Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  Chest heaving, Brann looked past him to see an enormous man, as tall as Hakon, but broader of shoulder, and with Hakon’s face, but with the lines of greater years partially covered by a great shaggy beard. A huge battle axe was cradled in his arms as if it were a toy, and the man stared at the scene below, his eyes attentive to all. His eyes landed on Brann, and he nodded his greeting. Brann smiled back and waved, his sword still in his hand and the movement seeming more like a salute. He didn’t mind. Considering he had saved their lives, if anyone deserved a salute, Hakon’s father did.

  At the thought of Hakon, Brann looked around the scene before him. He breathed his relief into the cool air on seeing the large form of the boy using the cloak of a dead enemy to wipe clean the blade of an axe similar to the one his father held, chatting cheerfully to Konall despite the blond boy paying no attention whatsoever to him and instead eyeing the corpses suspiciously, as if daring any to rise up and seek a last strike.

  Brann moved to them, but barely managed three paces before a blur of movement from his right ended with a body thumping into his. He tensed in fear for the few heartbeats it took for a sword to drop at his feet and a shield to the ground at his heels. Arms and legs wrapped around him and a voice in his ear was so familiar that it seemed only hours since he had heard it last.

  ‘You stand and breathe!’ Valdis said delightedly.

  ‘Not for much longer on both counts,’ Brann gasped, ‘unless you ease up your grip.’

  She ignored his words. ‘And not much of the blood on you is your own, so that’s a good sign, too.’ She disengaged her various limbs and stood before him, frowning critically as her hands felt and prodded at him as if he was a potential purchase at a livestock market. ‘Have you put on weight?’

  ‘It’s muscle,’ he said, defensively, and more than a little put out.

  She smiled with contentment. ‘Of course it is. I would expect nothing less from my dragon warrior. But you did give me a fright when we saw all those men around you. If you could not place yourself against quite so unfavourable odds in future, it will give our relationship more chance of longevity.’

  The floundering he was feeling in his head was even greater when words attempted to emerge. ‘The odds…? I did not choose… I… Longevity…? Relationship…? I…’ He gave up.

  Mongoose’s laughter burst over him from behind. ‘I liked this girl when I saw her fight, and I like her now more even than then.’

  Brann turned, finding himself pleased at the interruption.

  Breta was nodding sagely. ‘Indeed. You see? I did tell you there were places other than the land of your birth where woman behave properly, with sword in hand and blood on the blade rather than a needle in the fingers and a pot on the stove.’

  ‘Oh, I can sew and cook as well,’ Valdis said brightly. ‘It’s just that there’s a lot of fighting goes on here. It is better to know how to swing a sword if you are likely to face one.’

  Mongoose couldn’t have looked happier. ‘If this place was warmer, I might never leave.’

  Valdis dug Brann in the ribs. ‘So?’ He looked at her in confusion. She nodded at the two women, and raised her eyebrows. ‘Your friends are…?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ His composure was still far from intact, as he now remembered was all too often the case around the girl. ‘This is Mongoose and Breta. Mongoose and Breta, this is Valdis, Hakon’s sister.’

  ‘And, to you, more than just Hakon’s sister,’ Mongoose said pointedly, with a smile filled with mischief glowing in her eyes. ‘Which makes it useful, I think, that she does not share her height with her brother, for you might find it harder to fight in boots with soles as thick as your legs are long.’

  Brann felt the only way he could stop blushing was to leave the conversation. ‘Talking of Hakon, I really must speak to him. If you could excuse me?’

  Before he had even turned, however, the voice of that very person boomed behind him.

  ‘Little sister! You have met some of my friends already. Excellent!’

  Valdis wheeled and punched him in the stomach, a blow that appeared to barely register with her brother. ‘What is not excellent, is that you were not here watching over his safety! You run off to visit your family, and leave him here to face these savages.’

  ‘Dead savages,’ Hakon protested.

  ‘Dead now.’ Her glare had a far greater effect than her punch had achieved. ‘Not when they started trying to carve him up. At least Gerens stayed to protect him. He knows how to be a good friend.’

