ‘May I ask why you believe it to be so?’ asked Lamekins.

  ‘The one who gave me the directions to find Susi told me that after he had been found he should be brought back by sea, thus pleasing Jurus.’

  ‘Jurus?’ probed Lamekins.

  ‘The Goddess of the Sea,’ Kaja told him, ‘who also heals.’

  Lamekins nodded approvingly. ‘Duke Arturus, my former lord, always ridiculed any form of religion. All three of us worship the Christian god and send our soldiers to fight in his cause. We burn individuals who fo
llow the old religion.’

  Kaja’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘In our domain we do not burn those who still follow the gods.’

  ‘It is as my wife states,’ said Rameke.

  ‘I will supply you with a ship,’ said Lamekins, ‘let up hope that our prayers to whatever god or gods will help what appears to be a lost cause.’

  Rameke and Kaja left the next day, Lamekins accompanying them to the coast where the king’s cogs and smaller vessels were moored to a great wooden jetty constructed in the Dvina estuary. There he exchanged warm farewells with the Liv king and his Estonian wife and knelt beside the litter carrying the broken Conrad.

  ‘I will order the priests to say prayers for you in the church they are building in my capital, Master Conrad.’

  The king reached into his tunic and pulled out an amber charm. He placed it beside Conrad.

  ‘For luck. Farewell, Master Conrad.’

  He nodded to the litter bearers who carried Conrad on to the cog. He and Gintaras watched it being towed into the mouth of the river where its large square sail was unfurled and a stiff wind carried it out to sea.

  ‘I’m surprised he is still living,’ said Gintaras. ‘I can’t see him lasting the journey.’

  ‘Have faith, my old friend,’ replied the king. ‘I have a feeling his friend the queen is keeping him alive by the force of her will alone.’

  ‘She has too much to say for herself,’ complained Gintaras.

  Lamekins laughed. ‘Master Conrad once told me that she saved his life in battle many years ago. She is useful with a sword by all accounts.’

  ‘Women and swords do not mix,’ growled Gintaras.

  Lamekins turned away from the river.

  ‘Did you kill everyone in the village?

  Gintaras nodded. ‘None escaped.’

  ‘Still, someone may have seen you during your foray into Samogitia. We must strengthen our southern outposts just in case Duke Ykintas decides to retaliate.’

  Gintaras rubbed his hands with glee. ‘I look forward to lopping off some Samogitian heads, lord.’

  *****

  Conrad remembered little about the journey. Between his lapses into slumber he caught sight of a sail bearing a black seagull. Kaja’s tears fell on his face as she held his hand. He recalled being transferred to a riverboat for a journey up the Gauja. His health took a turn for the worse when half a dozen Liv warriors gingerly lifted him out of the boat on to a stretcher and transported him the short distance to the great hill fort of Treiden. His breathing was shallow and his lips began to turn blue as he danced on the cusp of death.

  ‘You must give him to us, lady, if you want him to live.’

  Treiden’s great hall had been emptied and the doors closed to allow the Liv woman to speak to Rameke and Kaja. She had wild hair and the aroma of pine, her robes long and flowing, a charm of a silver ingot bearing the sign of the moon around her neck. The same symbol that Rameke carried on his shield.

  Kaja hesitated. Everything the woman had told her thus far had come to fruition and yet she was reluctant to release Susi to her and her witches.

  ‘Did I not come to you with the news that Susi lived but needed your help?’ she said. ‘Did I not furnish you with exact information regarding where he could be found? Why do you hesitate now?’

  ‘He is my brother and a close friend of my wife,’ said Rameke, ‘that’s why.’

  The woman ignored him and stared at Kaja.

  ‘In your heart you know I am right, lady. You think I wish Susi harm? It was he that saved me and my sisters from a horrible fate?’

  ‘You?’ queried Rameke.

  ‘When we were condemned in Riga. It was Susi who rescued us. You must remember that day, lord king? You were there to save your brother, where you not?’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘I will come with you,’ said Kaja.

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, lady, it is forbidden. Only those skilled in the ancient ways may converse with the gods.’

  Rameke shuddered because what she was saying went against everything he had fought for. And yet he wanted Conrad to live, even if he himself would be condemned for it.

  ‘Very well, take him, and God be with you.’

  The woman bowed, turned and walked to the doors. Kaja went to speak but Rameke held up a hand.

  ‘No, Kaja, we must have faith.’

  ‘Have faith in the gods, majesties,’ said the woman, opening the doors, ‘they will not fail you.’

