He may have been ill, but years of reflex and reaction forced Merroc’s aching body into a similar stance. The only sound he could hear was that of the distant clattering of the stag’s hooves as it disappeared into the forest and that of his own breathing. He was acutely aware of it rattling in his thin chest.
Valkia said nothing but her head moved imperceptibly to the right, her sharp ears picking up some movement there. A dark head of hair emerged from the woods, moving at great speed.
‘Radek,’ she murmured and relaxed her posture, but only slightly. The Warspeaker was repeating the same phrase over and over and it wasn’t until he was a little closer that Valkia and Merroc made out what he was saying.
‘Enemies coming this way!’
From all over the woods, Schwarzvolf hunters emerged from their hiding places. Some crawled out from beneath bushes whilst others dropped lightly from trees. Valkia got to her feet and jogged lightly to join Radek. Merroc also followed, although much more slowly. His heart pounded in his chest. He sensed a defining moment in his future was imminent. If an enemy attack was upon them, how he handled himself in the next few minutes could be critical.
As soon as the Schwarzvolf were assembled, Radek looked over the grouped hunters. He sent the youngest, a boy of nine, running back to the camp to sound the alarm and then elaborated on what was coming their way.
‘At least forty strong, if not more,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I was at the far edges of the woodland stalking game and I saw them moving down the hillside. I watched for a while to see where they were heading and they are coming towards the woods.’
‘Forty?’ Valkia responded and there was scorn in her voice. ‘We can take forty. They’re on open ground and the woods favour us. We can cut them down before they even set foot in here.’
‘What if they come in peace?’ The voice belonged to Merroc and it was quietly reasonable and rational. ‘Do not be so quick to cut down strangers, Valkia. They may only seek the protection of the Schwarzvolf.’ All eyes turned to the chieftain. ‘We should let them come to the edges of the woodland and demand to know their intentions.’
‘But...’ Valkia looked furious at being overridden by her father.
‘Radek?’ Merroc turned to the Warspeaker. There was a spark of his former self evident on his face, the pride and nobility that had always been etched there and which even the ravages of his illness had failed to entirely eliminate. The Warspeaker inclined his head.
‘My chieftain speaks truth. It would be better to ensure this tribe comes for blood before we join them in battle.’
Merroc didn’t need to look at his daughter to feel the stare that she levelled towards him. If looks could kill, as the saying went, he would not just have been dead. He would have been torn limb from limb and his intestines strung like banners from the nearest tree. There was such a hunger in Valkia’s eyes that eventually Merroc had no choice but to meet her stare defiantly. The pair battled silently for a few tense moments and then Merroc made a concession. The act startled everyone present.
‘We will meet them at the edge of the woods. Valkia – you are to take a group through the east side of the forest. Loop around them and remain on the right flank. Should the meeting take a turn for the worse, then you will be able to strike at them from behind and drive a wedge between their warriors.’
‘My chieftain?’ There was something faintly dangerous in Radek’s voice, but Merroc chose to carefully ignore it. ‘Are you sure this is a good course of action? If Valkia and the others are noticed, it may endanger any agreement to bring another tribe under our banner.’
‘Are you questioning my ability to lead, Warspeaker?’ Merroc, who had once towered imposingly over Radek, drew himself up to his full height. He may have seemed thin and wasted, his face pale and the eyes sunken hollows, but in that gesture, something of his lingering power remained.
‘Never, my chieftain.’ Radek bowed his head and Valkia sneered at how swiftly he had capitulated. There was no time for lengthy discourse on the matter, however. They needed to move and be swift about it if they were going to get into position before the unknown party reached the woods.
‘Take twelve warriors with you, Valkia,’ Radek said, his manner switching to that of the commander. ‘Remain in cover until either I signal otherwise or things get out of hand swiftly.’
‘As my Warspeaker commands,’ she replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She turned and pointed at ten of the gathered men and two women and within several seconds, they had melted into the trees as though they had never been.
‘Let us head out to meet these intruders then,’ said Merroc after they had left.
