I recognized some Vangiones who had escorted me to Burbetomagus. A large, thick brute in a fur vest and a drooping hat was seated on one rich horse, looking around, bored, his shield a yellow sunburst as he guarded the man. And there were men of the red-scarred band as well. Their leader was the lank-haired lout with a beautiful, chestnut horse and the thick golden torc, and he sat on a Roman four-horned saddle with silver studs, his face as long as a fox's. He was arrogant and dangerous, the thick scar on his forehead angry red.
A woman screeched inside the house.
The tall red-headed man tried to get up, swearing vile oaths, but the fur-vested man kicked him on the back, and smiled at him brutally as the redhead fell on his face, helpless as an overturned beetle with his tied hands under him. I spat in anger, my hand tingling with rage, and I felt Woden's Dance, the call of a berserker, the vision of the shadowy figure stomping the ground in a ferocious dance hovering somewhere at the edges of my consciousness. I pushed the urge back, trying to calm myself, wiping clammy, sweaty palms on my pants. There were five of them on sight, apparently more inside. I stared at the scene, and contemplated on going past them. Then the woman screamed again, and I cursed softly, hesitating.
A child cried, and I moved.
I pulled Nightbright out, and snuck carefully near the horses, which moved unsteadily, their eyes large as they stared at me with suspicion, but happily, they did not make a noise. They were all nervous because of the fire, wise animals as they were.
Fur Vest spat. 'Forget them, man. Where is your hidden cellar and your paltry treasures?' the Vangione demanded. 'What you had there was a sad joke. Give us the rest, and perhaps I shall call the men here, and spare what is left of her.' The man was not asking about me, and I wondered if they had given up, and were just looting now. Likely, they were doing both.
The tall man shook his head as he rolled back to his knees, his shoulders strained with anger and helpless despair. 'The man you are looking for is not here, and you have everything of value! We have no use for trinkets in these woods! Let them go!' The leader nodded at the fur vest, who got down, ready to question the man even more vigorously.
So, they had already asked about me.
The leader leaned down, his fox face a tad bored. He gestured at the men around him indolently. 'I am Bricius of the Red Finger.' He sneered, as if his name or the name of his band should mean something. He noted no awe or respect in the kneeling man's face, and pointed a quivering finger towards the hall. 'I have no patience for gutless, cheese-smelling mongrels like yourself. No more than for these former slaves of yours.' He spat on a bleeding corpse of a young man. 'Since you have no wealth, we shall let her know some of the best cocks west of the river.' They laughed like a group of fiends, drunk on mead and power. 'But, I am not sure you have not seen our man.'
'Hunfrid will wish to see us soon,' a young man in their group said nervously, apparently nauseated by the butchery and torture. 'He will not approve if we make war with the Marcomanni. There are bound to be many warriors scattered around these woods, and we might get surprised,' he tried to reason, but the rest jeered him.
They were well armed. Shields, framea, and heavier spears, some held nasty cudgels and stubby knives. I stretched my neck in the tall grass and noticed the cow shed was on the other side of the house, as was the norm, and some animals were running free from that end. I crouched, sneaking there as quietly as I could. I slithered by the wall, glancing inside, but it was terribly smoky in the hay-ridden stalls. Jumping over a fence, I entered the hall from that side, stumbling blindly.
Hay and thatch were smoldering nastily in the damp, but the blaze began picking up. Part of the roof threw up sparks in the air. A woman sobbed inside the house. I went forward, and saw a small door that was ajar at the end of the space where the animals lived. A light was shining through the crack, and I snuck and peeked inside. A large, sturdy pine table dominated the center of the room, a stone laden fire pit light with logs and shingles, and a spilled dinner of lentils strewn on the floor.
On the table, a large Vangione was raping a semiconscious woman.
He was happily grunting over the pretty face streaked with grief and pain, and I felt and heard Woden laugh at the soon-to-be corpses, for the man was not alone. In the corner, another was leering at the sight while holding a spear point on two children, a silent, white-faced boy and a small girl, crying silently, her face buried on the boy's shoulder. The boy had blood on his face, and was not moving.
Rarely had such rage filled me.
