The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

  “I came alone,” Raef said, spitting snow as he spoke. “I came to spare my people if I could and to kill him. There is no threat to you.”

  “What do you call the rumors spreading among my men? What do you call the distrust you have sown? Your death will not wash that away.”

  “Once you said you would rather have me as an ally than kill me.”

  The Hammerling was quiet for a long moment and Raef wished he could see his face. “The time for that is long past, Raef, son of Einarr.”

  “Perhaps, but I am still that man, and you found it in yourself to trust that man’s word once, despite the differences between us. I ask only that you trust it again now.”

  Silence again. Raef waited, straining against the hands of the men who held him down, but the only sound that came was that of footsteps going through the snow. When Raef was allowed to sit up, the Hammerling was gone.

  Eira remained. Her dark hair spilled out from within her hood as she leaned over to poke at the fire.

  Raef knew he should keep his mouth shut, knew he should not try to delve into the shieldmaiden’s mind, for he had swum there once before and had found the dark depths foreboding. But the words were out as though spoken by someone else.

  “Why, Eira? What did I do to deserve your betrayal, your hatred?”

  “I do not hate you.” She looked surprised. “I only saw that you did not have the strength of will to do what needed to be done.”

  Raef saw Isolf’s spine before him, saw the shattered ribs, the pulsing lungs laid out across his shoulder blades. “You might be surprised to learn what I have the will to do.”

  Eira shrugged as though she did not care. “I have said this before. You are like a dog. A good dog. But only a dog. It is wolves that shape the world.”

  “And the extent of your treachery?”

  She met his eyes briefly, then pulled a long knife from her belt and began to sharpen it. “Do you remember when we rode west from the burning lake? We passed my shieldmaidens and later I told you they had chosen a new leader.”

  “I remember.”

  “That was a lie.” Her words were as simple as the movements of her hand. “They are as loyal to me as ever and were on their way to pledge themselves to the Hammerling.”

  “You mean to Hauk.”

  She ignored this and went on with her task as though there was nothing else to say.

  “It was you who set me adrift on that boat. Your shieldmaidens.”

  She nodded. “You were not supposed to survive.”

  “Then why not kill me?”

  Eira looked up. “Bodies have a way of inspiring revenge. Better that your fate be uncertain.”

  “And you came back when you heard I lived. All the while communicating with Hauk.”

  Eira’s lips remained pressed together and Raef sensed he would get little else from her.

  “I cared for you.” The words were foolish and Raef regretted them immediately.

  Eira shrugged again. “Would you have me say the same?”

  The shame vanished, replaced by a heated anger. “No.” Raef hunched his shoulders and drew his knees up to his chest for warmth, his mind on the small knife wrapped against his inner thigh. In their haste and surprise, the Hammerling’s men had not searched him with care. He wondered how far he would get before Eira slashed his throat.

  The arrow lodged in Eira’s neck with such speed and silence that Raef was not roused from his thoughts until the shieldmaiden began to choke on her own blood. A second arrow found one of the Hammerling’s guards, then a third, and by then Eira was dead. Raef reached for her long knife and launched himself at Hauk, but he was thrown to the ground mid-stride by the falling weight of the last of the Hammerling’s men. By the time he scrambled out from under the dead man, his fingers searching for the knife in the snow, Hauk was out of sight and Raef was seized by hooded figures and dragged into the trees.

  Behind them, voices rose in alarm but Raef could only stumble along within the iron grip of his new captors, his hood slipping over his eyes, as they rushed over rough ground. The hill rose before them and up they went, the only sounds those of their feet churning through the snow and their harsh breathing.

  When at last they came to a stop, Raef stumbled into one of his captors and dropped to his knees, then righted himself and flung his hood away from his eyes. A pair of shadowed faces stared back at him, both unfamiliar.

  “Who are you?” Raef asked, his chest still heaving from the effort of climbing.

  “You misplaced your sword.”