  Brann felt obliged to speak. ‘I can defend myself a bit, you know.’

  She scowled, facing him. ‘Don’t you start. And that’s not the point. It is my dolt of a brother not doing the one thing his sister asked of him. How am I to let you wander around the world if he is not to do that single simple thing? How, I ask you? Eh?’

  Despite having her back to Hakon, she still managed to emphasis the final word with an unerring stamp onto the top of his foot. This time, she did elicit a yelp of pain.

  ‘Oh my,’ Mongoose said with joy. She had found a tree stump beside them and was seated, arms folded, clearly soaking up the entertainment. ‘I actually did think I could not love this girl any more. If you don’t appreciate her, Brann, just let me know.’

  Valdis looked ready to resume her rant when a voice deeper than the sky rumbled across them.

  ‘Children! Cease your squabbling. You are not yet too big for me to take you over my knee.’

  Brann seriously doubted whether that day would ever actually come while the big man still drew breath.

  ‘Especially you, boy,’ he said to Hakon. ‘Your sister cannot grow a beard, but why you should choose to keep your face as smooth as a girl’s is beyond me. You have been absent for too long, I see.’ Hakon’s beardless face coloured and, for once, he had no answer. ‘And you, boy,’ he said to Brann. ‘It is a good day when I can greet you again. I am pleased to see you have put on a little strength, if not any greater height.’

  Brann smiled. ‘It is good to see you too, Ulfar. And it was even better to see you a short time ago, when we were otherwise engaged. I am grateful for the haste you made to reach here.’

  The eyes, a matching pair for Hakon’s, creased in a smile. ‘My two older children may tax a man’s nerves, but they do have their redeeming factors. You have my son’s eagerness and my daughter’s incessant nagging to thank for the speed of our travel.’

  ‘Still,’ Brann said, ‘you lead the lord’s warriors and you decide where and when they go. You have my thanks.’

  The wide shoulders shrugged. ‘If you insist. Now, however, we have talked enough. We have bodies to burn. We have you to get back to a welcoming hearth for what time you have available. We have plans to lay to attend to camps that I learn these savages have established once more. My son has a beard to grow. And,’ his baleful gaze turned to the man kneeling on the grassy bank, ‘we have a prisoner to question.’

  The hearth was indeed welcome. The ride to Ravensrest had been short and seemed even shorter with Valdis chattering brightly at his side. He was glad of the distraction for more than passing the time – a group of warriors had remained at the site of the fighting to dispose of the bodies, and Brann had found himself suppressing a shudder at the thought of his own awakening amongst corpses. It was just one of several memories that relentlessly invaded his dreams but, if they were to cling to him through time, he preferred they kept themselves to his times of sleep; he had enough to occupy him in his waking hours. And now fatigue was reeling him in, like a fisherman when a battle with a catch has reached the inevitable end moments. The hearth was welcome.

  The party, missing only Konall and Hakon, was grouped around the fire, awaiting their time to brief the lord. On returning to the town’s keep, Valdis had left him with a squeeze of the hand and a smile that brought back memories of the way she had entered his heart what seemed a lifetime ago, when they first met as he masqueraded, poorly, as Einarr’s page. She too
k her leave to wash and attend to her kitchen duties with a song on her lips and a lightness in her demeanour as though battling with sword in hand was all part of her day’s chores. He knew it wasn’t – most of the routine soldiering was undertaken by the regular warriors – but he also knew that combat was second nature to every citizen of a Halvekan town. Their training and architecture were the two reasons that no one could remember a town in that land ever having been successfully attacked. He smiled, thinking of how unsurprising it was to see Mongoose’s liking for this place. He glanced across at the girl, seeing her sleeping on a divan built for three, her head resting on Breta who was in the same position over a very much awake and very much alarmed Marlo. Brann’s smile turned to a grin.

  Cannick stood and moved to pour himself water. He caught Brann’s eye. ‘Want one?’

