The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  When he had the chance, Raef sought viewpoints from which to examine those closest to the Palesword. Once he thought he saw Siv’s hair, but the host shifted as it descended from a knoll and he lost it.

  When darkness crept across the earth and the stars shone overhead in a cloudless sky, Torrulf chose the best ground he could, halting his warriors on a subtle rise in the midst of an open plain. Though hardly a hill, the higher ground would give his watchmen an advantage over anyone who might approach. And yet, Raef, as he eyed the site in the dying light, knew there was one weakness.

  A river rushed alongside Torrulf’s chosen campsite and Raef could see that it was lined with tall grasses. The Palesword’s numbers meant his host would overwhelm the small rise and spread out around it, except where the river and the rise met, joined by a steep, though short, bank. It was there that Raef could see a chance to penetrate the Palesword’s camp.

  The Hammerling’s men regrouped a safe distance away as the Palesword’s men lit fires, their talk and laughter floating across the open air. The men settled in to wait. Raef checked his weapons out of habit. They were all sharp, all ready to spill blood.

  “Lord.” The Hammerling warrior approached Raef with uncertainty. Raef gestured for him to come closer. “Those women you spoke of, I may have seen them.”

  “Where?”

  “With the Palesword himself when they first stopped upon the rise.”

  Raef touched the hammer that hung from his neck. “Luck may be with us.” The closer to the river Vakre, Eira, and Siv were, the better their chances of success.

  The fires had been low and untouched for some time before Raef decided it was time. He would take only five men with him, trusting that speed and stealth would prevail. “We do not speak,” he told them. “We crawl to the river and then swim the rest of the way.”

  Leaving behind bulkier weapons that would only hinder them, the men armed themselves with small axes and knives and then began the long crawl to the river’s edge. Raef led the way, peeking his head up only to be sure they stayed on course. His arms were aching by the time they reached the water, but he did not stop to rest. Sliding in, his breath caught for the water was cold and deeper than he had thought it would be. Once the others had joined him in the river, they swam only a little, letting the current do most of the work and carry them. When they reached the rise, Raef dragged himself out of the water but indicated for the men to hold their position. Using only his arms, Raef dragged himself up the bank, through reeds and tall grass, until he could see firelight ahead. Keeping low, Raef waited and watched.

  The men closest to him were asleep. Their chests rose and fell evenly. A small tent was just beyond them. Raef wondered if the Palesword slept in it. A fire glowed just outside the tent’s flap and a single guard was posted there, facing away from where Raef hid. To the left, perhaps twenty paces from the tent, another fire smoldered and Raef could see four warriors standing over it, talking quietly among themselves. On his right, more sleeping bodies lay still, breath rising in pale clouds above their heads.

  Raef crawled to his right to search for his friends among those who slept. His cover dwindled away to nothing, but he persisted, his soaking clothes icing over as he slid through the snow. Here and there, a body moved in sleep and once Raef’s foot slipped on muddy snow and his boot narrowly missed a man’s head. When one of the sleepers sat up, Raef froze and clung to the ground, the darkness his only hope. A long moment passed and Raef was about to look up when he sensed footsteps. He tensed and reached for his knife, but the feet were in front of him already. Scrambling to his feet, blade poised to strike, Raef went still. The eyes he was looking into were familiar. It was Siv, and her smile was brighter than the stars above.

  They crouched down and Siv pointed to two sleeping forms, answering Raef’s unspoken question with a nod. Putting a finger to her lips, she crept over and placed a hand on Vakre’s shoulder, then did the same to Eira. They woke quickly and Siv whispered something to them. They gathered up their belongings and crawled to join Raef.

  They exchanged no words, but Raef directed them to the river, letting them go first while he watched their backs. Once they had to pause and wait while the four guards at the fire dispersed. Raef held his breath, but the men each took only a few steps, casting cursory glances about them, and he knew their vision would be compromised by the flames.

