The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  “They are close,” he said. The noise had awoken the others, who also reached for weapons. Gudrik began to light torches and passed them around the circle. The new sources of light pushed the shadows back and Raef was sure he saw swift-running feet dance away into the dark.

  “There!” Raef spun around at Soren’s shout. Two wolves walked from the shadows, eyes unblinking. Savage, rolling growls came from deep within their throats. So fixed was Raef on the yellow eyes of one that he barely saw the other wolves emerge, one by one, from the trees. The beasts stopped ten paces from the men, who began to shout and brandish their torches.

  “Go back to Hel!” Eldun roared. He flung his torch at the wolf closest to him, a tall, black one. It leaped back, snarling, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Eldun mirrored the wolf’s stance and snarl. “I will gut you like a pig.” The torch sputtered in the snow, but the wolves were wary and began to back away. Then, at a silent signal, they all turned and sprinted off, disappearing into the trees, their prints in the snow the only sign of trespass.

  The men stayed alert for some time but the wolves did not return. Some slept, others kept the fire burning. Raef used the time before the dawn to sharpen his borrowed weapons, his mind on the wolves and their intent. It was only just before they broke camp in the grey light of morning that he spoke what had been growing in his thoughts.

  “The black wolf,” Raef said, “this is not the first we have seen him.” He looked to Ragnarr. “He showed himself to us the night before last.” Ragnarr nodded his agreement. “We are being hunted.”

  “Let them come,” Soren said, laughing. “I will wager any man here that I will have the first kill.”

  They pushed the pace that day, trying to outdistance the pack or find territory the wolves would not venture into. The day was quiet and the land empty of villages or even far-flung farms. If they still rode in Darfallow lands or had crossed into the lands of Gornhald or Skolldain, Raef did not know. Whatever lands they were, they were filled with hills, trees, and little else.

  Raef called for a brief rest late in the morning. They had climbed a tall hill in order to take in their surroundings from the summit. Sun spots dotted the tree tops and hills around them, but the light was dim and the air was without warmth. The men passed an ale skin and laughed at something Ormundir said. Raef was readjusting the small pack behind his horse’s saddle when he heard the snarl behind him. Turning, he was too late to avoid the black wolf’s charge. The wolf leapt, striking Raef in the chest. Raef tumbled backward, his hand fumbling for the knife at his belt, but the beast was on him and it was all he could do to fend off the jaws that snapped at his throat and face while he lashed out with his feet.

  An arrow buried itself in the wolf’s flank, giving Raef the chance to kick and scramble out from under it. His knife was out before he found his feet. The wolf charged again. Raef sidestepped just as it jumped and he swiped at the wolf’s throat. His blade came away red with blood, but the wolf was not deterred. It barked and snarled, crouched close to the ground, ready to spring again. As he locked eyes with it, he became aware that the pack had followed the leader and engaged the men.

  Another arrow pierced the wolf, this time in the shoulder. It staggered and the third attack was slower. Raef did not even try to evade, but instead took the hit and let the wolf’s weight do the killing for him. The beast snarled to the end, Raef’s knife imbedded in its chest, and then Raef saw the hatred and fear disappear from the green eyes as life ebbed away.

  Pulling his knife from the corpse, Raef turned to the fight around him. Two other wolves were dead, but half a dozen more still attacked. Hamil’s arrows had found many targets and Raef helped Gudrik finish off a wounded wolf. Ragnarr was beset by two, as though the animals sensed his father’s blood would make him the most difficult to kill. But Ragnarr fought with speed that Raef could only imagine as both wolves leaped at the same time. Ragnarr ducked and stabbed up at one, piercing its belly. It dropped, lifeless, but not before Ragnarr had thrown his axe at the second, savaging the neck. Their deaths seemed to take the fight out of the remaining three wolves, all of which were wounded. They barked and growled, but turned and slunk away to lick the blood from their fur. One limped away on three legs, a front leg nearly torn off, and Raef was sure he would not last the night.

