The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  “You think someone burned this to show they would not return to the shores they left behind? Show who?”

  Siv shrugged. “Themselves? A man becomes desperate when he has no way but forward, when he cannot turn back.” She shook her head. “It is only a story. I do not know what made me think of it. Likely it belonged to Greyshield and was wrecked as winter set in.”

  The host of warriors had caught up, so Raef remounted and continued north, winding along the shore, his thoughts on Siv’s story. It troubled him, but he could not have said why.

  Confronted with steep headlands rising in front of them, Raef turned his men inland and onto a smoother, gentler approach. They climbed off the beach and into a forest thick with pine, and there, well-concealed from watching eyes, the column drew to a halt. Raef rode onward with only a few warriors at his back, leaving Uhtred to watch the host.

  Keeping to the trees, Raef headed north once more, pausing at any sound or movement, until he came within sight of the first of Greyshield’s outbuildings, a storage house and a long, low barn for livestock. Pigs, grey, spotted shapes in the snow, were the only moving things in Raef’s view, but he could hear sheep. Raef dismounted and handed the reins to the closest warrior, then crept forward for a closer look, Vakre at his shoulder, Siv just behind. When the farmhouse came into view, Raef stopped and waited. Smoke rising into the sky told of life within, but there was nothing to indicate if Tulkis himself was at home. Though the space between the farmhouse and the barn appeared to be no more than a field of snow, Raef knew it was littered with stones and broken foundations, the remnants of a time when the Greyshields ruled Vannheim from a long-forgotten hall. Raef settled into his crouch and waited, determined to be patient.

  His leg muscles were burning and his toes frozen when the call of the horse reached his ears. It went unanswered, but moments later five riders emerged from the trees east of the farmhouse. Even at a distance, Raef could see it was Tulkis Greyshield who led them. Raef watched the men dismount, tie the horses, and shut themselves inside the house, the sound of laughter trailing after them. Only then did he rise from the snow and retreat to his horse. Leaving Vakre and Siv to watch should the situation change, Raef and the others returned to Uhtred and the host, speaking not a word until they were well away from the Greyshield farm.

  “Greyshield is there,” Raef said as he rode up to Uhtred. The other lord tossed his skin of ale to Raef, who took a swallow. “The land is in our favor. We can surround them easily.”

  “How many?”

  “I am certain of five, including Tulkis.”

  “Could there be more?” Uhtred wiped ale from his beard with his sleeve.

  “Perhaps. But the house is not large enough to hold more than twenty. If Tulkis has gathered men to oppose me, he has not done so here.”

  Uhtred grunted as he mounted his horse. “Clever.”

  Giving Uhtred, Finnolf, and Yorkell each command over a portion of his warriors, Raef gave instructions for the approach and encirclement of the farmhouse, and then the host moved in on its prey, dark shadows stalking among the trees. Vakre rejoined Raef, reporting that no one had come or gone.

  Moving as one, the warriors burst from cover and formed a ring around the farmhouse. Those who had bows nocked arrows on their strings. Spears and axes bristled. For a moment all was quiet but for the stamping of hooves. A cloud passed over the sun. Then Finnolf’s voice broke the peace.

  “Tulkis Greyshield, you are summoned to answer the Skallagrim in Vannheim.” The captain’s voice rang out and the cloud scuttled away from the sun as though it fled at the sound. “Come forth!”

  Raef’s heart beat no more than five times before the door swung open, but it felt far longer. At first, only a shadow filled the doorway, but then a figure stepped out, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. “What is the meaning of this?” Tulkis Greyshield came forward another two steps, his left leg dragging slightly in a limp, and lowered his arm, his gaze finding Raef. Even with the space between them, Raef could see the other man’s eyes narrow, could see his shoulders and neck stiffen.

  Raef urged his horse forward until he was eight strides from Tulkis. “I come in search of answers, Tulkis.”

  Other men had filtered out of the house now, and stood behind Tulkis, their faces grim. They were armed with swords and one had a bow, though no steel or arrow was yet shown.