  Reaching the river, Raef slid back into the water, his clothes so frozen that he did not notice the chill. The trek upriver was harder and the current seemed stronger now that they moved against it. But the knowledge that Vakre, Siv, and Eira were safe made it easy to bear. The Hammerling’s men were waiting and helped them from the water. There was no time to speak, only a moment to exchange their wet shirts for dry ones and warm furs. The horses were ready and waiting, three spares saddled for the newcomers, and they mounted and rode into the night, eager to put distance between them and the Palesword before their absence was discovered. Raef turned them west. If any land was safe, it would be there, close to Finngale and the Hammerling’s source of strength.

  They rode hard through the dawn, through the morning hours of mist, and did not stop until the sun was high in the sky. Only then did they take rest on the shore of a narrow lake, letting the horses drink. Raef splashed water on his face while Vakre dunked his entire head in. Raef had not spoken a single word to Vakre, and yet it seemed he did not need to. They had resumed their friendship with ease and Raef was grateful that whatever essence of the Deepminded remained a part of him, it had not flared up since reuniting with those who had brought out such anger.

  Siv was still all quiet watchfulness and quick grins. Raef watched her wring water from her hair, then re-braid it with deft fingers, her gaze in constant motion as she observed her surroundings, her companions, and everything in between.

  It was Eira who seemed a stranger to him as he watched her drink from her cupped hands, her hair spilling over her shoulder. Her dark loveliness was as enticing as ever, but whatever small thing beyond attraction that had sprung up between them seemed now to have withered away, cut off before finding any form that Raef could put a name to. He did not know if it would resurface.

  Vakre came to stand near Raef, his eyes on the calm lake surface. “The Palesword was true to his word. We were well looked after. But I do not think he will suffer our escape. I expect retribution to follow.”

  “Retribution of some kind, yes, but he will not pursue us now. He does not yet know that I played a part in your flight. He will still expect me to return. But he will not follow.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “There are other things demanding his attention. The loss of prisoners, even those held as leverage, is insignificant when measured against what he strives for.”

  Vakre looked at Raef, his eyebrows raised. “Which is?”

  “He spoke of me as a tool. You heard it. If I am the chisel, the Far-Traveled is the hammer and Torrulf means to use him to tip the scales in his favor in a way that would threaten all the world. I could not let that happen.”

  “This was not from the Palesword’s mouth. That can only mean you found Finndar Urdson.”

  Raef nodded and picked up a flat, smooth stone. He turned it between his fingers and then flung it across the surface of the lake. “I did.” The rock skipped six times before sinking.

  “And you chose to let him stay free.”

  “I did. The Palesword’s men know nothing of it. They only know that I fled in the night.”

  “What is the Palesword’s purpose in seeking the Far-Traveled?”

  Raef skipped another stone and then related what Finndar Urdson had told him about the army buried in the heart of a mountain. Vakre listened in silence until Raef finished.

  “And you trust his words?” There was no accusation in Vakre’s question.

  “I do.”

  Vakre nodded. “Then Torrulf Palesword must be damned in the eyes of all men and gods. It is a shame. He would
make a good king.”

  “He would.”

  “We go to rejoin the Hammerling?”

  “Yes. I must tell him all I have learned,” Raef said.

  “Where do we find him?”

  “Sigvard says he sits on the border of Finngale and Axsellund. These men were raiding Kelgard lands when I found them. I expect he has raided elsewhere as well.”

  “Have Vannheim’s spears been bloodied?”

  Raef shrugged. “I do not know.”

  “Do not, or do not wish to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Vakre held Raef’s eyes for a moment and then looked back out to the lake. “Lord of Vannheim you are, but you have not been on your lands or among your people since acquiring that title. Your spears are pledged to another man, yet you have not led them in battle nor even do you know where they are. Do not tell me this is the path you saw before you when you watched your father burn on the pyre.”

  Raef clenched his fists. “Whatever path I am on, it has bought you your life.”

  “For which I thank you. But if you ever hope to avenge your father, you must first take his place in more than name.”