  Conrad remembered the details of the journey vividly. He remembered the kisses of Kaja and the look of concern in her eyes, he felt Rameke press a charm into his hand, which was discarded along the roadside by the woman who assured the king and queen that Susi would be safe in her care. He heard her threats and insults as the two huge brutes that had placed him in the back of the cart lifted him out when they reached their destination. He did not speak a word during the journey. Though his mind was strangely alert his body had no feeling. He saw the sky disappear when the cart entered a forest of birch and pine. The trees seemed to thicken as the cart trundled on until the sky had disappeared completely beneath the forest canopy. On they went, the woman peering at him but saying nothing as they ventured ever deeper into the forest.

  The birch and pine disappeared to be replaced by lime trees and then oaks. The oaks were ancient and thick, with huge branches resembling the gnarled fingers of a forest giant. Their trunks were wrapped in moss and the air was heavy with the scent of vegetation, oppressively so.

  The woman shouted for the driver to stop and then barked at him and his companion to lift Conrad out of the cart. They placed him in the centre of a grove of oaks. She told them to leave and not look back. They did so, the jangling of horse saddlery fading. Then there was silence. Conrad could hear his breathing and felt his heart beating in his chest but his voice had deserted him, as if by magic. The woman was joined by three others, younger than her but all possessed of long, wild hair. They stripped him naked and covered him with fungus and lichen, chanting something in a language he had never heard before. They lit a circle of white candles round him as the light faded and he stared up at the sky through the gap in the centre of the grove. He saw the night come, a full moon in the sky.

  The chanting grew louder as the women placed more fungus on his body. Still he could not speak. He heard the word Jurus over and over, spoken loudly and with force. He sensed warmth and heard the crackle and spitting of wood on a fire. The women removed the moss and lichen and tossed it on the fire, covering his nakedness with fresh lichen. The chanting began again. He felt very warm, beads of sweat forming on his face. His wounded hand throbbed as did his back, and still they chanted.

  Their voices changed to low whispers as the wolf calls reached his ears. He grew alarmed when the women removed the lichen from him and tossed it on to the fire, then retreated from him. He heard the growls and howls grow louder. The wolves were very close. He heard their slavering as they approached him. There were many of them, approaching him with fangs bared and heads low as if to attack. They did not enter the circle of candles but sat and waited until the whole grove was filled with wolves. Then, as one, they held up their heads and howled. The noise was deafening as an otherworldly call of feral animals filled the forest. They howled and howled and Conrad felt as though he was being lifted up by their voices, above the ground, above the grove and high into the sky. The moon came close and bathed him in a silver light cleansing his body and soul. He felt lighter than air, the wolf calls keeping him afloat as his body was freed of injury. He wanted to stay awake to savour every moment but he felt a drowsiness come over him. The wolf calls grew faint; the moon began to grow small as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  When he woke he felt refreshed and invigorated. He sat up and looked around. The morning was bright and warm, the ground dry and pleasing to the touch.

  ‘Good morning, Susi.’

  All four of the women stood behind him but it was the older one who spoke,
the one who had taken him from Treiden. He jumped up and faced them.

  ‘Forgive me, I do not know your name.’

  One of the younger ones came forward holding a gown, the others giggling and the older one smiling. Mortified, he realised that he was standing naked in front on them. Blushing he hurriedly took the gown and put it on. He froze when he caught sight of his left hand. The little finger was gone but the stump was well healed.

  It looked as though it had been a stump for years so neat and smooth did it appear.

  ‘Is something wrong, Susi?’ asked the older woman.

  ‘I, I do not understand. How can this be?’

  ‘The gods assisted us, Susi, it was their will that you should live.’

  He clenched his left hand. His three remaining fingers and thumb worked perfectly. He felt no pain in his back, or indeed anywhere. Rather he felt refreshed, more alert than he had ever been, his senses heightened as never before. He could smell every aroma in the forest and hear every sound. How could this be? He looked at the women.

  ‘Do you not recognise us, Susi,’ said one of the younger ones.

  ‘You saved us from the fire and iron in Riga.’

  He remembered. Four frightened women in a cage being taken to the city square for execution, along with himself.

  ‘You said you were healers.’

  ‘And so we are,’ said the older one.

  ‘But you use magic,’ he remarked pathetically.

  The three young women giggled and poked each other in the ribs but their mentor sighed.

  ‘This is an ancient land, Susi, where gods once walked these forests. Their sacred groves litter this land and those south of the great river you call the Dvina. The god you serve is but one of many who shape the lives of mortal man. You do not believe me; I can see it in your eyes. Does not the religion you follow tell tales of miracles performed by its holy men? What are these if not ancient magic?