The Song of the Ash Tree- The Complete Saga

by T L Greylock

“Not until you are gone from this valley, Skallagrim.” It was Stefnir who answered him, though Fengar had the will to maintain eye contact with Raef.

  “How will I know you mean to honor your word?” Raef addressed Fengar, hoping to wring a promise from him, but still Stefnir spoke as the king’s voice.

  “Ten-blade will accompany you out of good faith,” the lord of Gornhald said. “The hostages will be released when we are certain you have been true to your word. We will direct them north toward the lady of Narvik’s hall. When they reach it, you will allow Ten-blade to return to us.”

  Raef accepted the terms, though he knew Ten-blade’s part in it had nothing to do with good faith.

  “One more thing, lord,” Stefnir said. “We must have your assurance that you will not attempt to follow us.”

  “You have my word.” It was not entirely a lie. As they spoke, Bryndis was already moving the warriors south, away from her hall, to cover the routes Fengar was most likely to take. They would not follow Fengar. They would be waiting for him.

  “An oath, Skallagrim.” They were Fengar’s first words.

  Raef grinned, showing his teeth. “Give me Hauk of Ruderk and I will swear whatever you wish.”

  Fengar scowled but it was enough to tell Raef that his father’s murderer was alive.

  “The lady Bryndis has no desire to dishonor her fathers. She will keep the terms.” Raef waited, hoping his assurances about Bryndis would be enough. He did not wish to make an oath before the gods, an oath he would have to break.

  But Fengar was not satisfied. “Swear upon your sword that you will not bring us harm.”

  Raef laughed. “Swear upon it? Or ride you down and cleave your head from your shoulders with it?” But Fengar had chosen his words poorly and Raef did not hesitate. Drawing his sword from its scabbard, he wrapped his gloved hands around the blade, gripping the cold steel. “I swear to Tyr, lord of battle, and to Odin Allfather, I will bring you no harm. Let Odin carve my heart from my chest and feed it to Fenrir if I lie.” Without taking his gaze from Fengar’s face, Raef raised the hilt of the sword to his lips and kissed it.

  Twenty-Seven

  “You swore him an oath?”

  Raef smiled at Bryndis’s surprise. “Yes. But it changes nothing.”

  “You cannot mean that. An oath binds us from making the ambush.”

  They had retreated from the sightline of the cliff top ruins, working their way over the hills that lined the eastern edge of the valley. Raef had caught up to Bryndis before she reached the summit and she drew her horse to a halt in anger.

  “It binds me and me alone. Had Hauk of Ruderk been there, no doubt he would have chosen better words, but Fengar spoke for himself and the rest were not clever enough to see the mistake. I cannot harm Fengar. I cannot harm any of them. But the oath spoke of no one else. You are uncompromised, lady.”

  Bryndis nodded her understanding. “And your warriors?”

  “Free.”

  “Then we will proceed as planned. What will you do?”

  “Fengar will not leave before nightfall, and even then he will send out riders to be certain of our departure. These must be avoided and kept alive at all costs,” Raef said. Bryndis nodded, impatient. “While you stalk him and lay the trap, I will bring Eiger before his father.”

  Bryndis frowned. “The Balmoran warriors are restless.”

  “Then I will make a show of releasing him and let it be known that an urgent message has come from your hall. The Great-Belly has need of his son, you see.” The frown did not vanish right away, but Raef could see the lady of Narvik was warming to his notion. “I will keep Eiger close and Ten-blade closer.”

  Raef had left Ulthor Ten-blade among his own warriors at the rear of the host. He was unbound and free to ride as he pleased, for he was no prisoner, but Raef had made it clear to Njall and the other captains that he was to be watched and men should hold their tongues in his presence.

  “And when Ulthor Ten-blade understands the deception?”

  “By then it will be too late,” Raef said. “Now go. You must reach the ford before they do.” Fengar’s passage south would take him to a wide, lazy river in the farthest reaches of Narvik. If he hurried, Bryndis said he would reach it in a day’s travel, more if he lingered. There was no other easy crossing within two days ride and she knew the place well, knew how it might be used to trap Fengar’s larger force.

  Bryndis nodded. “To victory, Skallagrim.”

