Heidrek, the earl of Helsingland, shuffled off, muttering aimless apologies.
‘This enemy plays on our blindness.’ Sviggar’s clear eyes glittered with anger. ‘Where’s the messenger?’
‘Which messenger, lord?’ ventured Vithar.
‘The boy – damn him! Who brought word from them. I want to know exactly where they were last seen.’
‘We know the trail took them to the Dale of the Elves,’ offered Sigurd.
‘Then there is our beginning.’
‘What do you intend, lord?’ asked Vithar.
‘To raise an army! To rake the high country from peak to dell, to hunt them down till the last one lies dead in his own blood.’ Sviggar slammed a bony fist on the arm of his chair.
‘Perhaps it is wise to take more counsel,’ said Sigurd. ‘You’re upset.’
‘Upset! This enemy makes mockery of me. They have violated the kingdom’s sacred power. They have slaughtered some of my best men. You expect me to sit here and do nothing?’
‘Not nothing. But I think caution is wise here. Had we the greatest host ever gathered, would it do us any good against an enemy that can’t be found?’
‘Everything that kills can be found. We will start with the Dale of the Elves.’
‘That’s many leagues away. Torkel and his men could’ve been lured there into a trap, nothing more. The truth is we’ve no idea whether this enemy dwells in the mountains, in the sky or in the earth under our feet.’
‘We will find them.’
‘And if we don’t?’
Sviggar glared at his son, but said nothing.
‘Men will die anyway – starving and freezing. Wandering around a wilderness on a fool’s errand, looking for someone – or something – that refuses to be found.’
‘So what is your counsel?’ The old man’s lips dripped with disdain.
‘I advise before we blunder into the forests and doom an army, we understand what we’re pursuing. Winter is no time for making war. Unless there is no other way.’
‘With these deaths, this is the only way.’
‘Why? To prevent the deaths of a few more thralls – or bondsmen or children – you’d risk shedding the strength of the kingdom?’
‘These were my best men.’
Sigurd’s face curdled. ‘Hardly your best. But now they’re dead. Would you waste more good men then? Would you bleed the kingdom white?’
‘You forget yourself, prince,’ interjected Vithar.
‘Do I?’ Sigurd rounded on him with a look of scorn. ‘What if this is all some ruse by the Wartooth to lure our strength away from these halls? Have you thought of that? We may return from stumbling around in the snow to find our women and children slaughtered, and the Wartooth with his ugly arse planted on that throne there.’
Sviggar leaned back, weighing his son’s words. ‘I will not do nothing,’ he said at last, in a quiet voice. ‘This insult cannot go unanswered. Their blood will not go unavenged.’
Just then, a rich perfume filled Erlan’s nostrils, distracting him. Instinctively, he inhaled deeply, savouring its spicy tang. Before he’d turned, Queen Saldas swept into the chamber. She wore a long dress of dark blue that trailed behind her in a pool of velvet. Erlan watched her approach the circle of councillors, hips pouring from side to side, graceful as a serpent.
She had something in her hands.
‘My lord husband,’ she said, very calm.
‘Who summoned you here?’ Sviggar’s tone was impatient. ‘You know the council has pressing business.’ The attention of every man in the room was fixed on the queen. Saldas was well used to that. ‘Whatever you want, we cannot be disturbed.’
The queen tilted her slender neck, half-deferentially. ‘Far be it from me to disturb such wise company. I shall return later. My king.’ She lingered a moment, turning over whatever was in her hands. Some sort of garment.
When she turned away, Sviggar said, ‘Wait. What is that you have there?’
‘Oh, this?’ She allowed herself a condoling look. ‘It pertains to the news I bring. But I see I am disturbing you, my lord. Please forgive my intrusion.’ She turned away again.
‘What news?’
‘Concerning your daughter.’
‘Lilla?’ The old king started forward. ‘Speak, woman! Quickly.’
