They had not been waiting long when two men came into the inn and looked around. Their gaze stopped on Rodulf and his father.
‘You the Leondorfers?’
Donato nodded to Rodulf and smiled. ‘We are. Who are we speaking with?’
‘I am Emmeram, this is Thietmar. We’re the First Warrior’s men. I’m told you’re here to discuss trade.’ Both men sat at the table Rodulf and his father occupied.
‘We are,’ Donato said. ‘I am Donato, and this is my son Rodulf.’
The men nodded to Rodulf before returning their attention to his father.
‘We have authority to negotiate on behalf of the village,’ Emmeram said. ‘We’re interested to know what you have in mind.’
‘I’d like to trade with you. Furs, amber, metals and gems,’ Donato said. ‘I’m also interested in woollen cloth, if the quality is high.’
‘And in return, what do you offer?’ Emmeram said.
‘Gold,’ Donato said. ‘I’ll pay a fair price for anything that meets my standards.’
Both of the Rasbruckers laughed, leaving Rodulf to wonder what was so funny.
When their mirth had subsided, Emmeram spoke. ‘Gold? The First Warrior would take out my tongue for wasting his time bringing an offer like that. Cattle or horses.’
Donato nodded. ‘It’ll take a lot of amber and cloth to pay for a cow.’
‘We have plenty of both; furs, metal, and gems too. Everything you could want. Better quality than what you have in Leondorf too,’ Emmeram said.
Donato leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘If the quality is as you say, and you’ve enough of it, I can pay you in cattle.’
Emmeram looked at Thietmar, who nodded.
‘Thietmar will take you to our storehouses. I need to speak with the First Warrior, and will join you after to discuss a price.’ He stood, and offered his hand to Donato, who shook it.
THIETMAR LED them across the village square and along a muddy road that took them to the outskirts of the settlement. Donato dropped back to walk alongside Rodulf, out of earshot of Thietmar.
‘Two important lessons there,’ Donato said. ‘Never let them know who you’re selling to, and never let them think they can go direct and cut you out. You need to make it seem easier to do business with you than anyone else.’
Rodulf nodded. ‘How do you plan on getting the cattle? Do you really think any of the warriors will sell you some?’
‘We can worry about that later,’ Donato said. ‘First, we need to see what the good people of Rasbruck have to offer us.’
Thietmar stopped by a number of storehouses constructed from rough wooden planks. He opened the door to one and gestured for Rodulf and his father to go in. Rodulf felt his stomach clench. What if the Rasbruckers meant to lure them inside to murder them? There had been plenty of time for them to plan it. Donato gave Rodulf a reassuring smile and walked in without hesitation. Rodulf did hesitate, but felt he had no option but to follow his father.
It was dark inside the storeroom. Rodulf scanned it for any sign of danger, but could see nothing. That did little to allay his concern; between the gloom and the hulking mass of the things stored there, it would be easy for a few warriors to hide unseen until their chosen moment. Thietmar followed them in, but left the door open. He took a lamp from a hook by the door and worked to light it. Only then did Rodulf relax.
‘Furs, bales of cloth and casks of rough amber,’ Thietmar said. ‘There’s another storeroom filled like this. We keep the ore down by the forge. There’s some Godsteel ore too. Emmeram will bring a sample of gems. They’re all rough cut.’ The lamp’s wick took a spark, and the storehouse was filled with a dim orange light.
Donato whistled through his teeth. ‘Another storehouse like this, you say?’
‘Just as full,’ Thietmar said.
Rodulf looked around. The hulking shapes in the darkness turned out to be stacks of fur pelts, bales of spun cloth and several casks. Even Rodulf knew enough about trade to realise how much they could get for it all in the south.
Donato walked farther in, and up to one of the cloth piles. He inspected the material, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Rough spun?’ he said.
‘No. That’s top quality,’ Thietmar said.
Donato sniffed and moved to a stack of pelts. ‘Your trappers look a bit heavy handed with their knives.’
‘Our trappers know what they’re about. There’s nothing wrong with those pelts.’
‘I didn’t say there was,’ Donato said. ‘They’re just not quite of the quality I was hoping for. I can certainly sell it. Perhaps not for as much as I would like though.’
‘You can say what you like about them,’ Thietmar said, ‘but we know what we have and your words won’t change the price.’
Emmeram arrived at the doorway with a small wooden chest under his arm. ‘I’ve brought a sample of the gems,’ he said.
They all went back outside. Emmeram opened the chest and proffered it for Donato’s inspection.
He picked a rough stone from the chest at random, and held it up to the light. He squinted at it for a moment before taking a second, then a third, and subjecting them to the same scrutiny.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Now these are very fine. I’ll be able to get an excellent price for these.’
Rodulf was as surprised by his father’s reaction as it seemed the two Rasbruckers were. Once their surprise subsided, Rodulf could see the all too obvious signs of greed. What was his father thinking? He couldn’t be that big a fool, could he?
‘If you can get me a full inventory of what you are willing to sell,’ Donato said, ‘we can start to discuss a price.’
‘That shouldn’t take long,’ Emmeram said, still visibly pleased by Donato’s reaction to the gems.
