Raven's Wyrd: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 2)

by Alaric Longward

  I cursed, and ran for my horse, abandoning the shield wall rippling with confusion. I grabbed Minas. 'They are getting away from behind! They made a hole in the wall! Leave some men here, follow!'

  Burlein cursed in fear, and his men grabbed what horses they could find. Fulcher screamed at me to wait, but I mounted and whipped the horse hard. 'Haiyaah!' I pounded past the corner, past Ansbor's stupefied face, rounded the last corner, and rode past flames striking through the hall's sides.

  There, I saw men struggle, coughing terribly, stumbling through a collapsed part of the wall. Maroboodus stood a few feet away from the hole, his face blackened, the Head Taker in his hand, the famous spear at the ready in the other, Aristovistus' spear. The shield was apparently gone. At his feet were some of Burlein's men, who had apparently been very surprised as the wall fell down. Maroboodus was armored in his fine Roman mail, but had little else with him. Inside, a bright jingle of glass rang out as the Roman wares exploded in the heat, and another scream could be heard, horrified, as someone caught fire. Father's face held no compassion for the loss of his men, as he gestured at his finest soldiers to get out of the jumble of blackened, soot-stained timbers. A fiend of war he was, a demon escaping some infernal plane of spirits. Some of his original band of men, one of whom was dragging his standard clear of the inferno, cursed as they stumbled out. Father nodded, pulled some men together, and they started to run downhill, some six of them.

  I gave a terrible oath to Woden, offering the blood of a prisoner, if he let me conquer the terrible man escaping. I spurred my horse and drew Nightbright, as I bore down on the hapless man struggling with my father's standard, left behind. Minas bore down on him, teeth bared, and as he looked up, his eyes very surprised, he saw the tip of my blade coming, and then he saw no more. He fell like a sack, his armor jingling as he rolled on to his belly. Fulcher appeared in a blink, Ansbor following, running with more men, Burlein's men, chasing and bearing down on the fleeing warlord.

  'Maroboodus!' I yelled, and my horse stood on his standard. Fulcher speared a hapless, blind man struggling out of the house, and Ansbor pushed another back to the flames, where he shrieked terribly, but then went quiet, his body roasting with a horrible smell.

  'Father!' I screamed, and he turned, and Burlein's men hovered near.

  Maroboodus saw Minas standing on his bear standard, the red, rampant animal soot-blackened and dirty, smoking. I saw the clump of hair that had been Bero's, and I noticed he had wound the chain of Aristovistus around the top, taking glory from the old hero. His men stopped, and squared off against me.

  'Are you not going to defend it? Father? Come? Your fame and glory demands it, oh hero of Rome! Are you a cowardly eagle of Rome or the fierce Bear? Show your mettle!' I laughed at him, and gestured at the man whose eyes were glittering with terrible anger. He shuddered as he appraised Burlein's many men, now moving forward. His men spat, and a few had some heavy darts, which they threw, impaling a hapless horse and an arm of the leading man.

  The rest reined in their horses.

  'Come, take it!' I yelled, and got down from the horse to pick it up and carried it downhill toward him, dragging Minas after me. 'I am here! Come! Make a name for yourself!' I mocked him. 'So far, all your deeds? Shitty lies, no?' Not all, of course, for he had conquered the Matticati and conquered a Roman fort, no matter if Antius had helped with that. Burlein was collecting his men into a careful group as I walked forth, readying to kill the man. Many had horses. No matter what would happen, he would ride Maroboodus down. I stopped Fulcher and Ansbor with an abrupt gesture of my hand.

  'Do not! Hraban!' Burlein yelled. 'We have him!'

  'Do as your new master says,' Maroboodus sneered. 'Go away. Leave the standard. We will fight another day.'

  I laughed at him, mocking him furiously. 'This is a fine night to do so. You will not go anywhere. I will shit on it, have cows sleep on it. I will burn it and throw the ashes on the graves of cowards and women, and you tell Woden I did this. He will wish to know how you let that happen, Father, how you let your exiled son to torture you so. They will look at you in the halls of the dead, and snicker at your stricken face as they show you their standards, knowing you have none!' I threw the pole to dust in front of me, the chain of Aristovistus clinking.

