by T L Greylock
“Greetings, Eirik, son of Brynvald.”
Eirik did not return the greeting. “Raef Skallagrim, I name you oathbreaker.” The lord of Kolhaugen’s voice rang out and gripped the ears of the watching warriors. “I charge you with treachery and deceit and summon you to answer for these crimes. All this do I do in the name of Brandulf Hammerling, lord of Finngale and king above all.”
“How does the Hammerling wish me to answer?”
“As you must, as dictated by the laws of gods and men. You swore your life belonged to the Hammerling and now he will take it as punishment for the breaking of your oath.”
“Be gone, cur,” Dvalarr shouted from beside Raef. The Crow took a step forward as though he might leap at Eirik and Raef put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.
“To demand my life, the Hammerling himself must come for it. This is the way of both gods and men, as he well knows,” Raef said.
“I speak with his voice and authority. I am the mouth of his justice and in this way I am the Hammerling.”
Raef moved past Dvalarr and Vakre and went to Eirik’s horse, placing a hand on the brown mare’s bridle. “Then I have no choice but to give Brandulf a name in exchange for the one he has given me. I call him coward, for that is what he is if he will not speak to me in person, if he will not demand payment in the flesh.”
For the first time Eirik’s stony countenance shifted, betraying a hint of sorrow. But his voice remained as sharp as a blade. “With these words you have sealed the death of those around you. All of Vannheim will pay for your arrogance and betrayal.”
Raef lowered his voice and spoke now only for Eirik’s ears. “Do you condemn me so easily, Eirik?”
“What has passed between us will not sway me.”
“I would never ask you to be disloyal, but I will not let my friend depart without offering him meat and mead. Will you refuse?”
Eirik’s eyes lost their edge and at last Raef could see that he bore the Hammerling’s task with an uneasy heart. “No,” he said quietly, “I will not refuse.”
Dvalarr was loath to leave Raef with Eirik, but Raef was firm and Vakre soon led the big man away, leaving Raef and Eirik alone in the hall.
Raef prodded at the lone fire with a half-charred branch, sending up a shower of sparks, then added a pair of fresh logs. After he was sure they would catch, he turned to the jug of mead that had been set out on one of the long tables and poured two cups full to the brim. Eirik hesitated when offered one, but then took it and drank as Raef did the same.
A long silence followed the draining and refilling of their cups, and then both men sat on benches facing the fire. Raef spoke at last.
“Your brother is dead.”
Eirik glanced up from the fire. “I come to you as your enemy, Skallagrim, and now you tell me this.”
“I did not kill him.” Raef spoke of the battle in the gorge and the avalanche, of Fengar’s flight and Alvar’s death. “Your brother’s mind was gone, his body not far behind. We sent him to the gods as best we could.” Raef watched Eirik’s face but could read little there. “Is that what you would have wanted?”
“He was my brother.”
“That is no answer. The enmity between you was known to all.”
Eirik sighed and ran a hand through his wild, pale hair. “Yes. I hated him with all my heart and he felt the same for me. I often wonder which of us is to blame for that. Some part of me wishes I might have been there to see his end, perhaps even to bring death to him myself, but then I see him as the boy he was and I grieve for the both of us, for the brothers we might have been.” Eirik paused and then changed the subject. “The Hammerling outnumbers you,” he began.
“Let us not speak of the Hammerling,” Raef said.
“For the news of my brother,” Eirik said, trying again.
“You owe me nothing. For my part I am sorry that I do not know you better, and that it comes to this between us.”
“Yes,” was all that Eirik said.
They drank another cup of mead, the golden liquid warming Raef’s belly, and whether it was the drink or the heavy silence that prompted him, he could not have said.
“I do not know if I speak now as a friend or an enemy, if these are words that you would want to hear, or if you will dread the knowing of them, if I am warning you or filling you with fear, but I find that I must speak.” Raef took a swallow of mead and studied Eirik as the other man frowned. “The twilight of the gods is at hand.” Eirik met Raef’s gaze and did not look away. “Believe me or not, as you see fit. Tell the Hammerling if you wish, or keep this to yourself, it matters not to me.”
