Valkia the Bloody

by Sarah Cawkwell

  ‘Never presume to tell me whether or not I respected my mother.’ Eris drew the sword this time, but she was not fast enough for Edan. The slightly built Godspeaker had unhooked his battle-axe from the belt at his waist and stopped the killing strike.

  He was imbued with a strength that Eris had never realised and as she withdrew her attack, she found herself for the first time truly frightened. She had never known fear in her life, but something in Edan’s eyes scared her.

  ‘And thus did your mother die,’ he sneered. ‘Filled to bursting with arrogance. Not caring whether her people lived or died. Seeking to fulfil an ambition she could never hope to realise.’

  ‘Enough!’ Bellona stepped forward again and this time, she put her hand forcibly on her twin’s shoulder. ‘Uncle, I implore you to forgive my sister’s impetuous nature, but similarly, beg you to consider your words. You may be travel-weary and tired, but you have brought us sad news.’ Eris shrugged herself free from Bellona’s grip and strode from the tent. Bellona watched her go and sighed inwardly.

  ‘Of course we will respect Mother’s wishes in this matter – on the condition that we are allowed to sit on the Circle in her place.’ It was a diplomatic question, well-posed and pitched completely without rancour. The anger drained from Edan in an instant. He hooked his axe back on his belt and bowed to his niece courteously. This was the Edan she knew. The man who demurred to everyone. But she had momentarily caught a glimpse of his other side and she was on her guard.

  His voice, when he spoke, was laden with carefully pitched weariness. ‘You are correct, of course. It has not been an easy journey. I will make my apologies to Eris later. But I heartily suggest that you keep your sister under control, Bellona. She is in danger of following too closely in her mother’s footsteps. It is hard enough that we have lost Valkia.’ He looked in the direction of the tent’s exit. ‘It would be tragic to lose either of you as well, unless it is with honour and glory attached.’

  ‘Yes, uncle.’ Bellona lowered her eyes in respect. It was the right thing to do and she knew it; Edan nodded in satisfaction before turning and leaving. Bellona sat down and stared blankly at the tent wall. She should seek out her hot-headed sister and offer some sort of comfort but for now, she grieved alone. She grieved for the wasted time, for the lack of real love that had existed between them. She grieved for the future, for the difficulties she could predict without any skills for foresight that lay ahead of them. She knew that she and her sister faced a challenge unlike anything else they had ever known, but she was clever enough to know that caution would pay far more than any other reaction.

  Bellona held her head high and stood, dusting her hands down the front of her tunic. She would go and find Eris and talk sense into her. They both had the blood of chieftains flowing through their veins and if they were to continue the line, there would need to be a lot of politicking.

  With Bellona’s guiding hand and clever mind, coupled with Eris’s strength and fire, they would prevail through the hardships ahead.

  THIRTEEN

  The Long Game

  The river of time flowed ever onwards, heedless of the betrayal of a warrior queen in the northernmost reaches of the world. Time flowed onwards into weeks, months and finally years.

  Edan had been unhappy with simply betraying his sister on the field of battle and within weeks of the party’s return to the Vale, had also turned the tide of favouritism against Hepsus. It had not taken much more than a carefully placed whisper and gentle re-working of the truth to ensure that everyone believed that the Warspeaker had been responsible for Valkia’s death.

  Whispers grew to murmurs, which in turn became angry rumours. Hepsus, revelling in the fact that the tribe was finally under his command, was oblivious to any of it. He had already instigated a number of startling changes that did not sit well with many of Valkia’s more staunch supporters and there were obvious fractures starting to appear across the scattered tribes that had united beneath the queen’s banner.

  ‘War does not have to last forever,’ had been the Warspeaker’s message. ‘We are plentiful in number. Let us spend time carving out a solid, permanent existence. Let us stop the ceaseless wandering. The Schwarzvolf are acknowledged as the greatest tribe of the north. Let us revel in that for a time.’

  Days after giving this speech, he dropped the title of Warspeaker, firmly stating that it did nothing to support the message of unity he wanted to promote amongst the people. It had been this act which had led to a further splintering of the tribe.

