The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  On the twentieth day, a wedge of shields descended from the hills just east of the nest. They came in the fading light, the last rays of sunlight glinting off the tips of their spears, their painted shields burnished over with golden orange, and they did not come quietly. Drawn to the edge of the bowl, Raef frowned, trying to make out if the warriors were friend or foe, and he knew those in the valley would see them, too. Gathering his weapons, Raef took Vakre and a few men from the nest and approached the horde, which had lumbered to a halt near the tree line. Keeping in the shadows of shrubs and boulders, Raef stayed out of sight until he drew near enough to see one man separate from the pack and move west along the slope, toward where Raef hid and toward the eagle’s nest. His stride was purposeful, as though he knew what lay ahead, and Raef tensed and readied his grip on his axe.

  As the warrior came closer, his curly, coal-black hair grew distinct, as did the stump where his left arm ended. Raef grinned to himself and stepped out from his hiding place.

  “Ruf.”

  Rufnir’s face broke into a wide smile and he loped the last few strides until he reached Raef. They clasped arms.

  “Have you brought me Torleif?”

  “With forty warriors at his back,” Rufnir said, the smile growing wider. “More will follow.”

  Raef clapped his friend on the shoulder, but then let the pleasure drop from his face. He gestured to the valley, which was already in shadow.

  “So has Fengar.”

  Rufnir grimaced.

  “The lord of Finnmark is with him, as is Alvar of Kolhaugen. They are perhaps seventy in number and they will have seen you just as I did.” Rufnir began to apologize but Raef brushed it away. “Bring me to Torleif.”

  The lord of Axsellund was young, younger than Raef, and he had an open, honest face shadowed with a trim blonde beard. He did not look like a man who had been lord of Axsellund since the age of thirteen when his father had died of a fever. He did not look like a man who could command warriors in battle. But his warriors were a hard, grim-faced lot, whose backs were stiff with pride, and that pride was for their young lord as much as for themselves, Raef saw as he approached. The eyes of the Axsellund warriors were not hostile toward Raef, but neither were they friendly.

  “Torleif, you are welcome to Vannheim.”

  Torleif gave a slight nod. “Skallagrim.”

  Raef did not have time for further pleasantries. His mind was on the eyes that watched from the valley floor.

  “Are you prepared to honor the promise you made to me?”

  Torleif’s gaze showed a hint of irritation before smoothing over. “I would not be here if that were not my intent.”

  “Then we have work to do.” Raef pointed down into the valley. “Fengar is down there. I mean to slaughter him and all who follow him, but first we must buy ourselves some time. Your arrival will not have gone unnoticed and I cannot take you further and risk discovery. Are you prepared to do as I ask?”

  “I will not send my men down into a death trap, lord, if that is what you mean to ask.”

  “I am not wasteful,” Raef said, staring hard into Torleif’s eyes and ignoring the bristling warriors around him. “We do not have the time to spar. You sent your chosen king a sprig of cedar, Torleif. Did that mean nothing?”

  “It meant everything.” Torleif’s voice was low but sharp and at last Raef saw the backbone, the strength, which had allowed him to rule from such a young age. “I do not make promises lightly.” They locked eyes for a moment longer.

  “Then let us be friends. But first we must trim the wolf’s claws. Fengar will be wary at the sight of your men. We must put him at ease. Do as I ask, and your men will share the shield wall with mine when I win back Vannheim.”

  The idea had been forming in Raef’s head from the moment he spotted Rufnir, but even then it was a shadowy, unfinished thought and the risk was high. If they failed, Raef would lose the Axsellund warriors, who would be outnumbered by Fengar’s, and chance discovery of the nest. Everything he had built to challenge Isolf could be destroyed before the sun rose again.

  But there was no time to question the directions he gave Torleif and it was only moments before he was watching the lord of Axsellund lead his host down into the valley, carrying his hopes on their shields. Raef waited the span of forty heart-shuddering breaths, then followed with Vakre and Rufnir at his back.

