The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  Before remounting, Raef took the mare from the man who had been holding her and walked her over to the children, who stood mute and frightened apart from the rest.

  “She is yours now. Go some place safe,” Raef said. He handed the rope to the oldest, a skinny girl who could not have yet been twelve, and then turned away. When he urged his horse away from the ruined farm, the men fell in behind him.

  Though the men were his now, Raef kept apart as they traveled. Ulrik’s distaste for him was palpable and Raef, certain the captain would not hesitate to oust him if he could, did not desire to stir up more trouble. But more than that, his time with the Palesword’s men and the Hammerling’s before that had made him weary of riding among strangers, weary of wondering where to place his trust, weary of gratifying other men’s whims. And a small part of him, remembering Gudrik, Soren, and Vakre most of all, knew he did not want to make more friends only to lose them again.

  In his self-imposed silence, he fixed his mind on making plans to obtain freedom for Vakre, Siv, and Eira. If the Palesword had maintained his position on the lonely plateau by the lake, Raef could not hope to infiltrate the camp for the way up would be heavily guarded. His chances improved if Torrulf had moved on in order to seek out Fengar, the Hammerling, or any of their allies.

  It was late on the second day of their journey north that Raef began to sense they were being watched and followed. They traveled across tree-pocked plains with gently rolling hills, cut through here and there by swift streams, and Raef’s sight lines were interrupted in every direction. But they chose to make camp that night in the open, on the crest of a slope, for the ground was muddy and wet from recent rain everywhere else.

  As Raef chewed on dried meat and stale bread, washing it down with water from a skin, he glanced toward the nearest group of trees and saw movement that was not a bird or animal. Setting aside his food and looking about to see that no one was paying close attention to him, he walked to the trees, quite certain he knew who he would find there.

  The children did not try to hide as he approached. They stood among the trees, dirty and under-dressed for the cold night air. The mare was asleep on her feet already, tired from carrying all three children for two days, though they could not have weighed much.

  “Why do you follow?”

  The oldest brushed hair from her face. “We have nowhere to go. Our mother is dead and our father is gone.”

  “No cousins or uncles?”

  She shook her head.

  “I told you to go some place safe. Where I go, there is no safety to be found.”

  “A lord needs someone to look after him.”

  Were it not for her serious expression, Raef might have laughed. “At home, perhaps, but here in the wild, that is no place for you.”

  “I can sharpen your sword and axe. I can wash your clothes. I can cook rabbit and mutton.”

  Raef sighed and looked into her pale blue eyes. “What is your name, child?”

  “Cilla.”

  “Cilla, I am sorry for the loss of your home, but I have nothing to offer you. We ride to battle. I cannot allow you to follow.”

  Cilla looked up at him. There were streaks in the dirt on her cheeks where tears had fallen before, but she was not crying now. “I do not ask your leave, lord.”

  And so the children followed when they broke camp in the morning, for Raef could not see how to keep them away, apart from maiming or killing them and that he would not do. They followed at a distance but it did not take long for the men to notice their three shadows. When Raef said the children were not to be harmed, they gave him curious looks but kept their opinions to themselves and their weapons sheaved. Only Ulrik grumbled about their presence in Raef’s hearing.

  That night, Raef brought them scraps of meat, but found Cilla was already skinning a squirrel and the other two, a boy of eight and a girl of five, were tending a meager, but burning flame. Cilla’s knife was old and bent, perhaps long discarded by the absent father, but she worked diligently until she had strips of squirrel meat resting over the fire. The day had grown cold and the night promised to be colder still, so Raef exchanged the scraps of food he had brought for a spare blanket. It was thin and torn at one corner, but would serve a purpose.

  Cilla was so efficient with both the food and her younger siblings, giving them quiet directions that were promptly fulfilled, that Raef began to wonder how long they had been alone on that farm. All three were exhausted, he could see, but they worked, ate, and bedded down for the night under the blanket without complaint. Before walking away, Raef, who had sat to the side, watching, battling feelings of responsibility, tucked the edge of the blanket away from the fire. The youngest, her curly hair askew, was already asleep.