  The Circle had gathered for the first time since the appropriate observance of Valkia’s death. The tribe had been in mourning – some genuine, some not – and despite their inherent ferocity, to appear as anything other than united in their grief would expose them as vulnerable.

  These had been Hepsus’s words and Eris had not reacted well to them.

  She stood up and faced him, her elfin-like features contorted with suppressed rage. Bellona stared up at her twin helplessly. The moment Hepsus had spoken, the final line was crossed as far as Eris had been concerned.

  ‘You are promoting nothing but cowardice, Hepsus. You sit there, full of your own self-importance and boast about how you will lead our people forward. But this is an act of foolishness. We are a tribe of warriors. We honour the Blood God…’

  ‘The Blood God? Where was the Blood God when we were fighting for our lives in the far north?’ Hepsus responded in kind, his own face furious. ‘It was because of a misplaced belief in a mad god that your mother died. Do not forget that.’ The former Warspeaker rose from his own place and stood before her. He had the advantage of height, strength and age but Eris did not move. She faced him with as much courage as her own mother had always shown.

  ‘Eris…’ Bellona spoke softly. She was not blinded by rage and she could see no end to this discussion but a poor one. She tried without success to appeal to her sister’s better nature.

  ‘No, Bellona! This needs to be said.’ Eris acknowledged her twin with nothing more than a brief glance. ‘Hepsus, give us the truth of it. You never forgave my mother for the death of your son…’ She ploughed on despite seeing how much the reminder stung the man. ‘You abandoned her to her fate at the last. I have heard many people say the same thing. Her belief in Kharneth was strong and it was pure. A misplaced trust in her own Warspeaker was the thing that cost my mother her life.’

  ‘I did not kill your mother.’ Hepsus’s hand strayed unconsciously to his scabbard, but he had ceased wearing his sword openly in an effort to prove he was serious about a more settled way of life. ‘Do not make such accusations unless you have proof to bring before this Circle. Your mind is addled with grief, girl. Now take your place and shut your mouth until you have something useful to bring to this meeting.’

  Nobody had ever spoken to Eris in such a manner and her face went beet-red.

  ‘Eris, please.’ There was something commanding in Bellona’s soft voice and Hepsus sneered.

  ‘Listen to your sister,’ he said, moving so that his face was barely a hair’s-breadth from Eris. ‘There speaks a proper woman.’

  Eris didn’t miss her stride at all.

  ‘Once,’ she said in a low, passionate tone, ‘you may have been a worthy successor to my mother’s throne, Hepsus. But now? Now you are a broken old man who has lost his edge for battle. I will not stand by whilst you dishonour the tribe further.’

  ‘And what,’ said Hepsus, ‘do you plan to do about it?’ He leaned still closer, almost as though he would kiss her. She gave him a charming, crooked smile.

  ‘This.’

  Her hand moved alarmingly fast, and the serrated blade of her dagger cut upwards with a soft displacement of air. It entered Hepsus’s face just below his chin, exiting between his eyes. Red blood surged and covered Eris’s hand. Hepsus gagged and tried to push Eris from him, but her grip on the blade was firm. He struggled to free himself, even as the crushing inevitability of his certain death pressed him to his kne
es. Eris watched dispassionately as he suffered, enjoying every second of her hot-headed and impetuous revenge. Then she moved the dagger ever so subtly and pierced the meat of the Warspeaker’s brain. The light died from his eyes and she finally released her grip on the dagger. She watched with emotional detachment as Hepsus expired and then moved back as he toppled like a falling tree, his powerful bulk crashing heavily to the ground.

  And not one member of the Circle moved to help him.

  Hepsus bled out on the floor in front of every member of the Circle, gore soaking the ground around him. Finally, when there was no further drop left in him, he lay still. Eris bent and retrieved her dagger. She forced open the jaws, not yet stiffened through death and cut out what remained of the old warrior’s tongue. She held the grisly trophy aloft.

  ‘So will end all liars and traitors,’ she said. ‘My mother brought the Schwarzvolf to greatness. This man snuffed out that light and has paid the ultimate price. My sister and I are the rightful successors to her leadership and we will take our place accordingly. Is that not right, Bellona?’