‘Excellent. My son and I will wait in the inn, if that’s agreeable.’
‘We’ll call on you when we have the full list,’ Emmeram said. ‘It won’t take more than an hour or so.’
Donato smiled and nodded, before gesturing for Rodulf to accompany him back to the inn.
‘Why did you show them how much you liked the gems?’ Rodulf said as soon as he was sure no one would hear him.
‘Your second lesson of the day,’ Donato said. ‘They now think that I am either honest or a fool. In either case, they expect to get a better deal and to have an easier time negotiating it. I have no problem paying a fair price for the gems, or over-paying for them, because I only plan to buy a handful or two. A fraction of the value of the entire deal. I’ll use that to distract them on the cloth and fur, which is what I really want. I’ll take everything they have and at a price of my choosing. Now, I’m in want of a hot bowl of broth.’
Rodulf nodded in agreement, reckoning that the danger of poisoning was now well past.
RITSCHL STOOD atop the steps leading into the small kirk in Rasbruck and watched the newcomers with interest. He recognised them both from Leondorf, and thought it odd that they would come to Rasbruck, their traditional enemy. Rasbruck had been his home for only a short time. Once he remembered that he had been a priest, some of the knowledge that went with it returned. In his attempt at sneaking into Leondorf, he realised there was no chance of getting the Stone and escaping with it. The cold, damp forest shack in which he had made his home was another incentive to find an alternative approach, so he had walked to Rasbruck and announced himself at the kirk. The previous priest had been only too happy to leave, with Ritschl equally pleased to replace him.
He was enjoying life in Rasbruck, enjoying being around other people and the comforts that brought. Decent food, his clothes washed for him by the local women, a warm, dry bed. His appearance had changed since arriving. The women had insisted on trimming his grey, receding hair, and he had grown a short beard to fill in his hollow cheeks and help him better fit the image of a benevolent priest. The good living conditions had even lessened the ache in his bones, and he stood straighter. It didn’t make hi
s desire for the Stone any less, however. His being there was all part of his strategy to secure it. In his observation of Leondorf, he had learned that they had warred many times with Rasbruck over the years. He hoped it wouldn’t take much to inspire them to do so again. It could provide the distraction he needed to get into Leondorf’s kirk, take the Stone and disappear. That death and destruction would be the consequence of his plan mattered little. The Stone was all that counted. Everything would be well when he had it. The arrival of these two Leondorfers might be something he could exploit to precipitate war, and the perfect opportunity to take the Stone from Aethelman.
12
Whatever Aethelman had done to Wulfric’s hands left them feeling like two pieces of old leather. He was confident he could have carried around a glowing-hot coal all day and not noticed. Quite why it had not occurred to him to see Aethelman before turning his hands into chunks of bloodied meat was beyond Wulfric, but at least it had turned out all right in the end.
It was the morning of his scheduled appointment with Belgar, and Wulfric felt a rumble of nerves in his gut. He had no idea what to expect from Belgar, knowing little about him other than his reputation. It was hard to believe that Belgar had done all those things. Even more so that he lived to tell the tales.
The few days of rest had also left his body feeling fresh and ready to go. He did not like the fact that he had missed training, but going against Belgar’s instructions was not an option, and, he realised, probably for the best.
The old man was already there when Wulfric arrived, leaning on a quarterstaff. His posture showed the ease of one so familiar with an object that it has almost become part of him, which looked odd with one so old.
‘Ready to start?’ Belgar said.
Wulfric nodded, dropping his training sword in favour of the quarterstaff.
‘The hands?’ Belgar said.
Wulfric held up one of his palms.
Belgar scratched his white beard and smiled. ‘That priest can work miracles. Now, attack me.’
Wulfric did as he was commanded, although hesitantly. He did not want to be the one responsible for putting the old man on his funeral pyre. He was still considering that thought when he landed on his backside, quickly followed by wondering how he ended up there. Belgar stood over him, his quarterstaff held in a relaxed, comfortable grip.
‘I’m nearly five times your age. If I can move faster than you, you’ve got a very serious problem.’
‘I’ll try harder,’ Wulfric said.
‘You’d better, or you’ll be taking a beating from an old man every morning.’
Belgar moved with the easy fluidity of a man so well-practised in his field that his age did not seem to be of any hindrance. Wulfric knew it must have been, however, and realised that Belgar must have been all but invincible in his prime.
‘Watch what I do, boy,’ Belgar said. ‘Copy my movements. Smarter, not harder. That’s how we achieve the things we desire.’
Wulfric nodded, determined not to get left behind by a man old enough to be his grandfather.
‘WULFRIC.’
Adalhaid’s voice startled him from his train of thought as he plodded toward home. He stopped and turned to the sound of her voice.
‘How are you? How are your hands?’ she said.
‘I’m fine,’ Wulfric said. ‘Tired. Always tired. My hands are healed. Better than they were before.’ He held one up and forced a smile exhaustedly. ‘How are you?’
‘The same,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you… How’s training?’
