by Damien Black
He felt his wife tighten her grip on him. Now he couldn’t move properly; he felt his rhythm slow as she crushed him to her. Her body felt hard and angular against his. She was murmuring in her love throes now. Glancing at her face he saw her eyes were rolled up into the back of her head. He tried to renew his amorous strokes, but found he could not move. Magnhilda held him to her in a vice-like grip.
And that was when he realised she wasn’t murmuring in Norric.
The words came tumbling from her mouth now, sounding harsh and hateful, alien to the ear. He felt his manhood wilting inside her. Panic rose as he found he could not move: an unearthly strength seemed to possess his wife as she went on murmuring, her voice gradually rising until it sounded like she was chanting.
He felt his will drip away, like the last drops of blood from a death blow. As it did he stopped writhing, letting his body go limp as she continued to hold it tightly to hers. How much better not to struggle, just to lie here in his lady love’s arms…
Magnhilda stopped chanting. Relaxing her grip on him, she said in an icy voice: ‘Get off me.’
He complied instantly. Disobedience was unthinkable.
Sitting up she tidied her hair before pulling on her shirt. Motioning towards the pitcher she ordered him: ‘Drink.’
He watched, powerless, as his hands poured a cup of wine. It was indeed the Pangonian vintage he loved so much, though now it tasted bitter on his tongue as he swallowed it.
‘Pour me a cup,’ she said in the same brusque tone. ‘This needs to look good.’
He obeyed and then poured himself another cup at her command. ‘Keep drinking,’ she told him. ‘Keep drinking until I tell you to stop.’
His head was swimming by the time he had finished his sixth cup. ‘Good,’ said Magnhilda. ‘Now go over to yon window and open the shutters. Take the pitcher and your cup with you.’
He complied, feeling the cool night air rush in as he opened the shutters. The window looked down onto the city of Landarök; its twinkling lights seemed to mirror the stars above. How beautiful they looked… Down in the streets he could hear singing and carousing, as the citizens celebrated a royal wedding.
‘Now turn around and sit on the lintel,’ Magnhilda commanded. ‘Put the pitcher down on it beside you… That’s it. Don’t let go of your cup. Yes, perfect.’
She drew closer to him so that her face was an inch or two away from his. Her eyes looked dark and merciless as she stared at him and smiled. ‘My dearest Guldebrand,’ she breathed, her voice as soft as silk. ‘Did you really think I would consent to be ruled by a beardless milksop like you?’ Her broad mouth tightened in an evil smile. He could feel the sea breeze stroking his back with fingers that carried the chill of the grave.
‘Now lean back, my love,’ she whispered. ‘Hela is waiting to catch thee in the next world.’
Guldebrand did not start screaming until he was halfway down.
High above the palace a raven turned, banking down towards an open window on the top floor. Its keen predator’s eyes discerned the crumpled naked figure that lay bleeding in the courtyard. Pushing away thoughts of feasting, the raven flew in through the window and pictured a stylised bird, an egg splitting in two, and a humanoid figure.
Ragnar coalesced in the bedchamber and looked around the empty room.
‘I’m over here, brother,’ said a voice from behind a partition cloth. ‘Just making water after drinking too much wine. In a minute I shall return to the room, and find that my husband has suffered a tragic accident on his wedding night.’
‘So my Thaumaturgy gave you the strength you needed to overpower him?’ asked Ragnar coolly.
Magnhilda appeared from behind the cloth, pulling down her undershirt. ‘I already told you it would not have been necessary for me to overcome that boy,’ she said. ‘Though I’m sure he could not have triumphed over the Stormrider without your help. Still, I should thank you for teaching me the rudiments of Enchantment when we were young. That proved most useful.’
‘It was my pleasure, sister,’ replied Ragnar. ‘Though our father did not thank me for it.’ Even now the mage found it hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
His half-sister approached him and stroked his scaly cheek. ‘He should have thought about that before he fathered a bastard son on a witch,’ she said. ‘And I am sorry not to have been able to accept you back into his hall.’
