The Blood-Tainted Winter

by T L Greylock

  Turning to help Vakre, he saw only a burst of fire, blinding as it split the darkness around them. Raef scrambled back to avoid the flames but still the heat was fierce. Sparks flew and Raef shielded his face with his arm. When he looked again, Vakre stood before him, unburnt. The warrior was a black, smoking corpse at his feet, barely recognizable for what it was. The air around Vakre was still hot and his eyes were bright as though the flames lived on in them.

  Breathing heavily, Raef found his feet and met Vakre’s stare. “A mighty gift. Did you know?”

  “If I had known they could burn, they would have been dead much sooner.” Vakre gestured to the two headless corpses. “I see you found your own method.”

  “I like yours better.”

  The others joined them and several of the men poked at the burned body with their boots, their wary eyes on Vakre. Siv retrieved her arrows from the bodies, as well as Raef’s knife.

  “You are bleeding.” Vakre frowned and pointed to Raef’s right side.

  Raef looked down. The gash was long but didn’t look deep. Raef could not recall when it had happened and still did not feel the pain, though he knew it would set in soon. Returning to the pines, Raef stripped down to his bare skin, wincing as the cloth of his shirt pulled out of the sticky blood. Taking his water skin, Raef emptied it on to the wound and let the pink-tinged water run down his skin.

  “We have no cloth for a bandage,” Eira said.

  “It can wait,” Raef said. He grit his teeth as he pulled the shirt back over his head and shoulders.

  “No,” Vakre said. “Let me.” He reached out and Raef did not need to ask to know his intent.

  Raef stepped back and looked hard at Vakre. “Can you control it? Or will I end up like him?” Vakre did not answer right away and that was answer enough for Raef. “Take this instead.” He handed one of his knives to Vakre, who nodded his understanding.

  Putting several paces between himself and the rest of them, Vakre turned his back and the fire was upon him in an instant. Raef was prepared this time, but still the heat blasted his face and made him want to step back. It took only a moment and when Vakre held the knife out for all to see, the blade glowed red.

  Raef swallowed. “Do it.” He looked to Eira. “Hold my arms.” Shoving his now empty water skin between his teeth, Raef held his arms behind his back and let Eira pull them tight. His breath coming faster now, Raef stared straight ahead. Siv stepped close, her face only inches from his, and pulled his shirt up, exposing the wound for Vakre’s touch.

  Raef looked deep into Siv’s eyes, trying to focus only on their green depths. For a moment, Raef felt the warmth of the blade as Vakre held it close, and then agony and nothing else. Bearing down on the soft leather between his teeth, he willed himself to stay still, to fight every instinct that screamed at him to run, fight, kill. Siv’s face grew blurry in front of him as his eyes filled. When he blinked away the tears, the knife was removed and Vakre threw it into the snow to cool. It hissed and steamed and then was quiet.

  Free of Eira’s grip, Raef dropped to his knees and pressed a handful of snow to the wound. It melted instantly. Raef scooped up more, and more again, until at last he could hold the snow to his body and feel the cold begin to work into his skin. After a moment, he took his hand away, letting the rest of the snow slide from the wound. The gash, now black and bubbled up, was sealed and the flow of blood had ceased. Raef exhaled and closed his eyes, his heart still pounding in his chest.

  “Here,” Vakre said. Raef opened his eyes and took the skin of ale Vakre offered. Raef first splashed it across the wound and then took a long swallow as the sting of the alcohol dissipated. Raef took a moment to gather his breath and mind, watching the first light of dawn color the sky with purple and a whisper of orange.

  Rising from his knees, Raef spoke. “It is time we left this place. Stay alert. There may be more of them.”

