“Dane!” Astrid cried, overjoyed to see him alive, throwing her arms around him.
“Axe!” Dane cried in pain.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, quickly dropping it. She’d been so happy to see him, she’d forgotten the war axe in her hand. “I thought, since you were on Thor’s Hill—Oh, but you’re here! You’re all right!” Overflowing with emotion, she embraced him again, impulsively kissing him on the cheek, barely able to contain herself.
“I’ll have to return from the dead more often,” he said with a knowing smile, and as he squeezed her hand, she felt herself blush, warmed by his touch. Their moment together was interrupted as Drott and Fulnir approached, equally excited to see him.
“We were just about to send a search party!” Fulnir said.
“Thought you might be bound for Valhalla!” added Drott.
“I did too,” Dane said. “I got hit on the head, and when I woke in the creek, I saw this beautiful—” Dane caught himself and gave a nervous laugh. “For a moment, I actually thought I was talking to a Valkyrie, but it must have been my imagination.” Dane laughed uncomfortably, and Astrid felt a sudden prick of jealousy. A Valkyrie? Although Dane wasn’t one to lie, this seemed hard to believe, even rather ridiculous. It had to be from the bump on the head, she told herself, and she dismissed all further thought of it, wanting instead to fully feel the pleasure of having him safe and alive.
“Well, look who missed the festivities,” said Jarl the Fair, striding up, sword in hand. His tunic was streaked with blood, and he proudly wore a few superficial wounds slashed across his muscled arms. “Where were you, out picking flowers?”
Dane ignored Jarl’s taunts. “How are the others? Did we lose anyone?”
“No lives were lost,” said Astrid, “though the fate of the wounded is still in doubt.”
“Good news is,” said Fulnir, “Lut, Ulf, William, and your mother all were unhurt.”
“Answer my question, Dane,” said Jarl, insistent. “Where were you while we were defending the village?”
“He need not explain his whereabouts to you,” Fulnir said.
“He engaged the enemy up on Thor’s Hill, Dane against a score of invaders!” Drott said dramatically, miming the scene with thrusts of his sword. “He killed one! Two! Am I getting this right, Dane?”
“Not exactly—”
“And then! He was overcome! A blow to the head sent him reeling down the ravine! And he woke to see a Corpse Maiden!”
“A Valkyrie?” smirked Jarl. “You saw a Valkyrie.”
“I said I thought I did,” said Dane. “I’m sure I imagined it.”
“Course you did. Since the Corpse Maidens visit only those most courageous in battle—and you were nowhere to be found! Hah!”
Dane flared in anger, Astrid seeing he wanted to smash Jarl in the face.
“We believe you, Dane,” she said, pulling him away, not wanting to spoil the moment with a fight. They walked toward Dane’s hut, she, Drott, and Fulnir, Dane still smoldering.
“So the Valkyrie,” Drott said. “What did she look like?”
“Was she pretty?” teased Astrid.
“Can we drop it, please?” Dane said, irritated, his attention now turning to the liegemen who stood round the livestock pen, polishing their axe blades and tossing insults at the captives. “Who are those men?” he asked.
“They came out of nowhere to aid us,” Fulnir said.
“The invaders would have taken all our food had the lord and his men not arrived in time,” Astrid said.
“What lord? Where does he hail from?”
“No one knows,” said Astrid, “but he has a striking white cloak. When I first saw him and his men, I thought they were against us too. But then, as if sent from the gods, they were with us.” It felt good, she realized, to be telling him all that had happened, and it reminded her just how terrified she’d been at the thought that he might be dead. “I’ve never seen men fight as they did,” she continued. “Their lord killed three with one slash of his blade; then the rest threw down their arms, begging for mercy. The lord gave the order that they all be butchered, but your mother stepped in and said, ‘There has been killing enough for one day.’”
“She did?” said Dane in disbelief, finding it inconceivable that his mother, a commoner, would countermand the order of a lord. “What did the lord do?”
Astrid said, “He bowed and said, ‘As you wish, my lady.’”
