The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set

by Peter Fox

A shadow crossed Thorvald’s face. ‘You deserve far more than I can ever give you, Rathulf.’

  ‘You’ve given me life and home,’ Rathulf countered, ‘which is worth more to me than all the treasure in that chest.’ He nodded at the oaken box beside his bed-place.

  ‘Hey, in that case,’ Alrik said, grinning as he sucked sticky honey from his fingers, ‘if you don’t want it, can I have it? I need to pay back the money lenders for the saddle.’

  Rathulf threw his friend a scathing, though playful look. ‘Sure, go right ahead. You can have the money, but you have to take the kingdom as well.’

  ‘Works for me,’ Alrik said, reaching over and stealing Rathulf’s piece of baklava. ‘This stuff’s amazing. Where’d you get it?’

  ‘Myran,’ Thorvald said but didn’t elaborate. He smiled at them both. ‘Time you two got going. You don’t want to be late.’

  ‘Aren’t we coming with you?’

  ‘Myran thinks the less time Tariq spends on the water, the better, so you and Alrik can ride to Sigvaldsby. Snorri and a couple of his men will escort you. It’s a beautiful day, so you two might as well enjoy each other’s company.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be there, but obviously,’ he waved at his useless legs, ‘I’ll need help. Snorri’s crew will take Myran and me by ship to Lærdalsfjorden, then Sigvald will take us all up to the Breach from there. His men have already set up camp for us.’

  Rathulf smiled. ‘Thanks, father. For everything.’

  They walked back out to the yard, Alrik and Rathulf helping Thorvald as the old warrior hobbled with them over to Tariq. Rathulf ran his fingers over the smooth leather again and shook his head at Alrik, utterly delighted and amazed. Myran held Tariq while Alrik helped Rathulf climb up into the saddle. Alrik checked all the straps then stood back and crossed his arms, nodding with satisfaction. ‘You look magnificent,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll probably need to make some more adjustments as you go,’ Thorvald warned. ‘We don’t want you falling off and breaking your neck. Now where’s your sword?’ He turned back to the house, but Alrik sprang past him. ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. Moments later, he came back out, holding the empty scabbard in his hand. ‘I don’t understand. I could have sworn it was there last night?’

  Rathulf cursed inwardly, having forgotten about the missing weapon.

  ‘Ra?’ Alrik asked, frowning at him.

  ‘It’s up at Magni’s stone,’ Rathulf said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘I left it there last night.’

  Alrik gave him a questioning look, but Thorvald stared at Rathulf, alarmed.

  ‘What drew you to that place, Rathulf?’ he asked. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Rathulf said quickly. ‘Moonlight, stars, oh, and the watch asleep on duty again. Better let Snorri know. I just went for a walk, that’s all. I’ll wear my other sword.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Alrik said, springing into action. He returned shortly afterwards with the Sword of Dumnonia and handed it up to his friend. Rathulf hesitated for a moment, wondering what apparition might appear when he strapped it on, but nothing happened when he did.

  Thorvald remained unconvinced. ‘Rathulf, this is no small thing. What happened up there?’

  Rathulf was not about to back out now. ‘Father, it’s fine. Nothing happened. There’s nothing to worry about. Let’s go, Alrik.’

  He waited impatiently while Alrik prepared his own pony. Alrik had dressed equally magnificently for this most special of days, but he bundled up his cloak and tunic and strapped them to the back of the saddle.

  ‘You’ll boil in all that,’ Alrik said to Rathulf.

  Myran handed Rathulf the reins and gave him a kindly smile. ‘Your father worries needlessly, master Rathulf. You and Tariq are ready for this.’

  Thorvald moved aside as his son turned his stallion and rode out through the gate with Alrik close behind, followed in turn by Snorri and four of his men. Rathulf paused at the threshold and took a last look at the squat longhouse crouched amongst the huddle of grass-roofed buildings that made up their farmstead, and beyond it the shingle beach, where little waves lapped onto the shore; the place he had arrived an orphan slave and which had become his childhood home. A simple life, but one that was falling fast out of reach. In a few days, he would return a man, having earned his place among the fjordlanders at last. And after that? He looked down at the magnificent inlaid pommel of his birth-father’s sword, no longer sure what Fate held in store for him. One thing is certain, he thought. My future will be anything but straightforward.