  That voice. Gone, gone to Valhalla. Raef’s heart slammed in his chest, the sound of that voice thrummed in his ears, and all else was numb. The faces of the two men before him seemed to fade from sight and Hauk of Ruderk vanished from Raef’s mind.

  “Lost your tongue as well?” He could hear the smile now, see the laughter in her eyes. His skin prickled and his heart pounded relentlessly, but the rest of him was rooted as deep as Yggdrasil. “It is a fine sword. Perhaps I will keep it for myself.”

  She stepped from behind a gnarled pine, sending showers of snow to the ground as she brushed through the branches. She was dressed in black from toe to hood, a bow in hand, and the grin faded, but the eyes sparkled still, green, so green, even in the cold light of the moon.

  And then she was in his arms, her heart beating against his own, her face buried into his neck, his hands tearing away her hood to reveal the face that had filled his dreams.

  “Siv.”

  She smelled of pine and woodsmoke. Her nose was cold against his skin, her hands wrapped tight around him in a furious embrace. At last Raef released her and took her face in his hands.

  “How?”

  Siv smiled. “There will be time for that later.” She stood tall to kiss him, a quick, light touch, her lips cold on his. “Come, we must go.” Taking his hand, she pulled him through the trees, her feet swift and sure in the snow. Branches slapped against Raef, sending shivers of snow across his face. Some landed on the back of his neck and melted, soaking in icy rivulets under his cloak. Brushing the dusting of snow from his eyes, Raef plunged after her, heedless to everything but the feel of her hand in his.

  Horses were waiting just over the crest of the hill. Behind them, Raef could hear a swell of voices rising from the narrow glen, but Siv and the two men conferred in low voices and they seemed content to wait. Moments later, a third man burst through the trees from the east, leading the horse Raef had left behind. Strapped to the horse’s saddle were all of the weapons Raef had been stripped of in the Hammerling’s camp. Laughing, Raef wrapped his arms around Siv once more and, spinning, lifted her from the snow. A moment later, all five were mounted and picking a careful trail through the trees with as much speed as they dared, but rather than head directly west back to the Vestrhall, Siv led them north, following a ridge toward a pair of bright stars that hovered just above the horizon. When the ridge veered sharply right and began a steep climb, Siv turned left and they descended to a small mountain lake, the snow-covered ice a smooth empty surface gleaming bright in contrast to the black of night.

  There were no fires and little enough sound or movement, but as they neared the lake’s shore, Raef caught sight of warriors and their horses clustered there. The man riding closest to Raef puckered his lips and let out a sharp, three-note whistle, mimicking the call of a mountain sparrow. A moment later, an answering call sounded from below. Not a word was spoken until Siv came to a halt and dismounted, and then it was only whispers between her and a single man whose face was obscured by a deep hood.

  Then, without any command uttered or signal given that Raef could see, the warriors mounted and, as though riding a single horse, began to flow along the lake. Caught up in the pack, Raef was swept along and he soon lost sight of Siv. Their path carried them up and down through a series of rough steps in the land, each dotted with another lake in the chain that ran the length of these high plains.

  They came to a halt along
the last lake, this one the smallest yet. Across the water, steep walls of rock rose out of the snow, the shoulders of one of the tallest mountains in Vannheim. A pair of small buildings, dwarfed by the mountain, were nestled on the lake’s shore and it was there that the party of warriors dismounted. The summer farm consisted of two turf-roofed buildings built from stout timbers and meant to house young boys and girls charged with watching the sheep or goats as they grazed the rich grass in the high meadows. Now firmly entrenched in winter’s domain, it was clear the only people to trespass here in recent days were the warriors.

  Only ten or so men might fit in each building, but they did not cram into either in search of warmth. Instead, each man remained by his horse and each seemed to keep a silent vigil over the tiny lake. Siv appeared at Raef’s side and placed a hand on his arm, then nodded toward one of the huts. Inside, three men waited for them. One was the man Siv had exchanged words with, though his hood was now removed to show a wide, solemn face and a head of streaky grey hair. He was not a large man, though he commanded the small room without question, and the gaze that focused on Raef as he crossed the threshold was full of intent.

