The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  A hand on Raef’s elbow halted the flow of mead and Raef looked over his shoulder to see Thorald, one of his father’s captains. Nodding his head in the direction of the doors, Thorald indicated to Raef that the Vannheim contingent was leaving the feast. Peering over heads, Raef could see his father slip out into the night. Raef finished his mead and, clutching the last of his food close, skirted the outer edge of the hall until he, too, came to the doors and stepped out into the fresh night air.

  At first, the tent city appeared to be deserted, save for a few dogs sniffing for scraps and a few servants tending to their business. But as he threaded his way to the Vannheim tents, Raef saw enough torches and shadowy figures to realize that his father was not the only lord to leave the feast.

  Half a dozen men, the most trusted captains of Vannheim, occupied his father’s tent, and though they spoke to each other with toothy grins, the air was tense and the jokes half-hearted. They were waiting. At Raef’s arrival, Einarr bade the pair of serving boys depart. The lord of Vannheim poured himself a cup of ale, the dim light of the single lantern setting the amber liquid aglow. Then he poured for each man, a gesture of respect emphasized by the solemn expression on Einarr’s face. Only when Raef and the captains held an equal share did Einarr speak.

  “The Great-Belly speaks of a feast as though we are all gathered in brotherhood and friendship. A merry band joyfully seeking a new leader. Know now that this is not so.” Skallagrim looked at each man in turn. “We have fought battles together, earned silver with blood together, but never have we faced greater danger than we do here. This land’s history is full of gatherings that ran red with bloodshed, and though this is my first, my father attended two and returned with a grim face and tales of treachery. We must be on our guard. Though this gathering is held to determine the fate of all lands, it is Vannheim’s fate that we must hold most dear. Remember that.” Einarr wet his lips on the ale. “Drink, my sword brothers, then leave me with my son.”

  When they had departed, Einarr gestured for Raef to step out of the tent. They walked in silence until they reached the river.

  “What happens now?” Raef asked.

  His father laughed a little. “Only Odin knows. Tomorrow we make pretty speeches and gradually the warriors in that hall whittle us down until the voices call for one man and one man only. They get to believe they choose their king. But even they know, deep down, that the king is truly made with shadowy deals behind closed doors.” Einarr studied Raef in the darkness. “Surely you understood this already.”

  “Yes.”

  “I expect at least one visitor tonight, perhaps more. Someone will want to know if I will end my candidacy and pledge my support to another, or if I could be persuaded to do so for the right price.”

  “And could you?”

  “I would listen to an offer.”

  It was hardly an answer but Raef didn’t press the issue. “If your name had not been called, who would you support?”

  “There are a few names I have considered.” Einarr held up his hand as Raef began to demand a better answer. “Better for now that you not know.”

  Raef tried one last question. “And the Far-Traveled’s words of war to come?”

  Einarr gazed up at the round fullness of the moon suspended above the trees. “Do not give too much influence to what the Far-Traveled says. True, he knows things we cannot. But it is a foolish man who tries to understand his words and live by them. How many lords received the same warning? All? Just me? Does he mean there will be war if a certain lord is made king? Or will there be war regardless of who is chosen? Perhaps there is another meaning entirely. Puzzling over that will do me no good. I can only do what I feel is right. And if war is coming, Vannheim will be ready.”

  A servant approached in the darkness. “A messenger from Brandulf Hammerling, lord. He awaits in your tent.”

  Einarr raised an eyebrow in Raef’s direction. “The first. Come, hear what he has to say.”

  “Should not the Hammerling have come himself?” Raef asked as they retraced their steps back to the tent.

  “And beg favor from his neighbor? No, too proud for that. A king does not grovel. To be perceived as kingly is to be kingly.”

  The messenger was not as Raef expected. Instead of a grizzled warrior sent to show the Hammerling’s strength, he was slight, beardless, and young. An attempt at honesty and candor, then, Raef decided, and he might have been convinced were it not for the young man’s eyes. They were hard and did not reflect his smile.

