Jorundyr's Path: Wolf of the North Book 2

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘Well, now that we’ve established the ground rules,’ Jagovere said, ‘welcome to the Co…’ His voice drifted off.

  Wulfric supposed they weren’t dal Rhenning’s Company any longer. He had no idea what they were. A band of angry men seeking revenge. Wulfric could barely remember a time when he had not been that way.

  ‘The Wolves?’ Varada said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Jagovere said.

  He blushed slightly, and Wulfric realised he knew what she meant.

  ‘The Wolves,’ Varada said. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve been calling yourselves in your stories? The Wolves of the North?’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Jagovere said. ‘How do you know that?’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. They got where they were being sent. They just passed by me first.’

  She let him cogitate on it for a moment, and Wulfric wondered what mention Jagovere might have made of her from their time at the palace in Torona.

  ‘We should go,’ she said. ‘If you’re being followed, we’re inviting trouble by remaining here.’

  43

  AETHELMAN

  It was late evening by the time Aethelman had done his rounds of the city’s games of chance, and felt his purse had swelled enough to see him through to his goal. He expected that every proprietor of a card, dice, or cup table would know about him by morning, but it didn’t matter. He had enough, and had only taken coin from the dishonest ones—who, it had transpired, were the majority. As he read through the price list at a coffee house, he realised he had more than enough. Far more. Having lived so long in the Northlands with no need for anything beyond what was provided, he had no concept of the value of money. A crown, a florin, a shilling, a penny—they all sounded much the same to him, and he couldn’t tell which one was which. When he compared the prices to what he had in his purse, he realised his day’s gambling had brought in more than a skilled craftsman would make in a year. He had lived a long life, without a hint of luxury. Surely the gods would not judge him too harshly should he have a small sample so late in life?

  He asked around for an inn from passers-by, and one name cropped up frequently, accompanied by attempts at wit that suggested it was the best in the city, but a place someone such as he could not dream of paying for. He felt an inappropriate amount of satisfaction as he stood before it, comfortable in the knowledge that he could indeed afford it. Its name, the White Horse, was painted in gilt on a black board over the door. He had spent an hour looking for the Pale Pony, until someone had taken pity on him and told him the proper name. With the confidence of a man who doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks of him, he walked into the inn and presented himself at the reception desk.

  ‘I’ve had a long journey, and a moderate degree of misfortune,’ he said, aping the abrupt way of speaking favoured by southern nobility.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that… my lord,’ the receptionist said, hesitating before deciding to err on the side of caution. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

  ‘I’ll need a room, a bath, and a hot meal for starters,’ Aethelman said, starting to enjoy the ruse, his voice growing louder as he settled into the persona. He realised he hadn’t come up with a name yet. ‘A barber also, and then a tailor. A good one.’

  ‘I’ll attend to it directly,’ the receptionist said. ‘Might I have your name, for the register?’

  ‘Certainly. Gustav dal… Aetheldorf.’

  ‘Very good, Lord Aetheldorf. I’ll have the boy take you to your room.’

  WULFRIC

  ‘How long will it take?’ Wulfric said as they rode north.

  ‘At this pace, we’ll cross the border tomorrow,’ Varada said. ‘We should get to Torona early the following afternoon. There’s an inn near the border where we can get a decent meal and stay tonight. I’ve had my fill of sleeping on the ground lately.’

  They continued to ride in silence before she spoke again.

  ‘Was he really like that?’

  ‘Who?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘The Graf. Dal Rhenning. Was he really the man the stories say?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Wulfric said. ‘I didn’t know him all that well. Not for very long, at least, but the men loved him.’ He didn’t know what else to say. ‘Most of them fought to the death for him.’

  ‘He saved your life?’

  ‘He did,’ Wulfric said. ‘Jagovere writes too much.’

  Finally, Varada smiled. ‘He’s a spy’s dream. Too much truth in his tales. He writes well though. I enjoyed his stories.’

  Wulfric wondered what else Jagovere had said in his stories, whether he had revealed Wulfric’s thoughts when he had first seen her in Torona. He wished he had read them more carefully. For the most part he had skipped ahead to the battle scenes, which he agreed were very well written.

  ‘Jagovere knew him better than anyone. You should ask him,’ Wulfric said, hoping to be helpful, but she seemed to take it as rudeness and spurred her horse away.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the inn Varada had spoken of came into view. They had maintained a punishing pace to get themselves out of Darvaros, and the prospect of a hot meal and a proper bed was welcome to them all. They had not seen any sign of pursuit since leaving Kandamar, and Wulfric was eager to get a good rest. Who knew when the opportunity would present itself again in the days to come?

  RODULF

  The Markgraf looked utterly drained of life when Rodulf went into his office. He had been told the Markgraf had taken his son’s death hard, and had barely been seen outside of the private apartments in the days since it happened, but he looked not far from dead himself.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry for your loss,’ Rodulf said, in as caring and considerate way as he could manage. ‘If there’s anything at all I can do…’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ the Markgraf said. There was as little energy in his voice as there was vitality in his face. ‘I need to send you away on another mission. My…’ He paused, as though he had forgotten what he was going to say. ‘My steward has the details of the lords you’re to visit. You’re to leave at once.’