They were looking for winter sanctuary, they said. There were fifty-seven of them; all that was left of a two-hundred strong tribe who had lived in the hills for countless years. They had always kept themselves to themselves, never interfering in the politics and wars so beloved by the other tribes. They were farmers predominately, tilling the land and living from its bounty. But they were under threat from another tribe.
Their leader, a young man who had introduced himself as Eraich, had led a small deputation of five men to the edge of the woods. He was powerfully built with muscular shoulders that spoke of hours of hard toil and labour, and a ruddy complexion that he could attribute to his many hours in the sun. None of the men with him were armed other than with hunting knives worn at their waists. But there was the potential there to develop such strong men into exceptional warriors. Merroc could see it and he could tell by the appraising expression on Radek’s face that the Warspeaker thought so as well.
‘We have watched your people travel here and leave again for many years,’ Eraich said, breaking the moment of silence. His voice was thickly accented and difficult to understand, but he spoke slowly and earnestly. ‘We have never approached you before because we have never had need to. But now...’ He shook his head. ‘Now, the murder that comes in the night has taken that which we hold most dear. Our families are torn apart and our crops are destroyed. Our livestock has been stolen...’
Eraich made a sweeping gesture that took in the people behind him. From a distance, it had been impossible to know that the party was made up of men, women and children. ‘This is all that remains. We are... without a home. We come to seek refuge under your banner. You have not left the Vale this year and we took that as a sign.’
The young farmer hung his head in shame. Merroc felt a brief flare of compassion. It must be difficult for him, having to admit such a weakness in front of a complete stranger. The chieftain gazed over the gathered people of Eraich’s tribe. They were undernourished, but still robust and healthy. There were enough young people in the assemblage to produce children for the Schwarzvolf. The Vale was fruitful and bountiful. To bring experienced farmers into the fold could be a massive benefit to the war-like Schwarzvolf. Exceptional hunters, they had no idea about agriculture, or tending crops.
‘We should discuss this more, Eraich. Perhaps...’
‘May I make a suggestion?’
The voice was Valkia’s. Merroc started in surprise. He had not heard his daughter approaching. She was like a spectre that came from the night to startle you into an early grave. Her eyes were studying Eraich with unashamed interest. They roamed up and down his muscular frame.
For his part, the young leader studied Valkia back in return, not even making any sort of attempt to keep the admiration from his gaze. Merroc scowled, but then pointed to her.
‘My daughter,’ he said, with unmistakable irritation in his tone. ‘Valkia.’
Eraich inclined his head. ‘Chieftain’s daughter,’ he said, formally but she waved away the title with impatience.
‘My name,’ she said with steel in her tone, ‘is Valkia.’
‘Your suggestion?’ Merroc interrupted, not wishing this to continue. Valkia took her eyes from Eraich and looked over to her father.
‘Whilst you and the Circle meet with Eraich and his men, perhaps the Schwarzvo
lf could demonstrate kindness to the women and children of their tribe. We have food going spare and fires by which they could warm themselves.’ She ran her hand through her short hair and treated Eraich to a smile that could have dazzled him into death.
‘That is a most generous gesture, chi... Valkia,’ replied the young farmer and looked over at Merroc. ‘If your father agrees, that would be very welcome. It has been a hard journey to reach you.’
If Merroc was surprised by Valkia’s uncharacteristic show of kindness, he did not let it evidence itself on his face. He merely nodded. ‘As you suggest, daughter,’ he affirmed. ‘Take the women and children to our hearth.’
Eraich reached out a hand and caught Valkia’s arm tightly. The farmer’s broad hand encircled her slim forearm easily. Radek drew in a deep breath. To so lay hands upon the chieftain’s daughter was considered deeply offensive, even though he knew that Valkia was more than capable of handling the situation. For her part, Valkia simply held up her free hand to forestall what she sensed were Radek’s harsh words. This was an ignorant stranger who knew no better.
‘Promise me you will care for them,’ Eraich said. ‘They have been in my charge since my father’s death two passes of the moons since. I must know that you mean them no ill intent.’
