Harald-ARC

by David Friedman

  Yosef's glance included the two Ladies. He turned back to Harald:

  "You have been a soldier and know yourself best. Sentry duty at least—I can arm you from castle gear if you wish it."

  "No need. I did not arrive at your gate stark naked."

  He turned and went up the stairs to the guestroom. While the two Ladies got out mail hauberks, padding, helped each other into them, Harald pulled two bundles out of the stack in the far corner, unrolled them. The bow he laid carefully a little distance from the fire to warm, then drew on padding, mail, heavy warcoat. Sword belt over all, quiver hooked on one side, bow scabbard the other. Kara turned, saw him, froze.

  "'Laina."

  She turned as well. He nodded to both, picked up the bow, felt along its length a moment, sat down, strung it slowly, bending the recurve back across his thighs, working his way down the bow adjusting its curve, face intent. Satisfied he stood up, slid the bow into its scabbard, went out and down the stairs, leaving the two Ladies staring at each other.

  Through the night they kept two men on guard, changing every few hours; the rest slept in armor in the hall. At dawn they were all up, breaking their fast on bread and soup. Then down into the courtyard. Harald turned to Yosef:

  "Tree trunk at your door, ladder to the wall, likely the limit of their siege craft, archers in the woods. I'll take the slit covering the front gate from the old keep—it gives the best angle. Another archer in the new keep, the other side of the gate—your best man. Or Lady Kara."

  Yosef looked at him doubtfully, hesitated, spoke. "I don't doubt your experience, but it's been a long time since you've used that bow."

  Harald smiled, Hen spoke.

  "Show them. My range in the stable. It'll give you a chance to practice, too."

  Harald looked down at the bow in his hand, up at the boy. "Stone walls are hard on arrows." Hen's gaze fell. In one smooth flow Harald nocked, drew, released. Beating wings at the far side of the courtyard. He walked over, freed the arrow from the shed wall, the pigeon still moving weakly.

  "I've been practicing."

  Bow in one hand, bird in the other, he walked over to the kitchen door.

  Two hours after dawn, a trumpet at the gate, a loud voice. Yosef answered from the wall above. The rider turned, rode back into the trees; as he reached them arrows flew. Yosef was already ducking for shelter; they missed.

  The arrow slit gave Harald a view of the space in front of the door. Something moved into it, a crowd of men, some carrying a tree trunk, some a crude roof to shelter them from above, more at either side with big shields. The shields left their lower legs uncovered; he drew, shot, again, again. One of the shieldmen stumbled to his knees; Harald put two arrows through the gap before it closed.

  There was a yell from above the gate, the sound of stone hitting wood, wood breaking. The cook and the castle women were pushing over the big rocks that someone, at some time in the past, had piled on the wall above the gate. The roof swayed, exposing men under it. Harald shot, again and again, as he found targets. A shield man had raised his shield to help hold up the wooden roof; before Harald could shift his aim the man was down. Someone else—probably from the slit below him. The ram down, the attack finished, men running for the woods; Harald dropped one of them. Yelling above, on the castle wall. He ran up the stairs to the roof.

  While one group attacked the front gate, another had gotten a ladder up to the back wall of the castle, four men up it. One was fighting with a castle guard on the wall, two more behind him, one of them trying to get a spear past. The fourth, shield side to Harald, was part way down the wall, at the top of the stair Rorik was running up.

  A tiny castle; everything close to everything. Harald's first shot dropped the fighting man. The spearman, suddenly unprotected, stepped back from the guard's advance, was blocked by his own man behind. A flurry of blows, Harald shot again, again. All three were down, the guard running for the ladder while Rorik, shield held high, traded blows with the fourth Wolf.

  Harald took precious seconds to transfer two arrows from quiver to bow hand, nocked a third, waited. A face above the ladder, chest clear of the wall. Harald put three arrows into it in as many seconds, some part of his mind on Conor's father who taught him the trick. The man fell, the guard reached the ladder top, pushed it over. The Wolf fighting Rorik lowered his shield to block a chop at his leg; Harald shot him through the throat.

  He took a long look around. The castle wall was clear of enemies. Rorik and the guardsman were on the back wall, bending over the body of another of the guards. On the front wall, sheltered by the rampart, Yosef and one of the guards were helping another, obviously hurt. Harald did a quick count, turned, went back down the keep stairs.

  The archer at the lower slit was not Elaina but Hen; he looked up as Harald came down the stairs.

  "I got one of them."

  "One of them got you." Harald pointed at the spreading stain on the front of the boy's tunic. "Let me see."

  Hen looked surprised. The arrow had sliced across the boy's chest; the wound was bleeding but not deep. Harald pulled a strip of cloth from under the skirt of his warcoat, wrapped it around the boy's body over the wound.

  "Good thing people are born with armor." Hen looked puzzled. "Breastbone. Want to kill someone, don't aim there. Next time, wear something."