‘As you wish,’ replied Saldas, maintaining her low and unhurried tone. ‘I imagined you would want to know at once. Lilla has disappeared. Her maidservant tells me she was in the Kingswood this morning. But after this morning’s. . . events. . . it was a while before she noticed Lilla hadn’t returned. She went looking for her, but all she found was this.’ She let the garment fall to its full length. Erlan recognized the long fur cloak, sleek and shining. ‘It was a gift from you, was it not?’
She tossed the thing into Sviggar’s lap. The king caught it and crumpled it slowly to his face. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ she added. ‘It’s very distressing.’ Though she hardly looked distressed.
‘Was there any. . . blood?’ asked Sigurd.
‘None – though I didn’t see for myself. I’m told the snow shows signs of a struggle. There—’
‘Fiends!’ cried Sviggar. ‘Wretches – black devils! Curse the hands that touch one hair of that precious head!’ He leaped from his chair, his eyes ablaze. ‘I will hunt them down – tear out their hearts! Crush them to a stain in the earth, whatever they are!’ He slewed, drunk with rage, and reached behind his throne, pulling out his sword, Bjarne’s Bane.
He seemed half-mad, his blade half-drawn, but in a heartbeat, the queen was beside him, her delicate fingers enclosed around his gnarly fist, whispering in his ear.
The rage in his eyes subsided slowly. Gently, she pushed his hilt back into its sheath. Sviggar dropped back, limp, into his chair.
‘Revenge must come first through wisdom,’ said Saldas. ‘There will be time enough for testing your mettle.’
There were more footsteps and Earl Heidrek entered. When he saw the king, he approached with faltering steps.
‘Well?’ croaked Sviggar.
‘Many folk have been crowding around the barrows. They’ve made a. . . a terrible mess – but. . .’
‘Are there tracks?’
‘There are, my lord. Clear, this time. Footprints.’
‘Can they be followed?’
‘I think so.’
‘Think?’ growled the king.
‘They can.’
‘Then we ride at once. Summon the hird-lords. We raise the Uppland karls and vassals today. Send riders at once to the thanes of Sothmanland and Gestrikland to do the same.’
‘This may be a trap,’ said Sigurd.
‘By the stars, your brother never would’ve been so timid! He’d already be astride his horse and after his sister. Yet you are still here!’
‘I am not my brother.’
‘We can all see that, plain as day,’ his father scoffed.
‘Staffen is dead. Lilla may be as well by now.’
‘Then how can you delay even one moment?’ cried Sviggar. ‘Bah! Can you really be a son of mine?’
‘It is not I who is the bastard.’ Sigurd’s thin mouth was unwavering. ‘Father.’
The king looked fit to explode. ‘How dare you—’
But Sigurd was quick to cut him off. ‘No doubt Staffen would’ve blundered off swift enough. Sword in one hand, cock in the other. But he never would’ve stopped to wonder why there were tracks so clear now, and never before.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? These creatures want to be followed. It’s a trap.’
‘Lord Sigurd may be right,’ said Vithar.
‘Of course, I’m right,’ Sigurd snapped. ‘Why else would they return with Torkel’s head – and the others?’ If they only wanted to kill them, their bodies would be buried under some drift. . . In the Dale country if those messengers are right. No, this was a declaration of war.’
‘Well, then,’ roared Sviggar, �
��let it be war!’
‘Aye, but war on their terms? Is that wise?’
‘This enemy is more cunning than you allow,’ said Saldas, her train sweeping behind her. ‘They aren’t to be cut down like some rabble of thralls. There is something of the other worlds in them. Until now, they make you seem weak.’
Sviggar bristled at his wife’s slight. The other councillors shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Oh, I know you are not,’ she smiled. ‘But, truly, they’ve made a fool of you. If you do not go about this in the right way, you risk appearing an even greater fool. Or a dead one.’
‘What is your counsel?’ asked Sviggar, his voice acid.
‘You need allies.’
‘Allies? What kind of allies?’
‘Ones who have power over the unseen. Power in all the worlds.’
‘You speak of the gods?’
‘Naturally. You need their favour in this. Is Odin not Lord of the Ghosts? Is he not all-wise – the Spear-God who delivers victory? You must make him an offering.’
