Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1)

by Alaric Longward

  The Feud Settler? A famous, fine sword, it sounds, I thought, and hoped to have such as it one day. And were they speaking about another weapon like it? Whatever they were planning, I should not be there, I realized, but could not tear myself away from the doorway.

  Leuthard clapped a hand on the hilt. “Feud Settler is as old as it is. Ancient. Our family sword,” Leuthard said lovingly, as he ran a finger over the pommel. “It was given to me, so stop drooling after it, Raganthar. I’ll make this more famous in time. Bero pays you, if you do what we agreed. If you get paid by someone else for something else, I care not,” Leuthard said. “Any trouble it will stir, I can deal with.”

  “I wonder,” Raganthar chuckled. “We are done then.”

  Leuthard shook his head and snapped the fingers. “Not quite. Bero wants the distraction, as I told you already. If he appears before the evening, make sure the boy is there. Inside the hall. Leave him there, dead. I’ll make sure everyone knows where he hails from, as my lord Bero asked. It will cover the tracks.”

  Who were they talking about? I thought, and felt cold breeze in the room. I turned to look around, but saw shadows, and none of them moved.

  “She will make sure he will be there, if he even appears,” Raganthar growled. “I’m no slave or a boy to run such simple errands. We will go there this night, and he had better be there if you want to distract them. The weapon is the most important matter, and you can tell Bero to grow his balls into man-sized danglies. Distraction! Bah. Your Bero will get his most heartfelt wish, no matter if the waters are muddied or not.”

  “You’ll tell your girl to do it well, then,” Leuthard insisted. “If it is possible.”

  Silence. I could feel Raganthar pushing back another savage retort. “I’ll speak with her,” he said at length. “If I see her before. She said it might be too late now.”

  “Good, whatever. Just try,” Leuthard muttered. “So that is how it shall be,” he said, and then the two grasped forearms, though reluctantly. “If something changes, I know where to find you.”

  Raganthar shook his head. “No, we won’t be there. As I said, the weapon has a use. We will be out for a week. But we will leave our old man in the Den. He knows about it, if the need is dire.”

  Leuthard stepped back, his hand on the sword. “Leave Ear there,” he said, and it sounded like an order. “In case I need him. Tell him where you are. He is unpredictable anyway.”

  ‘Ear?” Raganthar laughed. “My young brother is always a bit of a problem, isn’t he? He loved you best, always did, and I don’t trust him. He’ll be there, in the Den. I dare not, and care not, take him. Can’t take the brute with us anyway. Would spook everyone. Just one more question. What if that lord is in the hall? Shall we slay him then, as well?”

  Leuthard smiled. “Trust us. The lord shall be away. They shall be elsewhere, and they won’t bring their weapons, the sword, or any other. The hall will be empty this night, save for the guards and the boy, if you find him. Will there be … more questions, friend?”

  They would kill men, I thought, and cursed I had heard anything at all.

  ‘There won’t be any more questions,’ said Raganthar darkly. “None.”

  “I have one,” Leuthard asked, and I saw his grip on Feud Settler tighten. “Where did you take the poor fool who was asking all the questions two days past? The one we captured?”

  “The visitor?” Raganthar asked timidly, and looked embarrassed. “You gave him to us after he left Balderich’s hall. You gave him to us.”

  “I did, “ Leuthard said with a growl and nodded quickly. "I should have known better. But there was a Gaul merchant here, speaking with Bero just now, and he told a story of a man being ripped open in the woods. He had seen it from his ship. He said he saw men chasing another, and then, like a pack of animals, they tore him apart. You killed him here, in Hard Hill? So near my home?”

  Raganthar snorted. “We did. It was the night for it. You know it. Full and bright, and a sacrifice was needed. It makes us stronger before battle, like it used to make you. By Hati’s hairy balls, you don’t have to get so damned upset. I am no fool, and a Gaulish merchant means nothing—less than shit under your shoe—and so we shall do the deed today, and be careful. We shall, as we have given you an oath. We’d not risk that or our pay. What else do you want?”