  Bellona’s face was set like stone, demonstrating neither disapproval nor pleasure at her sister’s unprecedented actions. She rose to her feet in an almost prim manner.

  ‘It was our mother’s wish that we stand together when she was gone,’ she affirmed in her quiet voice. ‘I am with Eris on this.’

  Eris flushed with delight at her sister’s concurrence and, responding to a cough of attention, moved her glance to Edan. Her uncle had sat motionless, concentrating on hiding his delight that his little scheme had worked out so well.

  ‘Godspeaker?’

  ‘You speak words of wisdom for one so young, my niece,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘I merely wish to affirm my loyalty to you and offer my services as advisor to you and your sister. If you will take me, of course.’

  The last was said with such humility that all the anger Eris had felt towards him for bearing the news of her mother’s death flowed out of her in a rush.

  ‘Of course, Godspeaker.’ Eris gave him a tight, controlled smile. Beside her, her sister’s eyes were as cold as ice. ‘The Schwarzvolf belongs to the three of us by birth. Your guidance will be welcomed.’

  ‘I will not disappoint,’ said Edan with a low bow from the waist. He told the lie without any difficulty.

  Change was inevitable, and in the turbulent years since Eris had taken the Warspeaker’s life, many things had altered within the tribe of the Schwarzvolf. Some of these changes had been very hotly contested by a certain contingent of the tribe, but their arguments had been quickly resolved. In the worst cases, their arguments had been silenced with the careful application of a dagger blade to the throat.

  In the wake of Hepsus’s death, the tribe had looked ready to revolt. But under Bellona’s careful guidance and Eris’s impressive temper, the daughters of Queen Valkia demonstrated the ability to control the people of the Schwarzvolf.

  Both girls matured into stunning replicas of their dead mother and both drew exactly the same amount of attention from neighbouring tribes. They discussed the situation with the Godspeaker and he very cleverly left the decision in their own hands. He made it clear in carefully phrased words that if they remained childless, then the line of succession would once again fall to uncertainty. This was more than enough to convince even Eris, who had long since sworn never to take a man to husband, to begin to view the situation in a different light.

  They had little time to concern themselves with such things however; within six months of Valkia’s death a civil war broke out amongst the united tribes. The work of years in bringing them together under the Schwarzvolf banner slowly unravelled and the twins found themselves leading the loyal of their tribe in bloody battles of retribution against those who had once called themselves allies.

  Eris proved herself to be an able front-line warrior, leading the Schwarzvolf at the head of the warriors, flashing through the line with twin battle-axes that cleaved skulls and took lives. Bellona was less skilled but no less fearless and when the twins fought together, although they still possessed but a fraction of the skill their mother had displayed, they were nonetheless formidable.

  But fight though they may, they could not convince many of the rebellious tribes to come back under the yoke of the Schwarzvolf. Valkia’s death had fractured the alliance held together by the fear and respect that had initially brought them together and no amount of diplomacy or warfare could convince them otherwise.

  From being the mightiest tribe in the north, the Schwarzvolf’s numbers were dwindling. It brought the matter of inter-tribe marriage to the table once again and Valkia’s daughters – forever doomed to walk in their mother’s shadow – eventually conceded that the inevitable had to happen.

  ‘I will find the best I can for you both,’ Edan had promised. ‘Allow me to handle this matter and I promise that you will be pleased with the results.’

  Neither young woman wished to marry outside of the Schwarzvolf, but they could both see the necessity. If they did not begin the arduous task of reinforcing alliances, their tribe’s numbers would once more dwindle to nothing. They agreed that the Godspeaker should make the necessary arrangements whilst they concentrated on the more important issues of survival against constant raids from formerly allied tribes and other, opportunistic enemies who had come out of the hills once the mighty Schwarzvolf were visibly vulnerable.

