The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  “No one needs to die. Yet.” The voice came from behind Raef and he turned just enough to see Torrulf Palesword. The legendary sword was still sheathed at his hip, but his eyes seemed to glitter with purpose and power. “Raef Skallagrim. I did not think to find you here.”

  Raef kept the knife up and glanced from Torrulf to the spearman. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Did Fengar honey his words well enough to entice you?”

  “If there was honey on the ropes he bound me with, I did not notice.” Raef gestured down the hill. “We escaped. He is down there.”

  “I know he is down there. I put him there.” Torrulf looked closely at Raef, taking in the raw skin around his wrists and the knife that was his only defense. “You say you escaped. How many men does Fengar have down in that clearing?”

  “Two hundred.” Raef answered without hesitation. He met Torrulf’s gaze and did not look away. After a moment, the Palesword turned and looked at the warrior with the spear, who gave a slight nod in response to an unasked question.

  “Bind them,” the Palesword said. “But do them no harm.” He turned back to Raef. “I will speak with you later.” The Palesword walked over to the other side of the hill as Raef’s wrists were bound and the bloody knife removed from his grasp. At a signal, warriors swarmed up to the top of the hill, too quickly and too many for Raef to count. He could only be certain that the Palesword’s men outnumbered Fengar’s. Four were left behind to watch over Raef and his companions, but Torrulf led the rest down the hill, a creeping, quiet avalanche of sharp blades and broad shields shrouded in fog, toward the clearing where Fengar celebrated his victory.

  The stillness that remained on top of the hill was absolute. Where Fengar had pursued his quarry into the trees with sound and fury, Torrulf descended with purpose and patience. Left atop the hill, Raef closed his eyes on the fog and waited, his mind’s eye on the clearing below.

  The first sounds of battle that floated up the hill were nearly imperceptible. A ring of blade on blade there, a muffled shout there. For a moment, Raef wondered if this was what the gods felt, looking down from Asgard, watching men fight. It would seem like children playing at war games to them. So distant did Raef feel, it was hard to imagine the maelstrom and savagery that he knew was unfolding below.

  Vakre broke the silence and spoke to the warrior closest to him. “If Fengar wins, will you flee for your lives or try to kill us first?”

  The warrior barred his teeth in defiance. Another answered for him. “Fengar will lose. The Palesword will tear him limb from limb.”

  “So sure?” Vakre kept his voice calm, enraging the first warrior even more as he edged closer. Raef stepped in, prepared to intervene, defenseless and bound as he was. That Vakre was upset at being a prisoner again, Raef could understand, but to strike out in this manner was useless. Vakre needed to keep his tongue behind his teeth. And then Raef saw that Vakre’s bonds were loose and he was within reach of an axe handle on the warrior’s belt. Raef glared hard at him, trying to compel restraint.

  “Listen,” Siv said, breaking Vakre’s moment. The sounds of battle had ceased. Raef strained to hear something, anything, that might indicate the result, but nothing reached him. The four warriors watching them exchanged glances and then one started down the hill. He, too, disappeared into the fog.

  The wait was interminable and the nerves of the Palesword’s men were raw and exposed. Every snapping twig, every shuffled leaf, caused their gazes to dart and their grips to stiffen. Then, a single set of pounding footsteps approached and a shieldmaiden burst into view.

  “We are victorious,” she said. “The Palesword says to bring them.”

  Raef was encouraged down the hill by the same spear that had been in his back earlier. The clearing was filled with the voices of the dying and the stench of the dead. Blood ran from corpses to mingle with urine on the trampled ground. Wounded warriors groaned and writhed amid the gore. The Palesword’s men brought mercy to those they deemed worthy of it and let the rest linger on in pain and fear. Raef searched for a sign of Fengar but could not see him among the prisoners who were able to stand. But neither did he see Sindri’s red hair or Norl’s broad shoulders, and for this Raef was glad. The Palesword, surveying everything, looked long and hard at Raef and then beckoned him over.