  Tulkis gave a small bow, but the courtesy did not mask the scowl on his face. “And I shall give them to you if I can, lord.”

  “Five men came to your land on my orders. They were no threat to you, but four are missing and one dead.”

  “The wolves are hungry, lord, and have grown bold. My corner of Vannheim is a wild, dangerous place. Or perhaps it was Rudrak Red-beard. He has grown restless.”

  “Red-beard is dead, by my hand. He had no part in this.” Raef was pleased to see the flicker of unease in Tulkis’ eyes.

  “I see your mind, Skallagrim. You think me a traitor.”

  “Are you?”

  The arrow was on the string before Raef could flinch, but Tulkis’ strong arm came down on the archer’s hand, dragging the bow downward until the tip of the arrow was buried in the snow. “No,” Tulkis growled at the archer, his gaze taking in the many arrows now aimed at him, “you will kill us all.” Tulkis straightened and looked at Raef. “My cousin is thoughtless and rash. I am no traitor, lord, and I will prove it to you.” He drew a knife and turned as though to plunge it into the chest of his cousin, the man who would have shot at Raef.

  “No,” Raef shouted, halting Greyshield’s arm in mid-swing. “His death will not convince me.”

  Tulkis lowered the knife, though he looked reluctant. “Very well. Then bind my hands, take me to your hall, and I will swear my oath to you in front of any you would have as witness.”

  It was an unexpected offer and Raef did not answer right away. Tulkis emphasized the silence by tossing his knife into the snow. He gave a nod to the four men around him and they disarmed themselves. Raef looked over his shoulder at Vakre.

  “Take them,” he said. Vakre nodded and he led a group of ten warriors forward. They collected the weapons and bound the wrists of the five men, then got them mounted onto their horses, which were then secured to the saddles of five of Raef’s men. Through this all, Greyshield said nothing and looked straight ahead, and Raef watched, trying to read the other man’s thoughts.

  A quick search of the farmhouse and outbuildings revealed no trace of the four missing men, dead or alive, but Raef had one last question for Tulkis before turning south.

  “Where is your family, Greyshield?” He knew Tulkis had a wife and children, two sons who had reached fighting age, and two daughters, one still very young.

  “Saegertha has gone to visit her ailing mother, and the children with her.”

  “Even your sons? Are they not too old for such visits?”

  Tulkis did not look away from Raef. “They love their grandmother very much.”

  That Tulkis lied, Raef was sure, but tramping across Greyshield land in an attempt to find the sons would be useless. He gave a nod to Finnolf, who shouted for the warriors to fall in line. Raef waited until the column had filed past, and took up the rear with Siv and Vakre.

  “I do not trust him,” Vakre said, bringing his horse alongside Raef.

  “Nor I, but what can I do? I cannot leave him here, untouched. I cannot kill him, for he has done nothing wrong, violated no oath, and killing him would only turn the minds of other men against me. Bringing him to my hall is what he wants, but I see no other way.”

  They returned to the Vestrhall by a shorter, more direct route, avoiding the winding coast in favor of the inland hills and valleys. A rear guard stayed alert to the possibility of retribution at the hands of Tulkis’ sons and a watch was set that night, but the land around them was peaceful and a farmer was glad to shelter as many of Raef’s men from the cold as he could. The family had little to offer, for the winter had claime
d half their sheep and an early frost had shrunken their last autumn crop, but Raef’s men had more than enough to share. Tulkis and his companions were allowed to join them, for Raef had no cause to punish them, but the five men kept to themselves, spooning their broth in silence.

  The farmer’s children, a flock of faces ranging from wide-eyed twins who could barely walk to a lean boy of eleven who could not take his eyes off the sword at Raef’s side, filled the small house with eager voices as ale was poured and bread passed.

  The men were fed in shifts, then sent back out to claim whatever corner of the barn and storehouse they desired. At length, Raef sent Tulkis away, entrusting him to the care of his captain, Yorkell. When the last of the men trickled into the night, leaving Raef, Vakre, Uhtred, and Siv behind, Raef leaned back in his chair, his toes stretched toward the hearth, and allowed himself to relax.