  “Your victory, lady. But if you find Hauk of Ruderk, spare him. My axe means to make a home in his skull.”

  Bryndis spurred her horse over the crest of the hill, reclaiming her place in the column. Raef watched until she disappeared, then turned his horse and rejoined the Vannheim warriors at the rear.

  When they had left the valley behind and it was time for Raef to turn north, Dvalarr pleaded once more with him.

  “Let me go with you, lord.”

  “Bryndis will have need of every man, Dvalarr.”

  “I do not trust Ten-blade.”

  Raef laughed. “Then you are a wise man, Crow.” He held up a hand as the big man began to protest once more. “I need you here, Dvalarr. Njall is clever and bold and the men like him well enough and will obey his commands, but you are the heart of Vannheim’s shield wall.” The Crow said nothing but Raef could see the argument had faded from him. Raef risked a glance toward Siv. “Keep her from harm, Crow.”

  “I will.”

  Raef clasped Dvalarr’s forearm, then brought his horse forward to where Njall rode with Ulthor Ten-blade at his side. The young captain had done his work well, for Ten-blade stared at Raef with a vacant expression, then tried to squeeze a final few drops from the mead skin he crushed within the palm of one dirty hand. The scent of mead was heavy on Ten-blade’s breath, the sweet brew chosen carefully from a reluctant warrior’s stash because it would hide the taste of the ground root that was already at work taming Ulthor’s mind and rendering him less aware of his surroundings. The effects would not last the length of Raef’s journey to Narvik’s hall, and Raef would not risk dosing Ulthor a second time, for the root powder was potent and had been known to kill men who used it too freely. Raef would not mourn Ten-blade, but he meant to keep his oath.

  Raef exchanged a glance with Njall. “Skuli?” Raef asked.

  “There,” the young captain said, pointing to where the blind warrior rode at the edge of the column. Skuli sat tall in his saddle and his hands held the reins loosely. He was armed as a warrior should be and Raef caught sight of a pair of arm rings at the edge of his sleeve. Were it not for the thick bandage that covered his eyes, he would have been a warrior like any other, content, eager, riding for war. “He screams in his sleep, lord.”

  Raef had heard. “He will recover in Bryndis’s hall.” Njall seemed to take comfort in that. The coming battle was no place for a blind man; taking Skuli with him as he went north had been an easy choice for Raef.

  Raef turned to Ten-blade, who sat his horse and stared ahead, content to let the beast follow the rest. “And now you come with me, you corpse-eating maggot.” Raef seized the reins and extracted Ten-blade from the column, angling their horses back past the warriors until they reached Eiger. Unlike Ten-blade, Eiger was all sullen anger and he stared at Raef with storm-edged eyes. He rode with hands bound before him, his horse led by another of Vannheim’s captains.

  “The Allfather will strengthen Fengar’s shields for this, Skallagrim. He will splinter the whore’s spears and fill the enemy hearts with battle-fury,” Eiger said as Raef approached. Raef held his tongue as he worked at the knot that held Eiger’s horse. “My death will only anger the Terrible One more.”

  “It is not your death you will face,” Raef snapped. With a sharp yank, he pulled Eiger’s horse forward, nearly unseating the fat man. There was no time to appease the warriors of Balmoran, who rode and marched ahead, no time to parade Eiger, unbound, before them as Raef had told Bryndis he would do. His men would spread
the word that Eiger had gone north to answer a message from his dying father; Raef had to hope that alone would subdue any thoughts of treachery that simmered in the hearts of the Balmoran warriors.

  They were a strange party that separated from the rest. Raef at the head, belligerent Eiger tied to him, drugged Ulthor following with careless, lazy eyes, and blind Skuli, his horse tied to Ulthor’s to keep him from losing his way. Alone, Raef would have raced through the hills, but he set an easy pace and kept to the high ground so he might see anyone ahead or behind, friend or foe.

  “I offered you a place in the Allfather’s hall, Skallagrim,” Eiger said. They had passed beyond hearing distance of the host that moved south into the next valley.

  Raef grimaced. “Offered? That is not what I heard. When you spoke of your scheme before, we were to be partners, you and I. Have I been reduced so much?”