  Within moments, they were underway, plowing a new path through the deep snow. As they rode across a world made white, Raef’s side ached but he forced himself to remain focused on their surroundings. Every flutter of bird wings, each falling clump of snow drew his gaze as the horses worked hard to push their way through the deepest drifts. The warrior from the underground cave, Elthor by name, began to lag behind even though the horses had broken ground for him. On Siv’s insistence, he doubled up with her and they were able to increase their pace, though Raef still felt as though they, slogging over hills thick with trees and through ravines where the snow had buried treacherous rocks, were losing ground to the rising sun.

  The true light of the day broke upon them as they reached the top of a hill, the highest in the vicinity. From there, all was bathed in unhindered light and all was white. Though the storm had brought violent winds, the aftermath was a peaceful sight in which every surface was coated with snow.

  From their vantage point, much of Gornhald was spread out before them. To the east lay mountains that merged with Hullbern’s range, a formidable wall of granite and snowy peaks. Back to the north was the land they had crossed. To the west, the land opened up and Raef counted three rivers traversing the moors. They would join, he knew, up ahead and spill into Gornhald’s great lake to the south, not far from Stefnir of Gornhald’s fortress where Raef had watched the earth break open and felt it tremble to its core. Though he could see nothing but wilderness, Raef felt certain the Palesword and his monstrous army were within his sight.

  The meeting place the Hammerling and Fengar had set, the high hills above the great lake, was yet out of sight to the south, but the course was nearly direct and Raef hoped they would make good time.

  Vakre came to stand beside him and gestured to the open land to the west. “If I were the Palesword, I would keep to the moors. With any luck, there are enough villages out there on the rivers to keep him occupied and slow his pace.”

  Raef nodded. “Let us hope. We must beat him to the lake or risk the Hammerling engaging him before we can prepare.”

  “Prepare?”

  “To cut the head off each of Freyja’s warriors would be a long and costly affair. We must find a way to use fire and kill them in greater numbers.”

  “Arrows, then.”

  “Yes, but how many do we have and how long will they last?” It was a question for the wind and Vakre was quiet. The horses rested, Raef called for them to continue on and he pushed the pace as much as he dared. If they tired the animals too much, they would be stranded in the snow, but go too slow and the Palesword would be beyond their reach.

  Twenty-Nine

  They say it was carved out of the earth by Thor,” Vakre said. The great lake of Gornhald stretched out from the roots of the mountains across the wide plain, its far shore and the snow-covered land beyond blending together so that Raef could not see where the frozen lake ended and the frozen lowlands began. “A giant lived here, in a house that rivaled Odin’s. But Thor and his hammer smashed it all and he changed the courses of the three rivers so they all flooded into this place, wiping out all memory of what had been.”

  The junction of the three rivers Vakre spoke of had been passed the day before, and now the waters ran slower here, allowing a thin crust of ice to form at the mouth of the lake. It would spread north in the coming days, growing and thickening through the winter until the spring waters broke it open and bullied their way south.

  Raef’s small party looked down on the lake from a low ridge that angled toward its northern shore. To the east, the ground rose up from the water’s edge in sharp, desolate hills and the mountains beyond, though their summits did not stretch as high as some, were thick, fierce, and unyielding. The peaks came to an abrupt end just south of the lake, and it was from that direction the Hammerling had intended to approach, though whether he was already ensconced in the high hills of the eastern shore Raef did not know. That they had three days on the Palesword, Raef was certain. They had spotted the army from a distance the day after the storm and ridden close enough to identify it and
judge its intended course. Likely the Palesword would wind his way south, taking the land for his own, but after a point, Gornhald’s landscape would limit his choices and he would need to pass by the lake to continue into Freywyn.

  The storm, though it had raged overhead that night, had covered only a small area, and, upon reaching thinner snow-cover, they had made good time, arriving ahead of the Hammerling’s deadline.

  Raef turned his horse to speak to Eira. “Take the men to that summit,” he said, pointing to a hilltop that looked easily accessible and would provide a good view of any approach from the south, north, or even from the west across the lake. “Find a good place to settle in, if there is one.” Raef looked to Vakre next. “I want to see the lake.”

