Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Aethelman shrugged. It would take too long to explain them. ‘It doesn’t matter. All that is important is that if more are ever made, the runes should be copied exactly.’

  The rector frowned and touched his finger to his lips. He stood and without a word went to a cupboard at the back of his large, rambling office. Aethelman did not doubt there were piles of papers there that had lain untouched for decades, the writings of rectors past. Perhaps he should have started his search there? The rector rummaged in the cupboard for a few minutes, taking out a variety of objects and boxes, unceremoniously dumping them on the ground.

  ‘There it is,’ the rector said. ‘I knew I’d seen something like this before. He returned to Aethelman holding a knife in his hand. He passed it over.

  Aethelman looked at it, laughing at how the gods played with mortal man. How foolish his efforts must seem! The blade looked as fresh as if it had been forged with Aethelman’s new blades, but the bone handle was browned and cracked with age. It was ancient, but it was identical to the knives Aethelman had brought. For an age it had sat in the cupboard, all but forgotten, its purpose actually so. It was rare in Aethelman’s life that the path to his destination had been a direct one.

  He sighed, and tried not to let the revelation frustrate him. ‘Tell everyone,’ Aethelman said. ‘This is the reason for our existence. At least it once was. We can’t allow it to be forgotten again. Every novice must be told. The Search is not futile. The Stones are a blight and they are real. I have seen one. They must be destroyed. It is our sacred duty.’

  The rector regarded him with wide eyes. ‘Indeed. Indeed. I’ll be certain to.’

  Aethelman felt a flash of frustration. How could he be certain the rector was taking him seriously?

  ‘I’ve read much about these Stones, what they were created for, and what they did. It is your duty to ensure our Order fulfils its responsibility.’

  ‘I hardly think I need to be told what my responsibilities as rector are. I understand the importance of what you are saying.’

  ‘Good,’ Aethelman said, entirely unconvinced that his words had registered. ‘The gods will judge us all on how we have conducted our lives.’

  That seemed to hit the desired note.

  ‘Will you sup with us, brother?’ the rector said, but Aethelman was already heading for the door.

  RODULF

  No visit to Elzburg would be complete without paying a visit to court. Rodulf had no desire to be condescended to again, but he knew he needed to be seen there as often as possible. Nonetheless, a visit to the bank took precedence.

  There was a plethora of banks to choose from in the city, but Rodulf had picked Kuyt and Valk’s, for no reason other than he had liked the sound of the name. He sat in the waiting room for longer than he liked, and was certain it was a show of power by the manager. Eventually he was led through to an opulent office occupied by a bespectacled man with far broader shoulders than one would expect of a banker.

  ‘Lord Leondorf,’ the banker said. ‘Burgess Berengar at your service. I’m sorry for the wait, but you have to understand it’s not at all usual for the manager to open an account. I’m not even sure I remember how.’

  He smiled, but Rodulf could tell it was false.

  ‘I’m not here to open an account,’ Rodulf said. ‘I’m here to open a branch.’

  Berengar’s mouth opened, then closed, and he smiled again.

  ‘There are no banks in Leondorf,’ Rodulf said.

  ‘I was given to understand that coin was not of much use in the Northlands.’

  Rodulf tried to gauge if the comment was an observation or an underhand insult, but couldn’t decide.

  ‘Perhaps in the past, but things change. I’m sure you’re aware of the silver mines.’

  ‘I am,’ Berengar said. ‘We are fortunate enough to count the Markgraf as one of our customers.’

  ‘That’s a fraction of the wealth in the Northlands,’ Rodulf said. ‘Furs, gems, ores. Leondorf will be a hub of trade that opens the Northlands to the world. I’m offering you the chance to be there from the start, and to enjoy the benefits that will bring.’

  The bank manager stroked his chin. ‘Do you not think you are being a little optimistic?’