And by the look on Dane’s face, she could tell he was intrigued to meet this man.
3
A ROYAL SUMMONS
Dane stood in the doorway of his hut, trying to take in what he was seeing. The stranger lay before the fire, naked to the waist, oozing blood from a gash in his side just below his ribs. Dane’s mother knelt beside him, using needle and linen thread to sew up the nasty wound. Dane watched for a moment, amazed that the stranger didn’t flinch as the needle worked through his flesh. Though in obvious pain, he had nothing but a smile of easy contentment on his rugged face.
“So what’s this then?” Dane said at last.
Geldrun rushed to her son, hugging and kissing and making a teary fuss. Dane said he was fine and allowed himself to be hugged, waiting for his mother’s tears to subside, silently meeting the stranger’s gaze. At last his mother released him from her embrace. Drying her tears, she gestured to the stranger and said, “This is Lord Godrek Whitecloak, son. He and his men helped save our village.”
For a moment Dane did nothing but stare. Godrek was first to speak.
“An honor to meet the son of Voldar the Vile,” Godrek said. He started to rise to show his respect, but Geldrun rushed back to stop him.
“Don’t stir till I’m done, or you’ll start bleeding again.” She resumed stitching the wound, and Godrek eased back onto the furs with a chuckle and a sheepish shrug. Dane took a seat in his father’s old cedar-post chair as Godrek took a swig from the ale jar beside him.
Dane turned his gaze to another curious object, a bright white cloak hanging in folds on the back of the door. Made of bleached leather and trimmed in snow-white fox fur, it looked to Dane like a rather fancy piece of clothing for a warrior like Godrek. Did he wear it to show off the splattered blood and gore of his enemies? When Dane looked back, he found Godrek studying him.
“I see your father in your face,” he said with a grin. “In your red hair as well.”
“You knew my father?”
“Like a brother. War-mates, we were. Years ago. Before your mother’s charms lured him away.” At this Geldrun gave him a playful swat on the head.
“Thank you for saving our village,” Dane said.
“Thank yourself,” Godrek said. “You’re the reason I’m here, son.”
“Me?”
“Much as I like a good fight, we weren’t just riding the countryside looking for one. I came here to fetch you. King Eldred wishes an audience with the one and only Dane the Defiant. He’s heard of your exploits—and you know how it is,” Godrek said, laughing. “Someone performs a heroic feat like slaying a sea monster or, in your case, returning the hammer of the gods, kings have to meet the hero, parade them around their court, throw a feast or two in their honor. That’s what he has planned for you.”
Dane looked at his mother for a moment, dumbstruck. With a note of suspicion, he asked, “Why would the king honor me for returning Thor’s Hammer? Everyone else blames me for months of bad weather. Is it a banquet he has in mind or my execution?”
Godrek laughed. “The king doesn’t blame you for a god’s tantrums. This princeling Thidrek would certainly have been a threat to all the kingdoms eastward, so the king wants to thank you for making our lands safe again. And look.” Godrek pointed to the doorway that was now alight with late-afternoon sun. “Perhaps Thor has shown mercy, or maybe he wearies of his stormcraft. Either way, ’tis a good omen for our journey.”
It was the first sunshine Dane had seen in months. Perhaps his prayers had been answered.
It sounded so enticing. To leave behind the demands and complaints of ungrateful villagers. To be celebrated in court instead of castigated by commoners. Feted instead of spat upon. Eating and drinking in kingly content, while skalds serenaded him with poems rejoicing in his heroic deeds! How sweet! But one sobering look from his mother was all it took to end his reverie. That dreaded responsibility thing! How could he even think of leaving when his people were wanting? Why do I have to be Voldar’s son? Dane thought in despair. Anyone else could skip out with nary a look back.
