by T L Greylock
It was not a threat, but Raef, as he climbed from the pool and pulled on his clean clothes under Eiger’s watchful eye, was sure he had run afoul of whatever good will the Great-Belly’s son possessed.
When Raef reached the room he and Siv would share, it was the Great-Belly who waited for him, half-hidden in shadow, a deep hood pulled down to hide his features.
“You have seen my son.” Thorgrim plucked back the hood as Raef closed the door behind him and settled the iron latch into place. “Does he rage against Daegren Clefthand? Does he speak of the captains who will follow him?”
Raef studied Thorgrim’s worn face, understanding then that the Great-Belly did not comprehend the depths of the workings of his son’s mind.
“His mind is far from Daegren Clefthand tonight.”
“What do you mean?” The Great-Belly’s brow creased as his eyes narrowed.
“Your son is consumed with an obsession he has long harbored. I do not doubt that he intends to supplant you and claim Balmoran for himself, but this is not what drives him.”
“Speak plainly, Skallagrim.”
“He dreams of Asgard. He believes Odin is his true father and that he is meant to find a path to join the gods in their halls,” Raef said.
Thorgrim stared at Raef in disbelief. “Preposterous. His mind is bent on mead and hunting and bloodshed. He has no thoughts for the gods, he does not even honor them.” Scowling Thorgrim paced toward Raef. “I do not know what he has promised you in return for forging lies to tell me, but I see through your deceit, Skallagrim.” The Great-Belly made to push past Raef and leave the room, but Raef would not let him go.
“What of your assurances, Thorgrim? What of your son’s interest in the lady of Narvik? You promised you would draw his attention elsewhere,” Raef said, his hand on Thorgrim’s shoulder as he blocked the door.
“These lies you have fed me deserve nothing in return,” Thorgrim snarled. “And the lady of Narvik is nothing to me.” He shouldered into Raef and this time Raef let him go. The door swung behind him and Raef watched as Thorgrim Great-Belly assumed his crippled stoop, his pained gait, and vanished down the hall.
Twenty-Four
“So you see.” Bryndis shielded her eyes from the blinding sun and she squinted into the distance. “He is well-defended.”
Fengar had chosen his position wisely. Or perhaps it was Stefnir of Gornhald, if he still lived, for Raef knew Stefnir to be a veteran of many battles and more skilled in strategy than Fengar.
The ruins of the ancient fortress lay across a narrow valley and high above them, perched at the top of a cliff and surrounded on all sides by sheer rock. Bryndis had pointed out the sole access route, a narrow stair carved into the cliff. A perilous path, full of switchbacks and uneven footing. Any man who dared the climb would be easy prey for an archer above.
“Why not return to Solheim?” Siv asked.
Bryndis shrugged, her eyes still on the cliff. “News of the Hammerling’s death came to us only with your arrival. If Fengar remains ignorant of it, he would keep clear of his home lands, as he has done all winter.”
“The fortress is far more secure than your hall, lady,” Raef said. “Why did the rulers of Narvik abandon it?”
Bryndis laughed. “To answer that I would need to tell you a long, bloody story involving so many twists and turns and broken oaths that even I have trouble remembering all of it. It is enough to know that someone was very clever and cunning, and someone else was very stubborn and proud. They were friends until they were no longer friends. Such is the way of things.”
“And there is no other way? Not even from the high passes above?”
“A goat might manage it, Skallagrim, but not an army.”
“Then we will starve them out. As I have said before, lady.” Eiger had pulled his horse up alongside Bryndis and spoke now with brash certainty. He had been quiet on the ride east from Bryndis’s hall that morning, though Raef had caught him staring more than once. Whether it was a malicious eye, or merely a watchful one, Raef was uncertain.
“And as I have said, we believe Fengar to be well-provisioned. He pillaged enough storehouses to make it so. There is no telling how long they might last. And through it all, our own warriors would sit and shiver, at the mercy of the winds and the snow, while Fengar waits behind stone walls.” Bryndis sighed. “And yet, I do not know what else can be done.”