  “Why? So I can continue to fail him?” The question burst from Raef’s lips before he knew what he was saying and, once released, the words flowed unchecked. “On the day of his death, he saw me as a boy, willful, petty, undisciplined, and he was right to do so. I dreamed a selfish dream of the sea road and resented him for keeping me from the waves. I brought dishonor to Vannheim when I fought with Erlaug at the gathering, letting my boyhood quarrel rule my mind when I should have been an asset to my father. In my haste to avenge him, I chained Vannheim to a king I do not trust, a king my father might not have chosen. And now my warriors, his warriors, will die fighting for other men.” The tirade, begun with ferocity, had wilted under the shadow of grief and shame and Raef found he could not look at Vakre any longer.

  Turning from the lake, Raef gave the order to mount, taking refuge in their need to press on. As they snaked along between the lake and the steep hills that rose up on all sides, Raef focused on the stones that lined the shore, the birds in the trees, the slender waterfalls that raced down the rocks, the curve of Eira’s back as she rode beside him, anything but the doubts Vakre had raised.

  When they made camp long after dark, Raef said nothing to Vakre and little to anyone else, but he found Eira and, taking her where none but the pines might witness, spoke to her by other means.

  Nineteen

  The Hammerling found them long before they drew near Finngale’s border with Axsellund. Raef’s party was set upon by a pack of warriors as they summited a ridge. Their captain looked hard at the rope binding Ulrik’s hands and looked even harder at Cilla as she shadowed Raef and the two younger children tagging after Sigvard, but asked no questions. They were escorted the remaining distance to a windswept moor, spotted with dozens of lakes no larger than houses. Among the watery footprints, the long, strung-out line of the Hammerling’s allies was an imposing barricade to the lands beyond.

  The bright banners whipped in the wind as Raef and his men approached. The Hammerling had maintained order among his warriors, no small feat for a large host, and Raef saw no fistfights, no drunken brawls, no knives thrown in anger as he was led to the Hammerling’s tent. While waiting for the captain to announce them, Raef asked Sigvard to accompany him. The children he left with Vakre, while Eira gladly kept Ulrik close.

  The tent opened and Brandulf Hammerling stepped out into the air. He studied Raef for a moment, and then his gaze took in all those around Raef.

  “Skallagrim. I began to wonder when I might see you again.” Raef started to speak but was cut off. “The tent is dingy and smells of sheep. Walk with me.” The Hammerling turned and set off through the snow. Raef followed and Sigvard moved to do the same. Brandulf looked back. “Just you.”

  They walked in silence until they left the tents behind. The Hammerling stopped at one of the small lakes and picked at something in his teeth. “Day by day we grow in number, a few spears from Ragmoor one day, a party of swords from Norfaem the next as men trickle forth to answer the call. Still it is not enough. It will not break the lines of Fengar or the Palesword.”

  “More will come. But how long will you wait? I had thought to see you strike quickly and force the first true battle in this war. I have seen nothing but skirmishes.”

  The Hammerling grimaced. “Would that all my allies thought as you do. They all council me to wait, and so I have. For better or for worse. Am I not king? It seems even a king cannot do as he wishes.”

  Raef asked the question he should have asked first. “And Vannheim?”

  “They wait, too. They sit in the hills where Vannheim, Finngale, and Axsellund all meet, waiting for you. Their mouths tell me they will protect my back. I wonder if they might stab it.”

  “They will come.”

  The Hammerling shifted subjects. “You return to me with men different from those who left with you and many days after I had expected you. Did you see the Deepminded?”

  For an instant, Raef was back in the mountain cavern and the Deepminded’s face flashed before him. He blinked and pushed it away. “Her, and more. There is much to tell. But first, tell me, have Norl and your warriors returned to you? Have you seen the men of Vannheim who followed me east?” Raef asked, thinking of Sindri.