  It was only when the danger was past that Raef realized one of their own was badly hurt. Soren lay on the ground, his hands clutching his neck. Blood gushed from between his fingers and though Hamil hurried to add his hands and a cloth to the wound, Raef had seen enough to know that Soren would die.

  The dying went quickly. Soren could not speak, but his eyes asked what he could not and his sword was placed in his hand. He gripped it firmly and, holding it to his chest, stared up at the cloudy sky until the last breath escaped from him.

  “A warrior goes to you, Odin Allfather, swift as an arrow shot into the sun,” Gudrik said. “He is Soren and his fathers are there before him. Welcome him, for he will serve you well in the last battle.”

  Raef had but a single slash on his forearm from the black wolf’s teeth. His leather forearm guards had prevented the damage from being worse. Hamil, Gudrik, and Ragnarr were unscathed while Eldun, Orvar, and Kennet bled from minor wounds that were easily dressed.

  They built a crude pyre on the hilltop and lay Soren’s body on it. Eldun set it alight and they watched over it until Soren was ash. Raef tucked Soren’s mead skin into his pack as a reminder of the warrior’s kindness to him, a stranger, then mounted his horse. The others followed and they descended from the hill in silence, the wood still burning and smoking behind them.

  It was some time before Raef spoke to Gudrik, who rode next to him. “Nine wolves, Gudrik. There were nine of us.”

  Gudrik looked at Raef. “You believe there is meaning in that?”

  “I only know that I have seen more things I cannot explain since the gathering than in all my life before. It may be mere chance. But I think not. Wolves do not attack in daylight.”

  A moment later, Gudrik smiled a little and said, “At least Soren was true to his word. That wolf was the first to die.”

  The sun was descending as they emerged from the forest and hit a wide, shallow river traversing a flat, open plain. It was the wider fork of the river Idis and the first certain landmark they had come across. Raef knew they were entering the lands of Skolldain, which sliced between Gornhald and Norfaem.

  “Is Brynjar of Skolldain a friend to the Palesword?” Raef asked.

  “He is among those who have not yet given answer,” Gudrik said. They searched out a shallow crossing point and gave the horses a moment to drink from the cold river, then urged them through the water to the other bank. “He thinks himself safe.”

  “His lands extend beyond the two forks of the Idis, yes?”

  “They do. But the waters of both forks are swift and would be difficult to cross in large numbers. He could hole up here and trust to the river to keep him safe.”

  “He would be content to wait on this plain? What of his warriors? Do they not wish for glory in battle?”

  “Brynjar is a selfish man. He seeks only to bring renown and riches to himself.”

  “How can he do this if he does not let his warriors fight? If he waits until he thinks he sees an easy victory?”

  Gudrik looked surprised. “Have you not heard?” Raef shook his head. “Brynjar carries a spear forged by the same brothers who crafted Freyja’s ill-fated necklace. A mighty thing. He will risk no hurt to it and to lose it to another would bring him unending grief and shame. It is to be an heirloom of his house and he thinks that his possession of it will bring him all the glory he could desire, even if he never spills blood with it.”

  “He is undeserving, then, and the Father of Battle will scorn him. Such a weapon must be wielded with deadly intent. A fine prize for the man who can take it.”

  “Is this desire I hear?” Gudrik raised an eyebrow and his eyes were laughing.

  Rae
f laughed a little. “I do not know if I am worthy of a weapon of Asgard, but what man would not crave the chance to test his skill with it?”

  “And if men are not meant to command a weapon made for gods?”

  “Then Odin should never have let it fall into the hands of men. We strive for things just beyond our reach. It is our nature. Surely the Allfather knows this best of all, for is that not also his way?”

  The night was free of wolves. The ale was gone by then and the last of the mead was passed around for each man to take a swallow as they sat around a fire next to the south fork of the river Idis eating rabbits caught that day. The stars shone above, freed from the day’s cloudy embrace. It was a good night, full of the satisfaction that comes with victory in battle. But Raef sensed the men would rather face the pack every night than pass a single quiet one without Soren’s laughter.