“The time of the wolf,” Eirik whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then why fight? Why bring suffering to your people when instead you might fill their last days with peace? He will spare them if you give yourself up.”
“Will he also hand me a sword so that I might take Hauk of Ruderk’s life? I have made a vow I hold above all others, and that is to my father and to the gods. Hauk Orleson will answer for my father’s murder before the end comes.”
They did not speak again of the Hammerling, or Hauk of Ruderk, or the fate of the nine realms. A small meal was brought and shared and they parted after nightfall as friends who will face each other in battle.
“I will ask Thor to strengthen your sword arm,” Eirik said in the torchlight at the gate.
“And I will ask the Allfather to shield you.”
Eirik turned his horse into the darkness and was soon gone from Raef’s sight.
**
“The captains know their places. The warriors know who to follow.” Raef looked across the snow-covered ground that would see battle the next day, at the fires that smoked there and the warriors sharing bread and meat. Vakre and Dvalarr stood beside him. The Crow was now inked all over his bald head, the three crows joined by fresh patterns weaving together to form a winged creature that resembled the smoke-colored kin. Vakre was as quiet as ever, but his eyes rested on Raef, rather than the spread of warriors before them.
“I expect the Hammerling just after dawn,” Raef said. They had word that the Hammerling’s men were just beyond the first ring of hills and the Vestrhall’s walls had been crammed to bursting with farmers and fishermen seeking shelter. “If he times it well, the sun will aid him and blind us.” Raef turned to Dvalarr. “See that the extra spears are shared among the captains.”
Dvalarr nodded and walked off, leaving Raef to confront Vakre.
“Your words blaze unspoken behind your eyes, Vakre. What would you say?”
Vakre walked to the fjord, leaving Raef no choice but to follow. There, the son of Loki spoke. “You do not mean for there to be a battle, do you.”
Raef sighed and let his gaze drift to the grey, shifting waters of the fjord. “I should not have tried to keep it from you. I will leave under cover of darkness and make my way to the Hammerling’s camp.”
“What did Eirik of Kolhaugen say that could convince you of this?”
“He spoke the truth.” Raef looked at Vakre. “I broke my oath. I cannot deny that. But more than this, I have sought this fight for a single reason, and I can no longer let that reason outweigh the lives of my people.” Raef shook his head, angry with himself. “The vengeance I seek for my father must not cause suffering among the people of Vannheim, and I am ashamed to have let it come so close.”
“Would not many gladly lay down their lives to know that you have brought justice to your father’s murderer?”
“Yes. But they will lay down their lives soon enough for the gods.”
“Giving yourself up to the Hammerling will shame them.”
Raef was quiet for a moment. “In the heat of battle, amid the chaos and the screaming steel song, am I certain to come face to face with Hauk Orleson? Will we meet at last and clash swords as we should have done long ago? I do not know the answer to this, Vakre, and this uncertainty is a ruthless companion. If I go to the Hammerling, I will see
him there and, if Odin wills it, I will kill him.”
“Then let me come with you.”
Raef was ready for this. “Eirik says Brandulf will spare my people if I submit to him. But if he does not intend to fulfill this promise, my people will have to fight and they will have need of good men to lead them. Dvalarr is strong, Dvalarr is fierce, and Dvalarr will die for Vannheim, but he is not enough. I will not command you, Vakre, but I ask that you do this for me.”
Vakre was quiet and together they watched the gentle waves lap against the shore. “Vannheim will stand,” he said at last.
The southern shore of the fjord had sunk into purple shadows and the deep waters were dark and fathomless without the sun to light them. Raef pulled his fur-lined hood over his head.
“It is time.”
Vakre nodded and they returned to the camp and the walls. In the growing dark, it was simple enough for Raef to lead a horse unnoticed from the firelight. Around him, voices carried from fire to fire, the voices of warriors who look for a dawn red with blood. Vakre accompanied him across the strip of open ground to the trees, but neither man said anything and Raef did not look back. When he could no longer hear the murmurs of the camp, Raef mounted and rode into the hills.