  The shield walls at the river’s edge were still compact and bristling with spears, but by the time Raef crept close enough on the boulder-strewn river to hear, the initial flare of hostilities had been subdued and Fengar and Torleif were speaking to each other. Vakre crouched next to Raef, a silent, watchful shadow, while Rufnir waited out of sight behind them.

  “How is it that you have found me here, Torleif?” Fengar stood several paces from the lord of Axsellund and it seemed to Raef that he leaned away from the confrontation, as though he expected the younger man to pounce.

  “It was Valdemar, lord,” Torleif said and Raef felt his tongue go dry in his mouth as Torleif spoke the first lie. “He came to me, calling your name, urging me to join your cause. It was my duty, he said, to the king who was named.”

  Raef had insisted on that last part, for Valdemar would not have extolled Fengar’s virtues or strength, or even promised vast rewards. That was not the broken man’s way.

  “He told me where I might find you, where I might make my oath,” Torleif went on. He gestured to the men who stood with overlapping shields behind him. “These are but a taste of the warriors I can bring you, Fengar.” The young lord’s face was bright in the torchlight and Raef searched it for a sign of hesitation, but Torleif did not falter and he looked the king in the eye without blinking. “Axsellund is home to many more brothers and sons eager to stand in the shield wall and prove their valor.”

  “So you will join the fight against the Hammerling and bring peace back to these lands?” Fengar’s back was to Raef, but the king’s eagerness could be heard in his voice.

  “What will you give me in return?”

  Romarr, to Fengar’s right, broke in. “That depends upon you. He will reward those who serve him well.” Romarr twisted a ring on his left hand. Even in the faint light and from a distance Raef could see how large the jewel was. He wondered what corpse it had come from.

  “Serve?” Torleif cocked his head to stare at Romarr and Raef held his breath. “Am I a common beast to do his bidding?”

  “We are all beasts when it comes to war.”

  “Tell me, that ring there, was that one such reward?” Torleif asked.

  Romarr seemed unsure of the younger man’s intent. “The king has been generous to me. This is but a taste of what he has given me.”

  “Arm rings? Torcs? A jeweled necklace for my wife, perhaps?”

  Romarr’s hesitation was slight, but he answered. “All these and more.”

  “Ah, but you see it is the more that I want, not a ring, or a pretty gem to put in my wife’s hair.” Torleif’s voice had lost its curious, youthful lilt. “Would he give me land that I might spread to the sea and ships to sail upon the glistening waves? Would he make me a lord superior to all others? Would I be master of the western lands?”

  Raef’s heart pounded in his chest as Torleif made his demands, wondering if the young lord pushed too far. The wrong words, the wrong look, would start a battle. He would have given much to see Fengar’s face in that moment.

  Romarr threw back his head and laughed. “Is your brain addled? Have the vaettir run away with your senses, boy? What you ask is impossible.”

  “Then Axsellund will not stand with you or your king.”

  “That is all?” Romarr was all blistering anger now. “You think the war will pass you by? That Axsellund will remain unscathed simply because you wish it to be so? To deny the true king is to guarantee your destruction.”

  Torleif smiled a little. “Is that so? Have the Norns whispered in your ear? Have you seen the carvings on Yggdrasil?”

 
Romarr flushed in the firelight. “You will regret your choice, boy. I will cut your wife’s throat myself, but not before I have her.”

  “Enough.” Fengar spoke at last and laid a hand on Romarr’s arm. “Young Torleif has come to us with good will. We should not banish him simply for his brash words.” The king turned to Torleif. “You ask much, Torleif, son of Audvin, and it would be within my right to claim your life. But I am not so rash as to throw away a chance at alliance because you have insulted me.” Fengar’s right hand jerked as though he were about to offer it in friendship and then thought better of it. Instead he indicated the shelter behind him. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

  Raef watched Torleif disappear with Fengar behind the skins and swallowed hard to loosen the clenched muscles of his chest. Romarr followed, as did Alvar of Kolhaugen, leaving the shield walls to face each other in silence. Fengar’s men began to disperse, peeling away from the wall one by one until only twenty or so men remained to watch the newcomers, but Torleif’s kept a good formation that Raef was glad to see. It would not do to have the Axsellund warriors drop their guard.