  When Raef returned to the larger campfire, a pair of warriors were lingering near where he had placed his belongings. They glanced at him but seemed unwilling to approach him.

  “Speak your mind.”

  One shuffled his feet and looked away, leaving the other to answer. Raef thought his name was Sigvard. “We wondered what you mean to do with them, lord,” he said, pointing to where the children lay. Raef did not detect malice in his voice.

  “I do not know. I did not wish for them to follow. If I can bring them to a place of safety, I will do so, though I do not know where that might be. I am not the one who destroyed their home, though.” The men had the sense to look guilty and Raef seized on it. “I do not trust Ulrik,” he said. “Do you think that wrong?” The warrior who had spoken shook his head. “Then do something for these children and see that he leaves them in peace.” The two men did not agree outright, but as they walked away Raef sensed he had won them to his side.

  Raef’s hopes were answered on the fourth day when a woodcutter told them the Palesword and Fengar had clashed on Kulfell lands. Raef knew it might be that Torrulf had chosen to hold his ground on the plateau while sending men out, but there was a chance his whole force was on the move. Though his numbers would grow as they went, Raef’s best chance at a successful rescue would come on the march.

  The next day, as they crossed into Kulfell, Raef had the men spread out and ride in pairs so as to cover more ground, looking for any sign of men and horses. It was midday when they entered dense forest thick with unbroken underbrush and Raef knew they were the first to pass that way in some time. But soon after, word came from the far left of Raef’s line that tracks had been found and the Hammerling’s men converged on that spot, their faces bright with the anticipation of battle.

  The tracks were fresh. Raef counted no more than ten or eleven horses and no one on foot. As they followed, it began to snow, gently at first, then with more urgency. Raef kept the children in the middle of the group and rode near them.

  Raef leaned close to Cilla. “If we fight, do not look to me. Take the horse and ride, as fast and as far as you can.” For a moment he thought she would protest but she bit her lip and nodded, the snow already thick on her hair.

  They increased their pace, eager to close the distance before the snow covered the track and their quarry was lost. Whether they were pursuing followers of Fengar or Torrulf, Raef wanted whatever information he could get. After crossing a small stream, the track diverged. Mirroring the men they followed, Raef split his force and led half on the left track. Though he might have preferred to keep Ulrik with him, he did not dispute the captain’s right to lead the other half.

  They moved with as much silence as they could muster, aided by the snow underfoot. The flakes swirled in front of Raef, rising and falling with the breath of the wind before coming to rest on tree limbs and the forest floor.

  The first arrow was no more than a rush of air passing in front of Raef’s face. It thudded into a tree trunk.

  “Archers!” Raef shouted. The men raised their shields just as the next four arrows were let loose. Raef scanned the trees and saw movement. He dismounted and, staying low, circled wide to approach the archers from behind. The arrows continued to fly. Raef co
uld only hope the Hammerling’s men would form a wall and hold their ground on the path long enough to give him time.

  The rearmost archer was an easy target for none of his companions could see him. Raef did not even draw a weapon, but instead seized the other man and wrapped an arm around his throat. The warrior struggled, but surprise had given Raef every advantage and his hold was too tight. Soon the warrior slumped to the ground and Raef moved on to the next. This time he drew one of his knives and plunged it into the archer’s spine. This one, too, fell without a sound. The third was tricky. He had climbed onto a low tree branch, leaving only his ankles within Raef’s reach. Raef grabbed one foot and pulled. The archer fell straight down, his head snapping back as his chin struck the branch. Raef did not need to look to know he was dead.

  Raef reached the fourth and final warrior in three strides. The man was about to release an arrow, but he froze when the edge of Raef’s sword slid on to his neck.