  The interior of the hut was bare but for a single low bench. There was no pit for a fire, no smoke hole, for the farm was warm enough during the long days of summer, but a small lantern set on the bench provided a bit of light that danced across the faces of all those present.

  “You are Skallagrim.” The grey-haired man’s voice was deep and filled up the dirt-floored hut with ease, and yet, for all that, was still soft.

  “I am. Will you give me your name so that I might offer my thanks?”

  The man considered this for a moment. “You have her to thank,” he said at last, nodding his head toward Siv. Then he swung around to the pair of men behind him and continued the conversation they had been having. To Raef’s surprise, Siv grinned and, taking Raef’s hand, led him back into the open air.

  “Now you have met Ailmaer Wind-footed,” Siv said. They walked toward the lake, weaving between the unmoving, silent warriors, her hand still tucked in his. “And now you can say you know him as well as most.”

  “He is,” Raef paused, “grim.”

  “Yes.”

  “And them?” Raef gestured to the warriors. “Are they under oaths of silence? Does he command their very breath?”

  “They understand where their meat and mead come from. They understand what keeps them alive. Earn a place among them and you will not want for anything. These men do not come to him as the most skilled, strongest warriors. But they learn discipline and control and, right now, they are at work.”

  They had reached the lake and Raef looked back, taking in the warriors, perhaps fifty in number, under the expanse of the star-filled sky. “Was it so with you? You told me Ailmaer took you in.”

  “I was treated as any new warrior would be.” Siv grinned. “I learned how to stand still until I was commanded otherwise, even if my nose itched.”

  Raef laughed and pulled her close. “I am glad you did not lose your cheerful heart to them.” He drew her long, red-gold braid over her shoulder and ran a finger down the plaits. “Now, tell me, how is it that you live?” His heart caught in his chest as he spoke the words, so sharp was the joy of holding her, of seeing her breath mingle with his in the cold air.

  Siv was quiet for a moment and Raef could see her memories of that night flare to life in her eyes. “I watched you. I saw the betrayal on Isolf’s face. The gate was barred and guarded on the inside. When the fires began, the safest place for me was the walls, so I stayed for as long as I dared. But when one of Isolf’s men spotted me, I fled, taking refuge in the forge, for I could find none of your warriors and no way to resist on my own. When everything grew quiet, I emerged. It was not yet dawn. I crept amid the still-burning buildings. There were bodies strewn here and there. Warriors, women, children. From atop the wall, I could see death, and standing there hand in hand with death was Isolf and Tulkis Greyshield and the men of Silfravall, and I knew the Vestrhall had fallen.” She reached up and touched Raef’s cheekbone. “I knew my best chance at escape was through the small gate. Isolf had posted two men there. They died with my arrows in their throats.”

  Raef planted a kiss on her forehead. “As did Eira.”

  “Was that her? I could not be sure.”

  “How did you find Ailmaer Wind-footed and his company?”

  “By the will of the gods, I think.” Siv drew back and they began to walk once more. “I believed you dead and I had only my vow to find my sister driving me onward, so I began my search once more. I reached the border between Vannheim and Finngale when a familiar sound caught my ear.”

  “The mountain sparrow?”

  Siv smiled. “I was glad enough to see a friendly face, and Ailmaer did not ask questions I did not wish to answer.”

  “What was Ailmaer Wind-footed doing at the border between Vannheim and Finngale?”

  Siv shrugged. “He does not say. We raided no one. I think he was looking for something.” Siv turned her head to look at Raef. “Word came that you lived, that Uhtred of Garhold had won back the Vestrhall for you, that you were dead but your spirit called forth a storm of eagles to destroy Isolf. I persuaded Ailmaer to go south, though I think he was of the same mind. We stumbled across the Hammerling two days ago. It was only by chance that we were watching his camp when you rode out of the darkness.”

  “And your sister?”