  Eiger was quiet for a moment and Raef did not need to turn in his saddle and face the other man to know that Eiger was uncertain if Raef spoke in jest. “Odin has need of me. You should not mock my purpose.” The uncertainty in Eiger’s voice was startling, but Raef was reminded of the strange, earnest vulnerability that had been about the Great-Belly’s son when Eiger had found him in the hot spring fueled bathhouse of Bryndis’s hall. It seemed strange that a man could contain two such different parts of himself, the cruel, savage man who committed atrocities, and the solemn, heartfelt man who dreamed of the gods. Raef could not like Eiger in either form, but he wondered which nature would hold true in the face of chaos and fear.

  They rode in silence as the sun slid across the sky, the light always shifting as banks of clouds drifted by. Cruel gusts of wind battered the hills, whipping Raef’s cloak forward under his arm and lashing the horse’s tail against his legs, but Raef would not retreat to more sheltered ground. It would not do to be caught unaware in the thick pines below, not when his were the only hands capable of wielding a sword should they need to defend themselves. And yet a chase across the open slopes of the higher ground would not go in his favor. He would lose Skuli and Ten-blade first. The drugged man’s horse, content to follow Raef’s, would grow frightened and bolt, dragging blind Skuli along. Neither man was fit for a hard gallop. But the land around them was empty and Raef tried to keep his mind on his task.

  Raef did not know what would become of Eiger, what the Great-Belly might say when told of his son’s offenses. He rode north out of necessity, out of the need to keep himself from the fighting and preserve an oath. Better this than watch the ambush from afar, his axe silent on his belt while the steel song filled the air, knowing he could do nothing.

  “Lord.” Skuli had not spoken, but now he called to Raef, his voice urgent. “Look south and tell me what you see.”

  Raef slid from his horse and scrambled up a slab of rock so he might have a better look. He lifted one hand to shield his gaze from the sun, which hung heavy in the western sky amid a sea of pink and purple clouds. To the south, the clouds were grey and blue, their edges lined with the sunset.

  “I see much, Skuli,” Raef called. “What troubles you?”

  “Do you not smell it?”

  The words were not yet out of Skuli’s mouth when Raef saw it. There, camouflaged against the swath of blue and grey, was a smear of smoke. And then the wind brought Raef the scent of fire, ash, and burning things.

  “You see, Skallagrim, already the tides turn against the whore of Narvik.” Eiger’s voice, sly and satisfied, slunk into Raef’s ears and Raef had to swallow down the urge to seize him and choke the breath from his fleshy neck. Raef watched the smoke, distant and dark, his heart thudding in his chest once, twice, and then he vaulted down from his perch, drew a knife, and approached Eiger, who, eyes wide with fear, tried to use his bound hands to urge his horse away. Raef grasped Eiger’s wrist and sawed at the rope until it fell away. He kept the rope linking their two horses intact and went to stand at Skuli’s side.

  Raef placed a hand on Skuli’s arm and the eyeless man tilted his face as though he would look at Raef.

  “I need you to do something for me, Skuli.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “You must stay here with Ten-blade. He will regain his mind and his strength and his will before the moon is high. I will secure him, but you must be his keeper. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” And Raef believed him. There was more life and less terror in Skuli’s voice than Raef had heard since the return from the Dragon’s Jaw.

  Ten-blade was loose and limp and pliable in Raef’s arms as he took him from his horse. Descending a short distance from the summit of the ridge they had been following, Raef chose a white pine of wide and sturdy trunk and lashed Ulthor to it. Then he led Skuli there, showing the blind man’s hands where the tree lay, where the horses were tethered, where the spare blankets were tucked, where the skins of water hung, and where the hard cheese and dried meat were nestled in the packs. It would be enough to last them several days, though Raef did not want to think they would need it.

  “Ten-blade is clever and cruel, Skuli, and when he recovers he will be as furious as Jörmungand when Thor caught the great serpent on his fishing hook. Do not untie him, you hear? Let him piss himself.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Raef hesitated, searching the bandaged face before him. “Someone will come for you.” Raef tried not to let his uncertainty be heard in his voice. If things went badly, no one would know where Raef had left a blind man to guard a savage warrior.