  Raef signaled to Vakre and they slipped back along the river, meeting up with Rufnir, and then into the forest.

  “It is done.” Raef breathed the words out in a puff of white vapor, both relieved that the first part of the scheme was done and knotted with tension over what was to come.

  “We should have stayed. Kept watch.” Vakre seemed restless and Raef could guess why.

  “Torleif’s ruse will stand or fall with or without us hanging on their every word. He is on his own. Yes,” Raef continued as Vakre began to protest, “your uncle will push back. He will not be eager to let Fengar accept Axsellund, not after the demands Torleif has made. But Fengar is desperate. We must hope that desperation bolsters his will.”

  “Unless Torleif has asked for too much.” Rufnir was quiet, unsure, and Raef could not read his face in the darkness.

  “It was necessary, Ruf. Axsellund has kept out of this war. Torleif must show he had reason for this, must show a great deal of foresight, and above all, must show that he burns with ambition. Asking for lands stretching to the western sea is reckless, but bold, and Fengar needs bold if he is to defeat the Hammerling. He needs to believe that Torleif will bring him victory, or Romarr will convince him not to let Torleif leave that shelter alive.”

  Despite Raef’s assurances to Rufnir, it was with a restless mind that he returned to the nest with them. The men were quiet but in good cheer, carving portions off a pair of deer brought down just before Torleif’s arrival in the valley. But Raef found he did not have the stomach to eat, and instead kept a constant vigil at the nest’s overlook, staring into the dark valley and the faint light of torches that seemed to hum in the heart of it.

  It was not until just before dawn that the warrior came. The valley was thick with mist and Raef, drifting somewhere on the edge of sleep, was slow to rouse himself, for the figure that took shape before him out of the swirling mist seemed no more solid than a dream. It was the man’s voice that broke through Raef’s weariness as the warrior leaned over Raef and shook his shoulder.

  “Lord.”

  Raef blinked and, with a groan of discomfort, pushed himself away from the wall of rock that he had slumped against in the night. “What is it?” he managed, his tongue thick in his mouth. He focused on the warrior’s face, so pale in the mist but for the dark ink that crept up his neck in the guise of a serpent. Raef recognized him now. He and Torleif had spoken in private before descending into the valley, though Raef did not know whether the man counseled for or against the plan.

  “It is done. A bargain has been struck.”

  Raef felt the relief rush through him like the spring flood that would come to Vannheim’s rivers. “Good. Good. Then we will begin our preparations at once.” Raef got to his feet but something in the warrior’s face halted him there on the edge between rock and air. “What is it?”

  “The terms. They are not what they should be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Torleif must prove himself, must show he is worthy of the demands he has made. Only then will Fengar accept his oath.”

  “Then Torleif cannot be called an oathbreaker when he turns on the would-be king.” Raef knew his words sounded hollow, knew the warrior had more to say.

  “Fengar means to have the Vestrhall. And Torleif must win it.”

  Raef swore. “This was Romarr of Finnmark’s notion.”

  “It was the agreed upon task. Torleif was left with no choice. Fengar needs a place of safety; the Vestrhall is near. And he has seen you away from your hall, in the wilderness with only a few men, a strange thing in a time of war. He does not know what has gone on here in Vannheim, does not know of your cousin’s treachery, but he believes the Vestrhall is ripe for the taking.” The warrior of Axsellund stepped close to Raef and gripped his forearm. “The valley will be emptied today.”

  Raef’s gaze roamed over the men stirring in the nest. There were not enough to be sure of victory, even with the surprise of Torleif’s deceit. He turned back to look at the serpent warrior. “Then Fengar dies today.”

