“Of course, Cecilie,” said Tarjei with a smile. “She’s my cousin, and she’s always spoken most warmly of Your Majesty.” They both understood the words left unspoken: “but not most warmly of Kirsten Munk.”
After the pleasantries were over, Tarjei was given free access to practice his medical skills. His Majesty couldn’t have imagined what he was about to undergo, but not one inch of the royal person escaped Tarjei’s scrutiny.
“The liver isn’t at its best,” said Tarjei.
“Really?” replied the King. “Is it serious?”
“Not yet but it’s slightly enlarged.”
“What can be done about that?”
“The problem is caused by strong alcohol, Your Majesty,” answered Tarjei tactfully.
“Humph!” grunted Christian. “Then I’ll suffer a poor liver.”
Tarjei investigated further and soon discovered one or two more minor ailments. Then when his diagnosis was completed, he turned to the King.
“In general I’ll say that Your Majesty is in remarkably good health considering your age and workload...”
The nearly fifty-year-old monarch was delighted to hear this and opened his mouth to make some light-hearted remark. But Tarjei cut in ahead of him quite deliberately.
“But Your Majesty’s chief physician is correct,” he continued in a somber tone, “and Your Majesty should continue to rest for at least one more week.”
“But Tilly will be regrouping – and Wallenstein’s army remains a threat. God knows where he’s lurking now.”
“Well, that can’t be helped. Your Majesty’s health goes before all other considerations. A head injury can have consequence for life – especially if it’s not taken care of properly.”
When he heard this, His Majesty reluctantly agreed to continue to recuperate. However, by the middle of August, he was fully recovered and with his usual vigour and foolhardiness, he immediately summoned his advisers to another Council of War, and not long after that the real fighting began.
***
The battle for Nienburg will never go down in history as a great confrontation. It was too vague and insignificant for that. The conflict lasted one month during which there were no major encounters, only occasional skirmishes here and there. Eventually it was Tilly who gave way, and the elated King Christian, dizzy with victory, recklessly pursued the retreating Catholic forces.
But the battle for Nienburg was notable for one thing: this was where, on a hillside outside the town, that the accursed descendant of the Ice People killed his first human being. He stood with the corpse of his victim, a mercenary knight, at his feet and gazed in admiration at the bloody sword that he was holding. The blood in particular fascinated him. As he looked at it, his eyes began to glow and sparkle, and he chuckled softly to himself.
“I’m immortal, invincible!” he whispered. “Truly, I’m one of them!”
He was thrilled and crept back into the undergrowth in search of more Catholics, and before evening he’d slain a further five men, most of them ambushed from behind. With each successive death, the fiery amber colour glowed even deeper in his eyes. He felt nothing but contempt for the musket. He preferred to kill using cold steel and was thrilled by the blood that spattered his blade. Thus, finally the evil spirit of the Ice People had taken control of the chosen one among Tengel’s grandchildren.
***
That evening Jesper, the son of Klaus from Graastensholm, accompanied a young man with an injured hand to the large tent that served as a field hospital. As soon as Jesper stepped inside, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Well, for heaven’s sake, what do we have here?” he exclaimed. “It’s Tarjei, isn’t it? Yes, indeed it is. What the hell are you doing here?”
Tarjei stared, just as surprised at Jesper. “Well, if it isn’t the stable lad’s foul-mouthed son! What on earth are you doing here?”
Each was delighted to see the other and they greeted each other warmly. Then Jesper ran as fast as he could to fetch Tarjei’s two brothers, who were beyond thrilled to be reunited with him. For a long time after Tarjei had treated the boy with the injured hand, they all sat talking, sharing news and wishing they were back home. Then a large new batch of wounded men was brought into the field hospital and Tarjei was forced to return to his work. As they went their separate ways, three of the companions felt deeply relieved that they were all together once more. The fourth, however, felt a much greater sense of elation – an aching, eager sense of the highest exhilaration.