  Skuli nodded. “Go, lord. I will wait.”

  Raef backed away, desperate to ride south and yet reluctant to leave Skuli so vulnerable, then he turned and raced back to the summit and mounted his horse.

  “Why not slit his throat and be done?” Eiger asked as Raef set a quick pace to retrace their steps. “You go to fight Fengar. Why leave one of his warriors alive?”

  “Someone has a greater claim to Ulthor Ten-blade’s life than I.”

  **

  The sky was one hundred shades of blue and black by the time Raef drew his horse up at the edge of the ice-dotted river, but the blazing pines on the far bank lit the night.

  There was little to see. Smoke, thick and dark, poured out of the pines and drifted across the river, obscuring Raef’s view. He could hear only the rushing wind of the fire. There was no sign of battle, of Fengar, of Bryndis’s host of warriors.

  “I am not going over there.” Eiger had halted his horse as far from Raef as the rope tethering them together would allow.

  “You are.” Raef no longer had anger to spare for the Great-Belly’s son. He urged his horse into the water and Eiger’s followed.

  The river was deeper than he had expected and soon Raef found himself in icy water to his waist. The horse’s legs churned beneath him as the beast was forced to swim, head raised high to fight off the water, nostrils wide in fear, and Raef felt the current dragging him, threatening to sweep him away. By the time the horse found its footing in shallower water, Raef was drenched and shaking with the cold. The far bank was steeper and the horse struggled up the slope, hooves sticking in the slick mud and snow. Raef dismounted in a tumble and dragged Eiger, who flailed in the river, his foot caught in a stirrup, up onto land.

  On his knees, Raef caught his breath and stared into the blazing forest, the heat welcome against his skin and soaked clothing. Further down the bank, a man stumbled from the trees, his cloak a ribbon of flame behind him. His fingers worked uselessly at the clasp on his shoulder as the fire consumed more and more of the cloth, and, just strides from the water that would save him, he tripped over a protruding root and sprawled on the ground. The flaming cloak settled over him. Raef raced to the warrior and caught hold of one of his arms, hauling him the remaining distance to the river. The flames extinguished with a hiss and a rush of steam and together Raef and the warrior scrambled to shore.

  The man was unburnt and unknown to Raef and for a moment they stared at each other, each wary of the other.

  “What has ha
ppened here?” Raef asked, wiping river water from his eyes. The cold was deep in his bones and he had to work to produce the words.

  The warrior stared back into the smoking forest and shook his head, remembering. “There was no warning.”

  Raef made to grab the man’s shoulder, hoping to shake some words from him, but he restrained himself. “Where is Fengar? Or the lady Bryndis?”

  “Walls of flame. Stinging sparks. A sea of smoke. So sudden.” The warrior looked back at Raef and took him by the shoulders. “Without warning,” he said, again. “It hounded us, no matter where we fled.” Removing his hands from Raef, the man fumbled for the hammer that hung from his neck and after his fingers latched onto it, his lips moved silently, words for Thor’s ears.

  Raef turned from the man and searched the fire for further signs of life. It was clear the blaze had spread and traveled. Raef looked to the northwest, where the land swept upward, where Fengar’s path from the ancient fortress would have taken him. The trees there were scorched and blackened, their branches still smoking. Raef did not doubt that most of Fengar’s men had been caught in the thick of the fire, lungs gasping for air, skin blistered and bleeding. The forest had gained an army of corpses.

  As he watched the smoke billow from the treetops, a roar filled Raef’s ears and a rush of wind sucked past him, so strong that it lifted Raef’s heels from the ground and he stumbled forward to keep his feet. The wind surged into the trees and then rose to the stars and, as though the cold, wild air had caught up the flames in its embrace, the fire was gone, disappearing into the dark expanse of sky, leaving only the sweet scent of smoke, a shower of sparks to drift to the ground, and silence that poured into Raef’s senses.

  Raef felt for the hammer that no longer hung from his neck. He had been certain that Vakre had caused the fire, that the son of Loki, in desperation, had set the blaze to keep his uncle from escaping. But though Vakre could birth flames from his fingers, he could not send them to the sky to be swallowed by darkness, he could not command the winds. No, this was something else at work.