  ‘Very good, my lord,’ Rodulf said, then had a thought. He had noticed that the stronger a man’s character, the less influence he seemed to have over them when gripping the Stone. The Markgraf didn’t seem to be in any way affected by it, but now, distracted and tired as he appeared, Rodulf wondered. He slipped his hand into his pocket and took hold of it.

  ‘I wonder, my lord, if I might put off departure until tomorrow morning?’ He concentrated hard, thinking of the pleasure of a late morning in bed with the kitchen girl, and a good breakfast before setting off.

  The Markgraf frowned, but his face showed strain. Rodulf realised the Markgraf was holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh after a moment.

  ‘No,’ the Markgraf said. ‘No, that won’t do at all. You must set off immediately. Time is becoming an increasingly important factor.’

  Rodulf nodded his obeisance and left. It was the only time he had ever seen the Markgraf react to the Stone, and for a moment he thought it might work. It filled Rodulf’s mind with possibilities. If the Markgraf’s resolve weakened further, perhaps the Stone would work its magic on him. The thought of what he could achieve if he gained control over the Markgraf was intoxicating. It was only the burning sting of the palm of his hand that moderated the feeling.

  AETHELMAN

  There was something to southern luxury, Aethelman could not deny that, and for the briefest of moments he felt a pang of regret that he had ignored it for the greater part of his life. After his session with the barber, his skin felt smoother and softer than it had when he was twenty years old. The tailor had made him a suit of clothes that were soft, comfortable, and fit perfectly. A wonder, considering they had only taken a few hours to make up. When you were willing to pay whatever it took, it was amazing what could be achieved. His funds were not unlimited, but he was happy to spend everything he had to achieve his ends. He had
no rainy day to save for.

  He allowed himself a moment’s vanity as he stood before the mirror in his room at the inn, and marvelled how a close shave and fine suit of clothes could make an ugly old priest look like a man of distinction. He laughed at himself, but knew there was little time to waste. His coin would last only a few more days and he had much to do.

  With that in mind, he headed out into the city to continue his search. The streets were far more welcoming to a well-dressed gentleman. Aethelman allowed the Stone’s presence to guide him along the twisting streets that buzzed with activity. It was not long before he found himself standing before the palace, and staring at a ghost.

  44

  ADALHAID

  Adalhaid walked from the palace on her way to the university, torn between excitement and guilt. Two hours of lectures, and then the rest of the morning was to be spent in the clinic with Jakob. The prospect of seeing him always brightened her day, and she could no longer deny the feelings she was developing for him.

  She had only gone a few paces when she felt eyes on her. She looked across the square in front of the palace and spotted a distinguished-looking old man staring at her. Her first reaction was to ignore the unwelcome gaze of a dirty old lecher—there were many of them in the palace and her Northlander complexion perfectly fit with the Ruripathians’ idea of aesthetics. They thought a title and money automatically conferred irresistible charm and impossibly good looks, and took at least thirty years off their age. However, there was something familiar about this one.

  She gave him a second look, but from that distance, she could find nothing more than a passing familiarity. He waved, and she stopped. Ordinarily she would ignore it and continue, but there was something about him that urged her to investigate. He had a bewildered look on his face, such that she wondered if he needed medical attention. She took a handful of steps toward him, and realised it was Aethelman. The realisation was followed by a wave of relief. There were so many questions he could answer for her.

  ‘Aethelman?’ she said. He looked at her oddly, and it made her wonder if it was a stranger who merely appeared similar. She had never seen the old priest in such fine clothing.

  ‘Adalhaid?’ he said. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Adalhaid said. ‘Why wouldn’t it be? What brings you to Elzburg?’

  ‘But Adalhaid,’ he said, making her wonder if he had lost his wits, ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘We were told you were killed on the road south, after you left Leondorf.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t, obviously. Why would anyone say such a thing?’

  Aethelman’s eyes widened. ‘So Wulfric wouldn’t follow you.’

  Adalhaid smiled. ‘What do you mean? Wulfric? Wulfric’s…’ The smile faded from her face.

  ‘Wulfric’s alive and well,’ Aethelman said. ‘At least I think so. I haven’t seen him in months. He killed Donato when he heard you were dead. But you won’t have heard any of this, will you?’

  Adalhaid shook her head. ‘I’ve heard nothing. I’ve seen Rodulf around the palace, but I’ve avoided him. I thought I’d not heard anything from Leondorf because all my friends were dead, but they thought I was dead? Wulfric thought I was dead?’ She felt her head swim.

  Aethelman nodded his head, and related the story of how Donato and the ambassador had conspired to have Adalhaid return to the south, and how Donato had taken the chance to finally get his revenge on Wulfric for taking Rodulf’s eye and his dream of being a warrior.