  In the courtyard, Yosef ran over to his son.

  "I'm all right father, just a scratch, I killed one of them."

  Over his head the two men's eyes met. Harald nodded.

  "Yes and yes."

  By noon the wounded had been dealt with, the enemy dead stripped, bodies over the wall. Hen delighted in a mail shirt, only slightly damaged; it reached well below his knees. Three of the defenders, Hen included, were injured, one badly. Neither Harald nor Rorik thought the Wolves would try again that day, but Yosef posted two of the remaining guards on sentry and the rest ate in armor.

  The day dragged on. Harald sat by the wounded guard in the hall while one of the women fed him. He saw Elaina in the doorway, beckoning, followed her up to the guest room. Kara was folding tunics, packing saddle bags.

  "We have to leave. Tonight, out the postern. Before we get Yosef and everyone killed. Help us persuade him."

  "You aren't asking the right question."

  Elaina looked at him, puzzled.

  "Big wolfpack outside, three decades, four, maybe more. Some of them hunting you a month or more. Two Ladies, no special rank or station. Storming a castle, risking war with a provincial lord. Why?"

  There was a long silence. It was Kara who broke it.

  "Your mother."

  Elaina looked up. "We agreed."

  "If we can't trust our friends, slit our throats now and save the folk outside the trouble."

  "I should have changed the name."

  Harald looked straight at her.

  "Want to keep that secret, child, need a new face too."

  She looked blankly at him, startled by the excitement in his voice.

  "What is it?"

  "Think; it's a useful habit. Why do they want to take your mother's daughter?"

  Comprehension. Harald spoke.

  "Can't put pressure on a corpse, child. She's alive. Best news I've had the past year."

  Kara spoke, slowly. "If we can't leave, what do we do?"

  "Send for help. Stephen's a day's ride away. Times like this he'll be feeding fifty swords in his hall, maybe more."

  "Lord Stephen, the King's man. Can we trust him?"

  Harald looked amused. "If the King trusts him to show up with an army when and where he's told, His Majesty's more of a fool than I think. Yosef trusts him. I trust him. His people trust him not to get them killed if he can help it. You'll be all right."

  "I'll go."

  It was Hen in the doorway, his father behind him.

  "I know the paths, can get past them."

  Harald shook his head.

  "You don't know the way to Stephen's hold; you've been
there twice in your life."

  "Father can tell me."

  "You're wounded, you can hide but you can't fight, and the guards at the gate might not believe you. I'll go."

  Yosef, both hands on his son's shoulders, spoke over him. "Can you find your way?"

  "Once I get to the north road. You'll have to tell me the first part."

  "What if they chase you?" That was Hen again.

  "Expect I have more arrows than they have men."

  Harald gave Hen and his father a friendly nod, went past them, down the stairs, out to the stable.

  Dark. The mare saddled, loaded, waiting by the postern gate. Harald in full armor. Hen, Yosef, the two Ladies. Elaina still arguing:

  "A lot of them, it's a long way. I should ..."

  Harald tapped his quiver, gentled the mare. "I was breaking legions when you were at your mother's breast, child. Damn nuisance you were too." He led the mare out the postern into the night, Elaina staring after him.

  Homeward

  If you know a friend you can fully trust,

  Go often to his house

  Getting through the siege lines was easier than he had expected, since there weren't any. He saw several fires through the trees, heard voices of men around them. Only at the last minute, after he had mounted, was there a shout, footsteps running through the woods towards one of the fires. Harald moved off as quietly as he could. Several times he heard hoofs, once someone yelling. Into the dark, through the forest, west and a little south by the stars. An hour later he heard the sound of hard packed dirt under the mare's hooves, stopped, looked right, left, the cleared road silent under the stars. He turned, rode north.

  He rode all night and most of the morning, the last few hours through the plains as the tall hill grew closer, the timber walls at its top catching the sunlight. The gate was open, guarded. The gate guards looked up in surprise at a Northvales cat some considerable way from home, swaying in the saddle, the horse almost as tired as the man.

  "Forest keep is under siege; message for Lord Stephen."

  The younger man stood frozen, his mouth open. The older gestured the rider forward.

  "I'll take you. Arthur, Ragnar."

  Two boys came running from the stable.

  "Take the man's horse, rub her down, feed her."

  Harald nodded his thanks, followed the guard between buildings towards the mass of the great hall.

  It was a single enormous room, wood pillars along the sides, a long fire down the center, smoke rising, or not, through a hole in the roof. Near the far end its lord was sitting, talking with several of his men. He looked up, eyes widening. Harald spoke first.

  "I bring a message from Yosef, castellan of Forest Keep. He is under siege and prays your aid."

  Stephen looked at him, silent for a moment, then spoke to one of the men.

  "Take Yosef's messenger to the south guest house. Food and drink." Then, to Harald, "I will join you there, hear more."