  “I do want the sword taken away,” Leuthard growled. “I want it, because Bero wants it. It’s a sword that should be his, like the ring, but that is lost with Maroboodus. We will find that golden treasure one day. But if you make a mess of this by slaying the wrong Marcomanni before this work is done in your damned bloodlust, then we have a problem. Don’t make mistakes again. You should have killed him later, far from here, and screw your sacrifices. The god would have understood if there were none. Careful this night, then get the Hel out of here. That’s all you need to know, you turd snuffling hound.’

  “Yes, Leuthard,” Raganthar said bitterly. “But I’m a lord as well, and have been since you left. I’m the Black Shield, and Hati’s Claws, and you should remember that. And I tell you, if this brother of Bero’s will be there nonetheless, I’ll not spare him.”

  What were they planning? A hall-burning? Theft, certainly. Bero’s brother?

  Hulderic?

  They were after Hulderic’s sword, a weapon of fame.

  “Bark,” Leuthard said.

  “Bark?” Raganthar growled. “You mock me? I’ll bite rather than bark, cousin.”

  “Bark is the vitka of the town,” Leuthard said with a threatening voice that left no doubt he didn’t fear Raganthar. “They will sit down for the last Thing tomorrow, south and north gau and all the chiefs, and will ride to the Flowery Meadows this night for a ritual. Bero paid Bark well, and so Bark had a miraculous sight. This night, it is forbidden for any men to bring weapons to the Meadows. Not one. They must be left behind, everyone has to be there, and so all the warlords and their men will come with their shields alone. If Bark says god Donor will have no weapons there, then they will come without.”

  “Fine,” Raganthar said. “Fools to listen to a corrupt vitka of a weak god, but I guess it will be fine.”

  I was nodding in panic. They were almost done with their business, and while they were plotting against each other, against a man I had heard great things about, perhaps Bero and this Hulderic were no different from each other. They plotted theft. Murder, perhaps. Was it important? No, I thought. It was all normal, it was as things were, and so hearing all this evil changed nothing, I insisted in my head. Still, I felt uneasy about stepping out, asking to join their ranks. Leuthard might say yes, knowing I had heard their plans, or they might kill me. Raganthar had killed someone, hadn’t he? Leuthard said so. They had killed someone badly, which upset Leuthard. They were plotting to take someone to Hulderic's hall while they steal the sword?

  I’d not go to Leuthard, I decided.

  They would not hesitate to kill me, if my service was declined. I’d have to ask the great man later. I’d sleep on it, and find them the next day, when it was all over, their planned mischief. After a small break to gather myself, I’d know what to do, and I needed time to think, to sleep. I’d go to the hall of Danr, or the blacksmith’s, where a bed awaited me, a nice meal, likely, and think deep on my choices.

  I turned to exit the room.

  A mass of dark rose before me.

  Instinctively, I slapped at it, but it was a feeble move, born of fear, and I hit nothing. It was a man-sized shadow, smelled of sweat, and I thought I saw a fur cape, but then, suddenly, it seemed much taller, and I realized it had charged me. It moved like fog in the wind across morning swamp, silent and ethereal. The man, if it was one, struck me across the face so hard I saw darkness even in the dark room, and everything slowed down. I rolled in the dust and broke a bench or two. I heard yells nearby, feet stomping floor, and remembered the casual murder Raganthar had mentioned, and saw myself being ripped apart in some green field where none would witness it.
>
  I rolled, dodged a stomping foot where my face had been and rolled again, and then vaulted forward and out of the hall. I did it with great energy, fell down the stairs, and struck my face on a stone. I tried to get up, but my legs decided against it, and I fell again, this time bumping into a thin man with a scar, who fell besides me, cursing. I felt like a wounded hare, being stalked by a pack of ravenous bears, and inspired by that, I pretended to be unconscious.

  Men gathered around, and squinting, I saw, to my relief, they were not men from the hall, but guards, craftsmen, and slaves, and some foreign merchants. It would not save me, I knew, because should Leuthard demand it, they would give me over to him with a smile and probably gifts. I felt him there, coming, heard the weight of his steps bending the floorboards. I also distantly heard the whispering of many men, including Raganthar.