  ‘He blamed Donato for your—for thinking you were dead.’

  ‘And the ambassador,’ Adalhaid said, her voice drifting as her mind put the pieces together. ‘Ambassador Urschel was murdered by a Northlander not long after he returned to the city. I remember the day. I remember thinking I saw Wulfric on the street, but thought it ridiculous. It was him, wasn’t it?’ A wave of despair welled up and threatened to swallow her.

  ‘He must have come straight here after fleeing Leondorf. He killed some soldiers as well. He was a wanted man, last I heard.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Aethelman shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. The last I saw of him, he was galloping out of the village like a legion of draugar were chasing him.’

  ‘How am I going to find him?’

  Aethelman shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He could be anywhere. If he still lives. Did they catch anyone for killing the ambassador?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Adalhaid said. ‘There was a fuss at the time, but it all died down very quickly. I didn’t pay much attention. I never liked the ambassador. Aethelman, how am I going to find him?’

  ‘He has no reason to come back. Adalhaid, he thinks you’re dead. He may well be too, by now.’

  Somewhere across the city, a bell rang out. Adalhaid could not focus her thoughts. It was too much for her to take in. The bell imposed itself, and reminded her she had somewhere to be.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said absently. ‘We can talk later. This evening. Where will you be?’

  ‘I’m at the White Horse,’ Aethelman said. ‘I’m staying under the name “Gustav dal Aetheldorf”. Call on me there.’

  She walked away, so dazed she did not even say goodbye.

  ADALHAID

  Time passed in a blur for Adalhaid. She couldn’t recall anything specific since meeting Aethelman in the square. The thought that Wulfric still lived tore her apart inside. She had lasted only minutes at the clinic before having to make her excuses and leave. She had not been able to look Jakob in the eye.

  Wulfric is alive. She kept repeating it to herself, but it seemed too much to believe. Too much to hope for. Through the turmoil, she realised it made little difference. He thought she was dead, and he had disappeared. It was a big world, and she could easily spend the rest of her life searching for him without ever getting close. Accepting that seemed like taking the easy way out, though. If Wulfric thought for a second that she was alive, she knew he would search for her until his dying breath.

  Where would she even start? It would mean throwing away everything she had worked for. She swung violently between deciding to pack her bag there and then, and putting the foolish notion of ever being able to find him from her head. Would a life spent in search of her great love be a waste if she never found him? It sounded like one of the old tragic epics, and the thought made her laugh. It had never occurred to her that her life might become one of them, and it was as ridiculous a notion as it was painful to consider.

  She had been so caught up in her thoughts, she had all but forgotten about Aethelman. There might be more he could tell her about Wulfric, but that was not all. Now that he was there, she felt like she would not be able to continue if he did not explain her strange healing talent. He might even be able to teach her how to use it.

  She took her cloak and headed toward the White Horse. It surprised her that he was staying there; it was usually the choice of wealthy merchants visiting the city. However, his clothes had been equally surprising. She had never seen him wear anything other than his old grey priestly robes. She wrapped herself up in her cloak and set off.

  ‘Adalhaid!’

  She froze mid-step at the voice. It was Jakob.

  ‘Adalhaid, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, Jakob, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for running out on the clinic.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to be sure you’re all right. I’d have come to check on you sooner, but you know how the clinic can be. I thought we could take a walk in the park tonight.’ He reached out to take her hand.

  Adalhaid pulled hers back. He looked surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jakob. Something has come up, something from my past. I have to deal with it, and I can’t do this,’ she gestured to his hand, ‘until I do.’

  She walked away feeling more in turmoil than ever, leaving him standing nonplussed on the street.

  ADALHAID
<
br />   Adalhaid could see why the White Horse was popular with wealthy men. It was luxurious and heavily populated with servants, and reminded her of the Markgraf’s private apartments in the palace. She announced herself at the reception and went into the lounge to wait for Aethelman. The conversation had made her uncomfortable: The receptionist had politely been trying to work out whether he should send her straight up to Aethelman’s room, as he clearly did with the majority of ladies calling to the inn, or into the lounge. She shrugged off the indignation as she sat there, but could not help make sideways glances at the other women present and wonder if they were there for business purposes.

  Aethelman appeared, looking a little sheepish and uncomfortable in his assumed persona.

  ‘The clothes suit you,’ Adalhaid said. ‘It’s long past time you treated yourself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Aethelman said, sitting down, ‘but as with all my madness, there is a reason behind it. I’ve followed something here, and I wanted to be able to move around the city without complication. Looking prosperous is the easiest way to do that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a very long story, and I’ve been looking for it for some time. Suffice it to say, I’ve found it. I think our old friend, Rodulf, has it.’

  ‘Rodulf?’

  ‘Indeed. It’s a strange thing, and I won’t try to explain it. I can tell when the object is near. I saw him today, not long after I met you, and I could practically feel it. I’m not quite sure how he got it, but he has it and I need to get it back from him.’