  “Lord,” the man said, bowing low, “Brandulf Hammerling sends his greetings and a gift, if you would have it.” With a flourish, he produced an onyx box, darkly beautiful and threaded through with silver. The box alone, Raef knew, was highly valuable. His father made no move to accept the box, forcing the messenger to continue. “Long have Finngale and Vannheim been more than neighbors. Our borders are open and friendly and it is the Hammerling’s wish that they be always thus. To strengthen this bond, he has a further wish: that our lands might be united by blood.” Here the man glanced quickly at Raef, his sharp eyes piercing, before returning his attention to Einarr. “The Hammerling has a daughter and you a son. She is beautiful and full of grace. Any man would welcome the chance to take her as his wife. The Hammerling wishes your son to be so fortunate.” He bowed again, concluding his speech.

  Silence fell and Raef engaged the messenger’s gaze. They were of an age, he estimated, and both lean, but, where Raef’s leanness was defined by muscle and his posture that of a man well practiced in battle skills, the messenger was merely slim and his shoulders had not borne the weight of spear and shield. His hands, too, were unmarked and smooth, and he wore no arm rings.

  “I give my thanks to the Hammerling for his offer,” Skallagrim said. “It is much to consider.” And with a simple wave of his hand, the messenger was dismissed, onyx box and all.

  “There.” Raef’s father gestured in the direction the messenger had departed and poured himself a cup of ale. “That is how it is done. Though in truth I had not expected an offer of marriage. At least not so early. I wonder if perhaps the Hammerling has shown too much of his hand too soon.”

  “You mean such an offer hints at desperation?”

  “Yes. I am both curious and insulted,” Einarr said, though he looked only mildly amused. “Curious because he has only one daughter. How many lords will he offer her to? And insulted because such a match would render Vannheim weak. It is a match I could have made without the impetus of the gathering, had I wished it, and yet he still believes we ought to thank him for his generosity.” Einarr took a long drink and refilled his cup. “Still, it shows how badly he wants to be named king.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “As little as I can, for as long as I can.”

  “And will you make offers to other lords?” Raef was still unsure how high his father’s ambitions went.

  “What is to say I have not done so already?” Einarr said with a grin. “The work of a gathering begins long before we convene. I reached out to a few men before we ever left Vannheim and have heard replies since arriving here. But not with offers like we just received. I expressed only a desire to talk. What I will do is listen. Listen to their grievances and grudges. Listen to their dreams for the future. My father taught me that information is the most important thing I can possess at a time like this.”

  A servant stuck his head into the tent. “Lord, Hauk of Ruderk would speak with you.”

  “Here is one of them now. Bring him in.”

  The lord of Ruderk was a short, amiable man. Raef remembered that Hauk Orleson and his father had shared in a sea raid a few summers ago. It had been profitable for both men.

  The lords clasped arms. “Skallagrim,” Hauk began, “I am not here to offer you pretty words and promises.”

  “I have had enough of those tonight. Speak your mind.”

  Raef handed a cup of mead to their guest.

  “Your son?” Hauk to
ok the cup and swallowed, his eyes on Raef.

  “Yes.”

  “You know I have no desire to rule beyond Ruderk. But I worry about the secrets other men keep close. I worry about those who have made promises they may come to regret. Dark are the hearts of men, and easily tempted.”

  Raef’s father took a step away from their visitor and tilted his head back to empty his small cup. “Your words are pretty enough, Orleson. What would you have of me?”

  Hauk smiled, his lips pressed tight. “There are some who reach too high and others who seek power for all the wrong reasons. It would be wise for Ruderk and Vannheim to be of like mind.”

  “If you mean to tell me whose name I should support, do it and be done,” Einarr said, his gaze shifting to Raef and then back again to Hauk. The lord of Vannheim was impatient.