  Ten

  The mist was a friend at Raef’s back, a silent companion as he watched the riverside camp empty. The warriors snaked into the trees in a column three shields wide, led and trailed by men on horseback. From Raef’s vantage point, there was little enough to see, but the warrior from Axsellund at his side was quick to point out that Torleif and his men were scattered throughout the host. There would be no easy way to alert and organize them when the fighting began. Fengar rode at the front, flanked by Romarr of Finnmark and Griva, the two blonde sisters just ahead of the king. The old man looked frail and birdlike, perched atop a large, heavy-hoofed horse meant for field work, but this did nothing to lessen the sharpness of his knives, Raef knew. Torleif was given a place of honor just behind the king, but the presence of Ulthor Ten-blade at his shoulder told Raef the honor was tinged with suspicion and the promise of a quick stab to the ribs should Torleif show any signs of falsehood.

  “He will be killed the moment we attack.” The warrior’s snake tattoo seemed to writhe with anger as he crouched next to Raef.

  “Do you have so little faith in your lord?” It was a cold answer but Raef could not afford to be swayed by emotion.

  “Are you so eager to see your newly-won ally slaughtered?”

  “Torleif knew the danger,” Raef said, his teeth clenched against the frustration building into a knot in his throat. “He knew this battle would come.”

  “In days, yes, perhaps even weeks. You do not have the men to win this fight.”

  Raef rounded on the warrior. “I have men who are willing to do what must be done, who are willing to go to the gods. That is what I have. What I do not have is time. Should I hand the Vestrhall to Fengar? Should I let a king take up residence in my hall and watch him fortify it with an army?”

  “Is that no less than your cousin has done?”

  Raef seized the warrior’s shoulder. “And what if your lord should have a change of heart? What if I, secure in our alliance, let Fengar take the Vestrhall, and then throw my men against the walls expecting our friends inside to unbar the gates, to find only foes on the other side?”

  “Torleif is not a faithless dog,” the warrior growled.

  “We fight Fengar today. Here.” Raef kept his voice quiet though he longed to unleash his anger. “You are free to keep your sword clean if that is your wish. I care not.” Raef turned away, knowing the warrior of Axsellund would do no such thing. His devotion to Torleif ran too deep. Scrambling across the rocks, Raef returned to the eagle’s nest, where his company of warriors waited in grim silence, their freshly sharpened spears and swords piercing the mist. Raef glanced up to the top of the bowl where a lone figure stood, stark against the sky. Vakre. The son of Loki raised a hand in greeting and Raef turned to the men. He put a wide smile on his face that he did not feel in his he
art.

  “It is time. Show me how well you climb. An arm ring for the first man to reach the top.”

  With eager grins, the warriors hurried to the walls of rock that formed the back of the bowl. Some worked their way up the narrow paths riddled with empty air, others sought unconquered ground, finding finger holds and ledges as well as any goat. They took to it with a quiet determination that made Raef glad, but one man Raef pulled aside just before he began to climb.

  “Not you, Ruf.” Raef patted Rufnir on the shoulder.

  “I can make the climb.” Rufnir’s jaw was set but there was fear in his eyes. “I can.”

  “I do not doubt you,” Raef said. Rufnir would try without complaint, he knew, but Raef would not risk his friend’s life to save his pride. A one-handed man had no place climbing a wall of rock. Even the paths would be treacherous. Raef grinned to set his old friend at ease. “I have another task for you. You will be coming with me.”

  The first warriors had reached the top by the time Raef and Rufnir dropped out of the bowl and crept close to Fengar’s column, which was leaving the valley by the same route Torleif had come. Visna was already there, her sharp blue eyes unblinking as she traced the warriors through the trees, and Dvalarr watched her back. The way would take them into a high valley, thick with grasses and flowers in high summer, wide and white with snow in barren winter. And above, as high as the eagles that nested there, the Vannheim warriors would watch and track them as the wolf does the wounded deer, and ready themselves for battle. Following behind, Raef would stalk Fengar and wait for the right moment and the place where the terrain might give them the greatest advantage.

  That place was a narrow gorge where the valley thinned, penned in by sheer walls of rock on both sides. Raef had described it to Vakre, sure it was their best hope, for there they could trap Fengar’s force, closing in from behind and blocking the way forward with a wall of shields.