‘You have my word,’ Valkia said, and her tone could not have been sweeter. ‘The women and children of your people will receive nothing but courteous hospitality from the Schwarzvolf.’
‘Thank you,’ said Eraich simply and released her arm. She smiled at him again. ‘I will leave you in the capable and competent hands of my dear father.’ The smile was turned upon Merroc who felt a stirring of uncertainty. Valkia was planning something and his biggest fear was that he thought he knew well what it would be.
It did not take long for the strangers to be brought to the heart of the Schwarzvolf clan, although many of them were obviously unsettled by the sheer number of armed warriors. Nobody had yet ordered them to stand down.
Neither did they.
‘Your people are fierce,’ one woman confided in Valkia. She was a matronly type, her outline soft and feminine where Valkia’s was hard and masculine. Pretty? Perhaps so, but Valkia was more interested in the brood that scurried along behind her. So many children suggested that these people were prime breeding stock.
To the young woman’s eyes, these newcomers were little more than a means to expand the Schwarzvolf. For years she and Radek had talked of the dream of being the greatest tribe in the north. They had the strength to do so, but they still lacked the numbers. That had begun to change in recent years, but one of the many things that the two of them had never agreed on was how precisely that change could be expedited.
‘Yes,’ she conceded eventually. ‘The Schwarzvolf are a proud and fierce people. You will be glad enough of that when the wars begin.’
‘The wars?’ The matronly woman’s eyes showed fear, a weakness that Valkia instantly despised. She shrugged lightly.
‘Yes. The Schwarzvolf have enemies of their own. And from what Eraich was saying, it sounds as though you have some that require dealing with. It has been some time since my people went to war. They are hungry for it.’ Her own hand ran lightly across the haft of the spear slung across her back. ‘I hunger for the glory of battle also.’
‘You fight?’ Such incredulity that it was all Valkia could do not to turn around and slap the impertinent cow across the face.
‘All the able women of the Schwarzvolf fight. It is our right and our honour to do so.’
‘Your people are not like mine at all.’ Doubt. Creeping doubt. But it was far too late. They were under the banner of the Schwarzvolf. And there they would stay.
‘We are your people now,’ retorted Valkia, dropping a low, mocking bow as she slid away from the trail of refugees back out to the woods. At little more than a crook of her finger, several of the armoured men came with her.
The discussions had been terse since Valkia had taken the refugees to camp. Merroc sensed that Eraich knew what the inevitable outcome of their ‘discussions’ must be, and he had never expected to feel ashamed of who he was and what the Schwarzvolf stood for. Perhaps the illness had spread to his brain, softened him. Whatever it was, he was left feeling no better when, several minutes into the conversation, Eraich had simply sighed. He was a man defeated.
Requesting an opportunity to speak to the chieftain privately, Eraich and Merroc retreated a reasonable distance from the gathering. Radek watched like a hawk for any signs of treachery on the part of the young farmer.
But there was no hint of such behaviour in Eraich’s voice as he finally found it. ‘You plan to kill us and keep our women and children,’ he said. It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. Merroc reached up to scratch at his straggly beard.
‘My daughter does,’ he acknowledged. ‘Valkia will see no place for farmers in our war band. I have a wider-reaching vision than she does, however.’
‘Do not humour me, chieftain. I have suffered more losses in this last few days than I ever thought possible. We are not cowards, but the suffering visited upon us by the mountain reavers has broken my people. There are even now plenty amongst us who would accept death as a blessing.’
‘I would welcome the knowledge of those who know how best to till the land in this part of the Vale. My people are fighters, warriors. They know very little about crops. What few things we have successfully grown have been staunchly unyielding.’
‘I asked your daughter to make me a promise,’ said Eraich. ‘And she made it. She said what I wanted to hear, but I need to hear it from you as well, chieftain. That our women and children will be cared for.’
‘On that, you have my absolute word.’ Merroc ran a hand over his eyes. He liked this young farmer in spite of his weakness. ‘No harm will befall them.’