  Rodulf slid a piece of paper across the desk. ‘The taxes generated on last month’s trade,’ Rodulf said. ‘It grows by multiples every month. Coin and bullion is being dragged up and down the road to Leondorf in ever greater amounts, and banditry has risen tenfold. A bank would mean fewer trips needed. Trips that can be properly escorted. Money that can be better protected.’

  Berengar read the numbers on Rodulf’s piece of paper. ‘That is quite surprising. Quite surprising indeed. These figures haven’t been… embellished at all, have they?’

  Rodulf frowned. ‘I’m sure Sherbane’s or Austorgas’s would be happy to find out for themselves.’

  ‘I’m sure they would,’ Berengar said, ‘but the setting up of a new branch is no small undertaking.’

  ‘I think these figures show it would be one that is well worthwhile.’

  ‘New markets do tend to favour those who arrive the earliest,’ Berengar said, tapping his finger on his desk. ‘Leave it with me a day or two. I’ll be able to give you an answer then.’

  Rodulf nodded. He hadn’t expected anything more than this on a first meeting, but he wasn’t willing to allow the balance of power to favour the banker.

  ‘Two days. Then I talk to Sherbane’s.’ He didn’t wait for any further pleasantries, and left the office. If Kuyt and Valk’s didn’t want to make money, that was their business, but he would not allow it to slow his plans. His growing anger was interrupted by a raised voice he recognised.

  ‘You’ll simply have to sort it out.’ It was Henselman dal Geerdorf, storming out of a different office and from the premises.

  The only reason for that reaction in that building was financial difficulty. Rodulf smiled. It was deeply satisfying to him to see that the man might not have everything his own way. All power but no coin, Rodulf suspected—a common thing amongst the nobility, and the former rarely lasted long without the latter. Opportunity appeared in the most unexpected places.

  Rodulf turned and walked back into the manager’s office without knocking, and sat. Berengar looked at him with an expression of surprise, but said nothing.

  ‘Count dal Geerdorf,’ Rodulf said. ‘I understand he’s in some financial difficulty.’

  Berengar frowned. ‘I’m afraid that’s really not something I’m in a position to discuss. Our clients’ details are always kept in the strictest of confidentiality.’

  Rodulf nodded. ‘And if I were to say I wanted to help the count with his situation?’ Rodulf knew he was fishing, but he had seen enough to make the effort worthwhile.

  ‘Help in what way?’ Berengar said.

  ‘Something that would be of benefit to all parties involved,’ Rodulf said. ‘Perhaps I could buy all of his debts from the bank?’ With the house purchase, Rodulf barely had a purse of silver to his name. Reward requires risk, his father always used to say. He could find the money afterwards. The influence this could give him was invaluable.

  ‘That’s something we only consider in the most extreme of circumstances.’

  ‘Would offering you ten percent over the value make it an extreme circumstance?’ Rodulf said.

  Berengar licked his lips. ‘Not as extreme as twenty percent over the value.’

  Rodulf leaned back in the chair and smiled. Things were so much simpler in the south. It was avaricious, but it was refreshing.

  ‘Just how extensive are the count’s debts?’

  ‘Extensive. Very extensive.’

  He was going to need to get his new silver mines up and running very quickly if he hoped to stay afloat. He was starting to regret buying the house. Rodulf reached into his pocket and grasped the Stone. ‘I think ten percent is more than fair.’ He fixed his gaze on Berengar, and waited for the Stone to do whatever it was it
did.

  Berengar narrowed his eyes, as though concentrating on some great problem. ‘I… I… Yes, ten does seem to be a fair figure.’

  Rodulf stifled a sigh of relief. He had come to realise that the Stone did not influence all men, for whatever reason. It was a question he would have to seek the answer to one day. ‘If you agree to raw silver, and to take possession of it in Leondorf, then we have a deal.’ It occurred to him that the offer might even add weight to the argument in favour of establishing a bank in Leondorf. He released the Stone from his grip, and the banker visibly relaxed.

  ‘That will be acceptable. Will you prefer to pay the two hundred fifty thousand crowns, plus the ten percent premium, by instalment or in one payment?’