  Torrulf prodded at a wound on his upper arm, deemed it negligible, and splashed water on his face before speaking. “How is it that you came to be with Fengar?”

  “We happened upon him by accident. I thought to acquire information and then leave. I misjudged the situation.”

  “Information? For the Hammerling, then.” Raef did not deny or confirm this. “How did you escape?”

  “Fengar had returned from battle. Some kind of scouting party, I gather. Yours?” Raef cocked his head to one side and Torrulf nodded in response. “A diversion. Something to draw him into the trees where you could descend like wolves upon him in a place of your choosing.”

  “Answer the question.”

  Raef spread his hands as far as the ropes would allow. “Simple. In the commotion of his return, we slipped into the trees. We left behind several of our party.”

  “Those ropes are not the first to encircle your wrists this day. What about your bonds?”

  “We acquired a blade while we waited.”

  Torrulf studied Raef for a long moment. Blood dripped from his wound. “I think there is much you do not say, Raef Skallagrim.” He turned and mounted a horse that had been brought.

  “What of Fengar?” Raef said.

  “Fengar is in the wind.” The Palesword gave a shout and urged the horse away, leaving Raef once more with a spear in his back. As he was steered from the clearing, Raef saw a white beard, matted and black with blood, among the pile of dead. He knelt and turned the body on its side to see death on the face of Tormund Ravenbane for the second time. Whoever this man had been or whoever Raef had met that night in Darfallow, there could be no doubt now that Tormund was truly dead.

  The Palesword took the living as prisoners either to press into service or to ransom. His men scavenged the bodies for any weapons, tools, or food worth having. When everything of value had been plucked from the corpses and wagons, a captain gave the call to move out. Not a moment after the last men crossed the tree line, circling crows dove from the sky and began to scavenge in their own way, a gory, gleeful chorus.

  The march to the Palesword’s camp was long and leisurely. The warriors were strung out among the trees, vulnerable if the woods had been filled with anything other than birds and rabbits. By the time Raef emerged from the forest, the moon was high in the sky and his stomach ached for food. The makeshift camp was ensconced on a sloping plateau among hulking boulders and their shadows, overlooking a lake and empty plains below. A narrow stream provided water and access was limited to a single path. Torrulf would not be easily set upon in this place.

  “We should have killed those men when we had the chance,” Eira said. They had found a campfire to linger near and she sat with her arms on her knees, her long hair hanging over half her face.

  “And be hunted by both Fengar and Torrulf?” Raef sat beside her.

  “Better that than be chained by both.”

  “The moment Vakre grabbed that axe, I would have had a spear in my belly. Is that what you want?”

  Eira’s face was inscrutable. Raef knew his own showed frustration but instead of speaking, he leaned over and kissed her. His hands, despite the ropes, pulled her close and she responded eagerly, a warm, wild thing against him. Raef had nearly decided to take her behind the nearest boulder and tear her clothes from her body when Vakre cleared his throat and Raef’s attention was claimed by the approach of Torrulf Palesword.

  The Palesword had removed his leather armor, but the firelight, dancing across his face, cloaked him with a different sort of shield and he was no less imposing. The wound on his arm had been tied up with black cloth and the blood of his enemies had been washed from h
is hands and face. He held his hands over the fire.

  “You must be hungry.”

  Raef did not answer. The Palesword had not yet earned any trust.

  “We have meat for plenty. I will see that you get some.” Torrulf fingered something around his neck. “What am I to do with you, Skallagrim? I have here before me the lord of Vannheim, promised to the Hammerling, but not in his heart, I think. Fengar threatened death, I am sure. The Hammerling?” Torrulf cocked his head and looked hard at Raef. “Perhaps the same.”

  When Raef kept silent, the Palesword shrugged. “No matter. Death is too easy and I am in the middle of a war. I do not intend to throw away lives lightly. Not if I see use in them.”

  “What use do you see in me?”

  Now it was the Palesword’s turn to evade. “You keep odd friends, Raef.”