  War raged endlessly across the snowfields and valleys of the north. Within five years of Valkia’s death, Edan felt considerable pressure lift from his shoulders when without his intervention, Bellona coupled with another young Schwarzvolf, a warrior who had courted her vigorously from the start. Eris, who was perhaps a little bitter if not jealous of her sister, cheerfully circulated the rumour that Bellona had only given into the young man’s endless demands for a little peace and quiet. Whatever the reason, they seemed content with one another and within a short time of their joining, Bellona was pregnant.

  Keen to marry off his other niece and get her removed from his long-term plans, the sly and insidious Godspeaker found a willing suitor for the other of Valkia’s daughters. He instigated the first step of his scheme for the tribe’s future during the ceremony that had joined Eris with a young warrior of a small, nameless tribe. The people of the Schwarzvolf had always had great respect for the ‘visions’ that the Godspeaker experienced and so it was easy enough to take them in.

  Halfway through the ceremony, he had faked a sudden fit, followed by a trance. He spoke gibberish for several minutes, flailing and lashing out so violently that two of the tribesmen had to hold him down in case he hurt himself. Then he had feigned unconsciousness for a day.

  Eris had postponed the ceremony, earning the ire of both her intended husband and his tribe, but she had not cared in the slightest. The health and well-being of her tribe’s chief adviser was far more important to her than some pointless ceremony binding her to a man she cared nothing for. Bellona had dealt with the raging leader of the tribe and had mollified him, promising that the ceremony would take place as soon as the Godspeaker had revived from his trance.

  Edan had waited. There was little point in spoiling the dramatic effect of what he was trying to achieve. When he finally decided that enough was enough, he had allowed his eyes to slowly open and had arched his back on the bed, crying out as though in pain.

  ‘Uncle, be calm.’ It was Bellona’s voice. Edan felt her slide a hand beneath his head and lift a water skin to his lips. ‘Drink.’

  He complied meekly and then turned his head to look at her. ‘How long?’ The question was soft and hesitant. ‘How long was I in the hands of the gods?’

  ‘Some considerable hours have passed since you fell into the trance,’ said his niece, taking back the water skin. Edan groaned softly and she lifted a damp strip of cloth to his forehead. It was easy to fool her. She was soft-hearted and it would be her downfall in time. Her belly had swollen with the child she bore and there was
a maturity to her that had blossomed even more of late. She was now five months into her pregnancy and the condition suited her. Like her mother before her, she had stepped back from the battlefield until the infant was born.

  ‘Eris’s marriage? The ceremony?’

  ‘It has been stopped. Your health is our concern.’ He groaned again, and put a hand to his head.

  ‘I have ruined her chances... I...’ Edan was genuinely startled into silence by the snap of Bellona’s harsh tongue. It was so rare to hear her speak in such a way that he was taken aback.

  ‘Enough. What did you see? Is Kharneth... are the Four displeased?’ Over the years, Edan had carefully steered the beliefs of the tribe to what he called a ‘greater understanding’ of the interlocking majesty of the Four gods. Devotion to just one lessened them, he said. It weakened them. In this way, he was able to pursue his own interests without damaging external appearances. When the moment suited him, he would invoke the practise of specific worship.

  ‘I... I need time,’ said Edan in a trembling voice that he had spent so long practising and perfecting. ‘I need time to gather my thoughts and try to extract the meaning of the visions. All the gods are angry though, Bellona.’

  Edan had seen the power of the daemon that his sister had fought so long ago. He had seen the strength in the creature and when he had learned that it was an emissary from another of the Four, he had started thinking. What power could he wield if he were to earn the favour of all the gods?

  And so his plan had been born. The first part had been alarmingly simple. Removing the fanatical Valkia from the picture had been much easier than he could have anticipated. Then removing Hepsus, the one man in whom he had confided... well. When Eris had rammed her dagger through his throat, he could have laughed.

  This dramatic ‘vision’ was to form the last part of his plan. Through this, he would lead the Schwarzvolf away from the endless, unrewarding devotion to bloodshed and into something greater.

  Edan never once stopped to consider that Kharneth would be enraged. He didn’t consider it because he simply didn’t care. Of all the people within the tribe, the Godspeaker was the only one who could connect directly with the gods; or so the Schwarzvolf were taught. The word of the Godspeaker was the command of the Four themselves and they would obey his every whim without question.