  Vakre followed Raef down from the ridge to the shore. From there, the lake appeared even larger, a vast expanse of white, pristine and shining in the sun. Raef dismounted and walked to where the ground gave way to ice, marked just slightly by a raised drift in the snow. The wind picked up and blew a cloud of snow in Raef’s face. Wiping it from his eyes, he knelt and pushed his hand through the snow until he met with the ice, a depth the same as the distance from his elbow to his fingertips. Rising, Raef ventured on to the ice, stepping first with one foot and then the other, listening for any sound the ice might make, feeling for any hint of movement. He closed his eyes and felt the wind swirl around him, felt the almost-warm sun on his face, felt the ache of the burned wound on his side, but felt nothing from the ice.

  “Solid,” he said. “At least here.” The lake was immense. There was no guarantee the ice covered all of it, but the winter had come upon them cold and fast, bringing ice sooner than was usual.

  “Would you battle the Palesword here? His greater numbers would overrun us out in the open.”

  “Yes. They would.” Raef looked down and used his boot to brush the snow from the ice. “The Palesword would need to think that.” The bare ice gleamed in the sunlight. Raef spun and faced Vakre. “I know what we must do.”

  Riding hard into the hills, Raef and Vakre found Eira and the others occupying a shallow dip between two hilltops. There the wind was less fierce and a fire had been struck, both as signal to the Hammerling and as warmth against the cold. Raef shouted as they approached and the men gathered around to hear him.

  “We ride for the fortress of Gornhald,” Raef said. “Two of you will stay behind to tend the fire and await the Hammerling.” He wheeled his horse around. “Hurry!”

  “Raef.” Vakre cut in as the men raced to ready their horses once more. “You should stay.” Raef began to protest but Vakre persisted. “The Hammerling will look for you when he arrives. You must be here to explain things to him. This plan, it may be madness. He will not want to hear it from anyone but you.”

  “He may not want to hear it from me,” Raef said. But Vakre’s words resonated with him, eager as he was to ride to the fortress himself.

  “We know what to do. The fortress is less than a day’s ride. We will be back before sunset tomorrow. And we will have all the pitch and oil Gornhald has to offer.”

  Raef nodded. “Take all the horses. Load them however you can. And search any villages you pass as well, occupied or not.”

  Eira chose to stay with Raef, and Elthor, rather than claim a spare horse that could be loaded with cargo, remained behind as well. Raef watched Vakre lead them down to the shore of the lake, weaving in and out of view on the descent, and then around the southern shore until they were out of sight.

  In their absence, Raef was not idle and he spent the remaining daylight hours getting to know the land they would fight and die on. First he traversed the lowest hills, then descended to the strip of land that lay between the hills and the lake. Leaving his horse safely on shore, Raef walked far out onto the ice, testing it for weak spots but finding none. Finally, as the sun sank below the western horizon and the stars began to show in the sky, Raef, wind-bitten and chilled to the bone, rode back to the small fire in the hills.

  As he warmed himself, Eira came to stand near him and Raef pulled her close. He kissed her hair and then her lips and they watched the dark, empty land below them as the stars turned overhead. Elthor slept until Raef woke him to take the watch. Raef and Eira lay close to the fire, pressed together for warmth, and Raef drifted into a restless sleep.

  The Hammerling arrived with a flurry of bright banners and a thunder of hooves felt even through the snow. Raef watched them approach, the banners streaming in the wind and then coming to rest with the horses at the shore of the lake. The Hammerling’s army was vast, a thick cover of warriors marring the white snow, and Raef knew he was seeing the full strength of the Hammerling’s power, greater even than the force that had marched to Solheim. Somewhere among them were the remaining warriors of Vannheim, those who had walked endless miles, always just behind the blazing tide of war. There were men Raef knew well, had known since childhood, and would be glad to see, but Raef, as he spotted his father’s banner among the rest, felt distant from them. They were his men and he was their lord, but home was far away and much had changed since Raef had last been there. For his part, Raef had taken to the wandering life that had been thrust upon him since the gathering with ease and had lived with few companions and fewer comforts. He did not know if he was the lord the warriors would expect to see. He did not know if they would reproach his absence.