  Rodulf swallowed hard at the number, but did his best to conceal the fact. He had no idea how long it would take to get that much silver out of the ground—a few weeks at least, if the other mine was anything to go by. That didn’t take into account the start-up time though. He would simply have to find a way to make it work.

  ‘However you prefer,’ Rodulf said. ‘It makes little difference to me. Naturally it will take a few weeks to put together a sum of that size.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Berengar said. ‘Made all the easier by the presence of a locally situated banking house, I expect.’

  Rodulf smiled.

  29

  THE MAISTERSPAEKER

  The Maisterspaeker continued his story with the added excitement of not knowing how Rodulf might react to the things he was saying. By the time The Wolf of the North was finished and had spread throughout the inns and taverns of the land, Rodulf would be the most hated person in Ruripathia, perhaps farther still. Would he snap and order his men to clear the tavern when he realised how his name was being blackened? Would he order them to kill him?

  Rodulf had featured only as an invisible spectre in Ulfyr’s epics up until that point, but he was now taking centre stage. He would be a villain of the ages, his name living in infamy long after he had left this world for the next. He could not react if he did not want to draw unwanted attention. Rodulf of Leondorf was still wanted for treason in Ruripathia, and to reveal himself was to invite his execution. However, every man had his limit and few liked the truth when it was brought out into the harsh light of day.

  Rodulf looked prosperous, so the men with him were likely bannerets, and wouldn’t die easily. If Rodulf ordered them to deal with him, the Maisterspaeker knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. The danger was thrilling, though. It was a sensation he had not properly experienced since hanging up his sword. Wulfric would never forgive him if he precipitated a confrontation, and the Maisterspaeker was not so arrogant as to think he would survive the encounter. Rodulf was Wulfric’s, anyway. He had waited half his life to be reunited with his one-eyed nemesis, and now that meeting was no more than a matter of hours away.

  The Maisterspaeker watched as he spoke, but Rodulf showed barely a flicker of reaction, and none of recognition. He wore a sly smirk, one that said he was master of all around him, and nothing could knock him from his perch, not even a tale so vilifying. The Maisterspaeker was irked that Rodulf seemed so immune to the tale of his misdeeds, but found it deeply satisfying to know that his reckoning would not be long in coming.

  WULFRIC

  Wulfric returned to his room to pack up the few belongings he had taken with him to the palace. He had just unlocked and opened the door when he heard a footstep behind him and turned, his hand automatically reaching for the grip of his sword. He expected to see Diego standing down the hall, but it was the woman in the purple dress, and she was far closer than the footstep had indicated.

  Wulfric relaxed. ‘My lady,’ he said, giving a curt nod of his head as Jagovere had shown him. His breath shortened at the sight of her; dark hair and eyes, and full lips. Her gown accentuated her figure, and Wulfric felt a thrill run through him similar to the prospect of battle.

  ‘You like what you see, Northlander?’ she said.

  Her accent was rich and syrupy, like honey in his ears. He had never encountered a woman like that before, and found himself at a loss as to what to do.

  ‘I… you look very well, my lady,’ Wulfric said, trying to remember the brief lessons on court etiquette Jagovere had given him. He hadn’t thought she had even noticed him, but here she was.

  ‘I think you like me better than that,’ she said, her dark eyes drawing him in. She took a step forward until she was pressed up against him. She stared up at him and he could feel the heat of her breath on his chin, the press of her breasts on his chest. She pushed him back into his room as he felt himself respond to her advance. As soon as the door closed behind them, he could feel something else—the point of a blade pressing under his chin.

  ‘Tell your master nothing waits for him in Darvaros but death.’

  The point of the blade had as quick an effect on him as her breasts had when they first pressed against him.

  ‘Go home, Northman,’ she said. ‘Stay away from things that don’t concern you.’

  He kept his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Why does everyone think I’m a messenger?’ He grabbed her hand, and pushed the blade away from his throat. ‘I’ll go where I please,’ he said.