  He smiled wickedly. 'I do not believe in the gods, Hraban, and I doubt we will sit in any hall after this life, but I will take the pole back nonetheless.' He told me, his heavy face emotionless as he prepared to fight, perhaps for the last time. He glanced back. Some Marcomanni could be seen downhill, walking their horses up cautiously. His reinforcements, but not many, not enough to save him.

  Burlein gritted his teeth in fear of him, and ordered a charge. 'Take him!'

  'No!' I yelled, and I jumped on Minas and charged like a bee-stung ox.

  Many things took place in the next moments.

  Maroboodus yelled, suddenly happy, and charged for me. 'Come then! Meet your grandfather's blade! You always coveted it!'

  I grinned and kept going. I went fast, outpacing the others, the helmet diminishing what I could see; Nihta leading a dozen men on a mad charge, his men throwing Burlein's riders in to chaos, men falling from horses in stupefied surprise. Men were throwing more darts, and my father's few men were running for their saviors. I remember Minas shuddering as a dark dart was quivering on its neck. Strangely, it seemed to do so for a long time.

  I remembered rolling, falling, hurting my face and side, and I got up, painfully climbing to my feet, my helmet gone. I remember Head Taker coming down for me, the tip glinting in the slight snowfall and fires, and the explosive pain in my face as the ancient blade tore down with a vengeance, my father's gleeful eyes bestial behind it. I remember falling, men yelling, horses whinnying, Fulcher and Ansbor grabbing me.

  Then I remembered nothing.

  CHAPTER IX

  I came to on a strange horse, and Ansbor was leading it. He had a crude bandage on his side. Fulcher was walking next to me, his horse laden with gear, my helmet and sword strapped on it, many coats of mail as well. We were riding towards Bero's old hall downhill. I glanced behind painfully. There, behind, Balderich was riding heavily, his old spear in his hands. Father, I thought. Did that mean Father was dead as well?

  As well. No, I lived, I thought. Or, were we all dead, marching for Valholl?

  Burlein was waiting at the hall, his men riding around, his face sweat stricken.

  'Is he awake?' he asked. I groaned, and he grinned. He walked next to me. 'Well, Hraban. The Hill is ours today, but we must leave. You do not look so good. Not as pretty as you were, but more like a warrior,' he laughed. 'I can see your skull, I think, just above your eye. Your horse is dead.'

  I felt the side of my face, and cried for the pain. 'Shit. Poor Minas.'

  'It can be fixed, boy,' Balderich said mournfully.

  'By Woden!' I groaned and felt my face, which exploded in agony. 'By Frigg, how bad is it? I cannot see with my left eye,' I blurted in panic. 'Minas is dead? Truly?'

  Fulcher grunted with sarcasm. 'The great horse died, I am sorry. Now, you have a nag. A fitting prize for failure, but such is often a fame hunter's fate. You will have quite a scar, but your eye is just crusted with blood.'

  I nodded and looked at Burlein mournfully. 'He escaped?'

  Burlein went silent, his face briefly scared and his good humor gone like a distant whiff of a baking bread. He looked at Rhenus River, the banks covered in a slight coat of snow. 'He has lost a lot of men and prestige, but, yes, he did. He was bleeding as well. I threw a javelin at him, and his armor saved him.'

  'Nihta?' I pressed on, and he shook his head, uninterested in giving further explanations. 'The standard,' I asked him nonetheless. 'He lost the spear, but—'

  'Nihta saved it. He broke out of the harbor just in time to save his bastard master,' Ansbor explained sourly. 'It was a mad scramble. Nihta killed many a man this night.'

  Burlein grunted. 'We will see what comes out of this.
He will come after us, if he can. Best leave for Grinrock. If that Vannius returns in the morning, we are dead. He will choose a side that is strong, and your father still commands the northern Marcomanni, no matter how many heroes he lost this night, and how much we hurt him. Perhaps it will be an equal fight, in the future.'

  'We have Hunfrid, and Vannius will want him dead. We have tools,' Balderich told him, planning for war, the old, starved man. I grinned at him, and felt hideous, as the wound in my face was throbbing, flesh tearing with my facial movements, blood wetting my chest and side. I spied Ishild to the side. She made no move for me, her face blank, and I swallowed in anger. It was not the reunion I had hoped for, but then, we had bad blood between us.

  Burlein glanced at her. 'Give it time, Hraban.'