  ‘Come on Tariq,’ he murmured, gently tapping his heels into the Nisean’s flanks. ‘Best not keep the Gods waiting.’

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Sigvald made yet another circuit of the room, anxiously tapping the rim of his mug.

  ‘You’ll wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up. Either sit down or go outside. You’re driving me mad with that pacing.’

  Sigvald paused and looked at his wife. She was dressing in the next room, and he could see her hands fluttering about above the curtain as she tied the knot on her bonnet.

  ‘You seem to be taking this very calmly all of a sudden. Rathulf has a lot on his plate, and I worry he might not have his mind where it needs to be. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s managed to keep it all together and to be honest, I’m not sure he is.’

  ‘He has good support in us, his father, and Alrik.’

  ‘Well, I have a bad feeling about it, Helga. Something’s not right.’

  ‘What do you mean? Rathulf will be fine.’ She poked her head around the curtain and smiled. ‘By the way, you look gorgeous.’

  Sigvald smiled briefly and looked down at his pants. ‘You don’t think they’ll laugh at me? I’m not sure this is a good idea.’

  Helga motioned for him to turn around, and she looked admiringly at the baggy silk trousers. They were a little too bright, and yellow was not his colour, but they were sensational. ‘You’ll be the centre of attention.’

  ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and check on your boat,’ Helga offered helpfully.

  ‘Longship, Helga. My drakkar is a longship, not a boat. A boat is a little tub that peasants go fishing in, and besides, I thought we were taking the Vixen.’

  Helga stepped from behind the screen and turned her back to her husband so that he could fasten the necklace that she held up for him.

  ‘We’re missing something, Helga,’ he said.

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Well I don’t know, do I? It wouldn’t be missing otherwise!’ He paused, stroking his beard in thought. ‘You’re certain that, you know, our two lovers haven’t begotten…’

  Helga turned to face Sigvald. ‘As a precaution, I gave Ingrith my remedy, but there have been no signs. For goodness sakes, Sigvald, this is Rathulf’s special day, so stop putting tomorrow’s clouds over today’s sunshine.’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that I feel like something is staring me in the face, but for the life of me, I can’t make it out.’

  ‘Well, you need to let it go, at least for today,’ she said, adjusting the necklace on her breast and checking her face in the small polished bronze hand-mirror. She paused, frowned, and turned the mirror so she could see her husband in the reflection. ‘Unless this is about Alrik?’

  Sigvald, in turn, frowned at her. ‘Why Alrik?

  ‘I threw the runestones, Sigvald. Their answer was confusing, and I’m not sure they were a good portent.’

  ‘And?’ Sigvald had no idea what she was talking about. He waited for an explanation.

  Helga seemed to have second thoughts. ‘I’m making more of this than it warrants,’ she said. ‘The runes have been wrong before. Forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense,’ Sigvald offered. ‘What is troubling you?’

  Helga put the mirror aside and turned to face her husband.

  ‘I wouldn’t have said anyt
hing had you not brought it up,’ Helga said, ‘but when I was asking about Alrik’s future, I threw the life rune.’

  Sigvald shrugged, then he rose, alarmed, suddenly understanding. ‘A life born. Has he gotten Astrid pregnant?’

  ‘No, it’s not that, although I wish it were.’

  ‘What then?’ Sigvald asked, baffled. ‘Get it out, woman!’

  ‘The rune was upturned, Sigvald.’

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  ‘Hey, Alrik! Come back to us.’

  Alrik snapped from his daydream and looked over at Rathulf, who shook his head at him, smiling. Only then did Alrik realise they had stopped moving. ‘Eh?’ he muttered, looking about him. They were up on the mountain bridleway, but he had drifted so far into his thoughts that he’d let go of the reins. A short distance away Snorri and the other riders waited impatiently in the hot sun.

  ‘Where were you?’ Rathulf asked, grinning at him.

  Alrik blinked, then blushed. ‘Dornmuna,’ he said, getting its name wrong as usual.

  ‘Really?’ Rathulf asked. ‘Planning on stealing my riches?’

  Alrik looked flustered for a moment, then said, ‘No. I was… wondering what it might be like there.’