  The men below were on the move again, though now divided and climbing into the hills in distinct groups. The Hammerling, having spotted the fire, was headed for Raef’s overlook. The rest would cluster around that location, seeking good ground on which to make camp.

  Raef watched the Hammerling approach. The older man’s gaze took in the site and then he dismounted.

  “Twenty of you set out from Ver. Yet here I see only three, and one a stranger to me. What did you run afoul of on the road, Skallagrim?”

  “We all live yet. The others have gone from here on my orders. They should return by nightfall.”

  “Any sign of Fengar?”

  “None.”

  “The troll-dung may yet come. Or he will not. It does not matter. We will fight.” The Hammerling looked out at the frozen world below. “And the Palesword?”

  “We saw him north of here. I judge we have two more days before he comes to the shore of the lake.”

  “His greater numbers will sweep over us here. We should meet him in the forest, use the broken ground and trees to our advantage.”

  “No.”

  The Hammerling’s jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed at Raef’s dissent. “Would you bring ruin upon us? I know we fight against great odds, but an open battle will mean certain death.”

  “I know how to kill them,” Raef said. He waited until the Hammerling gave a nod for him to continue. “We met three of Freyja’s warriors. Before we knew what they were, we had pierced one with an arrow and stabbed another. They should have died, but the wounds mattered not.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Two died when I removed their heads from their shoulders.” Raef said. “Wound them in any other way and they will continue to attack. But best of all, they burn just as you or I would.”

  The Hammerling nodded his understanding. “You mean to rain fire arrows down on them. Draw them in. Let them approach across the lake. Easy targets.”

  Raef shook his head. “Arrows run dry and the fires to light them blow out in the wind. There is another way.”

  The frown returned. “Explain.”

  “We burn the lake.”

  The Hammerling looked as though he wanted to laugh. “Are you mad? How?”

  “I have sent Vakre and the others to collect every drop of oil and pitch Gornhald has to offer. When they return, we will cut a hole in the ice out in the middle of the lake and pour it all in. It will float across the surface, just beneath the ice. We draw the Palesword onto the ice, just as you said, but we will wait on this shore.” Raef looked hard at the Hammerling. “We all wait. No archers high in the
hills, nothing to make Torrulf wary. Once the Palesword and his army have passed the hole in the ice, we drop a torch in. The ice will melt, and they will plunge into burning water.”

  The Hammerling was quiet for a moment. “How long before the ice melts?”

  “I do not know.”

  “And if it melts slowly and we are forced to engage the enemy after they have marched across the ice? What then?”

  “Then we fight upon the ice and we die just as they do,” Raef said. The Hammerling did not respond. “It is a chance, nothing more. But if it works, it will wipe them out. Freyja’s army will be extinguished.” Still, Raef was met with silence. “Think of the songs they will sing of us, we who gave our lives to destroy Freyja’s army.”

  “Do you seek death, Skallagrim?” It was a genuine question.

  “No. But gladly will I go to Valhalla if it means I can rid the world of these cursed warriors.” There would be no justice for Einarr Skallagrim if Raef died upon the shores of Gornhald’s lake, but he gave no voice to this fear and did not break eye contact with the Hammerling.

  At last the Hammerling gave a small nod and Raef could see he had won him to his side. “So be it. Victory or death, and glory both ways.”

  By the time the Hammerling called his captains together to inform them of the plan, his cautionary acceptance of it had transformed to ruthless enthusiasm and his words, echoes of Raef’s, were roared out and greeted with an ear-splitting response as the warriors cheered the man they called king, the man who promised stupendous victory or certain death. By the end of his speech, the captains were in a frenzy, ready to go to battle in that instant. Raef watched it all from the side, swept up in the moment and aware that he had created it.