They retreated to the large white tent that had been erected on the valley floor. Around them, the warriors of Narvik, Vannheim, and Balmoran were at work setting up shelters and starting fires. They were within sight of the cliff-top fortress, though well out of arrow-range, and no doubt more than a few pairs of eyes were taking note of their every movement. It had been Raef who had insisted on staking out ground so close to the fortress. He wanted Fengar to know what waited for him and Bryndis had been willing to agree. The array of small tents would be an intimidating display, made even more so by the fact that fully a third were being set up merely as decoys to create the image of a far larger force.
Inside the tent, Raef waited while Bryndis spoke to a grey-bearded warrior who seemed to trail her like a shadow, her father’s brother, she had told Raef, and then went and spoke quietly in her ear.
“I would have you show me how a goat might access the fortress.”
Bryndis studied him, her green eyes intense above the black charcoal paint that lined her lower lids. “If it could be done, Fengar would be dead already, his head on a spear outside my hall, and we would be choosing a new king.”
“I do not question your courage or your resolve, Bryndis, I only wish to know what you know.”
The lady of Narvik was silent for a moment. “It cannot be done.” Her mouth curved into a smile. “But if it could, you would have to begin at the Dragon’s Jaw.”
“And where might I find the Dragon’s Jaw?”
Bryndis pushed aside the tent flap and surveyed the far side of the valley. She pointed. “First you would climb to the top of that ridge, there. Follow it to the shadow of the mountain. From there, you must go underground.”
“A tunnel?”
“Of sorts. It will lead you high above the ruins of the old fortress.” Bryndis’s brow furrowed as she looked at Raef. “In truth, I have only seen the entrance. No living man or woman has set foot inside. Not since my great-grandfather was a boy has the Jaw been climbed.”
“Why so long?”
“Some say the Jaw is home to a dark alf, one who was cast out of Svartalfheim. Others say a great serpent dwells there, a child of Jörmungand who sleeps in the deep.” Bryndis blinked and her voice grew sharper. “Perhaps it is no more than a stair carved in the stone. full of treacherous paths and bottomless crevasses.”
“Whatever it is, I will climb it. Tonight.”
But no sooner had Raef spoken than a shout came from across the camp. A man raced to Bryndis’s tent, nearly tripping over his boots in his haste, arm outstretched behind him in the direction of the cliff face.
“Someone,” he slid to a stop and was forced to catch his breath and begin again, “someone is making the descent. He bears a flag of peace.”
Bryndis was on her horse in a moment, throwing herself over the tall black’s back though he was unsaddled. With her fingers twined in the horse’s mane, she took off across the snow, threading her way through the shelters, and Raef followed hard at her heels, his own horse eager to catch and race hers. The commotion caused many to follow them across the valley, warriors and shieldmaidens strung out behind them, watching with curious eyes.
Raef could see the peace flag now, borne aloft by a single man who was making the descent down the narrow path with deliberate steps. Bryndis’s uncle was not far behind them, and he called out a warning that Bryndis ignored as she leaned over her horse’s neck and urged him onward. By the time they had come within a spear’s throw of the cliff, the man had reached the bottom. Bryndis did not slow, but raced so close that her horse’s tail whipped against the
man’s shoulder as she passed. He did not flinch as she wheeled the horse and circled him.
Stefnir of Gornhald watched Bryndis pass in front of him, but his gaze did not follow her as she continued to trace circles in the snow around him.
“You will not harm me, Bryndis,” Stefnir said.
With a snarl, Bryndis vaulted from her horse’s back, landing just in front of him. She took a step forward, so close now that Stefnir would be able to see the deep brown ring on the edge of her irises. She came only to his chin, but she stared at him as though she were looking down at him, not the other way around.
“What do you want?”
“Fengar asks for your surrender.”
Bryndis said nothing and Raef was pleased to see her remain calm.
“The king does not wish for further bloodshed. He seeks peace with Narvik.”
“The king is no king of mine,” Bryndis said. “But if it is peace he wants, perhaps he should not have laid waste to Narvik’s farms. Perhaps he should have thought of peace instead of slaughtering innocent people.”