  Hauk held up one hand to appease Einarr. “You are too hasty, Einarr. Do you give yourself so little chance in this race?”

  Raef, emboldened by Hauk’s words, spoke up. “Would you support my father?”

  Hauk turned to appraise him for the first time and Raef used that moment to cast a glance at his father. Einarr gave him a small nod.

  “You have a troubled western border, do you not?” Raef did not wait for an answer, knowing that Hauk might be reluctant to give one.

  “I do. Long has Harald Valderson been a thorn in my side.”

  “If my father becomes high king, I will make certain that the question of your border is settled. Harald Valderson will cease to trouble you.” It was bold to make such a promise and Hauk might choose to be insulted that it was the son of Skallagrim rather than Skallagrim himself who made it.

  “And how would you remove the thorn? By words or by blade?”

  “Does it matter? I will see it done.”

  “Agreed.” It seemed the lord of Ruderk was also decisive; Raef liked him even more. He poured another round of mead, the three men sealed the agreement with a drink, and Hauk of Ruderk departed into the night.

  Einarr massaged his shoulder. An old wound, Raef knew. “To bed, I think. The Great-Belly spoke of a hunt tomorrow and I do not think we will see any more visitors tonight.”

  Raef nodded and pushed aside the thick flap of the tent. He began to trace the path to his own tent, but the stars above were bright and called to him. Instead of seeking his sleeping furs, he found himself collecting his horse and crossing the narrow river once more, then stepping into the cool, leafy sanctuary of the forest. Closing his eyes, Raef breathed in the forest air, glad to be in a place with more trees than men. Though the trees were alive with the sounds of animals, the stillness was a relief after the heat and clamor of the Great-Belly’s hall.

  With the full moon over his shoulder and bright enough to light the way, Raef turned the horse up into the hills. Here and there, startled rabbits fled before the horse’s hooves. Night birds and soft breezes reigned in the branches above, though the songbirds went quiet at the low call of an owl.

  After the trees thinned, Raef found himself on a grassy ridge with the fortress below and the plains stretching out into the night. They meandered east, Raef allowing the horse to do as she pleased, until Raef noticed a set of crumbling stone pillars, stark and vivid against the black sky, in the distance. He urged the horse toward the ruins and dismounted to examine them.

  The foundations were extensive, far beyond what was first visible at a cursory glance. The pillars, still well above Raef’s head, were but a small part of the whole, forming a circular center from which all else emanated. The stones were worn by wind and rain and in many places all that remained was the base, barely visible in the grass. No peasant house was this, but neither did it bear resemblance to any lord’s dwelling Raef had seen. And it had been a solitary building, of that he was sure. Pacing away from the ruins, he could find no evidence that it had ever existed as part of a group.

  Raef sat on a flat stone and closed his eyes, imagining the valley before the first lords of Balmoran had raised their fortress. This building would have been a lonely place, blasted by wind and rain; a cold place with the hard, unforgiving mountains above. And yet Raef sensed that there would have been peace to be found in this place as well. Though who had sought it here remained unanswered.

  Time passed; the stars turned overhead. Whether Raef slept or not, he could not say. He raised himself off the stone and turned to call his horse. It was only then that he noticed the man among the pillars.

  Raef’s hand flew to the sword at his belt and the blade was out in an instant, shining cold and unforgiving in the moonlight.

  “Peace, Raef Skallagrim. I did not mean to startle you,” Finndar Urdson, the Far-Traveled, said. He stepped away from the pillar that had shadowed him, his hands out to show he did not threaten. He was dressed as Raef had last seen him, his clothes showing no wear from travel, his cloak free of dust and mud. He carried nothing and had no horse.

  “You came quietly.”

  “You were much absorbed, I think.” The Far-Traveled took several steps to shorten the distance between them, but the sword remained in Raef’s hand. “Again, you show me naked steel. What have I done to earn your displeasure?”

  “I only sought to protect my home and my father,” Raef said.

