The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  A smaller force would be sent to hassle whatever warriors they found in the more northern lands, be they for Torrulf or Fengar. This would be led by the newly arrived Eirik of Kolhaugen, a son of the late high king, not lord of Kolhaugen in name, for he and his twin brother disputed the right to rule. Despite this, Eirik had brought half of Kolhaugen’s warriors with him. The other half had followed his brother, Alvar, to Fengar.

  As the Hammerling gave Eirik this role, Raef sensed it was not a choice favored by the other lords. Eirik was the newest of the Hammerling’s allies and Vathnar of Norfaem, one of the first to pledge to the Hammerling, was noticeably upset at being passed over. Raef thought it a well-calculated decision.

  As for the Vannheim men, they would travel with all speed to join the Hammerling in the south. Only then would Raef have command over them.

  The plans laid, the lords went their separate ways to begin the preparations for travel. A messenger, bearing a letter in Raef’s hand, was dispatched with all haste to the southwest and the mountain pass between Finngale and Vannheim. Sigvard drew a crude map to show Cilla and her siblings where to find his mother’s home. They would be allowed to keep both the mare and another horse to aid in their journey.

  The weather turned sour overnight and by the time they broke camp at dawn, a thick, wet snow was falling. Raef overheard more than one man speak of ill fortune and bad portent as he threaded through the array of men and horses to join the Hammerling at the head of his host. For his part, the snow worried Raef only in regards to the messenger. If their own progress south was slowed, it did not much matter, but they needed the Vannheim men to move quickly.

  The Hammerling sent off Eirik of Kolhaugen and the men he led with a frown, then turned his attention to their own path. With a great heave, like a bear waking from his winter sleep, the mass of men and horses began to move. Raef set Cilla on the path north and watched them until they were out of sight, then rode to catch the Hammerling.

  The pace was easy, dictated both by the poor weather conditions and the large portion of men on foot. As for the tents and other comforts, much was left behind so as not to burden their movement. The abandoned tents soon fell out of sight behind a heavy veil of snow.

  The weather did not improve that day or the next two, and all the world was white. Sometimes the snow was mixed with rain, sometimes it fell in icy shards, sometimes it floated gently to the ground. They kept on course and limited their raiding to only those farms that had the misfortune to fall directly in their path, for nothing else could be seen.

  Through it all, the Hammerling remained loud, boisterous, cheerful even. At first Raef thought his good humor all for the benefit of those around him so that their own spirits did not sink into the snow, but he soon realized the Hammerling feigned nothing.

  The Hammerling summoned Raef to his fire on the second night. Thinking he wanted to discuss their course, Raef did not at first notice the small girl that stood among the men. The Hammerling prodded her forward and Raef closed his eyes in dismay. It was Cilla.

  “I think you know this girl, Skallagrim,” the Hammerling said, not ungently. “She hid among the men until one brought word of her to me.” He stepped close to Raef. “Do what you will with her, but see that she does not get in the way.” All the while, Cilla stared straight ahead, her face set with determination.

  Raef held out a hand. “Come, Cilla.”

  She followed him back to his fire and spoke first. “I have done everything I can for Brig and Ynna. For two years, I alone kept them alive. They will be in good hands, better hands, in the home of Sigvard’s mother, and for that I am grateful. But it is time I made my own way in the world.”

  It was said with such conviction that Raef did not even for a moment think to question her. “And what way is that?”

  “The way of the shieldmaiden.”

  Raef brushed snow from Cilla’s shoulder. “So be it. I happen to know two shieldmaidens who could teach you much. But I will not be the one to persuade them to take you on. You must do that for yourself.”

  Cilla did not rejoice as a child might be expected to do upon getting something much desired. Her face remained solemn as she nodded in agreement to his terms.

  On the fifth day, the sun broke through and a large village in Bergoss fell prey to their swords. The snow was blazingly bright in the sunlight, save for where it turned black with ash in the wake of the warriors. The village yielded little in the way of goods or even food, but it gave something more to the men, even those who had played no part in its destruction, and Raef felt the overall mood of the host improve. There was no sign of Bergoss warriors, no shadow of retribution on the horizon, and Raef wondered where Sverren Redtail’s warriors were.