  I didn’t move. I prayed, even when a girl pulled my face up to her, and she smiled gently. She was beautiful as the stars, with pursed lips and intelligent eyes. There was a hint of sorrow in them, as well, as if she had suffered terribly lately. “He is badly hurt,’ she proclaimed, and I frowned in my show of senselessness.

  Was I? My head hurt terribly, and I felt sick.

  “Let’s carry him away,” she said. I saw there were soldiers around her, Marcomanni, and I knew Leuthard was not happy. I could feel it, his malice reaching out, and that of Raganthar as well, as they looked on from the hall. There were men you needed not see to feel their hatred, and Leuthard was one of those men.

  She smiled at me, as I opened my eyes fully. “I am Gisil.”

  “Thank you, Gisil,” I said. “Look—‘

  “Shh,” she said, and looked over me to where the enemy was, and I realized it was likely so. They would be my enemy now. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she whispered.

  “You?” I asked, bewildered. “They said there was a woman—“

  “They didn’t lie,” she smiled and helped carry me, as someone grabbed my arm. “Come, let’s take him inside.”

  I turned to look at the man who had been carrying hay, Bellows. He looked down at me sheepishly, holding on to my spear and shield with one hand. “Sorry. I guess it was a bad idea.”

  “You—“

  Gisil beat me to it. “You damned, rat-bitten dog,” she hissed like an irate cat. “I told you, if you see him, get him to safety. Keep him safe. How is sending him to meet Leuthard safe? It’s like showing a mouse in a cat’s mouth and hoping the beast’s not hungry.”

  “I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “I serve Hulderic. Not you. I wanted to know more of their plans for my lord’s benefit. There were those queer men inside, and I figured this one would go and hear things. He’d tell me because I feed his horse, right? Besides I don’t know why this Chatti is so important—“

  “I serve Hulderic as well, and I dare say I serve him better. This one? He has a destiny,” she said tiredly. “We have to take care of him.”

  “Don’t look like a destined one to me,” Bellows said mulishly. “More like minced liver.”

  “He is destined for Woden’s work,” she said stubbornly. “He will help guard Hulderic in the future, you see. And you nearly got him killed.” They were dragging me, and people gave way. We reached the bridge, and I fought the urge to look behind.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked groggily.

  She patted my cheek. “You can stop pretending soon. I’ll take you to rest, and then you tell me what you heard in there, since you already took a spear for us.”

  “I don’t have a spear in me—“

  She put a finger on my lips and nodded towards Leuthard’s hall. “Shh. You are with allies. They hate me, you see, as I, too, like the idiot Bellows here, am friend to Hulderic the Goth. I’ll help you.”

  ‘Thank you, lady,’ I told her and she smiled. I admired her dark red hair, which was braided into a thick bun, and felt invigorated by her brown eyes burning under her lively eyebrows.

  “Oh, don’t thank me yet. We shall need you. Didn’t I tell you this? Hulderic will need you, and so you will help us with some dangerous matters. You will have to help us against the lot you just eavesdropped on.”

  “Donor’s hammer, but I don’t know if I—“

  “You will,” she smiled. “You are brave.”

  She was hard to deny, and I gave up. I looked behind me.

  Across from the bridge stood Leuthard and Raganthar, and twelve men with furry cloaks, and I knew I was in trouble.

  CHAPTER 3

  Gisil sat next to me as I was taken to the living quarters of the blacksmith. I heard my horse whinnying in the next room, and looked at the woman working above me. Her fingers were strong, and she frowned when I yelped as she probed my skull, pressing it gently, and then forcefully. She gave an offended, exasperated sound when I winced again, and that forced me to man myself up. She went on as the touched the back of my skull, her leg on my lap.

  Her face and breast were uncomfortably close to my cheek. Her proximity had an intoxicating effect on me, and I fought to think of something that would prevent me from getting too excited. Her reddish hair was spilling on my shoulder, the bun undone, as she took a close look at my skull. Bellows was standing and staring at us as if he was witnessing the upheaval of the whole hill, and liking it. I was sure he tried to open his mouth many times, as he was a man not used to being left speechless, but there he was, gawking lecherously, and then sucked in his breath as Gisil’s bosom pressed on my neck, which made me groan as well.