  She grabbed his wrist with her free hand and twisted it in such a way that he could not stop himself from releasing his grip. She smiled, and shifted the point of her knife to his crotch. She pressed it against him for a moment.

  ‘Go home,’ she said in a throaty whisper, then reached behind her, opened the door, and was gone.

  It was the closest he had been to a woman since Adalhaid but the feeling it left him with was very different, and not at all pleasant. Who was she? His immediate reaction was that she was another one of the Count of Valeriano’s retainers, but something told him it was more complicated than that. He wondered what Jagovere would make of it all.

  AETHELMAN

  Aethelman had thought that his journey would take him back to Leondorf, or at least to somewhere in the Northlands. Part of him believed the Stone had not gone very far from his small kirk, but it seemed he was mistaken. The pull was drawing him south, and it was not long before he found himself crossing the river that marked the boundary between the Northlands and Ruripathia. Whoever had the Stone had taken it South.

  ADALHAID

  Adalhaid sat in the lecture theatre, the sound of the lecturer’s voice floating in the background. She had been able to think of little other than Jakob Strellis since their last encounter in the clinic. She could still feel the spot on her hand where they had touched. The memory of it quickened her heart and sickened her stomach. She knew Wulfric was gone, and that she could not spend her life wishing that were different. He would not have wanted that, but for some reason she could not shake him off. It felt as though some part of him was still with her, that their connection was not broken. Perhaps he watched her from Jorundyr’s Hall, waiting for her to join him. The thought caused a pain in her heart so great she thought it would crush her. It was foolish thinking; Wulfric would want her to be happy, not to live in a state of pain and anguish. Perhaps Jakob was her future, in this world at least.

  RODULF

  Rodulf felt a giddy excitement when he arrived at court. The anticipation of his meeting with Henselman, Count of Geerdorf, excited him like the prospect of a night at The Red Carnation, Elzburg’s premier brothel. He sat at the side of the hall watching people come and go, waiting for dal Geerdorf. He wondered how dal Geerdorf would take the news that his debts were no longer held by Kuyt and Valk’s—not that it mattered. Taking the news badly wouldn’t change the fact that Rodulf owned him.

  Dal Geerdorf was part of the Markgraf’s privy council, and attended court each and every day to carry out his duties. Rodulf hoped to catch him there, and break the news.

  While Rodulf’s comings and goings at the palace were all but anonymous, dal Geerdorf’s were anything but. He arrived to great fuss, a belek cloak draped across his shoulders. Two bannerets walked
behind him, haughty in their wide-brimmed hats with hands casually resting on the pommels of their swords. There were others too—private secretaries, notaries, scribes, and servants.

  Rodulf had only a single banneret as bodyguard, the one he had brought with him from home. He was amused by the ironies of perception. To an observer, dal Geerdorf would appear the centre of power with his fine clothes, superior demeanour, and large entourage. Rodulf would barely be noticed, yet all the puppet strings were in his hands.

  ‘My lord dal Geerdorf,’ Rodulf said, standing. ‘I wondered if you might have a moment to talk?’

  Dal Geerdorf stopped and glared over, a look of irritation on his face. ‘That’s the Northlander, isn’t it?’ he said to the notary, loud enough for Rodulf to hear.

  ‘I believe so, my lord,’ the notary said.

  Dal Geerdorf grunted. ‘Tell him to piss off. Cheeky little prick thinking he can address me like that.’

  The notary nodded and made his way over. ‘My lord dal Geerdorf is very busy,’ he said. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘My lord,’ Rodulf said.

  The notary frowned.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with, my lord,’ Rodulf said. ‘I’m a baron of Ruripathia.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry, my lord.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Rodulf said. He took a sheaf of papers from a leather folder and handed them to the notary. ‘I think these may be of interest to Lord dal Geerdorf. They are notarised copies of the originals which I hold in my vault at Kuyt and Valk’s.’

  The notary took them and started to leaf through. ‘How did you get these? These are the mortgage documents for the count’s properties.’