  When they reached the lands of Karahull, the raids were halted. The Hammerling made it clear that not a person should be harmed or a barn set alight until the allegiance of the Karahull warriors was determined, for Karahull had lost its lord in the fire at the gathering and nothing had been heard from its warriors in the opening days of the war. Raef was not even certain a new lord had been proclaimed. Gudrik of Karahull had left only young children to take his place. If there was a chance the Karahull men could be persuaded to join them, the Hammerling would not risk it by violating their homes.

  Though they passed several farms as they dropped out of the high hills that marked the northern lands of Karahull, it was not until they reached a long, narrow lake that they saw signs of life. The village across the lake could only be reached by ferry, but it was here that Gudrik of Karahull had lived, so the Hammerling was determined to cross. Leaving his vast force behind but taking his allies with him, Brandulf commandeered the boat and took an oar himself. Raef settled on an oar and soon the men fell into a rhythm and crossed the lake quickly.

  Fishermen plying the waters watched them cross and tether the boat. They called out no greetings but made no move to impede the docking either. The Hammerling jumped ashore and they made their way to the largest building, a modest hall that stood on the water’s edge. Still, the villagers watched and said nothing.

  As the Hammerling mounted the steps to the hall, Raef hung back near the dock. He touched the shoulder of a passing fisherman.

  “Who rules in Karahull?” Raef asked.

  “Depends on who you ask. For my part, I would say no one. The right voice has not yet spoken.”

  “Do the children of Gudrik yet live?”

  “You will find them in there,” the fisherman said, pointing to the hall. Raef could see there was much he did not say. He followed the last of the lords up the steps. The Hammerling beat on the door with his fist. When there was no answer, he opened it uninvited.

  The interior of the hall was bright with fire and the air was thick with smoke. Raef, the last to enter, could see little beyond the men in front of him.

  “Who enters my hall?”

  It was a child’s voice that penetrated the hot air. Raef could just make out a tall wooden seat at the far end of the hall. If the boy sat in it, he was lost amid the high back and thick, carved arms meant for a man’s body. The Hammerling took a few steps forward and the lords fanned out behind him. Raef took a position to the side, half-hidden behind a pillar, so that he might observe.

  “I am Brandulf Hammerling and I have come to ask for the spears and shields of Karahull.”

  There was silence at the far end and Raef brushed a trickle of sweat from his forehead. Two massive fires burned in the hall, nearly spilling out of their ringed pits. The child’s voice spoke again.

  “Come closer, all of you.”

  The men stepped through the smoky air and soon Raef could see the boy in the lord’s seat. He was perched there like a bird, naked but for a skin wrapped around his waist. His own skin glistened, covered with a thin coat of sweat. His torso was slender, the rib bones easily visible, his face showed none of the lingering flesh of childhood, and his scalp was hairless. All in all, a strange sight, and yet it was his eyes that Raef noti
ced most. The whites of his eyes were red from long exposure to smoke, and yet his light blue irises shone through, bright and full of hunger.

  “You are welcome, Brandulf Hammerling. I am glad that the Allfather has brought you here. Drink with me.” The boy clapped his hands and a girl, similar in age, appeared with a pitcher and two horns. Unlike the boy, she was wrapped in furs, though the heat seemed not to bother her. She poured, keeping her eyes lowered. Her hands shook as she gave the horns to the boy. “Thank you, sister. Go, now.” He handed a horn to the Hammerling, then tilted his own up and drained it.

  The Hammerling watched him, then took a sip of his, his eyes never leaving the boy’s face. The Hammerling’s wariness was visible to all and Raef was glad to see it. The boy’s expression changed for the first time as a hint of a scowl came to his mouth and his nostrils flared in displeasure. The mask returned in an instant.

  “Is not my mead fine, lord?” the boy asked.

  “The finest,” the Hammerling said.