Woden's anger entered me as I stopped thinking about stealth and surprise, opened the creaky door, and walked swiftly for the man holding the spear on the children. He turned his head in surprise, the red, burnt gash in his forehead scabbed and new. 'Your turn will be next, after Morg has finished. He is taking a second turn … ' he said with a wicked smile, and his face screwed up weirdly as he looked at my strange helmet. 'Hey, who—'
I rammed Nightbright to his crotch and tore it up, spilling his whole belly on the hay, and he fell over it, silent and shuddering. I forgot him and walked for the other one.
He saw me coming, but did not move nor scream. He was staring at his partner, his rot-toothed mouth open, and his manhood was there for all to see as he pulled out of the sobbing woman, raising his hand protectively in front of him. He was a big bastard, bigger than I was, but like all rapists, a foul coward. I rammed the sword through his mouth, tore it out sideways, and slashed him across the throat, and he fell wheezing, terrified, and gurgling. I kicked him until he was silent.
The woman tried to get up, her face streaked with tears and a bruise on her cheek, and I put a finger over her mouth.
'Your man is outside held by these Hel born turds, and if you scream, he might die. Tend to your son, woman,' I told her, and she, summoning all her bravery, went to her children while I searched the hall. I heard her sob silently, holding her son, holding back a scream of loss. The boy was dead. He had been a brave boy, having tried to save her. I hoped he would be well received in Woden's or Freya's halls. Woden whispered to me of more death that was needed. I would deliver it. I picked up two spears and peeked outside. They had beaten the man now, who was lying on his side, spitting blood desperately, and trying not to suffocate. Only Bricius was on the horse, looking even more bored than he had.
'Where … have you … buried your wealth?' he was asking again, articulating slowly, as if the prisoner was stupid. 'And what trails are there near here? How is it that a man with so many slaves has not seen a soul running past here this morning?'
I nodded to myself, took a deep breath, and yelled, 'Here, there is something bulky buried under the table!' I tried my best and faked enthusiasm. The man on the horse snapped his head toward the hall. 'It is heavy, I cannot lift it,' I said with a groan and prepared the spears. Bricius nodded with a greedy look on his long face, and three of the men came swiftly towards the doorway, running with fleetness born of greed, Fur Vest amongst them. I picked up one spear. I saw the first one was the careful youngster, hoping to escape the torture. He seemed a good sort. It did not matter.
The young man entered the hall, his eyes slanted as he surveyed the dark corners. I threw the spear with a grunt. It went lower than I intended, piercing the boy on his thigh, and he fell inside the house, hollering incoherently. The second spear flew in the air at the next man, Fur Vest, piercing his chest just above his fancy shield, sinking in as if his skin was made of water, spilling him forcefully on his back. He was shivering as death claimed him. The last man blanched, and went back, crablike, holding his shield up. They all stared at the hall with their mouths open.
'Did you search it? There is someone else there!' Bricius shrieked. 'My cousin?' He was eyeing the doorway, and I gazed down at the terrified youngster. I grinned and pulled Nightbright, and crouched before him.
'Name?' I asked him.
'Tarn, of the Red Fingers,' he said painfully, gritting his teeth as he bled. 'I am the cousin!'
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'Die bravely, Tarn, and you will be loved,' I told him and stabbed under his armpit, and his shocked face turned into a grimace of death, his lips foully curled as he shuddered to the next world. I grabbed him, heaved him up, and threw him out of the door. There he lay, in a heap.
'Your cousin, Bricius!' I yelled, and the fox face clawed at his face, in shock.
'There was no-one there, master!' a man said nervously.
Bricius cursed, tearing his eyes off Tarn and rode cautiously closer. 'Here. Come out. I do not care if you are God Leucetios himself. I don't care that you killed King Hunfrid's men, but what you did to Tarn earned you such pain as to make you sorry for your birth. I'll flay you. I'll feed your cock to you, and laugh as you choke on it! You will come out, or we will burn you in there. Come out and fight! Stay there and roast! Choose, you filth.'
I glanced at the unhappy family and cursed the Vangiones. I would fight for them to the end, but to go out there would mean I would be surrounded. I turned my attention to the red-haired, tall man who was struggling to his knees, eyeing the doorway with hope. I nodded to myself, hating what I was about to do. 'What kind of a hero rapes helpless women and kills small boys?' I asked scornfully. They just laughed, but with a nervous edge on their voice.