  I nodded and got down, swooning on my feet. 'Grandfather?' He looked at me, confused. 'Come to the shore with us. Burlein?' I asked, and the blond man nodded carefully.

  'It is there, on the shore,' he said heavily. He pointed at a ship with rowers on board.

  Balderich stammered. 'What do you mean?'

  I turned to Grandfather painfully. 'Where is Bero's treasure?' I asked with a wince, and Balderich smiled knowingly.

  'In a cellar under some gray mead barrels. Over there in the woods,' he said, and pointed to the general direction of the place. 'I think I own some of that,' Balderich said, a bit worried as Burlein snapped his fingers, and Ansbor rode with men to search the cellar.

  'You will get half. Enough to buy you your retirement,' I told him, and curbed Burlein's protest before he could voice it.

  He blinked his eyes. 'You wish me to go?'

  'You are old and tired, like an overused spear. I know you will not live a long time, and so, you should get away from this all. I think the slave girls will be safe from you as well, surely,' I grinned, and had to grab the horse's mane as the pain overwhelmed me.

  'Boy?' Balderich asked, and I waved him down.

  'You should go to Moganticum, then find a ship rowing for the south, beyond Burbetomagus, far from here. Claim to be a noble from the far north. I am sure you will manage a suitable lie,' I said, while gasping for air.

  'I should stay here, and fight your father,' he reproached me sternly, but his eyes flickered for the boat, where light shone invitingly. I actually envied him.

  'You will be free, rich, and happy. Just avoid Antius the Negotiatore,' I told him. 'If you run into him, he will roast you for the pleasure of the sneering peasants. Hide your face, have some other man make your deals.'

  He looked down at me, and we grabbed each other's arms. 'Perhaps we will meet again.'

  'In the afterlife, Grandfather,' I told him happily. 'You will meet Hulderic and Sigilind first, unless the gods have a terrible sense of humor. When you do, tell them I miss them.'

  'You are a better boy than you are given credit for. Come with me?' he pleaded softly, with tears flowing on to his scraggly beard.

  'Maroboodus lives, but I will think about it, should that change. In the spring. We shall see.' I smiled at him, knowing I would fight until I regained my fame.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and handed the old blue bladed hasta my way. 'This is Wolf's Tear. I never told you the name of this weapon, for I wanted to give it to you with ceremony, our ancestors watching. I reckon they are watching now.'

  There were so many fires around us, it was like daytime. He grinned at his former home's plight, and squinted Burlein with some hostility. I did as well. Burlein should have spared the lords of the town. Now, he made them enemies just as much as Maroboodus had.

  Balderich grumbled and turned to me. 'Try to master him. He is the sort of a man who never thought he would command armies and men, and when he does, he is like an axe, instead of a chisel. But, the spear, Hraban. It was held by Aristovistus in the battle we rarely speak about, the one where Caesar destroyed our dreams. I carried it after my father, and it has taken lives, though never a wolf's, that I know of. It is sturdy and ancient, like your ring. Take it. It is yours. From me to you. Grandfather to a grandson. I once promised it to you for helping to beat your father. Had you obeyed then, we might all be happier today, but it is wyrd, is it not?'

  Spear of Aristovistus.

  I grabbed it gratefully. An old weapon of much honor, it was a great gift, and one I had not truly deserved. He smiled, and we waited. In an hour, Ansbor carried a large bag full of coins to us. He stammered, for even if the Germani disdained Roman coins, we had learnt their value in Hard Hill. 'There was silver, even gold! Bronze and strange, glittering rocks. Burlein was kind enough to take those, and let us have the silver,' he said, and Balderich laughed.

  'Thank you, my boy, thank you. A word of advice: next time, take the rocks!' We laughed at Ansbor's shamed discomfort.

  'Well, I am set. Burlein?' Balderich said, pointing a finger at the blond man, who was grinning like a thief as he emerged from the darkness. Which he, of course, was. 'Take good care of Gunhild, for she is dear to me. She loved Koun, but will learn to love a good man. Be one,' he said, with some doubt, and clapped the sack. 'A fitting gift for a father of the lady, even without the pretty rocks. I thank you for all you have done as well.'

  Burlein scratched his sweaty head with a sheepish look on his wide face, and threw the old man a small pouch, no doubt holding some of the precious jewels. 'Indeed, lord. Fare you well.'