  ‘Please.’ The older man handed him a wooden beaker, and Brann waited until he had seated himself once more before carrying on. ‘Did you notice Sigurr’s ship in the harbour when we rode in?’

  Cannick nodded. ‘I’m guessing the Warlord’s presence is why we are waiting while the lords talk. They have much to consider before we come into the equation.’

  Grakk opened an eye. ‘Indeed. Ruling is many-faceted, and every facet must be considered as a part of the whole.’ He sat up straighter as voices could be heard approaching, one of them being particularly loud. ‘And light is about to shine upon our facet, I believe.’

  The door was flung open and their host, Lord Ragnarr, filled the frame, holding a flagon of what Brann presumed was mead. He had never seen him drink anything else. He stepped inside, allowing his older brother to enter. All awake leapt to their feet at the sight of the two men, and those asleep were roused by the sound.

  ‘My lords!’ Brann said. ‘We must have missed your summons, or we would have attended you.’

  ‘There was no summons,’ Ragnarr said, frowning. ‘Why would there be?’

  Cannick smiled. ‘It is customary in most lands for the lords to have those who would speak with them, come to them.’

  Sigurr smiled, and the similarity to Einarr became clear in that one expression. ‘In most lands, then, lords must waste a great deal of time when they need to speak to someone.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘Welcome back. From your previous service to us here, you will always find an open door and a smile whenever you visit, but on this occasion your information is also welcome. Please, be seated.’ He drew a chair over beside them, and Ragnarr perched upon a large table to one side, his face serious. ‘If you would indulge me first, however, I would ask after my son.’

  Brann drew a breath. ‘He was wounded. He—’

  The warlord nodded solemnly. ‘Konall told me of his wound, and the treatment. It is not ideal, but better for a warrior to lose an extremity at the ankle than at the neck. I am more concerned with his mind.’

  Cannick leant forward. ‘If I may, my lord, I was the last to see him before we left.’ Sigurr nodded for him to continue. ‘He was pragmatic, positive even. His full determination was focused on recovery and an understanding of how he would approach as much of life as possible with as little change as possible. I would guess he would travel home as soon as he was able.’

  Ragnarr’s grunt was similar enough to that of a bull eyeing an intruder to its field to cause several of them to jump. He stood to stretch his back. ‘Unless his sense of duty takes him elsewhere first, knowing my nephew.’

  ‘It seems that my nephew possesses much of the same philosophy,’ Sigurr observed. ‘Konall is already packing to continue his journey when his companions leave once more.’

  Brann brightened. ‘Konall is not staying here?’

  Ragnarr’s eyebrows, as shaggy as his beard, shot up to hide in his hair. ‘You want him to stay or want him to travel?’

  ‘Travel!’ said Brann, Marlo and Mongoose as one. The others nodded in the moment after.

  The heavy wood of the table creaked in protest as Ragnarr sat back in astonishment. ‘Well, blow me down. It seems my boy may have changed a little in his travels.’

  ‘He has his moments,’ Gerens said drily.

  ‘And you want more of them?’

  ‘I think we can endure them. It is what friends do.’

  ‘Good enough for me.’ Ragnarr’s beard was split by a grin as huge as the rest of him. ‘He’s all yours. You do seem a good influence.’ He shook his head and took a long draught from his flagon. His mumble rumbled into his drink. ‘Friends. Well I never.’

  Sigurr cleared his throat. ‘If we could proceed?’ He looked around the group. ‘Maybe one of you would like to fill me in?’

  Brann could feel the crestfallen look that must be written across his face. ‘I fear that we may not have the full information we may have been able to acquire, had Ove’s cousin not caught up with us so quickly. Philippe,’ he indicated the young man, ‘was skilfully eliciting it from Ove, but we do not know where the camps in your territory are located, their numbers or the date of the meeting of their Council that we must try to reach.’

  Sigurr smiled. ‘Fret not, youngster. Your friend Grakk was good enough to answer Konall’s questions on the ride here, and the man Ove has been… encouraged to furnish us with the missing details. What we need from you is the story of everything that has happened since you sailed away from here.’ He rested his elbows on the arms of the deep chair, and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. ‘Just don’t take too long.’