  Fifteen

  For two days Raef and his men traversed the lands of Skolldain, but the farmers there had no more seen the Far-Traveled than the fishermen of Darfallow. They did, however, know that Brynjar, their lord, fearing retribution from the Palesword, had fled his hall and taken refuge on a deserted farm. Raef decided to pay him a visit.

  The farm, broken down buildings and overgrown fields that it was, lay in the shadow of a pair of hills, a hot spring at its center. Leaving Kennet behind with the horses, Raef and the others approached on foot and with caution, though the only movement they could see was the steam rising from the spring. Raef sent Hamil to circle around to the south and Ormundir to the north, but they reported seeing nothing. It seemed Brynjar had moved on. Raef decided to do the same and was about to return to the horses when Ragnarr grabbed his shoulder. The silent warrior pointed to the spring.

  “You see something?”

  Ragnarr nodded so they continued to approach the farm, strung out in a line through the tall grass spotted with snow. At last Raef saw what had drawn Ragnarr’s eye. A single man floated in the hot spring, naked, his eyes closed. Raef knew this must be Brynjar, for a spear was clutched in his hand. There was no sign of other people. Breaking cover, Raef walked to the spring’s edge, his boots sinking into the muddy earth, the steam warming his face. Brynjar’s eyes remained closed so Raef took a spear from Eldun and, reaching out with the butt end, jabbed hard at Brynjar’s chest.

  The lord thrashed and spluttered as he came to his feet in the waist deep water and brandished the spear of Asgard. “Who disturbs my rest?” Water dripped from his hair onto his face and his skin prickled in the cold air.

  Raef invoked the name he knew would most upset Brynjar. “The Palesword sent us.”

  Brynjar scowled. “I will feed your balls to a troll,” he shouted, leaping from the spring. Raef braced himself, but the attack never came for Brynjar’s toes caught on an exposed root and he sprawled to the ground, the spear flying from his grasp. Raef placed his boot on Brynjar’s bare back and bent over to retrieve the spear. It seemed an ordinary thing with a shaft made of ash and a simple, though sharp, head.

  Raef’s boot and Ragnarr’s sword, which was pricking the man’s neck, took the fight out of Brynjar. He moaned and went limp.

  “You think to hide behind this spear? You are a coward,” Raef said. He prodded Brynjar with his foot and the captive rolled over, exposing his pale belly. Raef handed the spear to Gudrik and drew his sword. He reached down and tickled Brynjar’s genitals with the blade. Brynjar whimpered and tried to roll back, but Raef’s foot stopped him. “Should I cut these off? Or give you the chance to do something useful with your worthless life?”

  Hope sprang into Brynjar’s eyes, mixing with the fear that ruled there. “I will do whatever you ask.”

  Raef removed the point of his sword, but not before nicking the skin of Brynjar’s inner thigh. Brynjar winced and a thin stream of blood began to trickle out. “Let that be a reminder of what you have promised and that I could have done far worse.” Raef stepped back and said, “Get him on his feet.”

  Hamil and Orvar grasped Brynjar’s arms and hauled him upright. Brynjar, exposed now to the cold air for some time, began to shiver.

  “Are you alone here?” Raef examined the spear more closely as he spoke.

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Why come without guard?”

  Brynjar was silent for a moment, his eyes downcast. “They would not follow,” he finally said.

  “Did you come here naked, too?”

  Brynjar glanced over at one of the collapsing buildings.

  “Take him there,” Raef said to Hamil. “See that he gets dressed.”

  As they returned to the horses, Brynjar now dressed in a lord’s finery but stripped of all weapons, Raef kept his thoughts to himself, mulling over what could be done with the spineless lord. That Brynjar’s closest warriors would not accompany him in flight suggested great contempt and it seemed unlikely Brynjar would be able to rally a force of Skolldain men to anyone’s cause. To kill him or leave him to die in a quiet corner of the wilderness was appealing and would give Raef a chance to suggest to a new lord of Skolldain that he do what the last would not and support the Palesword. But establishing a new lord would take time that Raef did not care to spend in these lands. The Far-Traveled beckoned and he could not wait.