  'I fare as well as I can,' the old man said as he rode down. We watched him stop next to Gunhild, and they wept and cried, speaking at length. Finally, the old man pushed his daughter away, kissed her, rode on silently, and finally mounted the boat, which slowly, silently started to row upriver on the slight snowfall. It was going towards Moganticum, and the old man was sitting on the prow, starting at the embers of the Red Hall.

  'I hope they receive him well,' Fulcher grumbled.

  'He is rich. They will. Or they will rob him. Wyrd. But, this is what Burlein insisted when we agreed on this work.'

  Ansbor leaned forward, shivering as he stared at my ripped face. 'He wanted Balderich out?'

  I nodded. I felt feverish as I gazed at the old man and then Burlein. 'He is out to change the Marcomanni, like Father was. Is. He wishes to have fewer men with Aristovistus's noble blood riding with the tribes, and none who have ruled before. Gunhild will give him the right to rule, even if she is already married, but he brooks no rivalry from Balderich. He can be harsh, I found out, when we spoke of the future. So, of course, we agreed it would be so.'

  'We need him,' Ansbor said mournfully.

  'Yes,' I agreed. 'Yet, Burlein will not stand second to anyone. Balderich understands this, but Gunhild? I doubt it. She has been a pawn of sinister powers for so long; she would deserve some true happiness. I will miss him, Balderich, Grandfather. Gods know we would have needed his authority over all the Marcomanni, but for now, this nation is divided, and in war. But, Burlein would have none of that. You saw what he did to the old families. He is an axe indeed. So we war until Father dies. Finally. And, I think it is a good thing Grandfather is not here, for I trust neither Father nor Burlein.'

  'Did you regain your fame?' Fulcher smirked.

  I spat, terrible agony ripping through my face. 'Did I?'

  'You regained some honor,' he said ruefully.

  'By burning the hall?'

  'By saving the woman,' he corrected.

  'They were part of the reason I was here. And Grandfather,' I said. 'They will make fine stories of my deeds. Men shall follow such deeds.'

  He shook his head. 'I mean Tear. Sparing her. That was honorable.'

  With that, we rode south.

  PART III: SPRING TIDES

  'The manes, spirits of the hall, are watching us, no doubt, and I say we forgive him. Let any man mocking the Oath Breaker leave with a bleeding face!'

  Burlein of Hraban to the gathered Marcomanni revelers

  CHAPTER X

  I suffered during the trip to Grinrock. Much of the time, I was too pained to care for the news an
d the riders that rode around Burlein's column. I cared little for the words of rebellion against Maroboodus, and little for the bloody skirmishes Nihta apparently led to put down the breaking away of some of the northern clans. I did catch the news that Vannius had led his Quadi back home, north of the Moenus River, towards the Quadi ancestral home. They blithely concentrated on their own civil war against dogged Tallo, keeping an eye on the north lest Tudrus the Older should try to reclaim his lands during the Marcomannic turmoil.

  Burlein and Maroboodus. They would be like a pair of fighting pit animals, left to settle the thing for good.

  Maroboodus had suffered a terrible blow. His hall was a burned down husk. The trade it had enjoyed, and the influx of great warriors disrupted. His fame was tarnished like a blade that had been pissed on. The secrets he had kept were out in the open, though unproven. I had shed doubt on his motives, his true allegiances, even if he lived. I survived doing that to him. Few did with Maroboodus. I was not only the Oath Breaker. I was also Vago's Bane. I was the Hall Burner. Many thought of him as a liar at least, and that was thanks to Balderich's speech. These thoughts kept me warm.

  Burlein was in a position of strength. He would have to be decisive, and harry Maroboodus mercilessly, whip up confrontation after confrontation against the great man, brew discontent, not unlike Bark had done before for Isfried. I was young, but even I knew this. It ran in my blood. War.

  I developed a fever, went unconscious, and awoke to full consciousness. I was lying on a bed. Stubborn, merciless fingers were probing the wound in my face, and then a finger ran the length of it, from my forehead, splitting my eyebrow, over my lips to my chin. I roused myself, feeling angry at the intrusion. I grabbed the finger, expecting Cassia to be administering to the wound. She had during my feverish dreams, of that I was sure of. 'Your face looks like an ugly fungus, swollen and rotten,' said a rasping voice.