  “And now?” Finndar gestured to the empty hills and the expanse of starlit sky above.

  “My father told me not to trust you.”

  The Far-Traveled laughed, a quiet laugh that seemed to run through the bloodless veins of the stones around them. “So most men say. He will have told you what I am.”

  “He did.”

  “But did he also say that I walk this world unarmed?”

  Raef lowered the sword until the tip brushed the grass at his feet. “Are you here for the gathering?”

  “No, but I think you knew that already.” Finndar held Raef’s gaze for a moment. “This gathering, it is a thing done by men for men. I have no place here. I merely wish to observe.” In that moment, Raef saw the age in the half god’s eyes. They were eyes that had observed much, that was clear.

  “Do you know who will be chosen? Has that future been shown to you?”

  The Far-Traveled shook his head.

  “But you spoke of war.”

  A nod this time, but nothing further.

  “Whom do you serve?”

  “I serve no man, or men. In Vannheim, I came to you from the lands of Brandulf Hammerling, but that is merely the path I took.”

  “The gods, then? Does Odin direct you?”

  The Far-Traveled laughed again. “Odin would often like to bind my tongue I think, but the High One cannot. I serve a purpose, that is all.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “I speak what I am given. It is both who and what I am.”

  They were silent for a moment and Raef sheathed his sword. The night was old and the moon had traveled far across the sky. Raef would have to return soon. Finndar fingered the closest pillar, as though doing so called up a memory.

  “Do you know this place?” Raef asked.

  Finndar grinned, his teeth white in the moonlight. “I am not that old. I have seen much and walked this world for a long time, that is true, but this,” he gestured to the ruins, “this is beyond me. The stones were raised not long after men first came to Midgard. The mountains carved from Ymir’s bones were young then, the rivers and seas were newly made from his blood, and the earth was rich with the first giant’s flesh.”

  Raef persisted. “But you know what it is. Or was.”

  The Far-Traveled gazed at Raef for a long moment before speaking. “This was a temple to Odin,” he began at last, after inhaling deeply. “One of the first. It was a place of beauty beyond reckoning, crafted lovingly with skill granted by the Raven God himself. There is no man alive now, nor has there been for thousands of years, who could duplicate the work.”

  Finndar paused and was silent for so long, his eyes no longer seeing the view before him, that Raef could almost see him pulling the mem
ory from his mind, as though it were a fine gossamer thread that would shatter under force.

  He settled himself on the flat stone Raef had occupied earlier. “The Allfather gave the creators of this place knowledge and wisdom and battle-strength. It was a time when the gods made their presence known more often than they do today and the people here made the most of that.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Finndar shrugged. “The world changed,” he said, as if it were truly that simple. “All cannot stay as it is. I have heard it said that these people overstepped themselves, pressed their favor with the Allfather too far. Or perhaps they merely slipped out of thought and time.”

  Raef glanced at the ruins around them. “I thought this a place of peace.”

  Finndar smiled a little. “It was. For a time.” The Far-Traveled stood. “Come, you must return.” He whistled. Raef’s horse trotted over and Raef mounted. “Until we meet again,” Finndar said, in a tone that was unquestionably knowing.

  “Do you know when that will be?”

  “I do.”

  The certainty of those words crawled across Raef’s skin but the look on the Far-Traveled’s face told him not to ask the son of Urda to elaborate. He raised a hand in farewell, then turned the horse back the way he had come, leaving the half god to his memories.

  Clouds had rolled in from the west, marring the moon’s bright face, and Raef’s descent was done in greater darkness. When the way grew steep, Raef dismounted to ensure the horse did not stumble on uneven ground and throw him. They took their time in the unfamiliar pines, treading softly over moss and needles, and crossed three rivulets of water trickling down to join the river below. At the third, a neatly carved miniature gully, Raef let the horse dip its head for a drink, and in that moment he heard footfalls. He was being tracked.