  “Are not my fires hot and blazing?”

  “They are.”

  “My father died in the great fire, you know.”

  “Your father was a strong warrior.”

  “And yet not so strong as to withstand flames. I will not suffer the same fate. These fires burn night and day and will cure the weakness in my skin. Soon, I will never burn again.”

  Raef now knew the hunger in the boy’s eyes. It was a mad hunger. They would get no aid here. The boy-lord’s mind was beyond their reach. The Hammerling seemed uncertain as to how to respond. The boy did not seem to notice.

  “You cannot have my warriors, lord. They must remain to protect my people from the frost giants.”

  The Hammerling found his voice. “Is this all the answer I am to have?”

  “Is it not answer enough?”

  The Hammerling worked to contain his scowl, then turned his back and strode out of the hall. The lords were quick to follow. Raef lingered for a moment and watched the boy-lord descend from his chair and stand close to the nearest fire. He closed his eyes and let the flames lick his fingers and then stepped even closer. For a moment, Raef nearly believed the boy, but then he let forth a piercing scream and fell back onto the wooden floor, writhing in pain. When his sister hurried to his side, he kicked her away. Raef turned and left, glad to free himself from the heavy air and the madness within.

  At the lake’s edge already, the Hammerling was preparing to board the boat but Raef hurried to his side.

  “That is all?”

  “The boy is mad. I have wasted my time.”

  “Give me a moment,” Raef said. The Hammerling looked at Raef and then gave a short nod.

  Raef mounted the steps to the hall once more and faced the village. “People of Karahull! We have come to you with good will.” The villagers began to gather. “Not a sheep has been taken, not a loaf of bread stolen, not a hair on a single head harmed. Would Fengar of Solheim or the Palesword have taken so much care? No, they would have burned a path to this lake and then turned the waters red with blood. Look there,” Raef said, pointing across the lake to where the Hammerling’s army waited, covering the shore in numbers too great to count. “There lies a mighty host. They march to challenge the traitor Fengar. They march to find glory in battle. And they will have it. Will you not share in their victory? Will you not join them?” This last he shouted with great force. “What say you?” His voice rang out in the cold air.

  There was silence at first and Raef thought he had misjudged this place and its people. And then the crowd began to swell with noise as men clamored to be the first to spill blood for the Hammerling’s cause. Raef looked across the crowd to where the lords waited by the dock and met Brandulf’s eyes. The Hammerling gave no sign of thanks, but Raef could see the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

  It required four trips across the lake to bring all the Karahull warriors from the village to the other side. Some had horses, others would go on foot, all were well-armed. From there, three men and one woman were sent off to ride to all corners of Karahull lands and spread the word of the Hammerling’s march. That the boy-lord had not sanctioned any such alliance seemed not to matter to the warriors and Raef knew they had chafed under the boy’s tenuous rule and he had been right to call them forth.

  The journey south continued as the boisterous, bristling horde of warriors plowed a path alongside a deep, fast-flowing river through the southern part of Karahull. The days were bright, the cold less fierce, and the winds were nothing but gentle whispers in the trees. More warriors of Karahull flocked to them and joined their ranks each day.

  Twenty

  Raef hunted with Vakre and Siv most days, keeping well wide of the mass of men, seeking game in the small, wooded hills to the east of the river. Eira, who did not care for the hunt, earned a spot in the Hammerling’s rear guard by biting a man’s ear when he spoke lewdly to her. The Hammerling laughed at the tale and rewarded her with the desired post. She sought Raef out at nights and they shared meat together under the stars.

  Cilla trailed after both Siv and Eira and some days Raef saw her not at all. Siv took to training the girl with ease, but it was Eira, with her intense passion for battle, who Cilla watched most closely. Eira treated the girl with civil indifference, which Cilla seemed to thrive on.

  “She learns quickly,” Siv said one night as they passed water and bread around their fire. Four skinned rabbits hung over the fire, fat dripping on the flames in sizzling bursts. Cilla, after a day climbing trees and crawling through wet grass, was dirty and tired, but she watched intently as Eira demonstrated the proper way to throw a knife. “Already, she is stronger than she was.”