The Hammerling was farther west than Raef anticipated, but no attempt had been made to mask the presence of his warriors. Once Raef caught the scent of smoke, his first glimpse of fire between the dark, sentinel trees was not far behind. The Hammerling’s camp overflowed a narrow glen split down the middle by a frozen stream and Raef approached from a steep descent on the northern side of the camp after leaving his horse among the trees above. He had chosen his path well, for the rocks and heavy underbrush were free from patrolling scouts, and Raef was able to reach the light of one of the outer fires before he was spotted.
He made no effort to stop the four men who wrestled him to the ground and his silence might have earned him a quick knife to the gut had one not recognized him and drawn back in trepidation. A quick argument was won by the one who insisted Raef must go before the Hammerling, though the other three did not hide their disappointment at being deprived of their prize, and he was hauled further into the camp.
Brandulf Hammerling did not at first notice the growing commotion as Raef was led close. He was bent over a boulder, brushing snow from a map drawn on a delicate skin. At his side, a boy pointed at the map and Brandulf answered his questions in a quiet tone. The boy had grown since Raef had seen him last; his shoulders were broader, his chest thicker, but he still had a boy’s lankiness and a boy’s face, and Raef wondered when Asmund, Brandulf’s elder son, had joined his father at war.
“Lord,” one of Raef’s captors began, but the Hammerling waved him off without raising his head. It was another voice that finally caused him to stir.
“Skallagrim.” Eirik of Kolhaugen burst from the growing crowd of men, his face torn between sorrow and relief, his hair tamed for battle and drawn back from his face into a knot at the crown of his head. He pulled up short between Raef and the Hammerling.
The Hammerling straightened, the map dropped and forgotten, left to curl up in the snow. Even in the dim light Raef could see that the Hammerling was still hale and strong, undiminished by the rigors of battle and the long roads he had traveled. This was a man in his prime.
If the warriors encircling them spoke, Raef was deaf to it. He could hear only the beating of his own heart as the Hammerling came to stand in front of him. The lord of Finngale had grown his beard and taken to splitting it into three braids. He wore a massive black-furred cloak across his shoulders, held in place by a thick gold chain, and he walked without any trace of the injury that had nearly claimed his life after the battle in Solheim.
When he was three paces from Raef, the Hammerling halted and it was then that Raef could at last see his eyes, see the triumph mixed there with something that Raef could only name disappointment.
“You surprise me, Skallagrim.”
“Will my people live?”
The Hammerling shrugged, a great rolling of his shoulders. “That depends. Have you left instruction for them to accept me as king?”
“They do not know I am here.”
“Then likely many will die.” Brandulf beckoned Asmund forward and the boy came to stand at his father’s side. The Hammerling rested a heavy arm across Asmund’s shoulders. “This war has gone on long enough, Skallagrim. I mean to see it ended. Vannheim must kneel.”
Raef swallowed back the bitterness in his mouth. “I ask only that you offer them the choice before the slaughter begins. Many lives might be spared.”
“And I should listen to the request of an oathbreaker?” The Hammerling, his voice suddenly full of ire, released Asmund and took a single, menacing stride toward Raef.
Raef did not flinch or break the stare between them. “The oath was mine, as was the breaking of it. Your justice ends with me.”
“We shall see.” The Hammerling turned away and gestured at Eirik. “Secure him.” And it was in that moment, as Eirik of Kolhaugen bound Raef’s wrists with rope and his weapons were stripped from him, that Raef saw the face he had come for, the face that filled him with raw fury and bile. Hauk of Ruderk stood to the side, watching, arms folded across his chest.
“There is a traitor in your midst,” Raef shouted at the Hammerling’s back. Brandulf stopped and turned to face Raef once more.
“Yes, here you are.” The Hammerling grinned and the warriors laughed.
Raef, undeterred, went on. “Have you ever wondered why Fengar continues to elude you? How many times has he been within your grasp only to slip away and vanish?”
“If this is some means to plead for your life, you are wasting your breath.” But there was a flicker of hesitation in Brandulf’s eyes.