***
After Tilly’s troops were defeated at Nienburg, a new battle followed not many miles south of the town itself. It began without warning in the dead of night so unexpectedly that King Christian’s armies were woken from their sleep by discordant trumpet calls.
Tarjei had already been working in his field hospital for twelve hours and was about to make his way to bed. He pushed the thought from his mind and ordered his assistants to be prepared for the worst. Not far away, Trond swung himself into his saddle, barked some orders to his section and rode away. He knew exactly what he planned to do.
Rising drowsily from his sleeping place, Jesper rushed back and forth, looking for his socks until Brand brought him to a halt and handed him the clothes that had lain in front of his nose all the time. Brand’s heart was racing as together he and Jesper hurried to join their company.
Alexander Paladin wasted no time looking for his helmet or breastplate. He got in the saddle, black hair flowing behind him and cloak billowing in the wind and galloped ahead of his squadron. Alexander was an excellent and respected leader who inspired all under him, and his cavalrymen followed him without question wherever he led them.
There had been several fateful nights in the history of the Ice People since that night many years ago when newly orphaned Silje found Dag and Sol within minutes of each other in Trondheim, in the middle of the deadly plague epidemic. Then within the next hour she’d met, in quick succession, Tengel the Good and Heming the Bailiff-killer. Not long afterwards, they’d survived the dreadful events of the night when their homes in the Valley of the Ice People were razed to the ground and almost every living creature there had been brutally murdered. More recently, there had been the landmark night that saw the birth of the dreadful Kolgrim and the simultaneous death of his poor mother, Sunniva. Although none of those concerned were aware of it, this was to be another night like those that had gone before, when the fates of many of the surviving Ice People would be decided.
Once it had begun, the battle raged throughout the dark hours. Early on, Alexander Paladin paid the price for not wearing his breastplate when he and a small number of his soldiers were engaged in close combat with Catholic mercenaries. It seemed that Alexander’s men would turn out victorious when suddenly a musket shot rang out and he felt a searing pain in his back. Two of his men caught him in their arms before he could fall to the ground.
The fierce fighting continued unabated and both sides won and lost much ground. The dull heavy thud of cannon from all quarters underscored the sound of musket and pistol fire and the screams of men; repeated infantry charges were ordered and positions were frequently overrun and then sometimes hastily recaptured. The pace of the fighting was relentless – but Alexander Paladin was oblivious to all of it.
***
When he regained consciousness, he saw flames all around him. ‘I must be dead,’ he thought, ‘and they’re holding my wake.’ Before closing his eyes again, he realised he must be in the field hospital. He felt unbelievably exhausted.
He could hear a gentle voice talking to him that said something about a musket bullet near his spine. ‘It’s Cecilie’ he told himself illogically despite the fact that it was a man’s voice. He could feel no pain and he was not afraid because the deep voice was so comforting and calm. ‘It’s Cecilie,’ he thought once more before losing consciousness completely.
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br /> ***
Brand and Jesper were both still fighting the enemy, but somehow they’d become separated and Jesper was in despair. He knew nothing about combat and didn’t want to kill anyone so when nobody was watching, he would creep away to a wooded mound.
At least he thought that he hadn’t been seen.
There was a strange light in the night sky, a shadowy grey, and it was that curious kind of twilight when the eyes play tricks on a man. Something is there one moment and gone the next.
Further down the line, Trond had gone on the offensive with his troops. He gave his men sensible orders which – now that they’d learned to trust his warrior skills – they carried out at once. Separated somehow from his unit, Brand fought on single-handedly, wielding his sword in isolation yet always undeterred.
In the field-hospital tent, Tarjei was tired beyond exhaustion. His last operation on a back injury had been complicated. The faint light of dawn, a pale strip of grey just edging along the horizon, greeted him as he wandered out of the great tent and over to a nearby wooded knoll where he could be on his own for a moment.