  The Hammerling shook his head. “None have come. What has happened, Skallagrim?” And so Raef related nearly all of what had transpired since setting out from Finngale. He kept his description of the events in the Deepminded’s cave brief. The Hammerling expressed disappointment that so little had been learned there. Raef recounted the strange death and rebirth of Tormund Ravenbane and what he had learned of Fengar and the Palesword, their numbers and their movements. When it came to the Palesword’s part, Raef held off from revealing Torrulf’s true purpose for seeking the Far-Traveled and all that Finndar Urdson had told him about the dead warriors sleeping in an unknown mountain. That he had found the Far-Traveled, spoken to him, and chosen to let him go free, Raef intended to share with only a few and the Hammerling was not among them.

  When he had finished, the Hammerling was quiet for some time. He twisted a silver arm ring absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere, perhaps flying over the land like a bird, seeing the enemy below him, assessing their strength. When he did speak, it was not to ask after more information on his enemies. “Ulrik Urgilson returns to me less than a free man. Why?”

  “He attempted to kill a defenseless child.”

  Brandulf nodded but said, “You know I will not hold him. He is one of my captains.”

  “I know.” Raef had not expected Ulrik to receive punishment from the Hammerling. “He has promised to rip my heart from my chest.”

  The Hammerling laughed a little. “And you?”

  “I would not forgo a chance to do the same. I am your ally and he is your captain, and we both follow your will. But if he crosses me, I cannot guarantee his safety.”

  The laugh came again, louder this time. “When we win this war, I will see to it that both of you have your chance.” He clapped a hand on Raef’s shoulder. “Now, let us find our other friends and tell them the time for waiting is over. The time for warring has come.”

  The Hammerling’s allies, greater in number than when Raef had last met with them, greeted Raef with stern faces and wary eyes when they gathered that night in the Hammerling’s tent. They had built an army in his absence and did not see him as one of their own. All but Hauk of Ruderk, who smiled openly and welcomed Raef into the circle. Mead was passed around and the Hammerling bid them all to drink a full cup and then called for the mead to be poured a second time.

  “I gather you here this night,” the Hammerling began, “to make it known that tomorrow we leave this place.” A few voices made murmurs at this but soon quieted. The Hammerling looked at Raef. “With Vannheim now joined securely to us, it is time to march on our enemies and test our shi
elds against theirs.”

  “Would it not be prudent to wait, lord? Others will yet join us.” Tyrvin, lord of Ragmoor, spoke clearly but quietly.

  “Are we not here to spill hot blood with our shining blades? Are we not here to howl in battle against our foe? Are we not here to win a war against a false king?” The Hammerling’s voice had risen with each question until it rang out, clear and compelling.

  “If we let Fengar and the Palesword fight each other,” began Tyrvin, but the Hammerling, his voice roaring, cut him off.

  “I mean to win my place through glorious battle, not prey upon an already-weakened foe.”

  “And risk all so soon?” That Tyrvin persisted, Raef found strangely admirable, but severely wrongheaded.

  “Yes, and yes a thousand times!” The Hammerling shook with anger and his face was gaining color swiftly. “I will risk all! My life, your life, you pig-faced bastard, the lives of all these men. And if I fail, at least I will find my way to Valhalla and drink with heroes until the days of battle come. But you, you will snivel on in life until you wither away to dust. And then Odin will pass you by.” Taking his fiery gaze from Tyrvin, the Hammerling looked at all the men. “If any man here does not have the thirst for this war, let him take his men and depart at once. There is no room for a coward in the shield wall.”

  Tyrvin had the sense to be silent. The uneasy quiet was broken by Hauk of Ruderk. “You are right, lord. With Vannheim joined to us, it is time to make our move.”

  “I do not need to be told I am right,” the Hammerling growled, but seemed more content. The other lords spoke their agreement and the tension lifted.

  Further plans were made that night. The Vannheim warriors would be sent for, though Raef was not allowed to go to them. The Hammerling would take the greater portion of his host and march into Balmoran, laying waste to the land as he went. His goal was Solheim and to draw Fengar into battle, for the Solheim lord could not ignore such an intrusion into his territory. “He will come running like a puppy, straight into the wolf’s jaws,” the Hammerling said, his eyes gleaming at the prospect.