  ‘Well, don’t make too many plans.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Rathulf looked out towards the west, the hint of a frown creasing his brow. At last, he said, ‘My life is here, and yes, before you ask, the thought of going back still terrifies me. It’s not going to be like everyone thinks.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Alrik protested. He waved his hand at Rathulf’s sword. ‘You’re the king, remember?’

  ‘So? They don’t know who I am, what I look like, and I haven’t a clue who my family are or where they live or anything. Plus I can’t speak their language. And my friends can’t even pronounce its name properly,’ he added pointedly.

  Alrik laughed at that. ‘You can so speak Dornmoonic, or whatever it’s called. Tegen taught it to you. I know you were just a bairn when she died, but you still use the odd word or two, especially when you’re riled up. It’ll come back for sure.’ He paused and looked up at his friend who sat far above him on his stunning warhorse, Ra’s tanned skin reflecting the bronze tones of Tariq’s burnished coat. Rathulf had dispensed with his tunic and shirt, and his muscled shoulders and chest bore a sheen where the heat had drawn out sweat. ‘No one’s saying you can’t return home, that is, back here,’ Alrik offered.

  Rathulf shrugged. ‘One-third of Norvegr says I should go there, the second says it would be madness, and the last third say it’s all a fantasy made up by my mothe… by Tegen; although I think we can all agree that this ridiculous sword means this isn’t some made-up story. What am I supposed to do? You and Sigvald want to take me back tomorrow, but father thinks it’s the worst thing I could ever do, even though he says I have to go back. He’s convinced my dreams about wolves are a bad omen.’

  ‘Thorvald’s always looking for the worst in everything,’ Alrik said, annoyed, ‘especially since he lost his… since the avalanche. You have a few nightmares. So what? Everyone does.’

  Rathulf looked at Alrik doubtfully, the corner of his mouth tilted in a wry smile. ‘Not like mine, they don’t. You haven’t seen them.’

  ‘If you’re talking about the visions you had after the avalanche, it’s no wonder. You were half-dead and the Night Mara were scrapping for your soul.’

  ‘Well, my full-dead brother is determined to drag me down into Niflheim. I saw a wolf on Magni’s Stone last night.’

  Alrik pulled up. ‘What?’

  ‘At least I thought I did, but I’m not entirely sure I didn’t dream it. But whatever, all of this gives me a bad feeling about going back.’

  ‘Sissy,’ Alrik taunted, although his friend’s mention of the wolf did temper his happiness a little.

  ‘What if they don’t like me,’ Rathulf said. ‘What if they try to kill me like they did the rest of my family?’

  ‘They’re trying to kill you here in your own fjord, remember; and me too. We can thank Leif for that.’ Alrik gesticulated at their escort. ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Here I have friends and allies to protect me,’ Rathulf said. ‘Who will I have there?’

  ‘Me,’ Alrik replied, clearly hurt that Rathulf still didn’t seem to rate Alrik’s support for much. ‘And if it looks bad, we’ll get out of there. We’re Vikings. We’ll have ships. It’s not like we’ll be stuck there.’ Alrik paused, his frown deepening. ‘What’s really bothering you, Rathulf? You know that you don’t have to go alone.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of going anywhere without you,’ Rathulf said. ‘After all, you’re my beating heart, right?’ Rathulf smiled over Alrik’s shoulder towards Snorri.

  They rode in silence for a while, Alrik deep in thought. ‘You’ll make it easily, you know,’ he said eventually. ‘Tariq won’t even need to jump.’

  Rathulf shrugged.

  ‘Actually, I don’t think it’s fair. You should have to do it on your pony like everyone else.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Rathulf said. ‘Let’s go over together.’

  Alrik stared at his friend, aghast.

  ‘Why not?’ Rathulf asked. ‘Tariq could easily carry us both. We’ve ridden him together plenty of times. Then you’ll have done it too. We can be heroes together.’

  Alrik gaped at his friend as though he was insane. ‘No way. This is something you have to do on your own.’

  ‘Now who’s the sissy?’ Rathulf scoffed. His grin broadened. ‘I have a proper saddle this time. What could go wrong?’