Sviggar snorted. ‘An offering?’
‘A full blood worship.’
‘I knew it. The blood of your father’s people runs thick in you, my dear. Thick and cold. But I am father of the Sveär people. My people. I ride to stop more killings, and you demand that I sanction nine more?’
The queen arched a finely plucked eyebrow. ‘The All-Father’s favour does not come without sacrifice.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. Sacrifices, we can make. But I will not kill nine more of my folk. I will not allow it.’
Queen Saldas gave an elegant shrug and turned away. ‘What you do not give to Odin freely, he will take in other ways. You will find out what it will cost you. My king.’
Sviggar considered her words, irritation spreading over his withered features.
‘The queen is right,’ agreed Sigurd. ‘You must turn whatever power exists to your advantage. If the gods are so easily bought, then give them what they want.’
‘And who decides, exactly, what it is they want?’ demanded Sviggar. ‘You? Her?’ He shook his head. ‘No – I am resolved to stop more deaths, not order them myself. But, my dear,’ he continued in a biting tone, ‘if you would fain make use of your skills, tell me whether my daughter still lives.’
The queen gave a tiny sniff of disdain. ‘The bones will tell me.’
‘Then ask them.’
Saldas thrust her fingers into a pouch at her belt, and pulled out a handful of squat bones, dirty white, and marked with tiny runes. She went to the table, pulled a small knife from her waist, and without the slightest hesitation, drew its edge across her thumb. A crimson line appeared at once. Squeezing, she sprinkled a few drops of blood over the waiting bones, then cast them on the table.
Sviggar leaned in, face eager.
Saldas gathered the bones together, and brushed a languid finger over them. ‘It seems your daughter is bait,’ she said. ‘The bones say she still lives.’
The king nodded, seeming content. But then his expression soured, and he drew a weary hand over his face. ‘Ah! These are scraps to go on.’
‘The bones are seldom wrong.’
‘Would that we all had your assurance, my queen.’ He grimaced. ‘I cannot do nothing,’ he murmured. ‘Even though we ride into a trap – we must ride.’
But the queen wasn’t listening. She had scooped up the bones again, and scattered them on the table, letting her gaze wander over the misshapen lumps. ‘Curious.’
‘What?’
‘The bones tell of a man alone.’
‘A man alone? What is its meaning?’
‘I cannot be sure.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps they show another way. If you must spring their trap, save your army. Do it with a man alone.’
‘What good will one man do, if four of my best men fared so ill?’ snapped Sviggar.
‘I fancy I see it,’ said Sigurd. ‘A lone man could follow the trail to their stronghold – if they have one. If this enemy turns to spring a trap, we lose only one man, instead of seeing our army slaughtered.’
‘But what would even that serve them?’ said Saldas. ‘They want to draw you on for some reason. If they allow a lone rider to follow them as far as their stronghold, he might send word. Send scouts ahead of your main force to stay close.’
‘So Lilla must just wait and hope,’ said Sviggar.
‘If she yet lives, then what she must do is survive.’
‘It seems a pitiful chance for her.’
‘Better than none,’ said Saldas, tersely. ‘Lilla is gone. They have her. They may yet kill her, but if the bones tell it true, a lone rider may find the chance to bring her back to you.’
Sviggar sighed. ‘At least they’ll not expect this. Still, either we send a man to a very quick death, or it is our best chance.’ He drew himself up. ‘Very well. Who shall this man be?’ He turned to Sigurd. ‘She is your sister.’
‘And I am your heir. Whoever this man is, he will almost certainly die. Do you want your legacy to die with me?’
The king looked unimpressed, but seemed caught.
‘Sire, I will go,’ said Finn, from beside Sviggar’s oaken throne. ‘I’m sworn to protect you and your kin. Let me go. I’m not afraid.’
Sviggar laughed warmly. ‘My dear Finn – you are ever willing. You never disappoint me. But I must disappoint you.
You are far too valuable to me. I need you alive and by my side.’