Although he wasn’t too sure whether anybody could see him clearly down by the woods, he crept upwards until he happened to come across a large boulder that offered some shelter. There he stretched out and fell asleep, forgetting completely for the moment all the troublesome assistants and suffering he’d left behind him.
He hadn’t chosen the boulder as a hiding-place but simply as somewhere to rest and maybe close his eyes for a few moments. He was therefore unaware just how clearly he could be seen from the trees on the other side of the mound. He’d hardly fallen asleep before his sixth sense jerked him awake again with a strong sense of threat. Someone, or more precisely something, was coming up the slope. At first he was confused, then terrified, as he stared at the horrendous something that crept closer and closer with rolling movements towards him.
Tarjei thought that it may be a monster from the underworld or maybe that most feared battlefield superstition, the “Devourer of Corpses.” The giant dark figure approached him with heaving steps and arms that swung slowly. It moved as though it was trying to free its feet from an oozing, sticking mud. Although he stared hard, Tarjei couldn’t see its face which was shadowed by a pair of enormous hunched shoulders.
Tarjei soon found that he was frozen to the spot. He wanted to yell: “I’m no corpse. Go away!” but he couldn’t get the words out. Then he thought: ‘No, I’m dreaming. This is only a nightmare and I’m sure I’ll wake up soon.’
As it came closer, Tarjei began to imagine what the face of this horror would look like. Men spoke of it with fear: the long, pointed, jagged-edged teeth; the slavering mouth; half the skull shining through the shredded flesh on its face. ‘No,’ he told himself fiercely, ‘stop this nonsense! These are dreadful thoughts. Wake up, Tarjei! Wake up from this nightmare!’
But now the monster had reached him. It stood poised above him, leaning forwards, powerful and overwhelming, and Tarjei found himself staring straight into a pair of glowing catlike eyes that peered out at him from the dark silhouette.
“No!” he yelled, terrified. “No! Have you gone out of your mind? I’m Tarjei, your brother! What’s wrong with you? What have you done?”
“Yes, you are indeed my brother,” hissed the hateful figure, throwing off the large black horse-cloth he’d snatched from a dead warhorse and wrapped around himself to alter his appearance. Tarjei could now see a familiar face in front of him – and yet this sight was far more distressing and horrific than anything else could have been.
“Yes,” hissed the voice again. “Yes, you’re my brother Tarjei and you were given everything that’s rightfully mine! Why didn’t Tengel see that I was the one who should have it all! He knew, I’m sure of it!”
“In the name of God, is this a hoax?” yelled Tarjei – but in the depths of his being he knew that it wasn’t. Those eyes could only belong to one of the Ice People’s tainted creatures. As soon as Tarjei realised that, his heart was filled with grief and fear.
“Where are they, Tarjei?” the crazed figure in front of him screamed. “Tell me now! Where have you hidden all the potions? Are they here? In the tent?”
“I shan’t ever tell you; you know that. You can’t have them. Granddad ...”
The eyes burned yellow. “Tell me now! TELL ME!”
A pair of hands gripped his throat and Tarjei summoned all his strength to fight back. He managed to break free and throw himself to one side. He fell and tumbled headlong down the hill, but the terrifying creature that had once been his own brother followed swiftly and was over him before he could get up again.
“Where are they?” The voice was now low and threatening. “The mandrake! Give it to me! And the other potions – give me everything! I want EVERYTHING – THEY ARE MINE!!!”
At that same second, the thunderous sound of a musket rang out close by, almost deafening Tarjei, and the monster jerked upwards with a wild scream before falling forward heavily across his chest. Tarjei struggled free and got to his feet although his legs felt shaky and barely able to hold him.
“I fired the shot,” said Jesper, his frightened childlike eyes staring from beneath his fringe of barley-coloured hair. “I fired the shot with the musket!”