“There’s something else you should know,” said Godrek. “King Eldred wishes to gift you with an item of great value. Your father’s war chest.” Godrek explained that he and Voldar had once been liegemen to Eldred many years ago, when he was a lord and not yet a king. Over many successful campaigns, Eldred’s brother, who was king, was forced to flee and Eldred seized the throne. For his service, Voldar was offered a lordship and command of the king’s guards, but he had grown disenchanted with the sword path and its constant bloody battles. He declined the lordship, took Geldrun as a wife, and vanished to a peaceful little village by a bay. “But before he went, he entrusted his war chest to King Eldred, who swore to hold it, unopened, until the time he came back for it. Now that your father has gone to his reward, the king believes the war chest, and all its contents, must be passed on to you.”
“So whatever is in there…is mine?” Dane was entranced.
“Yes. And, who knows, perhaps there’s rich plunder inside. Maybe even arm rings of silver and gold. Imagine what a young man could do with such treasure.”
Imagine indeed! The thought of such plunder sent Dane’s mind reeling. His mother brought him back down to earth. “You could buy food and livestock for the village,” Geldrun said. “It’s what your father would have done.” Yes, Dane glumly realized, he would have to share the wealth with his people. The elders would squabble and fight over how to divide it and who should get the largest share. This had to be the reason his father had kept it hidden all these years.
“You’ll want your friends to meet the king, too, won’t you?” Geldrun asked. “They’re every bit as heroic as you.”
“Of course they are,” Dane agreed. “If I go, they go, too.”
“Bring an entourage, for all I care—make a party of it,” Godrek said, chuckling. “The king wants to meet all the heroes of Voldarstad.”
Dane gazed thoughtfully into the fire. He saw Godrek open a leather pouch and shake some of the powdered contents into his cup. “Wenderot,” he said in explanation. “Helps ease the pain of battle-wearied bones. Something you might have to use someday too, if you’re lucky.” He gave Dane a wink.
Later that night Dane sought out Lut the Bent and found the old one in his hut, recovering from his bout with the invaders. They sat by a smoky fire, sipping barley ale, Lut applying a yarrow-root paste to the scrapes on his arm as Dane relayed news of the white-cloaked one and his father’s war chest.
“I knew of this chest,” Lut said, “but nothing of its contents. Your father rarely spoke of it to me, nor to anyone else, I gather.” The old one’s eyes grew misty. “It was as if his war chest held something he no longer wanted to possess or be reminded of. A part of his past—a piece of himself—that he wanted to keep locked and hidden away, perhaps as much for his own good as anyone else’s.” Lut gave Dane a penetrating look. “I believe your father would never have opened that chest again,” he said with emphasis, “and perhaps neither should you.”
“Not open it?” said Dane in surprise. “But if there’s treasure inside—”
“Some secrets are best left unknown, son.” Dane wanted to speak, but the fire in Lut’s stare silenced him. “That which happened in your father’s past, before you were born—how much do you know of it?”
Dane shrugged. “I know that in his youth he followed the sword path. He was a brave warrior who served with distinction and honor, but he spoke little of it to me.”
“True, your father sent many to their deaths.”
Dane took this in and then said, “I must have asked him a hundred times to tell me of his glories and victories. But he would only laugh and change the subject. It hurt me, like he didn’t believe I had the stuff to fully understand what he had done. Or do it myself.”
“Perhaps he was protecting you,” said Lut, “from something he knew might only cause pain. Fathers are funny that way, only wanting the best for their sons.” This last was said with a playful smile. His mother, Dane knew, had respected her husband’s wishes to let the past be and had rarely spoken of it, at least in Dane’s presence. But oh, how Dane had yearned to know all he could about the man he revered. And why not? Wasn’t it natural for a son to learn about his father? To hear of his grandest exploits and, yes, even his lowest failings? To examine every broad stripe and torn thread from the tapestry of his life? How else would he ever come to know the one who had fathered him—or come to know himself, for that matter? And with his father dead, that chance was gone forever. But now the chest gave him a final opportunity to peer into his father’s mysterious past.
“I must know what’s in the chest,” said Dane. “Perhaps we should consult the runes.”
“I already have.”
“You have? But how’d you know—”
“—that you’d come pestering me with questions? When don’t you?”