  “Drop it.” The warrior complied. “Now walk.” Encouraged by Raef’s blade, they soon returned to the path where the Hammerling’s men, no longer harried by arrows, had abandoned their shield wall. Raef gave one of his men custody of the archer. The children, he noticed, were out of sight. Cilla had listened, but there was no telling where they were now. It would have to wait.

  Raef began to clean his knife. “Whom do you serve?”

  The archer’s face was stubborn.

  “Would you like me to remove an ear? Then you would have no trouble hearing me.”

  The archer swallowed hard. “I answer to Harald of Ervard.”

  “And Harald?”

  “Supports the Palesword.”

  “Good. Where are your friends?”

  The man looked back into the trees. “You killed them.”

  “Do not lie. We have followed you since midday. I know there are more.”

  The stubborn look returned and Raef walked toward him. The knife, clean and bright now, came to rest on the man’s cheek. His breath came harder now but his mouth stayed closed.

  Raef leaned in close. “Do you think they will come when they hear your screams?”

  The sudden smell of urine was sharp and Raef wrinkled his nose. A flood of words followed. “We thought we heard pursuers, so we split, trying to draw you off. They were to circle and delay, then rejoin us from the north and crush you in the middle.”

  “Answer one last question and I will spare your life and the lives of your companions if it is not too late already. Where is the Palesword now?”

  There was no hesitation this time. “Less than a day’s ride east. He sent us out two days ago to scout his western flank as he traveled.”

  Raef nodded and sheathed his knife. “Take his weapons.” Raef remounted his horse. “Stay with him,” he said to the warrior who was removing the archer’s arrow bag, knives, and short sword. “The rest of you with me.”

  They rode quickly now, silence no longer necessary as they searched for the rest of the Ervard men as well as Ulrik’s party. The sounds of steel on steel soon reached them and then Raef’s horse was upon them. The two shield walls broke apart and Ulrik’s greater numbers were beginning to have effect as the six Ervard men were soon surrounded. Raef circled the fighting on his horse. There was no need to join them for already three men were down. The others fought to the end, but it came quickly and Ulrik shouted his triumph.

  Raef released his captive, as promised, but kept the horse and set him on a western path that would take him far from the Palesword. Raef could see Ulrik’s displeasure, but the captain said nothing. It was only when Raef turned his men east to search out the Palesword’s host that he remembered the children. They had not been seen since the fighting began.

  Raef knew they could not wait. If they hoped to catch the Palesword the next day, they need to make good progress before nightfall. Raef tried to tell himself that they might survive. Cilla was stronger than she looked, after all, in both mind and body. But he knew their chances were slim.

  He turned his horse east, only to see Cilla in front of him. She was not alone. A warrior held her close to him, an axe at her throat. Her eyes were filled with fear, but she did not cry out or weep.

  “This belong to you?”

  “Let her go.”

  “I want a horse.”

  “Let her go and you will have one.”

  The warrior’s glance darted around and he backed away, keeping Cilla close.

  “Cilla,” Raef said, “where are your brother and sister?”

  She answered with her eyes, looking to her left.

  “Are they safe?”

  Her nod was barely visible. Raef, without taking his eyes from the Ervard warrior, said, “Sigvard, find them.” Sigvard scrambled into the trees. Raef took a step toward Cilla and the warrior. “I will count to ten. If you have not released her by the time I reach ten, they will shoot.” He indicated his own trio of archers, who already had arrows trained on the man.

  “One.” Raef took another step. “Two.” Another. “Three.” He could see the man’s grip begin to slacken. “Four.” The warrior flung Cilla to the side and ran, but he had gone only two strides before crashing into Sigvard, who was returning with the younger children, one in each arm. All four fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

  Raef dove for them, reaching them at the same time as Cilla. Sigvard and the Ervard warrior drew their short swords, though both were still in the snow. Raef seized the youngest child and threw her to the side, then reached in for the boy’s leg. The Ervard warrior, on his knees now, began to swing wildly. Raef felt a slash on his arm but kept his grip on the boy’s foot and dragged him away. Sigvard threw himself at the other man and they fell back to the ground. They grappled for a moment and then Raef saw Sigvard’s blade flash in between them. A quick stab and the Ervard warrior lay still. Sigvard rose to his feet, bleeding from his nose, but otherwise unharmed.