Wulfric felt awkward that he hadn’t spent any time with Adalhaid since the day Aethelman healed his hands. It felt odd, and came as a surprise that it had been a few days since he had last spoken to her. Before then, a day or two was a rarity, and felt like losing a limb, but now he was always so busy.
‘It’s hard,’ Wulfric said. ‘All I seem to do is train, eat, and sleep. Then train again.’
‘It doesn’t look like you’ve been doing enough of the eating part,’ Adalhaid said. She prodded his midsection playfully. ‘You’re wasting away. Your mother is going to have to alter all your clothes.’
‘How are classes going?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You’re missed. Aethelman hasn’t found anyone to fill your seat yet. Or his ink bottles.’ She smiled.
Wulfric felt his face flush. Ink bottles… He wished she could see him train with Belgar. There were moments when the old man actually praised him.
‘What are you working on?’ he said.
‘Numbers mainly. He got some books from the south, and he has us read them aloud.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘They aren’t very interesting.’
Wulfric felt very left out. Only a few months before, he had known every detail of her life. He was usually present for all of it, and now it was going on without him, he was overcome with the oddest sensation of loss.
‘I…’ Wulfric wanted to say something, but he had no idea what it was. He was so tired he could barely order his thoughts. ‘I need to get home. I need to eat and have to be back at the glade soon.’
The smile faded from her face, and he felt rotten as he walked away. He struggled to work out why he found it so hard to talk to her. Perhaps it was because he was so tired. He felt guilty and stupid all at once.
He thought nothing could add to his confusion, but he had only gone a few more paces when he was proved wrong. A tall, blonde girl with features that looked as though they were carved from alabaster was walking toward him. On the rare occasions that she had even looked at him before, it was with the same expression as she would her shoe after having trod in horse manure. Her name was Svana, the daughter of the Second Warrior, and the girl to whom he had been promised since birth.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he walked. It was difficult not to be swallowed up by her beauty. He saw her look in his direction and quickened his pace. He continued to watch her as surreptitiously as he could manage. Her gaze lingered on him longer than it usually would, and she smiled at him. He almost collapsed in surprise.
FOR HIS FIRST meetings with Greyfell, all Wulfric had done was put the bridle on the horse’s head. After that, he would sit on the paddock fence beside his horse for as long as he could. Sometimes he would talk to Greyfell, and occasionally pat his muzzle. He brought an apple each visit, and ate it all himself the first dozen or so times. Today, he had something more in mind. He cut a piece and held it out for Greyfell. He was aware of the biting danger that he was inviting, but knew it was the next necessary step. He’d sat well within range of Greyfell’s teeth on each occasion up to that point, and acted with nonchalance; the horse had plenty of opportunity to bite Wulfric had he chosen to do so. Wulfric’s confidence that their relationship had reached a point of equilibrium did little to ease his tension as he held up the piece of apple.
He pretended not to look, but strained his eyes to see how Greyfell reacted. He stared at the slice, but made no move; a display of his usual haughtiness. However, Wulfric could tell by the way his nostrils quivered that Greyfell was interested. Eventually, and with a great show of reluctance, Greyfell peeled back his lips and gently took the piece of apple from Wulfric’s hand. The treat eaten, he brushed his muzzle against the side of Wulfric’s head.
RODULF SAT on a wall watching the construction of his father’s new warehouse. It was to be built over the winter and would be ready in time for the first transport of goods from Rasbruck after the snows melted. His father had still not given him any indication of where they were going to get the cattle to pay for it all, and he felt sick every time he thought of it. He fully expected that his father would have every last pelt, bale of cloth and piece of amber sold within a few days of receiving them, but Rodulf was certain that all the money in the world wouldn’t convince a warrior to sell a single beast from his precious herd. Rodulf doubted that any amount of smooth talking would calm the Rasbruckers, and no amount of the smaller southern cattle, which could be had f
or coin, would settle the bill. He wondered if any one man had been responsible for starting a war before. It occurred to him that there were two of them in it now.
ALL THE VILLAGE girls gathered in the afternoon at a spot that gave them an uninterrupted view of the glade where the apprentices trained, but allowed them to stay largely out of sight. It had always been where the older girls went, but Adalhaid’s friends had started going in the previous few months, which meant that she did too.
It struck her as a silly practice, and she could think of far more useful ways to spend her time, but she didn’t want to be the odd one out. It wasn’t the worst though, sitting out in the sun. There wouldn’t be many more days like that before Leondorf was blanketed in thick snow.
They all had their favourites, but for most of the girls, marriage to a warrior was an unlikely thing. Some might be fortunate enough to catch the eye of one who was not already promised in a dynastic marriage, and the thought caused Adalhaid a sudden pang of envy, something that took her by surprise. She had always rued the knowledge that one day she would lose her closest friend to Svana, the haughty blonde who walked around the village with her little group of followers like a queen with her ladies-in-waiting. Arranged marriages seemed like a ridiculous thing to Adalhaid. There was something more to it, however, a feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘Who’s that one?’ one of the girls said.
‘Which one?’ another said.
‘The new one. I don’t think I’ve seen him before.’
‘That one? That’s Wulfric,’ another said laughing.
The Wolf of the North: Wolf of the North Book 1 Page 8