  Brynjar was tied to the saddle of Soren’s horse, which was then attached to Ragnarr’s. Dusk was settling in, so they did not ride for long, but found a suitable place to make camp. It was only when that day’s rabbits had been eaten that Raef decided to share his decision with Brynjar and the men.

  “I will not sit in judgment of you, Brynjar of Skolldain.” Raef stood close to the fire, Brynjar seated at his feet. Relief shone in Brynjar’s eyes until Raef continued. “You will go before the Palesword and he will decide your fate.”

  Raef turned to look at Ormundir. “You will take him back to Torrulf.” Ormundir nodded. “Alive is best, but kill him if he gives you trouble.” Raef looked down at Brynjar again. “I suggest you find a way to plead for your life. You will bring him your spear as a gift. And you will offer him, on bended knee, all the shields and swords Skolldain can muster.”

  Brynjar looked resigned. “And if I summon them but they do not answer?”

  “Find a way.”

  Gudrik and Raef shared a watch that night but Gudrik was quiet. He seemed on the verge of speaking more than once, but held his tongue until Raef demanded he loosen it.

  “What is on your mind, Gudrik?”

  “I wish to understand the decision you made today.”

  “To let Brynjar live?” Raef asked.

  “No, to deliver him to Torrulf. I had thought you might send him to the Hammerling.”

  “And ask one of the Palesword’s men to bring him there? That would be foolish. But I do not think I have done Torrulf a very great favor, sending Brynjar to him. The man has no backbone, no spirit. If he cannot command the warriors of Skolldain to follow the Palesword, then he is no use.”

  “But the spear. You could have kept it for yourself. The Palesword will know that.”

  “Torrulf’s sword is said to be unmatched by any, perhaps even mightier than those belonging to the gods. He has no need for a spear, no matter how strong it might be. I can only hope he might see in it a gesture of goodwill.”

  Understanding dawned on Gudrik. “You mean to weigh these things against the lives of your friends.”

  “I mean to find the Far-Traveled, Gudrik, but if I cannot, I must have a way to convince Torrulf to spare them. I will do anything I can.”

  They separated in the morning. Ormundir to retrace their path with a sullen Brynjar in tow while Raef and the others turned south, trekking first through a stretch of remote, empty hills, and then, three days later, into Stefnir of Gornhald’s lands. Raef cautioned them to be ever more watchful, for these were lands they could not expect to pass through unnoticed. Stefnir had some warriors with Fengar and would have suffered losses from the Palesword’s ambush, he knew, but a far larger number were unaccounted for. In all li
kelihood, they were waiting to be summoned.

  On their fourth day in Gornhald, the sky dawned bright and clear, but Raef could not seem to relish it as he normally might. He felt uneasy but could not say why, so he kept it to himself. The men were cheerful and he did not want to spoil the day for them.

  It was late morning when he came to understand his apprehension. The forest they rode through was dappled with sunshine, the smell of pine sharp, and the trees grew tall and strong. All as it should be. But as Raef looked to the sky through a gap in the canopy of branches, he realized that he had not seen or heard a bird all morning. The squirrels and rabbits, too, were out of sight and mind. A troubling thought, for Raef had long ago learned, while tramping through the forests of Vannheim as a boy, to heed the ways of animals. To disappear entirely from the sight of men always signaled something.

  They passed a wood cutter’s hut at midday and Raef asked after news of the Far-Traveled. The response was the same as those before so they moved on without delay and soon, emerging from the forest on the crest of a rocky slope, came within view of Stefnir of Gornhald’s home.

  The sturdy fortress clung to a hill on the far side of a wide, boulder-pocked valley. A range of bald, bleak peaks rose above it and a large village was clustered at its base. What drew Raef’s eye above all, though, was the encampment of warriors on the valley’s floor.

  “The spears and shields of Gornhald,” Gudrik said.

  “We will skirt around to the west,” Raef said. He scanned the steep, craggy descent in front of them. “Find a way down.” The men dismounted and spread out to search for the easiest way down. Raef, leading his horse, went furthest afield, traversing the ridgeline until he found a spot that might accommodate the horses. He had no sooner dropped the reins and stepped off the edge to test the route when he felt a tremor in the rocks beneath his feet.