The effect of my words on the prisoner was remarkable.
His son was dead, and so he forgot his pains and fears. He got up swiftly behind the men, his face a mask of unfathomable madness. He walked to the back of the nearest, unsuspecting man and turned him around, took a hold of his jaw with tied hands. Then he snapped his neck so hard the man was nearly looking squarely back at his own ass.
I ran out, and Bricius grimaced, as he understood I was the man they had been searching for. Few wore a helmet like mine; ancient, beautiful and hauntingly dangerous-looking. A thing of the old, battle-mad Greeks. The father of the dead child hollered and attacked the last man, swatting his spear aside without heed for his safety, grabbing for the now retreating, confused Red Finger mercenary, and wrestling him to the ground, smashing the Vangione's head to a stone time and again, where it eventually broke like an egg.
I advanced on Fox Face, sword out, my helmet spattered with gore. I danced in front of him as he guided his horse away, keeping a careful eye on my movements.
'Hraban? You do not butcher men of Red Finger and mock us. You will be caught, and I will have my turn to defile your body after the King is done! And as for my cousin? You will know I loved him,' he spat, and turned his horse with a yell and rode off so swiftly the beast whinnied in surprise. I contemplated on riding after him, but decided against it. I would ride to face too many foes, stumbling around like a fool. The hall burned fiercer now, spitting flames and embers to the morning air.
I looked carefully at the man who had been beaten as he stared at the burning house. He gazed at me, and I nodded as I walked over him and crouched before him. I slid Nightbright between his hands and cut him free. The man was perhaps ten years older than me, below thirty, but weather-beaten, and his hands were calloused from hard work. His eyebrows were thick and red, so was his hair, running all the way to the ground as he kneeled there. He was strong and tall, and he would have to face his loss now.
'Your boy is likely dead; a brave boy he was. Woden will take him, surely. Your wife is alive, but hurt, you know what they did. You have a sweet daughter there, alive. Go and get them. You cannot stay … '
He nodded gratefully, his dark brown eyes gauging me, and went inside with a heavy heart, his steps faltering.
I fidgeted as I waited, taking hold of the sturdy horse Fur Vest had been riding. Then, the man came out, carrying his son's corpse. His wife came out next, unsteadily leading the weeping daughter, her clothes torn. All had a stricken look on their face. He laid the poor boy on the grass and mourned over him, his beard mixing in dirt with bright tears.
I looked at the horses, miserable with the whole scene. They were fine beasts. I hunched next to the corpses. The men had some silver and bronze coins, a few proper bracelets, the sturdy sunburst shield, and a number of serviceable spears. I took a spear and Fur Vest’s yellow sun shield and grunted, as I noted the family had not moved an inch, entirely sunk in their sorrow. The heat from the burning house was nearly scorching now, the sweat under my helmet started to pour on to my chin, and I moved the horses away.
'Man, your family needs you,' I yelled after some time, feeling the urge to ride away. He did not budge, but rocked on in his pain. 'He is gone. Mourn him, but leave this place. Those men will be back. You must take your family to safety. And I cannot stay,' I tried again more forcefully, and he looked up. He looked hard at me as he laid his hand on the son.
'Are you this Hraban they were looking for?' he asked calmly, and I tensed, wondering if he was not done with his vengeance yet. He walked over to a corpse and took up a spear with a grunt, and Woden whispered a warning to me.
I nodded brazenly, the horse snorting while I rode around the man. 'I am Hraban. They are looking for me, indeed. I am son of Maroboodus, and they have hunted me for two days now.' I glared at him from under my helmet. 'I am sorry for your losses.'
He nodded softly, his face unreadable. 'I have heard of Hraban.'
'They say,' I leaned towards him, 'that I am the Oath Breaker. A liar. A traitor.'
'A murderous cur?' he asked.
'Yes,' I told him, stopping the horse. 'That as well, certainly. Though I call them liars.'
'Yes,' he said carefully, 'a man with those titles would have moved on, and we would all be gone now. But, I think you are a murderous cur, and I thank the gods for it.'