  A roar from behind him made Raef spin around. Ulrik, sword out, was lunging for Cilla but Raef got there first. He put himself between Ulrik and the girl and Ulrik pulled up short, seething with fury.

  “Those mongrels almost got one of my men killed. I will see them dead.”

  “You will not touch them.” Raef drew his sword.

  Ulrik roared again and charged, but it was not Raef’s sword that blocked his swing. Sigvard, grunting with effort, threw Ulrik back and planted himself firmly next to Raef. Ulrik looked from one to the other and then at the rest of the men.

  “Am I not captain here?” His shout found no answer but the snow. Ulrik let his sword fall to his side, but there was no defeat in his face, only vehemence. He looked squarely at Raef. “I will rip out your heart one day.”

  Raef had Sigvard bind Ulrik’s hands before ensuring the children were unharmed. He put Cilla and the younger girl on one of the horses they had acquired in the skirmish and let the boy ride the mare by himself. It was a solemn group that rode east and they shared meat and ale in near silence around the campfire after dark. Raef could tell his grip on the men was tenuous. If given the chance, some might choose Ulrik. He set those he trusted most on watches with those he was unsure of and slept little himself.

  Sigvard shared his sleeplessness and sat close to the children. Raef found him there while pacing around the fire. The warrior was watching them sleep, a slight smile on his face. He looked up at Raef’s approach.

  “My own sister is of an age with her,” Sigvard said, touching Cilla’s hair. “Do you have any siblings, lord?”

  Raef knelt and tucked the boy’s arm under a blanket. “No. My mother died just days after I was born. My father never took another wife.”

  “When we return to the Hammerling, I will send them to my mother. She will look after them.”

  Raef nodded his thanks and then returned to his blanket. He watched the snow fall until dawn came.

  Eighteen

  The Palesword’s banners were many. They rippled in the wind, bright spots of color flying between white snow
and blue sky. Raef guessed that the Palesword’s force was half again the size it was when he had parted from it.

  They watched the Palesword’s progress from a hilltop, concealed in the trees. The host below them marched at a slow pace, for many were on foot.

  “We are but one and thirty, lord,” Sigvard said. “What can we do against so many spears?”

  “Where many men could not pass, a few might go unnoticed. Stealth will be our friend. And the moonless sky we will walk under this night. But first we must know where the prisoners are being kept.”

  A moment later, one of the Hammerling’s men spotted a group of men walking without armor or weapons. “There, lord. Prisoners.”

  He was right and Raef scanned the distant faces for those he sought. They were too far to make out to be sure that Eira, Siv, and Vakre were among them. “We must get closer.” Raef sent Sigvard and two other men to find a better vantage point. “Look for two shieldmaidens, one dark of hair, the other with a braid of red and gold.” Raef and the rest of the men waited at the top of the hill and though the scouts were not gone long, it seemed an age to Raef.

  “There are no women there, lord,” Sigvard said.

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Raef turned away, his fists clenched at his side, and looked down at the warriors. “The Palesword may be keeping them close. We will trail them until they stop for the night.” The men prepared to follow the column of warriors. “Ride in small groups. Keep to the trees. Be on your guard. The Palesword is not likely to travel without sending out scouts. Avoid them if you can. Kill them if you must.”

  The Hammerling’s men split up and filtered into the trees, some to ride ahead, others to linger and follow the Palesword’s column. Raef sent Ulrik, still bound, with Sigvard and his group. Raef took his group forward, matching pace with the head of the Palesword’s host. Through the trees, Raef caught a glimpse of Torrulf, riding tall astride his horse, but then the leaves grew thick and from then on they followed the sound of hooves more than the sight of banners and spears.