  As Harald left, Stephen's voice faded behind him, other voices, hurrying footsteps. A man ran past, down the hall, out the other side door.

  The guesthouse was a single room, newer than most of the hold, a fireplace at one end, a bed at the other, a table between. Harald pulled off his armor, did his best with the ewer and basin on the table. A servant came in, dumped a pail of burning coals onto the hearth, stacked wood above it. Another brought bread, cheese, sausage, a pitcher of beer. Harald was seated, eating slowly, when Stephen came in, closed the door, took the other chair, gave him a questioning look.

  "Two Ladies, wounded, took refuge with Yosef a month back. I was guesting too, after some problems on the way home. One was Elaina, 'Nora's youngest.

  "Day before yesterday, man at the gate, said he was a king's messenger. Demanded 'Laina, Kara. Yosef told him they were his guests, he was your man, not the King's. Yesterday they attacked, tried to storm the keep. Yosef, six guards, the Ladies, his boy Hen—not a bad shot, too brave for his own good." Harald fell silent a moment.

  "And you."

  "And me. Held them."

  "How many?"

  "I saw maybe fifteen, twenty, but there were more shooting from the woods. Three decades, four?"

  Stephen sat thinking a while, then shoved his chair back, stood up.

  "I'll have to send to the King. Thorvald to Forest Keep, three decades to keep him company, he's a careful man. I'll follow with more tomorrow. You'll want some rest. I'll have them send more food later. See you in the morning before I leave."

  He looked straight at Harald for a moment. Harald looked back, nodded. Stephen went out.

  By the time Harald woke it was almost dark. The table was spread with a cloth, on that a platter, on that an assortment of sausage, dried meat, dried fruit, cheese, bread—much of it hard baked biscuit. Dinner enough for three men. Harald ate some of the bread and cheese while he was putting on his armor, dumped the rest of the platter's contents onto the cloth. A minute later he was out of the room, the bundle of food concealed by his cloak.

  In the stable he found the mare, rubbed down, fed and rested. He saddled her with the help of a curious stable boy.

  "A little exercise before night time, good for both of us. Can you take a message to your lord?"

  The boy looked up curiously.

  "Lord Stephen is sending a messenger. I would like him to carry a brief message from me as well."

  The boy waited expectantly.

  "The message is that Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, and hopes to visit again shortly. Do you have that?"

  "Harald regrets having had to depart in haste, hopes to visit again shortly."

  "That's right. Tell Stephen you have to tell that to the messenger."

  The boy ran off. Harald strapped on bedding and saddle bags, stuffing the bundle of food into one of them, hooked on bowcase and quiver, led the horse out of the stable. Five minutes more took him through the gate, into the night.

  Ten miles west, half the night gone, he made camp on the far slope of a ridge half a mile from the road. No doubt Stephen had several men who could succeed in not following him, but there was no reason to make things harder for them than necessary. He slept till dawn, climbed to the top of the ridge; the road was empty. He went back to sleep. Near noon he lunched on Stephen's bounty, removed the faint signs of his camp, mounted.

  Stephen's Hill to the base of Northgate he counted four days travel, more or less—a little more without a remount, a little less without an army. Late afternoon of the fourth found him ten miles north of the hostel, a little west of the road. He made camp in a wood running down from the foothills. Beyond loomed the mountains, their far side home. He wondered what his oldest grandson was up to. A year. No doubt Gerda had coped.

  The road north was empty; Harald spent most of the remaining daylight searching the woods for food. It was still empty when he got back. When dark fell he built his fire in a hollow out of sight of the road, dined on fresh meat and wild greens with a little of his dwindling supply of biscuit.

  The next day the road carried a few riders and a mule train south from the Empire—Belkhani guards. He remained hidden, foraged for food, let the mare graze her fill. Late the next day his luck changed. Mules, horses, even a few wagons. Traders, mule drivers, from the imperial provinces in the far northwest by their dress. Guards in lamellar armor. Cats. They made camp less than half a mile from where he watched.

  The guard commander was a cautious man; sentries ahead, behind, to both sides of his camp. The one on the hill side was a big man with a slight limp. Luck. Harald waited until dark, spent most of an hour moving quietly through the woods. 'Bjorn would have been there and back, probably with Gunnar's helmet under his arm; some advantages to being young.

  "Gunnar."

  The guard froze, turned, walked away from the voice. Stood a minute. Walked back. Relieved himself against a tree, spoke softly.

  "Who?"

  "Harald Haraldsson." A long pause before Gunnar spoke again.r />
  "Nice night for a walk; bit far from home."

  "Guard captain?"

  "Kari Egilsson, bottom of Greenvale."

  "Tall, left eye missing. Hiring?"

  "Left two with fever, Kolskegg saw a pretty face three days back, probably still there. Could be."

  "I'll be by in the morning. I'm Connol Hrolfson, bottom of Mainvale. Pass the word."