‘It was necessary for the plan to work,’ replied the warlock. ‘Things will be different now.’
She smiled up at him. He had no doubt she loved him. ‘Indeed, brother, things will be different. Thanks to the laws of our land I now inherit everything – including Guldebrand’s claim to the throne.’
‘You know there will be some opposition nonetheless,’ Ragnar reminded her.
‘There will,’ she acknowledged, taking her cup and pouring herself some wine. ‘But we shall overcome it. Brega, Bjorg and Vilm shall find themselves alone. With all the other jarls and thegns behind me, what choice will they have but to recognise my claim? We’ve just fought a war to unite the principalities… And united they shall be, under my rule.’
She took a triumphant sip of wine.
‘Magnhilda, Magna of the Frozen Wastes,’ intoned Ragnar. ‘Even your name presaged your destiny. The Farseers of Norn predicted as much.’
His half-sister frowned at that. ‘Yes, well, I never was as religious as you, brother… What if Hardrada had been successful on the mainland? Guldebrand might never have taken the opportunity to raid his lands and tilt the balance of power in the Principalities.’
‘No, I think he would have regardless – he was ever overweening and ambitious. And I had his father Gunnar Longspear poisoned at just the right time. A sixteen-year-old does not make for a wise Thegn.’
Magnhilda smirked at that. ‘No indeed – but what if Hardrada had returned to Jótlund and defeated Guldebrand?’
Ragnar smiled back. ‘Then we would have found a way to manipulate him instead. The destination would have been the same, only the route would have differed. We are all of us caught up in wyrd – part of something larger than any of us. You and I shall sit at the top tier of a new world order, sister.’
Magnhilda laughed and drained her goblet. ‘If you say so, Ragnar… We’ll see about new world orders. For now I am content to reign as queen of the Frozen Wastes – and lead my people to victory on the mainland. Together we shall build an empire of northmen such as the world has never seen.’
Ragnar kept his thoughts to himself. His half-sister could not know how small her dreams seemed to him.
‘Well, I had best be off,’ said the mage. ‘You, I believe, have a hue and cry to raise.’
Muttering the words of a Transformation spell, he pictured the three symbols in reverse. A few seconds later a raven was flying from the window of the palace, as a woman leaned out of it and began screaming.
CHAPTER XIV
A Hard Road For Sick Wayfarers
If Regensburg had anything to offer the curious traveller, Adelko wasn’t about to find out on this occasion. No sooner had they reached the bustling city of five thousand souls than Horskram sought lodgings with a well-to-do master craftsman he knew. At first the prosperous furniture maker looked none too pleased at being woken up in the dead of night by two Argolians and five sworders who looked to have been possessed by Abaddon; but Horskram placated him by suggesting they spend the night in his stables – and with a timely reminder that it was but three summers since he had saved his daughter from possession.
And how was the lovely Analise faring these days? Enjoying the life of a virtuous Palomedian maiden? To his credit, the craftsman’s eyes had only narrowed briefly before he agreed to take them in.
He need not have worried in any case, for come first light they were off again, threading their way through narrow cobbled streets and back onto the road (by now it seemed a lifelong companion to Adelko). The proximity of the Herzog’s seat meant Regensburg did without wa
lls, trusting its security to the towering pentagonal keep that watched it like a hawk from a high motte on the city’s outskirts. Banderoles bearing the Alt-Ürl coat of arms, a gules stag on an ermine fur, fluttered in the morning breeze atop its turrets. After all their misadventures, Adelko half expected a sortie of knights to sally forth from the bailey gatehouse. When they saw the velvet sheen of the Breitrand catching the mid-morning sunlight, the novice allowed himself a sigh of relief. If the Bethler’s words proved true, the rest of their journey should be safe from here.