Dane smiled. It was true. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t ask Lut’s advice on any number of subjects, from girls to cures for scalp itch. Despite being decades older than most elders, and having a long white beard and more wrinkles than a bucket of prunes, Lut possessed the light heart and playful nature of a much younger man.
“So,” said Dane, staring at Lut in the firelight, “was there a message in the runes?”
Lut stifled a yawn, then nodded soberly. “They said, ‘The secret of the chest will change your life.’”
Dane took a long moment to consider this; then he spoke.
“So it means I might find treasure, or…”
“Or something,” Lut said with finality, “you’ll wish you’d never laid eyes on at all.”
4
HUNGER ENDS AND A JOURNEY BEGINS
They journeyed northeast along a river fed by distant glaciers, their horses climbing a trail that gradually rose into the mountains. Dane’s entourage included his mother, Lut the Bent, Astrid, William the Brave, his friends Drott, Fulnir, and Ulf, as well as Dane’s rival Jarl with his cohorts Rik and Vik the Vicious Brothers. Godrek and his men rode at the front and rear of the caravan as a precaution against attack by rogue bands of thieves known to ply the trails. And above them all flew Klint, Dane’s faithful raven.
It had been only a week since the attack on Voldarstad, but to Dane it seemed like ages, such was the change in his people’s fortune. The storms had abated; the fish returned to the villagers’ nets. The men captured in the attack had been ransomed for more food stocks, enough to see the village through until spring. Godrek had officially put Voldarstad under his protection, warning other villages in their fjord-lands that any more attacks would be brutally dealt with. But even this had not satisfied the village elders; they had also demanded that Dane leave behind the sacred Shield of Odin so that its mystical powers would safeguard them.
As they had ascended Thor’s Hill, Dane had taken a last look at his home, relieved to know that his people were safe. And now, well under way on his new adventure, he felt an even greater relief. He was free! Free of the rancor, the criticism, the responsibility. He was leaving behind all the burdens of leadership he had come to resent and was soon to be feted by a king, no less. And given a chest of unknown treasures! How his luck had turned!
At midmorning the party stopped for the dagmál, the day meal. Dane sat with his friends eating flatbread, cheese, and dried fish. He heard his mother’s laughter and saw her enjoying the meal beside Godrek on his blanket. Dane
had seen a change in her since Godrek’s arrival. For months Geldrun had been unable to shake the dark shadow of grief over losing her husband, Voldar the Vile. Not one to weep or rend her garments, she instead suffered in silence.
During Godrek’s days of recuperation in Voldarstad, Dane saw his mother’s pall of grief gradually lift. She attended to Whitecloak’s wounds and went on long walks in the woods with the man. Dane had been surprised to learn that Godrek had courted his mother years before, when he and Voldar vied for her hand. Now it seemed that the courtship had renewed itself, and though gladdened to see his mother’s smile again, Dane also felt uneasy when he saw her in Godrek’s company. And after their midday meal, Dane sought out Lut the Bent, who was moving among the trees, picking mushrooms, hoping the seer could help him understand the conflict in his heart.
“You are of two minds,” said Lut. “One part of you wants to see your mother happy.” Lut brushed the dirt from a mushroom and placed it in his leather shoulder sack. “Another sees her with Whitecloak and feels she is somehow being untrue to your father. That pains you.”
Dane thought for a moment. “But what if Godrek isn’t the right man for her?”
“Would you approve of any man who would replace your father?” Lut asked sagely.
“No one could ever replace him,” Dane said.
“In your heart, son,” Lut said gently. “But you must trust your mother to do what’s right for hers.”
Dane acknowledged that Lut was probably correct. He didn’t dislike Godrek. On the contrary, Dane was fascinated by him. During the days of Godrek’s recuperation in Voldarstad, he and Dane had shared many meals and talks. Dane had yearned to know what he knew of his father, and after some gentle prodding, Godrek told him. “Yes, in our youth we rode and raided together,” he said. “We were fast friends at one time. I looked up to him as if he were an older brother, I suppose. No one showed more courage in battle or more humor when among friends. And few men enjoyed such favor, shall we say, with the ladies.”
Sword of Doom Page 3