I wondered if he was trying to put me at my ease, but then I shrugged. It did not matter, for I would not relax. 'Yes.'
He nodded and glanced at his son and wife. 'So, what does the man called the Oath Breaker, a supposedly vile murderer and an exile, hope to find in these lands?'
I laughed at him dryly. 'Justice for those very lies, justice for my slaughtered family, and other things I will not share with you now. I wish my fame returned.' The woman looked at me with distrust, despite what I had done for her. 'You see, I am in a hurry now. You also must be away. Do you have anyone you can stay with?' I asked him wryly, still wary of the spear in his hand.
He shrugged. 'There were signs, but I did not heed them.' He nodded towards the daughter who was now listless, staring at the corpses around her, her sweet face ashen. 'She begged me to take us to the woods when the hunters told us of the strange men in area. The fault is mine. My name is Fulcher.' His face was briefly a grieving mask of self-loathing, but he quickly adopted a stone-faced demeanor, apparently struggling to keep his calm. 'I will not use this to skewer you, though perhaps I wanted to, for a moment.'
I smiled sadly at him. 'Happy crows hopping on rotten corpses is the only certain thing in this world of ours, Fulcher. Wyrd. He will be missed. Will you burn him here? Thus was my family buried.' I gestured for the hall, nearly all the way in fire, from one end to another. An animal screamed in a brief agony.
'I will do so,' he said and turned to his boy, lifting him. His wife cried as he carried the boy to the flames. He went inside the inferno, and I thought he had killed himself in his guilt, but he soon ran out, coughing raspingly, and they watched as the hall was consumed, with a goodly part of their happier life. I lingered, nervously glancing at the way the mercenary had ridden, but I felt I could not go and leave. They were strange, oddly stricken, and in a peculiar mood, uncaring of their fate. If the Vangiones came back, there would be a brief butchery, if they were lucky. Finally, they turned towards me, and I decided they would have to make their own way now.
I looked at the man's eyes. 'Now, I must go. Take the horses, they are worth something,' I said, and nodded at the gathered beasts as I turned my horse for north.
'Let me see your face, lord?' Fulcher said, and I turned in surprise.
'Why? Do you wish to see the eyes of a man you will try to kill, after all?' I asked with a grin.
> 'No, lord. Just your eyes.'
I hesitated, and flipped my helmet forward, revealing my sweat-soaked hair and face, my bloodshot, green eyes, and strong features, and so we stared at each other.
'You are a perilous man, Hraban. You are on more than one quest, is this not so?' He shook his head. 'Gods are gazing at you, no? Fearing you? I hear them whispering.'
I nodded at him, perplexed by anyone claiming to speak for the gods, and I waved my hand dismissively, replacing the helmet. I had had enough of vitka and völva with their sight and spells. 'So they say,' I grunted. 'Gods will die, the world will change. But, I only wish to get what is mine. My guiltless friends, my unborn child, my vengeance, and above all, my fame. I will be a man of the Marcomanni once more, respected.'
He hesitated, whispered to his wife who nodded, and glanced at me with utter distrust. She took some of the horses, choosing them with a practiced eye, and raised her daughter on one. Then, without turning back, she walked towards the east, painfully holding her belly, eyes towards the high mountains. Fulcher watched her go, indecisive, mumbling something, and I was about to ask him what was going on, but he nodded at me. 'I am coming with you. I owe you a debt, one that is hard to repay. I will help you, until you need me no more.' He went to fetch a shield, grabbed a horse, and hopped up to it. 'And I have that man to kill as well.' He grinned savagely. 'I am sure you will run into him. I will be there.'
'I am … ' I began to deny him, but he shook his head.
'You will need friends. And advice,' he added humbly. 'And I need to see Bricius dead.'
I did not move, not entirely sure I enjoyed the situation. 'Your family?'
'They go to her father. He will understand,' Fulcher said calmly, and checked some of the sloshing water gourds on his horse.
I shook my head, trying to dissuade him. 'Understand? You are her husband. How will he understand that you take off with a man called the Oath Breaker? It is hardly something to make them sing praises about you as they struggle to feed more mouths.'
Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2) Page 4