‘I know the forester who keeps this stretch of the Breitrand,’ said Horskram as they followed the highway into the woods. ‘He has the Prince of Westenlund’s authority, so he’ll put us up for the night. Heaven help the poor poacher caught hunting deer here though!’
‘What happens if they are?’ asked Adelko, though he had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.
‘The poacher loses the hand that released the arrow or wielded the knife is what,’ replied Horskram. ‘But there now! Prince Leopold isn’t the worst of rulers, not by a long chalk.’
Adelko had seen enough of the world’s rulers by now not to disagree.
Sparing a backwards glance for their companions, he felt his sixth sense tingle. If possible they looked even paler. Vaskrian was coughing up blood regularly now. He caught Hettie looking at the squire with a concerned expression, but he sensed there was more than just concern in her right now.
He blushed and looked away. Girls. Such strange creatures, when you thought about it.
‘What are we going to tell this forester?’ he asked Horskram. ‘About our friends, I mean?’
The adept sighed. ‘I do wish for my sake at least you would not call them such,’ he said. ‘But you leave me to worry about Yorik. He owes me a favour just like yon craftsman… And we won’t be imposing on him long either.’
Adelko could sense the urgency behind Horskram’s words. He reckoned now was as good a time as any to get some more answers.
‘So… those freeswords back at the inn knew we were coming, didn’t they?’
‘I know well enough by now not to be surprised at your acuity, Adelko of Narvik,’ replied Horskram. ‘Indeed – they must have been given a description to spot us that quickly. The question is…’
‘… who gave it to them?’
‘Indeed. We were badly delayed on the Draugmoors. That is time for our trail to grow cold and the Lanraks to give up the chase and return north to the war…’
‘… but it’s also time enough to send word south to any roving freeswords. Two damsels travelling with foreign knights are none other than the heiress of Dulsinor…’
‘… and a rich reward to the man who brings her back. Bodyguards expendable.’
They rode on in silence for a while.
‘It sounds like a neat explanation, Master Horskram,’ ventured Adelko at last. ‘Perhaps… too neat.’
‘Much as I was thinking,’ replied the adept. ‘Go on.’
Even now, his mentor was testing him.
‘Well, for starters it seemed as if the freeswords knew about our comrades being cursed. Which means they must have got the message after we left the Draugmoors.’
‘Very good. Go on.’
‘And… I sensed their leader was confused about something. Almost as though he wasn’t expecting the Bethlers to turn up when they did.’
‘Exactly. And why would that be?’
‘That could only mean…’ Adelko’s voice trailed off as it hit him. ‘You surely don’t think the Bethlers were involved somehow?’
‘I am certainly not saying I am sure that is the case,’ said Horskram, measuring his words. ‘But the freesword captain’s confusion, which I sensed also, does seem bizarre.’
‘But why would the Bethlers stop the freeswords if that was the case?’
‘Keep thinking, Adelko – make it a habit not an exercise. Brother Sir Guthrum told us himself he was coming back from Regensburg, in the other direction from the preceptory.’
‘… which means he couldn’t have known if the Bethlers in his own chapter had commissioned hired killers to find us.’
‘Exactly.’
Adelko could sense his mentor was not completely satisfied with this explanation however.
‘But you said yourself the Bethler Order is the richest in the Free Kingdoms – why would they bother to hire men to kill us and take the damsels back for coin?’
‘You’re right, that doesn’t quite add up. Although it’s possible they might have intended to use Adhelina as leverage against the Markwards and Lanraks in their coming crusade,’ said Horskram, keeping his voice low. ‘But you are missing a step in any case – even if it was the Bethlers who were involved, how did they come to know about us?’
‘Well, the only people who did know – ’ Adelko almost pulled his horse up short. ‘No… it’s not possible!’
‘Oh it’s possible,’ sighed Horskram. ‘But thankfully not certain, not until we have eliminated all other avenues of inquiry anyway. Still, it gives us something to cogitate on, wouldn’t you say?’