  Siv shook her head. “As elusive as ever.” She squeezed his hand. “And now you owe me your tale.”

  And so Raef told her of the eagle’s nest, of Visna, of the strange boy Anuleif, of giants falling from the sky, of Rufnir and the first loyal few, of Torleif and the doomed alliance. He spoke of the battle in the gorge, of the avalanche and Vakre’s increasing burden, of the smoke-colored kin’s death, of the return to the Vestrhall, and, last of all, of the eagle he had spread across Isolf’s back.

  Siv was quiet for a long time and they walked in silence to the far side of the small lake.

  “Did you mean to die at the Hammerling’s hand?”

  “I meant to kill Hauk of Ruderk if I could, and then, yes, die if the Hammerling required it. My people have suffered enough. I had thought to spare them battle with the Hammerling.”

  Siv’s face was sorrowful. “There is little hope of that now. And given a second chance I would have shot Hauk instead of Eira, though she drew my arrow because she was armed and he was not. But I am not sorry for taking you from the Hammerling’s clutches.” She wrapped her arms around Raef. “I am not sorry that I am standing here with you.”

  Raef leaned in. “Nor am I,” he said, his voice as quiet as the gentle wind that blew across the open ground. They stayed still for a long moment, the stars turning slowly overhead, and though Raef’s cheeks grew numb from the cold and his toes were frozen, he did not wish to move.

  “Uhtred is dead,” he said at last. “And Finnolf. Yorkell. Little Tolla. Many others.”

  Sorrow filled Siv’s eyes. “And what of Uhtred’s daughter? Did Isolf spare her?”

  With a heavy heart, Raef told Siv of Aelinvor’s part in her father’s death and the end she had made for herself. When he finished, they returned to the shadow of the mountain and the two huts. A handful of Ailmaer’s warriors remained on their feet, as vigilant as the stars above, though the rest had been released to seek sleep. Raef and Siv took to the chilled, dirt floor of one of the huts with a pair of thick reindeer furs and slept curled against each other for the last hours before dawn.

  Eighteen

  “Will you fight?”

  The Vestrhall was in sight, the walls stark against the snow, the hall golden in the bright morning. The shelters of Vannheim’s warriors had been cleared away, leaving only a few smoking remnants of night fires, and the walls were lined with men wielding shields and spears. All eyes were looking west in expectation of the Hammerling’s arrival and Raef and the party of warriors on the hill to the north had n
ot been spotted.

  Ailmaer Wind-footed surveyed the Vestrhall and Raef could see the experienced warrior calculating the lay of the land, the strength of the walls, the number of spears and blades that might be brought to battle.

  “It seems to me you and yours will be outnumbered.” The mercenary cast his heavy gaze on Raef, who knew better than to look away.

  “Yes. But your fifty swords would change things.”

  “The Hammerling would still have the advantage.”

  “Is your reputation falsely earned? I have always heard that the Wind-footed warrior has won every battle.” Raef goaded the man with good humor.

  “Not every battle.” Ailmaer did not share Raef’s mood, but neither did he take offense. “Do you know that the first time I was called that it was in jest, an insult, after I had fled from the field of battle?”

  Raef frowned. “Then why take the name as your own?”

  “A wiser man than I had a sense of such things. He said a man needs a name, something to fling to the wolves in lean times, something wild that lives on air alone, something like a mountain stream that rushes downhill and becomes the wide, coursing river. He said it sounded good,” Ailmaer said with the slightest hint of a grin, “and I heeded his counsel.”

  “What would this wise man counsel now?”

  Ailmaer’s jaw and mouth hardened, his lips tightening as he looked once more at the Vestrhall.

  “He would say I would be better served by turning east and siding with the Hammerling. Or, even better, taking my men far from here.”

  It still was not an answer and Raef pressed him. “I can offer you gold, riches. Vannheim is wealthy.”

  Ailmaer’s stare turned to Raef again. “What if I did not ask for riches?”

  “What price, then?”