  ‘You have other business?’ Brann resolved to ensure they covered everything as quickly as possible.

  ‘No, you do. That Council meeting you are so keen to find at the Kiss of the Seas? The one with the date you were so eager to discover? If you sail tomorrow, you might just make it in time.’

  It was well into the night, but not as late as it could have been thanks to the rehearsal the story had undergone with his father, when a young page boy led Brann to the small room allocated to him for the night. The memory of that time with his father took his thoughts across the sea, imagining the man’s return to the family Brann had thought dead, with news of the son they had thought dead. Further nostalgia hit him as he saw he had been given the same chamber as he had occupied on his last stay here.

  The page boy’s eyes had been wide when he had been told who he was to guide through the corridors of the keep, had widened when Brann had consented to lift his sleeve and show him the dragon tattoo that was this people’s highest mark of honour, and were still wide when he left Brann at the door to the room. Brann smiled at the small figure retreating down the passageway. The days of such innocence and wonder seemed so distant that he felt as though he should be an old man. The gods knew he felt it tonight. Candlelight from within leaked from the crack of the ajar door, and he pushed it open, lifting one leg to pull at his boot as he went and hopping in a crouched stagger to cling onto his balance.

  He froze.

  Valdis was bending over a small table, laying clothing upon it. She looked up. ‘I see your adventures have not endowed you with any grace of movement.’ She laughed, a sound of wonder. ‘You can move, you know.’ She patted the bed. ‘Set yourself here, and I will help the young hero with his boots.’

  Brann grimaced. ‘Not much of a hero. Never mind stopping the man behind our troubles, we don’t even know his identity.’

  She sat by his side, resting her hand upon his arm. The movement of the mattress beneath him stirred his stomach, and the feel of her fingers stirred it more. Her voice was as calm as he was not. ‘You are getting there, though, I believe. A ladder has rungs for a reason – you must climb them in turn to reach what is too high for a single jump.’

  He stared at the floor. ‘I know. Because of that, I had to let Loku go. I had him, Valdis, and he got away again. He was before my sword in these lands when I was here last, and in the woods in Cardallon shortly before we travelled here, and both times he escaped.’

  She smiled softly. ‘Look at it from his point of view: every time he thinks he has esc
aped you, still you hunt him. He even tried to have you killed several times, I hear, and you only came back stronger.’

  ‘I came back broken.’

  The way that her brows drew together melted his heart. ‘Stronger. You, what is you,’ she tapped his chest, ‘is always in there. You may be added to, but that is a problem for others; it is you who I see when I look in your eyes now, and that is all I want to find.’

  An awkwardness of guilt surged through him. He could not look at her in return. ‘Valdis, there is something I have to tell you. There was… there…’

  She frowned, puzzled. ‘The princess?’

  His eyes went wide as the shock thumped into him. ‘You know?’

  She smiled. ‘You think brothers and sisters do not talk?’

  ‘Hakon told you? And still you came here to see me?’

  She laid her hand on his arm again. ‘Brann, our people are warriors. We have been for more generations that even our elders can remember. We live from birth knowing how fragile the thread of our life is, and how unpredictable the breaking of that thread can be. Those who have never faced a blade held by one with death in his eyes cannot comprehend the way we think, the way we feel, the way we cope, the way we survive. And I do not just mean the way we survive to retain life, but also the way our minds survive to retain ourselves.’ She sighed. ‘I have seen my share of fighting, but I have seen nothing compared with my father and brother, and I see the toll it can take at times. In the face of horror and tension, we grasp what comfort is there, what goodness can keep us sane, whatever form that takes. Some may not like that, but it is the way it is and seeking to wish it otherwise is like seeking to turn back the wind with a shout.’ She smiled impishly. ‘Anyway, it is not who you are with first that matters, but who you are with last. If you have no one to compare me with, how will you know I am the best of them all?’

  Brann stared at her. ‘I feel like I have given a complete confession without saying a single word.’