“A regrettable outcome, lady,” Stefnir said. “But surely you do not wish to see more of Narvik’s people die? For that is what will happen if you resist.”
“It is you who will die, Stefnir. You will waste away up there. What will you do when your stock of meat runs out? When the warriors grow gaunt and weak with hunger? Will you kill the ones closest to death and feast on the flesh of men? Is Fengar willing to go to such lengths?” Bryndis leaned closer. “I think not.”
But Stefnir was unmoved. “I do not speak of the deaths of the warriors behind you, lady. I speak of the one and twenty men and women and children up there,” Stefnir said, gesturing to the ruins above, “who live only as a token of Fengar’s generosity.” Bryndis froze and Raef felt his heart rise into his throat. Stefnir smiled. “They are well taken care of. For now. But one will die with every rising sun that sees you still here in this valley. Beginning tomorrow. Go home, Bryndis, and spare them.”
“I do not believe you!” Bryndis’s voice burst out of her, wild and full of fury. She was trembling but still she held her ground, as though sheer strength of will would make Stefnir’s words a lie.
“A child will die with the sunrise, Bryndis. Think on that.” Stefnir turned and began to retrace his steps.
“I will not yield,” Bryndis called after him. “That is the only answer you will have from me.”
“Do not be hasty. In his kindness, Fengar has given you time to make your choice. Do not throw away such a gift.”
“A foul gift, full of poison.” Bryndis spat but Stefnir did not look back a second time.
“Come, away.” Bryndis’s uncle dismounted and put a hand on her arm. She did not at first respond, but after a moment she let him lead her away to where her horse waited. She spoke not a word as they returned to the camp and shut herself alone inside the white tent.
The sun had slipped below the horizon by the time Raef ventured to disturb Bryndis. Her uncle stood guard, his face creased with worry, but he let Raef and Siv pass, then followed them inside.
The interior was dark and Raef’s eyes took a moment to adjust. Bryndis sat hunched on a small stool, her forearms resting on her knees, her head cradled in the crook of one elbow. An untouched cup of ale stood at her feet. Her uncle knelt at her side and pushed the hair from her face, then planted a kiss on the top of her head. With a sigh, Bryndis uncurled herself and looked up at Raef and Siv.
“I meant what I said to him,” Bryndis said.
“I do not doubt you,” Raef said.
“The guilt and the blame will rest with me alone, Skallagrim, you need not worry.”
Bryndis’s uncle put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you so eager to give them up? To let them die?”
The lady of Narvik burst to her feet, her eyes flashing with anger. “Eager, uncle? You know I am not that cruel. But if it comes to choosing between one and twenty lives that will bring me Fengar and countless lives lost should he live, unchecked, then I would make the same choice again and again.”
“The time for such words may yet come.” Raef waited until Bryndis released her uncle from her gaze before continuing. “But first we must know the truth.”
“Yes. Odin’s eye, if Fengar holds no hostages,” Bryndis was shaking now, “if he lies to save his own skin, I will keep him from joining his fathers in Valhalla.”
**
Raef had been forced to take Eiger with him. Better that than leave him alone with Bryndis, who had reluctantly agreed to remain. The fat man had grumbled about not being informed the moment Stefnir of Gornhald had flown his flag, and he had questioned Raef’s decision to bring only Siv and Skuli on the climb, but beyond that he had kept his mouth shut, no doubt compelled into silence by the exertion required to labor his way up to the ridgeline Bryndis had shown Raef in the light of day.
In the dark, the distance seemed greater, but at last they reached the top of the ridge and worked their way along it until the mountain rose up in front of them, barring further progress. There Raef allowed Skuli to unveil the lantern they had carried with them, the light concealed by thick leather coverings. Aided by its feeble glow, they soon discovered a cleft in the rocks, just large enough for a man to squeeze through.
“Does it go anywhere?” Skuli’s voice seemed unnaturally loud and Raef shot him a warning glance as Siv wriggled her way between the stones. She slid out of the lantern’s light, then returned a moment later.