The sound of approaching feet caused both of them to turn. Valkia walked from the woods, at the head of several Schwarzvolf warriors. Her spear was readied and in her hand. Radek rose from where he sat, caught between the gazes of father and daughter; the one unreadable, the other mutinous. Merroc spoke eventually.
‘This is not how it needs to be, Valkia.’
‘It is exactly how it needs to be, chieftain.’ She took a step closer to him. ‘The Schwarzvolf have become soft. We have been robbed of our right to battle for so long that you entertain the notion of becoming settled, of welcoming farmers into our midst. If we are to remain strong, then it cannot be.’
‘I forbid it, Valkia.’ Merroc took several steps towards his daughter and she moved towards him, her face thunderous. The chieftain was acutely aware of the proximity of Radek and to his consternation, had no idea which side the Warspeaker’s allegiance belonged to.
‘I defy you,’ she replied quietly and at a gesture, the men at her command surged forward, past both she and the chieftain, and began to slaughter the innocent refugees who had sought only succour and sanctuary within the embrace of the Schwarzvolf.
It was painfully quick and exceptionally bloody. Twenty fully armed warriors who had been deprived of warfare for months exalted in the opportunity to release their pent-up frustrations. Some of the men attempted to flee in a panic, but were brought to ground with well-aimed spear shots.
Merroc turned to Eraich who stood watching the slaughter of his men with a strange sort of resigned detachment. ‘At least spare their leader,’ he said to Valkia in an undertone. She spat at her father’s feet and pushed him out of her way. Merroc tumbled to the floor, his head glancing off a stone with a spurt of blood.
‘No, Valkia!’
With an alarming turn of speed, the chieftain made light of his illness and rose to his feet, planting himself again between Valkia and the dazed Eraich.
‘Get out of my way. Let me do what needs to be done in order to preserve the name of our people.’
‘There is no need for this! You have killed enough here today! Let the rest of them live.’ Merroc gestured to the dozen or so
men who had been corralled apart from the others. Terrified and angry by the violence, and no doubt still haunted by the attacks that had already reduced their numbers, the men stood mute with short knives clutched feebly in their hands. There had been a time, once, when Merroc would have sneered at such weakness.
Age, he thought grimly. Age has robbed me of all reason.
His daughter moved up to stand before him. She had grown so tall. Somehow, the little girl who had sat on his shoulders and demanded answers to questions had become a young woman; a warrior in her own right.
‘You are weak,’ she said to him in a soft voice. He felt the anger there; could sense how much she despised him for that weakness. ‘Your time is done, old man.’
He felt his will crumble under her gaze. By the gods, but she was strong-willed. She was breaking down his resistance, tearing down the last of his fortitude like it was nothing more substantial than old hides. From somewhere, he found an inner strength that he had not known he still possessed. His death was a certainty, but then since his illness had struck, it always had been.
‘So this is how it ends?’ He studied her face. ‘There will be no victory for you to savour, Valkia. I am dying anyway. If you kill me here today, you do me a kindness, not a dishonour.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Their eyes locked and for a fleeting moment, he saw the compassion. It was deep, deep down, but it was there nonetheless. He felt a spark of hope that she would not lead his tribe to ruin with her bloodthirsty ways. He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. For the first time in years, she did not flinch at his touch.
‘Have a care, Lille Venn,’ he said at a volume that only she could hear. ‘After this day, after you kill me here, you will be completely on your own.’
‘No,’ came a voice from behind him. ‘She never was on her own, Merroc.’
The chieftain was not aware of the sword that had slid in between his shoulders from behind until Radek withdrew it. Blood spurted from the chieftain’s mouth and he released Valkia’s face. The blade slipped easily from the old man’s heart and he collapsed nervelessly to the ground. It was most assuredly a clean kill. The chieftain’s daughter and the Warspeaker watched impassively as Merroc gave a last rattling sigh, their expressions unreadable. Eraich, being held fast by the arms of two of the tribesmen watched the death of Merroc with horror.
Valkia the Bloody Page 5