  Her tunic had shifted, and I was sure her breast was bared and I nearly choked holding my breath, and so did Bellows. His eyes were shocked, and that confirmed her tunic had indeed suffered a malfunction. I could hardly blame him. Gisil was very unlike any Chatti girl I had seen, and seemed much less reserved about being close to a man than most married women to their husband.

  “Hulderic,” I stated finally, to break off the silence and hide my glorious discomfort.

  She pushed back, and I regretted saying anything, as I still felt her breast on my skin. She frowned at the look on my face, and my eyes shifted to look away from her perfectly pink nipple. She adjusted the fibula so she was covered again.

  “Hulderic indeed,” she whispered as she turned my face to one side, then another. I sighed as she regarded me like a recent kill, a prized stag about to be eviscerated and the head taken as a special trophy. “I serve the people in his village, like my mother did, and I am a völva.”

  Seidr mistress, I thought, cursing myself for flinching. She was a mistress of Freya’s red magic indeed, a woman of seducing power, even if she was young, and while they often wore white tunics and carried staffs and wands, this one was much like a high-born noblewoman. Seidr was like galdr, song magic, which the vitka practiced, but with a darker side, a woman’s magical callousness attached to it. It was dangerous, and the woman hovering over me was certainly seductive. “I—”

  “Ask away,” she grinned. “I’m not putting a spell on you. Your safe with me.”

  I nodded gratefully. “Can you explain what is going on?” I asked as respectfully as I could, but winced like a girl as she again pressed my temples with her fingers. It hurt like Hel’s fires roaring inside my skull. She kept probing, and at that, I growled, and grasped her hands and held them. I cursed myself for a moment, but then steeled my voice. “I’m fine. I’ll live.”

  She shook her hands free, stood away, scowled at the blacksmith, and then back at me. “You are not fine, actually. You were hit savagely in that hall. You might have fractured the skull, or worse.”

  “Surely the Woden’s chosen fighter for Hulderic survives a small incident like that,” Bellows chuckled. “He fell down some stairs!”

  She pelted him with a small log and turned to me. “You have no blood coming out of your ears or mouth, so perhaps you are right, and you’ll heal. You really should be resting for some days, but I doubt you can, since we need you. And as for explanations, I guess you need to understand why I was lo
oking for you.” She sat down, adjusting her dress, and I could not help but notice how shapely her hips were. I massaged my skull and cursed softly, trying to focus.

  I spoke. “I was riding here, when a man hailed me and told me about Hulderic and Bero, and that I should find a lord from the Goth stock. He also said a woman was looking for me. I take it the woman is you?”

  She was smiling nervously. “It was I. I had a sight.”

  Sight. I trembled with fear. I didn’t want to be part of the games of the gods. “You had a sight. About me?” I asked her. “What kind of sight was it? Did it have a happy ending?”

  At that, her façade of coolness broke. Her face turned ashen, and she looked away, the eyes full of bottomless sorrow. There was something else, like a mask of normality had fallen for a second and revealed … madness? Then she straightened her face and turned to me.

  “I was dancing to the goddess’s tune two nights ago, in a shrine to the gods, not far. It’s called the Flowery Meadows—“

  “They mentioned it,” I said.

  “They did?” the blacksmith said, but Gisil raised her hand, and he went quiet, seething with impatience, wishing to question me.

  “And while many vitka and völva see spirits, vaettir of the dark night woods, dead spirits, and things that never lived, I only see them when I drink certain boiled herbs.”

  “When you are drunk, you mean?” the blacksmith stated more than asked, and then bit his lip so hard blood flowed, looking down.

  “Something like that,” she said so coldly the hall felt like the icy ass of a jotun of Nifleheim had descended over it. “When I’m close to the gods, I see signs, shady answers to my questions and such. Seidr magic is not ordered and simple, but wild and uncertain. But the spirits know I serve a great, fine lord, and aid me sometimes.”

  “Few völva have allegiances to a mere warlord,” I stated, but that was the Chatti way, and perhaps not the same there, with the Marcomanni.