“Thank you,” was all Tarjei managed to utter before sinking to his knees, weeping next to the body of his dead brother.
“I fired the shot,” repeated Jesper, still with a shocked expression on his face. “I thought it was a Catholic wanting to kill you Tarjei and so I shot him – I killed my friend!” Then he, too, broke down in tears.
Tarjei pulled himself together. “What you did was right, Jesper. Think no more of it! You saved my life and you saved him, too. He would have lived a terrible life as an outlaw, cast out, despised and filled with evil.”
Jesper wept. “He’s got such scary, eyes, Tarjei. I want to go home!”
They heard footsteps running towards them and both knew that neither of them had any strength left to defend themselves. It wasn’t an enemy but Tarjei’s other brother.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “I heard ...” He looked down in dismay at the dead figure. “My God, it’s Trond!”
They all stared down at the dead figure in complete, awful silence.
“But why does he look like that?” gasped Brand. What’s happened to him?”
The eyes, their amber glow now dulled, were staring up at the dawn sky. A strange howling grimace had distorted the features, and the outstretched hands and fingers were clenched like a clawing eagle’s talons.
“He was the one who was cursed, Brand, said Tarjei. “Granddad knew that one among us would be affected. Cecilie once told me so. She’d heard grandma talking to herself about it years ago.”
Without thinking, Brand said aloud: “Yes, because there would be one in our generation ...”
“Among our kin, the accursed one, the evil one, was the inheritor of the spells and medicaments. But Granddad changed all that because he wanted them to be used in the service of good. That’s why he forbade me from sharing anything with Kolgrim. And that’s why I refused to say anything about them to our poor brother.” He sniffed but couldn’t stop the tears as they started to stream down his cheeks again.
“He attacked Tarjei,” stammered Jesper, still choking over what he’d done. “It was as if he’d gone mad.”
Brand shouted in despair: “But how could it happen? What changed him?”
“The war? The killing? The blood? Any or all of these things,” replied Tarjei, in a sad tone. “All those things must have triggered his evil powers – and don’t forget that Trond always wanted to go to war. There must have been something inside him already, long ago.”
He walked over to where his brother lay. To his surprise, Trond’s previously agonised expression had relaxed and become serene. His hands had
also relaxed their clawing talon-like grasp on the air and fallen to rest at his sides. When Tarjei kneeled and closed his brother’s eyes, they bore no trace of evil.
At that moment, a couple of officers spotted the group and marched quickly up the mound.
“What’s going on here?” they demanded. “What’s happened? Why is our bravest warrior lying dead? You should have seen him only two hours ago! He showed such outstanding bravery that Lieutenant Kruse had decided to give him a promotion. I saw with my own eyes how he dispatched at least six Catholic devils. Aah! Such a pity!”
“He’ll be buried with full honours,” said the second officer. “As one of Nienburg’s heroes!”
At first the three Norwegians stood in silence. They said nothing. Then Tarjei spoke up quietly: “He was our brother.”
The officers expressed their sympathy formally before one of them turned to Jesper. “Isn’t this the young pup who brought disgrace to our ranks? Unless I’m not mistaken, he was seen to desert a short while ago.”
“No, Captain,” said Brand quickly. “This was his first time in combat and it had a devastating impact on him. He had to run to the bushes because he needed very much to relieve himself.”
Both officers gave a wry grin and Jesper smiled uncertainly, grateful to have been saved from an awkward situation.
***
Trond’s body was treated with great respect as it was carried away. As Tarjei walked back to the dark and ugly hospital tent with its sagging canvas, he reflected on the fact that that the more lives a man takes, the greater the honour he receives, while the man who wishes to harm no one is despised and snubbed.
Brand and Jesper were just as sad as they walked in silence back towards their company’s lines. They were both so shaken by the events they’d witnessed that they didn’t notice where they were going. Suddenly they found themselves close to the fighting once more and a musket ball ricocheted, hitting Jesper in the foot.
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