Horskram lapsed back into his customary silence, leaving Adelko to mull over the unsettling thought. Even after everything they had been through, it had never seriously occurred to him that there could be a traitor within their own Order.
Then the Earth Witch’s message came back to him.
Trust no one.
The forester’s lodge was cramped and smelly. Adhelina was wise enough to realise that this was the life she had chosen, and not to resent her circumstances too much.
Besides, she had far more to be despondent about. Grief for her father’s death remained lodged in her heart like a deep wound, guilt adding to the pain like a splinter. Next to that feeling the suspicious looks she and Hettie received from the forester’s wife scarcely bothered her.
Now on top of that, there was another painful loss on the cards. She had insisted on going with Horskram when he went to the stables to give their bodyguard a blessing against the coming night. They had looked even more ghastly in the moonlight as he sprinkled holy water on them; Adhelina could have sworn they were almost translucent.
‘I told you earthly ministrations are of no use,’ the friar had told her sternly. ‘Even if you had your herb pouch with you, it would be of little use against such a sickness.’
They had arrived at the forester’s cabin an hour before sunset, giving Adhelina time to gather herbs, but even so she was far short of the supply she had left at Graukolos. So much that was precious to her, gone… At least Hettie was still with her, though she hadn’t found much time to show her gratitude. That made her feel even more guilty.
It pained her to see brave fighters to whom she owed her life fading away, passing over to the Other Side. And she was powerless to help them. Anupe hugged herself, rocking back and forth and singing a strange song in her own tongue. Braxus stared vacantly, while Torgun slumped against the stable walls looking sullenly at the ground. Poor Vaskrian was coughing frightfully now, and as for Wrackwulf he simply lay down flat, his eyes tight shut as though in the grip of some febrile nightmare. All shivered spasmodically, though the summer nights were balmy.
Her eyes lingered on Torgun and Braxus. She could not deny their love suits had stirred up some feelings within her. And yet there had been little time to play any games of romance: far too many real dangers to go inventing challenges for bold knights.
Adhelina sighed heavily and shifted uncomfortably on the cot the forester’s wife had prepared for her in the cabin. She was a roil of emotions. Reaching into her purse she pulled out some Silverweed and chewed upon it. Better to brew it in a tea, but right now she’d settle for what she could get.
When she was sure Horskram wasn’t looking, she turned to Hettie lying next to her and nudged her. The old friar was sitting at the other end of the room with his novice, talking to the forester. Adhelina got the feeling he was trying to keep the crusty old gamekeeper occupied, so he wouldn�
�t ask about his bizarre guests.
‘What is it?’ hissed Hettie. ‘I’m trying to sleep, milady… hard enough to do with all their chitter-chattering.’
Clearly her best friend was unhappy, to talk to her so. Or perhaps she no longer commanded deference, she reflected gloomily.
‘Well I’m sorry to bother you,’ replied Adhelina tartly. ‘I’m only trying to help… I found some Silverweed in the forest. It works better in a tea of course, but if you chew it there’s still some effect.’
Hettie propped herself up on her elbow, suddenly looking interested. ‘Silverweed? Isn’t that the stuff you used to make when we were girls? Made us giddy as headless chickens.’
Adhelina grinned, feeling almost cheerful for the first time in weeks. ‘That’s the one! It won’t be strong enough to do that if we just chew it, but should help us… relax.’
Hettie paused for a second or two. ‘Oh go on, then,’ she said, returning the grin. ‘One leaf won’t hurt.’
Adelko was struggling to stay awake. His mentor and the forester were making incessant small talk and none of it was of any interest. That was probably a good thing, he reflected: it was a relief to be in peaceful lands. The forester barely seemed to register news of the war in Dulsinor, only muttering that such unruly behaviour was typical of northern folk.
A giggling sound stopped him nodding off. Glancing over he could make out the two damsels, huddling together and sharing some joke. The forester caught it too and raised an eyebrow at Horskram. Hettie whispered something to Adhelina and she burst out laughing, before remembering herself and stifling her mirth.