Raef, his mind racing across possibilities, continued, his thoughts tumbling only a step before his tongue. “Ever has the lord of Solheim been two steps ahead of you. But deception is not in his blood. And neither does the faithful Stefnir of Gornhald have it in him to weave a tangle of lies. Someone is feeding you false information sprinkled with enough morsels of truth that you are kept in ignorance, just as someone warns Fengar when he ventures too close to the bear’s jaws.”
“These are dangerous words, Skallagrim.”
“You know there is truth in them. I can see it in your eyes.”
The Hammerling flushed underneath his beard and snorted. “Then name this foul traitor if you know so much.”
A wild thought bloomed in Raef’s mind, a spark that seemed to lead him, blindly, into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, Raef took the plunge. “Once, Fengar was your captive. Who set him free?” The Hammerling frowned and Raef went on. “Who fostered the peace between you, who saw the prudence in fighting your common enemy, the Palesword, together?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Raef saw Hauk uncross his arms, his face marred like the sea before a storm. The Hammerling’s gaze shifted, sliding across the faces around him until it came to rest on the lord of Ruderk.
“Fear for his life births lies on his tongue, lord.” Hauk had smoothed his face over. “Was I not among the first to name you king? Have I not ever been at your side, in victory and defeat? We need a strong king to unite us. Fengar will only divide us further and this I will not bear.”
“No,” Raef said, his mind seizing upon a thought not yet fully formed. “No, Fengar will do as he is told.” Raef swung around to face the Hammerling, one arm still held by Eirik of Kolhaugen. “Imagine that this war is over, the last battle fought. Imagine that you rule from Finngale with a firm grip and with wisdom. You heed the opinions of good men, men you trust, but always every choice is yours. No man will sway you when your mind has been made up. I know you well enough to know this. Tell me, then, what place is there for those who seek to influence the king, who would move in the shadows to see their will done?”
The Hammerling was still. “None.”
“And he knows it,” Raef said, poin
ting at Hauk without breaking eye contact with Brandulf. “Fengar does not have your strength of will, does not command the respect you do. He was only meant to appear to rule while others did so in truth.”
Hauk broke in, laughing. “You have spun a fine tale, Skallagrim. But your story would have me control the elements, not just a man. The fire at the gathering nearly killed Fengar of Solheim.”
“And yet by lucky chance it did not. It was heralded as a sign from Odin. What better way to be sure that a dozen voices would pledge themselves?”
Hauk scowled, his derision at Raef’s words plain for all to see. “You cannot,” he said to the Hammerling, “believe him. My men have died in your name.”
Brandulf looked from Raef to Hauk, then focused on Eirik of Kolhaugen. “Take them both.”
Hauk howled in protest but soon he and Raef were both shuffled away and placed under watch beside a small campfire. They sat in mutual hatred and enforced silence until the Hammerling came to them. A hooded figure behind him slipped into the firelight and Raef felt a knot of apprehension grow in his gut as the hood was swept off to reveal Eira. The shieldmaiden gave no sign of recognition and her grey eyes were sheltered from his sight by her downcast lids.
“Eira tells me you have a grievance against Hauk of Ruderk, Skallagrim. A personal one.” The Hammerling stood over them, the black fur wrapped close, shielding the glinting gold from the hungry firelight. His voice was carefully measured and betrayed nothing. “Once before you accused someone of murdering your father. You were wrong then.”
“He admitted it to me,” Raef said.
“Another lie,” Hauk said.
Raef lunged at Hauk but was brought up short by strong hands at his collar and his face was shoved into the snow. Raef fought to breathe and only at the Hammerling’s command was he let up, though his lips still brushed the snow.
“You do nothing to help yourself, Skallagrim,” the Hammerling said. Though Raef could not move his head to see the other man, he could hear weariness in his voice. “You have brought yourself within striking distance of the man you believe was responsible for the plot to kill your father. How am I, knowing this, to believe anything you have said? How am I to know that your warriors are not creeping through the trees at this very moment? How do I know an arrow is not trained on my neck as we speak?”