  With the men gone, the family settled into its nightly routine. The oldest boy dumped food scraps into a bucket for the pigs while the farmer scolded a younger boy for poking one of the twins until he cried. The mother comforted the red-faced child and spoke to Siv, who was helping the two girls comb their hair.

  Raef watched Siv’s deft hands untangle the long, loose locks and wondered if this home reminded her of the one she had lost. Siv glanced his way and smiled, a quick flash gone all too soon as she returned to the task at hand.

  When the other twin started crying, the mother handed the first off to Vakre, who took the child with surprising ease, finding just the spot to tickle him and turn his tears into fits of laughter. For a moment, Raef could only marvel at how the house could contain the son of Loki and an orphaned, battle-hardened shieldmaiden and still be so full of laughter.

  “I would ask you what you think of my daughter, Skallagrim, but I think your thoughts are elsewhere.” Uhtred had pulled his chair close to Raef’s and leaned in to speak quietly in his ear.

  “Your daughter is beautiful,” Raef said. But Uhtred was not looking at him. Raef followed the older man’s gaze and saw it led to Siv.

  “She is. You are not the first man to say this,” Uhtred said, looking at Raef now.

  “I would be a lucky man if she were my wife. But I have not yet made my decision.” Raef’s gaze slid back to Siv and her red-gold hair.

  “Oh, I think you have.” Uhtred’s voice was quiet and hinted at a smile. Raef looked back and found himself caught in the blue depths of Uhtred’s eyes. He felt heat flush his cheeks. “There is no shame in following your heart, Raef,” Uhtred said, speaking now as a father to a son, rather than a lord to a king. “I made no demand, my warriors are yours, marriage or no marriage. If Aelinvor is not the woman you wish to share your life with, I ask only one thing of you.”

  “Name it.”

  “That you tell her this the moment we return to the Vestrhall. I would not have her thoughts linger on what has slipped beyond her reach.”

  “I will.” Raef hesitated. “Thank you.”

  Uhtred smiled and got to his feet, letting out a belch that sent the younger children into peals of laughter. Uhtred pounded his chest with one fist. “Even Thor is no match for me in matters of wind-making,” he boasted. More laughter. “But if you will excuse me, good hosts, I think I will retire and refrain from challenging the god of thunder just yet.” The farmer tried to insist that Uhtred remain, but the lord of Garhold overruled him, and swept out into the winter night, leaving grinning faces in his wake.

  Not long after, Raef excused himself to take a piss. The night was clear and cold, but calm. Not a breath of wind stirred Raef’s hair as he rounded the corner of the house to empty his bladder. After checking on the horses, the watch, and Tulkis, Raef returned to the farmhouse to find Vakre out beneath the stars as well.

  “These are good people,” Raef said. “I will send them wool and food and new sheep when we return to the Vestrhall.”

  Vakre nodded but was quiet.

  “You are troubled?”

  “I look at them, that family, poor in wealth but rich in happiness, and I wonder that will become of them when the final battle comes. When flaming Surt stirs from his blazing throne in Muspelheim and marches on Asgard, when Jörmungand raises the oceans and Fenrir breaks free, leading the nine realms into chaos. They are ignorant of the destruction that is at hand, of the numbered days before them, but they deserve a better fate.”

  “They do.”

  Vakre looked up at the stars as though he expected to see them fall and go dark at any moment. “Sometimes I think of sharing what I know, what we know. Of warning people.” His gaze returned to earth and he shook his head. “But it would not matter in the end, and it would only strike terror into hearts that should be glad.”

  They were quiet for a moment, neither quite ready to return to the warmth of the farmhouse. “What becomes of the son of Loki when the seas rise and the giants go to war with the gods?” Raef asked.

  Vakre shrugged. “The same will befall me as any other man, I think.” He met Raef’s look. “Except you, son of Einarr. You will not fight beside us at the last battle.”