‘My lord.’ Everyone turned to see who had spoken. ‘The bones spoke of me.’ Erlan stepped forward from his place in the shadows, his own words still ringing in his ear. He felt every eye upon him.
Sigurd reacted first. ‘You! You’re a cripple. And a beggar. What makes you think my lord father would entrust this to you?’
‘Because if he doesn’t, he will choose a good man. Perhaps the best man he has. And like as not, that man will die.’
‘Then what conceit makes you matched to the task?’ snapped Vithar.
‘Because I’m nothing to him. What’s another karl in his service? If I die, it’s no loss to you, my lord,’ he said, addressing the king. ‘But if I succeed, then you’ll have your daughter and you will have another proved sword in your household. You keep your best men and gain another.’
‘What gain is it to you?’ demanded Sviggar, eyeing him closely. ‘If you’re so sure that death awaits this man.’
It was a while before he answered. ‘It’s enough to have the chance to prove myself to you. However slight.’
‘That’s worth the risk you run?’
‘It is.’
All the while, Erlan had sensed the emerald gaze of the queen upon him, moving over his every sinew. Suddenly she turned away and cast her bones again. Peering down, she looked momentarily troubled. ‘Strange.’
‘What is?’ demanded Sigurd.
‘The bones – they cannot read him.’ She gave a light snort. ‘At least the boy has ambition.’
‘I’m no boy,’ returned Erlan, meeting her gaze.
‘But you are a cripple.’
Erlan turned to the king. ‘Ask your Earl Bodvar whether I can fight, my lord.’
Sviggar gave a conceding shrug. ‘It’s true – he vouched for your skill.’
‘You can’t seriously be considering sending him?’ cried Sigurd. ‘You’re squandering the only chance of saving Lilla.’
‘Silence!’ thundered Sviggar. ‘If you will not go yourself, don’t dare tell me whom I may or may not choose!’
He turned back to Erlan. ‘As you wish. I shall trust in your sword, and the mark that joined your destiny to mine.’ The king began to push himself out of his chair. Finn rushed to help him to his feet. ‘I believe you came to my halls for a reason. It seems the Norns are now revealing to us what that is.’
‘Perhaps.’ The Norns dwelt in obscurity. The web they wove was dark with obscurity just the same.
‘If not, you will die.’
‘The Norns have woven what they will.’
/> ‘Very well,’ declared the old king. ‘You shall go ahead and follow the tracks, wherever they lead. I will lead the main force two days behind you. Together we will bring a red day upon this nameless foe.’
‘A younger man should lead your host, father. The winter is unforgiving. Your old bones will not wear it.’
‘They will wear it as good as any man under me!’ growled Sviggar. ‘But since you are so concerned for the safety of these halls, much more than the safety of your own sister, you will stay here, my son, and watch over them in my absence.’
‘But, Father—’
‘No argument! That is my last word on it. And you, Erlan – make your preparations. Take whatever you need. You must leave this very day. You understand what you must do?’
The stranger nodded to his lord.
It was very simple.
He had to die.
PART THREE
Shining Wanderer
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The halls of Sviggar’s Seat already lay many leagues behind.
Erlan was away – back in the world of black and white, where the only sounds were the bridle’s chink, the crunch of snow under-hoof and the sigh of the wind. Only now, the snow drifted deeper. The air bit sharper.
He’d never reckoned himself a tracker. On this trail, he didn’t need to be. From the Kingswood, the tracks led always northwest, on towards the young mountains, brazen as the sun. He followed over farmland, round fjords, along half- buried hedgerows, across frozen lakes, through silent forests. Anywhere distant from the halls and hamlets of men.
Why this enemy never cared to conceal their path mattered little. If he was to be hunter or quarry, the Norns had made their choosing. He would follow these tracks to destiny or doom.
The landscape was made for solitude. Here, it made sense. Among the Uppland folk, his loneliness had been acute, cutting him at every turn. But in this place, with its grand skies and endless ocean of forest, solitude seemed a road to freedom.
Freedom or death.
And yet. . .
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