  10. Into the void

  Odin’s Breach, Sognefjorden, Norvegr

  Rathulf took a tentative step onto the slippery rocks and peered over the edge. To either side of him, the thaw-swollen river thundered over the cliff, falling a thousand dizzying feet to the valley below. The base of the falls was shrouded in a furious lather of foam and spray, and up here where the boys stood, a fine mist swirled around their heads. Fragments of rainbows appeared and vanished in the spray, and for a moment, Rathulf stood watching the colourful spectacle.

  ‘It’s a long way down!’ Alrik shouted, his voice barely audible above the steady roar. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  Rathulf turned to his friend. ‘Too late to change my mind now! Let’s get out of here.’

  The two boys picked their way back over the rocks to the grassy riverbank, happy to be on safe ground again. The waterfall seemed a bare whisper here, and the sky a deeper blue rather than an ominous grey. ‘Well, we got our swim anyway,’ Rathulf grinned, looking down at his glistening torso and dampened pants.

  An equally sodden Alrik grinned back, then his face changed, and he nodded over Rathulf’s shoulder. Rathulf turned and looked behind him.

  Eirik had arrived. He had Leif in tow, and Rathulf saw that the jarl had gone to the trouble of dressing his nephew in fine, formal clothes so that Leif looked like a normal boy from a normal family. Unfortunately, Eirik had also brought his two sons, and Gunnar immediately spotted Rathulf. Not to miss an opportunity, he mimed Rathulf falling to his death, much to the amusement of his band of followers. Eirik must have known what his son was doing but chose to ignore him.

  ‘Loser,’ Alrik muttered, thrusting his finger up at Gunnar.

  Gunnar offered an equally offensive gesture back, then he and his friends began to make their way down to the lower side of the Breach, keen to claim the best spot from where they could heckle their enemy and witness his demise. Annoyingly, Gunnar had successfully made the leap the previous year, sailing across effortlessly on his purebred Armorican horse.

  ‘That’s all I need,’ Rathulf said.

  ‘If I were you, I’d point Tariq right at them.’

  Rathulf smiled. That’s not a bad idea. In fact, it was an excellent thought. I’ll send them scattering like rats.

  Leif didn’t join the others but instead stood near his uncle upon the valley wall. His face was t
urned toward Rathulf, but from this distance, it was impossible to make out the boy’s expression.

  Alrik followed Rathulf’s gaze. ‘How come he’s staying up there?’ he wondered.

  ‘Because he knows that I want to kill him,’ Rathulf said. ‘Eirik’s probably worried that I’ll shove him over the edge.’

  ‘Well he’d be right there,’ Alrik growled. ‘I can’t believe he’s come.’

  Rathulf shrugged. ‘I guess Eirik is punishing him by rubbing his face in it.’

  ‘Well if he comes anywhere near me, I’ll knock his head off,’ Alrik warned.

  Rathulf frowned at his friend, but how could he blame Alrik for feeling this way? Their current predicament was Leif’s fault when all was said and done, but Rathulf still struggled to believe Leif had been so coldly calculating. Alrik must have read his friend’s thoughts because he rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘He was going to steal your stuff and pretend to be you,’ Alrik said slowly, speaking as though Rathulf was the village idiot, ‘and thanks to him we’ve got a price on our heads. Oh, and remind me: what were his parting words to you? Something friendly, like, “fæn ta deg?”’

  Rathulf sighed, but he didn’t get a chance to respond because they were interrupted.

  ‘Are you going to stand around all day, or are we going to get this over with?’

  Rathulf turned to see Sigvald striding towards him, and he was immediately grateful for the jarl’s timely arrival. Alrik had once said the unkempt mass of the jarl’s golden hair resembled the wild tangle of an eagle’s nest, and Rathulf smiled to himself at the thought of one of the birds perched on the chieftain’s head. Sigvald thrust out a paw and crushed Rathulf’s hand in it. ‘Hello boys. Pretty view. What are you smirking at, Alrik?’

  Alrik’s eyes were locked on the chieftain’s absurd trousers, and while he tried his best not to laugh, he failed dismally.

  ‘Do you have a problem with my pantaloons, young man?’

  ‘Panta whats?’

  ‘Pantaloons. They’re made from the finest silk, I’ll have you know. From Konstantinoupolis. They’re the height of fashion there. I thought they’d go well with the horse.’