  “They are here of their own free will.”

  The Palesword laughed. “I never said you coerced them. I only wonder what drives them.”

  Raef felt an echo of the Deepminded ripple through his head. He pushed that thought away. “Perhaps because I did not threaten them.”

  The laugh came again, this time with mockery. “A nice belief. The world revolves around threats and counter threats, Raef.”

  “When we fled the gathering, you could have put a blade to my neck and demanded Vannheim’s spears. But you did not.”

  “Only because I was in no position to do so.” The Palesword turned and looked at Vakre, Siv, and Eira. “You see, Skallagrim, it is not your neck that matters.” He drew his sword. The firelight made the pale blade flicker with orange. “I could lay this on your skin and give you a final choice, but the blade’s kiss will not influence you. But if I do this?” The sword was up against Eira’s neck in an instant, so gracefully and so quickly done that it seemed not to have happened at all. But it was deadly all the same and Raef’s breath caught in his throat and his pulse quickened.

  “You sacrificed men today and it did not bring you Fengar. Perhaps you even had him within your grasp. This eats at you. Do not take your frustration out on me,” Raef said, coming to his feet.

  The Palesword gestured to Vakre, Eira, and Siv with his other hand. “Will you sacrifice them out of loyalty for the Hammerling, a man you do not trust?”

  “You know I will not.”

  “You are right. I do know.” Torrulf sheathed his sword. Eira spit at the ground near his feet. “I do not ask for your shields and spears, Skallagrim. But there is something you will do for me. I do not need to tell you what happens to them if you refuse.”

  “What do you want?”

  The Palesword drew back from the fire and paced around it until he came to stand closer to Raef. With the fire at his back, his eyes were black and bottomless.

  “You will find the Far-Traveled and bring him to me.”

  This demand was not what Raef had been expecting and questions flooded his mind, most of which he knew the Palesword would decline to answer. He made a stab at one he thought least intrusive. “What makes you think I can find him?”

  “Because you will want to find him.”

  “And if he does not come willingly?”

  “Persuade him.”

  “Am I to go alone?”

  “I will send some of my best with you.”

  “Watchdogs.”

  Torrulf shook his head. “They will aid you in any way they can and do what you command. Take whatever you need. Arm yourself. Some fine weapons have recently come into my possession.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  “First thing.” Torrulf drew a knife and cut the ropes on Raef’s wrists. He went around the fire and did the same to Eira, Vakre, and Siv. “But know this. If you return without the Far-Traveled at your side, you will see their heads on spikes.” It was said without cruelty or malice. A simple statement of fact. Raef did not doubt the honesty and intent behind the words. The Palesword held Raef’s gaze for a long moment and then left the circle of firelight.

  Raef looked at his companions but did not speak. Bitterness was on his tongue and it would do no good to let it out. There was nothing to do but prepare for the morning’s departure. True to his word, the Palesword sent over meat and ale as well as a selection of weapons for Raef to choose from. His own were not among them, as he had hoped, but he found a solid, well-made sword, an axe with good heft, and a pair of knives that would serve many purposes. They were strangers in his hands, but they would have to do.

  “Spill blood with them and they will seem to be better friends.” Vakre took a long drink and then held up a shield for Raef to inspect. It was the least battered of the bunch and was of fitting height and breadth. “That will do.”

  Raef ate though the hunger he had felt had vanished. The ale was easier to get down but the silence around the campfire made him uneasy. He lay flat on his back and looked up at the stars.

  “Where will you begin your search?” Siv asked, her face half in shadow.

  “I do not know. I saw the Far-Traveled on the Great-Belly’s lands, but he could be anywhere now.”

  “You saw him?” Vakre sounded puzzled.

  “The day the gathering began. By chance we visited the stone ruins at the same time, before Erlaug hunted me in the trees.”

  “The Far-Traveled does little by chance, Raef.”

  “You think he sought me out? What purpose could he have?”

  “Only he knows the answer to that.”

  Eira stirred and spoke. “What did he speak of?”