  Raef had seen it, too. Cilla’s arms were as slender as sapling branches, but they were newly sinewy. Her hands, long used to hard labor, had grown new calluses. She wore a knife belt with pride, now, though Eira had told Raef that the girl longed for an axe above all other weapons.

  Siv took a small vial of wax from a pouch and dipped a square of leather into it. She rubbed it between her fingers for a moment and then began to rub down the length of her bowstring. “She shows little interest in the bow. But she does not yet have the strength to bend any that we have here. Perhaps in time she will understand its power.”

  Raef took a drink of water from his skin. “And when we come to battle? Sooner or later we will meet with Fengar. Do you intend to throw her to the wolves?”

  Siv paused her work on the bowstring and looked at Raef, firelight dancing in her eyes. “How old were you when you first joined your father in battle?”

  “Ten and four. But I had been honing my skills for nine years, not nine days.”

  “She shows great determination and is older than her years. But,” Siv said as Raef started to speak, “a battlefield is no place for her. Yet. When we meet Fengar, she will watch, nothing more.” Siv resumed working on her bow.

  “And you will be able to keep her away?”

  “She means to be the greatest shieldmaiden to roam Midgard. How can she do that if she dies an untested, unlearned child?” Siv smiled a little at Raef’s concern. “Headstrong she may be, but she knows she is not ready for war.”

  Raef watched as Cilla sent a knife into a tree trunk. The blade went in deep and it did not quiver. Eira gave her a single nod, high praise from her, and Raef could see the pride on Cilla’s face. “She may know,” he said softly. “But does Eira?”

  Siv studied her leader for a moment as Eira retrieved the knife from the tree. “I think she sees much of herself in the girl. For all Eira and I share in life and in battle, we are not much alike. When you have lived a life as lonely as hers, to see a young version of yourself thrive is pleasing.”

  As Siv spoke of loneliness, Raef wondered about her past. She had never spoken of it and he had not asked. “Have you been lonely, Siv?”

  “How could I be, when the world is so large?” Siv grinned but then turned serious. “I think a person is lonely only because they ha
ve made themselves believe it is so.” It was wisely spoken and yet something about her answer made Raef hesitate to ask more about her life. He turned the rabbits, proclaimed them done, and divided up the shares. Cilla devoured hers quickly and resumed throwing the knife only a moment after swallowing the last bite. Eira sat down next to Raef and leaned against his shoulder.

  “We will reach Solheim before the sun sets in two days,” Eira said.

  “You have traveled these lands before?”

  “Yes.” Eira did not elaborate. Raef thought back to what she had told him when they first met.

  “Do you ever remember anything of your old life, before you were found in the mountains?”

  She was quiet for a moment and Raef, who could not see her face, thought she might not answer. “No.” The answer was too simple, too terse to be the truth, and the hesitation before she spoke suggested there were things she could tell him if she chose to.

  “When I was a boy,” Raef said, “I disliked the color yellow but could not have said why. It was only later that my father told me my mother had died wearing a yellow dress. Sometimes we know things about even our most distant moments without being aware of it.”

  Eira ceased to lean against him. “Everything is empty for me.” She lay down on her blanket and Raef could see that her eyes were closed. She would speak no more that night, Raef knew.

  The border between Karahull and Solheim fell across a mountain plateau. The land was spotted with snow and trees and Raef knew in warmer days it would be filled with small purple flowers striving to reach the sun. A large farm lay in sight, ripe for the picking, and the Hammerling sent forth a raiding party. Soon, Raef could see smoke in the distance.

  When they reached the edge of the plateau and descended into the first valley on Fengar’s lands, the Hammerling divided his force into smaller groups and unleashed them on Solheim. There would be no mercy, no tolerance, only ruthless death and destruction until Fengar was forced to meet them in the field. The warriors took to their task with relish, shouting and singing as Raef watched them go their separate ways.