  “No. My fate remains in the shadows. And yet I can only think of one thing that I would wish for. That I could stand beside you and Siv, that we might draw our swords together and sing the song of battle one last time.”

  Twenty-Five

  The Vestrhall was no longer empty when Raef and his warriors returned. Isolf, his face bright with a wide smile, rode out of the gates to greet them.

  “I rejoice at your return, brother. Has Greyshield bent to your will, or is he food for crows?” Isolf’s horse pranced in new fallen snow as Raef’s company came to a halt.

  “Greetings, brother,” Raef said. He gestured to Tulkis, whose horse was tethered to Uhtred’s. “He comes to give his oath in the Vestrhall, before gods and men.”

  “Then today is a good day, for I have a gift for you as well.”

  “I trust the raiders from Silfravall have known my brother’s wrath?” Raef urged his horse forward and Isolf fell in beside him to cover the remaining distance to the walls.

  “They have, but rather than fall to our swords and spears, they have parted ways with their lord, Harbjorn. I have brought you thirty warriors to join your shield wall.” Isolf could not hide the pleasure he took in his accomplishment.

  Raef was surprised. “They will renounce their oaths to Harbjorn and make one to me and then fight against their brothers in Silfravall?”

  “If it comes to that, yes, they will fight against Silfravall. But they do not think Harbjorn will risk open war for the loss of thirty men.”

  “Open war will be upon Harbjorn soon enough. The kings will demand his spears or take them by force.”

  Isolf shrugged. “They wish to be men of Vannheim, now. They wish to follow you. They await you.”

  Raef’s hands clenched on the reins. “In the Vestrhall? You have brought them into my home?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to shout his irritation in front of the warriors.

  Isolf frowned. “They have left their weapons at the gate.”

  “Even so, the Vestrhall is my home, Isolf.” Raef urged his horse forward, separating himself from the column. The gates swung open for him and he raced up the hill, jumping to the ground at the base of the stone steps. He heard horses behind him but did not wait for Vakre and Siv to catch up before throwing open the doors of the hall.

  Men sat at the long tables. A pig roasted over the open fire pit. Ten armed men of Vannheim were present, standing aloof from the strangers. All conversation and movement ceased at Raef’s entrance, and all eyes went to him. A stool scraped against the floor as one man stood, and then all the benches were pushed back and the warriors of Silfravall got to their feet. One by one, they took a knee, just as Vakre and Siv came up behind Raef, Isolf at their heels.

  “You see? They swear themselves to you,” Isolf said.

  Only then did Raef see Aelinvor at the far end of the hall, seated alone at the high table. She came to her feet slowl
y, her gown a whisper against the floor.

  Raef did not trust himself to speak but the hall waited for his word. “You are welcome to Vannheim.”

  The Silfravall warrior who had stood first rose from the floor and approached, then took a knee again in front of Raef, his disheveled blonde hair hanging over half his face. “I am Lingorm and I speak for these men. We pledge ourselves to Vannheim, lord, and name you our king. We are but thirty in number, but what we lack in numbers we make up for with loyalty.”

  Isolf thrust a cup of ale into Raef’s hand, and gave another to Lingorm. Raef raised his in Lingorm’s direction and took a sip. The warrior of Silfravall did the same and his men gave a shout. The formalities done, the Silfravall warriors relaxed. Raef set his barely touched ale on a table and strode the length of the hall, past Aelinvor, and left.

  Isolf was on him, but the moment the door closed, Raef rounded on his cousin, his hand shaking as he fought the urge to seize Isolf’s shoulder. “You had no right to bring them into my home, into my father’s hall. Blood you may be, but lord you are not.”

  Isolf’s face was red with anger. “I did what I judged to be right. Should I have turned them away, sent them back to Harbjorn with resentment festering in their hearts? You wish to win your neighbors to your side, and I have done so.”

  “Thirty men,” Raef shouted. “Thirty men do not make an alliance. And they were raiding my land, Isolf, burning farms, raping women. What loyalty can they bring me, they who change lords so easily? I never intended to ally with Harbjorn and his raiders.”