  Raef thought back. “The ruins, the gathering.”

  “Nothing of your future?”

  “He said we would meet again. I did not ask him when.”

  Silence fell again and one by one Raef’s companions drifted into sleep. Raef watched Mani drive the moon across the night sky and imagined that he could see the wolf, Hati, dashing through the stars, hard on the heels of the moon.

  Fourteen

  The morning came with snow and frosty breath. Raef rose early, having slept little, and went to the overlook. A thin skin of ice could be seen on the surface of the lake below. A herd of deer stood at the water’s edge and Raef watched a party of hunters approach downwind through the trees. Arrows flew in unison and a dozen or more deer were felled. Others, wounded and slow, were brought down by a second shower of death and the hunters fell on the animals with efficiency. Raef turned away and knelt by a rivulet of water that ran toward the edge of the plateau. He splashed icy water on his face, wondering if it was too late to slip away with his friends. But the camp was busy now and Raef knew the way off the plateau would be heavily guarded.

  Hot broth and meat were waiting when he returned to the ashes of the campfire and the others were awake. The Palesword was also waiting, along with eight warriors dressed for travel. Raef ate quickly and assessed his new companions. Three talked quietly among themselves while two boasted of their kills against Fengar’s host to the remaining three. None seemed concerned with their new task.

  “Do you have all you require?” The Palesword asked. His breath clouded in front of his face.

  Raef pulled up the fur collar of his cloak. “No, but I have all that a prisoner might expect.”

  “You are not a prisoner, Skallagrim, but a tool I have seen fit to wield. I do not threaten the lives of your friends lightly. What I ask of you is of great importance.”

  “Not ask. Demand.”

  The Palesword acknowledged this with a nod.

  Raef, itching to break Torrulf’s patience and calm, burst out. “If finding the Far-Traveled is so crucial, why me? Surely there are other men, close to you, long-trusted, who are better suited to this task.”

  “And they are otherwise engaged. A tool, Raef. Wars are won by how we use those around us.” He whistled and servants appeared leading ten horses. Nine were fitted with saddles and small packs, the tenth, a burly, shaggy thing, loaded with supplies. “And now it is time you were on your way. I will not send you blind into the wild, though. When I left
the gathering, I crossed paths with the Far-Traveled. He meant to continue east. There. You have your direction. The rest is up to you.” Torrulf took the reins of a sleek, grey horse and held them while Raef mounted. The Palesword looked up at Raef. “May the Wanderer guide you, Skallagrim. Your friends will be treated with all kindness in your absence. I look forward to your return. See that you do, too.” He strode away and did not look back.

  Raef urged the horse close to Vakre, Eira, and Siv, who had observed the exchange. It was good to see them unbound, but Raef knew there was no mistaking their situation. “I will not fail you,” he said to them.

  “Would that I could go with you,” Vakre said. Raef nodded in return.

  Eira’s face was calm but Raef could see the tension in her limbs. She was angry, likely as much at him as at the Palesword. Raef searched her eyes for some sign of affection, some memory of shared lust, but found nothing. This did not surprise him nor did it bother him much.

  It was Siv who found the courage to smile. “With any luck, we will escape before you return.”

  Raef found himself smiling in response, then he forced himself to turn the horse away. With a shout, he urged his mount forward and heard his new companions do the same behind him. They raced across the plateau and down the narrow access route until they reached the snow-covered plains and icy lakeshore below. There Raef turned south, to skirt the lake. Once around the other side, they would head east on a course that would take them into the lands of Skolldain, avoiding, for now, Stefnir of Gornhald, Fengar’s ally. From there, Raef hoped word of the Far-Traveled might be found to guide them further.

  The winds howled down from the north that day, blasting the riders until Raef was numb in both body and mind. It was a welcome numbness, for it meant Raef did not dwell on those he had left behind and the near impossible task he had been set. Instead, he felt the drumming hooves beneath him and the muscles of the grey horse moving in rhythm, and watched the world pass by.