“Yes.”
Raef turned to Eiger. “You will wait here.”
Eiger scowled. “I am no common warrior for you to command.”
“And yet your girth will not fit.” Raef did not bother to keep his face neutral. “Indeed, you are far too well-muscled and strong.” Siv placed a restraining hand on Raef’s back where Eiger would not see it, but Raef grinned at Eiger’s displeasure. And yet it was the truth. Eiger would not be able to pass into the Dragon’s Jaw. “Keep the lantern covered until we return.” Raef nodded for Skuli to hand it over, but Eiger would not take it and Skuli was forced to set it on the ground between them. Raef tossed the leather cover over it, encasing them in darkness once more, and then turned and plunged into the mountain.
He could hear Siv and Skuli behind him, the worn leather of their boots scuffing on stone as they went, their breathing filling the air around him. The way was narrow and they had no choice but to shuffle along at a sideways angle. Raef kept one hand on the wall that pressed in from the right, his palm gliding over rough rock, and the other out in front of him to discover any sudden obstacles. The blinding darkness seemed to steal away his senses but Raef was certain the path was rising at a steady, nearly imperceptible rate. He tried not to imagine the stone floor dropping away in front of him, tried not to think that his next step might send him plummeting into a yawning abyss.
The passage was straight and seemingly without end, but at last Raef came to a halt as he felt the space around him widen. Though he stretched his arms to their fullest, he could no longer touch both walls. Behind him, Skuli muttered something about the air in the mountain being cold enough to freeze his balls. Five long strides were enough to cross the distance between the walls, but in tracing that path Raef discovered something that chilled his blood more than the winter air. He reversed his steps to be certain, his fingers taking in the surface of the stones.
“A dead end?” Siv’s voice, though hushed, resonated off the rock.
“Worse. The way divides.” Reaching out into the darkness, Raef took Siv’s hand and led her forward, showing her hands where the rocks fell away to reveal three new passages. Skuli cursed and asked if he should return for the lantern, but Raef knew it would not help. “Three passages. Three of us. This is no accident. We are meant to continue alone and hope that blind Hodr will carry us through the darkness.”
Skuli let out a nervous laugh. “You mean the mountain knows we are here? That this is some trick played by one of the gods?” The young warri
or laughed again, almost sure of himself now. “The paths cannot change.”
“I have seen stranger things.”
Skuli had no answer for that.
Raef sighed and balled his fist against the cold stones. When he spoke, he was glad to hear his voice remained even and calm. “Skuli, choose your path.” He could hear the other man’s breathing, short, shallow breaths that told of fear. “I told you to save your nerve, Skuli. Now you must find it.”
After a moment, Skuli spoke. “The middle one.”
Raef stepped through the blackness, fingers groping for Skuli’s arm. He found it and grabbed the warrior’s wrist. “Keep your wits. Recite a poem in your head to measure time. Count the hostages when you find them.” Better to say when than if. Skuli’s courage was fragile. “You must avoid being seen by Fengar’s men at all costs.”
“And if the way splits again?”
“Make a choice,” Raef said. “And remember it so you can return.” He released Skuli’s arm but the warrior lingered. Raef reached up to his own neck and worked his numb fingers over the knotted cord that held his Thor’s hammer in place. He had worn the hammer to war, it had seen him through Alfheim and Jötunheim, but he knew Skuli had lost his to a wager before leaving Vannheim. He gripped the familiar, smooth shape in his palm once more, then pressed it into Skuli’s hand. “Take this.” Raef wrapped Skuli’s fingers around the hammer. “Thor will guide you. Now go.”
“Yes, lord.”
Raef, trying not to think about the absence of the hammer around his own neck, listened as the sound of Skuli’s boots faded down the middle passage, then turned to Siv. He sought her out, twining his fingers with hers. He did not need light to know that her face would be tense, but her eyes full of determination. Her hand reached up and touched the hollow in his throat where the hammer usually rested. Raef brought her palm to his lips.
“Left or right?” he asked, his mouth moving against her skin.
She answered without hesitation. “Right.”