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

by Alaric Longward

  Yet, life did not stop and wait, as I loved Lif.

  A delegation of opportunistic traders came to Grinrock, which was a testimony to the lack of surprise in the warfare we were to engage in. They knew Burlein was gathering precious food, and apparently the motley crew of traders had left Moganticum discreetly to trade with the Marcomanni. They were mostly Mediomactri Gauls, led by a big, smiling man of strange origins, his face as dark as a lightless cellar. They put in to the harbor with the assurance of a conqueror.

  It was my birthday, and I peered at them from the corner of my house, nervous to the bone.

  Cassia found me staring at them, and I noticed she wanted to speak with me, but I shook my head at her. She nodded, unhappily. She had been nervous all week, helping sick Ishild tend to the baby. Cassia had insisted they leave without her, with or without proper guards, but I had denied her that. Ishild would be needed; she was Lif's mother. Gunhild had attended her, and Cassia had had many arguments with Gunhild, one terrible one, and the house had been an unhappy one, except for the gentle little babe.

  Many men came to wonder at the Roman style river ships, navis onaria, the sleek hulls with a single bank of oars, for all Germani love ships. While not clinker-built like ours, and susceptible to sinking in the rock-infested rivers, they were deadly fast, and could reach even the shallowest shores. The goods they carried to our winter-savaged village, mostly food but also the fine examples of swords with exorbitant prices, pieces of leather and iron mail, even fantastic fruits not seen before, made the whole wet season like a fine feast. They were terribly greedy men, yet the winter makes any man a generous customer. They were doing a brisk trade with our lot, the men who had stolen much of the wealth in Hard Hill. You could not eat gold and silver, so our men paid anything asked of them.

  Men flocked through the deep forests for the traders, including many of the higher warlords with their guards and champions and even the humbler chiefs, who would take part in the war against Maroboodus, all bringing their retinue days earlier than Burlein had requested. The Hermanduri would arrive in around week. With the Marcomanni came dozens of eager women, and rowdy children, and they all yelled with surprise and joy. The ships brought with them strange short men, who's antics made everyone laugh helplessly. There was also a massive man, dark as night, very like the captain of the group, able to break boulders on his chest, a feat some of our warriors attempted, maiming one of them hopelessly.

  I joined the groups of men exploring the wares set in the harbor; I browsed the rare jewelry, and found things of delicate beauty on the long tables. A well-dressed Gaul sold me a silvery brooch, with a raven and a flower, and I left the market and gave it to Ishild. She took it with thanks, as happy as a sick woman can be, and there were tears in her eyes. I left her to recover.

  Then, Burlein called for me.

  I went to him, and found him drinking happily and toasting with some of his men and the Hermanduri chiefs. The Hermanduri ambassadors who preceded the army were there, tentatively joining the feast, having groomed themselves. They still looked a savage lot, men of the deep hills and woods, tall and gangly, dangerous and treacherous. He gave me a twisted horn full of precious wine, which I smelled carefully. His wide face was like that of a man who has managed to empty his bowels after a week of pains. He leaned over me, smiling hugely, tears in his eyes. 'Hraban, I am sorry but you are an orphan. Try not to cry! News from the Gaul.' He pointed a finger at the sleek, dark-haired and skinned man, with a rich tunic of red. He nodded at me, his eyes glinting. Burlein roared happily. 'They visited Hard Hill. In fact, they were going to set shop there, but the hill was in mourning, for your father is dead! He died, and I killed him! The wound I gave him, last year? It festered, it rotted, and the man died an unworthy death. They saw him! These men … many other saw him! Pale-faced corpse of a man, blood dried on his lips and chest. We will ride! We will ride, and clean his men out of the lands. Hail Woden for this joy! The Hermanduri will get their due, of course.' The hard men from far east smiled at Burlein stiffly, saluting his promises, and I shook my head softly, determined not to rest until the sly bastards were gone.

  My father was dead.

  The thought left me subdued. I wanted to see him burn, with my own eyes, and I wanted to piss on the embers of his burial fire. It felt unreal for the man to have died so easily, without the carnage his sword and treachery usually caused. There would be no heavy shield wall, rent spears and butchered corpses, widows mourning for their lost ones.

  There would only be a … change.

  I drank with Burlein, and nodded at him. 'Have your own men seen this?'

  He nodded, entirely drunk, but pulled me close and pointed at a man, and I knew the man. 'He hitched a ride with the traders. He was there all winter, and saw your father wither away. Gunnvör! Tell him!' Our eyes met, and it was the man in a fur cap, the one who had shot Guthbert. Gunnvör nodded at me, merrily hoisting his cup and grinned. I answered his greeting, grunting.

  'And, for the proof,' he laughed, 'here!' He gave me a large thing wrapped in a blanket of wool. It was a sword. I opened it up, anticipating the sight.

  It was Hulderic's sword.

  It was my grandfather's blade, the one I had coveted all my life. The ancient blade of the Gothoni, old as our ring, the blade that had rent my face.

  Maroboodus was surely dead.

  'He stole it?' I asked.

  'Yes,' Burlein said. 'Took it off his cold, dirty fingers. Hah!'

  'They did not guard him?' I asked Gunnvör.

  'They did guard him,' he chuckled, and patted his bow. He took two bracelets from his pouch, heavy golden ones. 'These I took for myself from the guards.'

  I swallowed in anger, and nodded at him as I stroked the blade. I hated Father, but looting his body did not seem honorable, and I blithely forgot I had wanted to piss on his skull. Yet, I was his son, and felt that was my right. But, Gunnvör, he was a nobody. Nonetheless, I drank with them, enjoying as they enjoyed, the small men entering at some point, their ridiculous antics making men laugh, but I left soon, worried. It was my birthday, after all, and I felt very, very uneasy as I stroked the blade in my hand.

  He must be dead. He would never willingly let go of the blade. I turned it in my hand as I went home.

  It was very late evening, and Ishild was likely sleeping with the baby. She still occasionally bled after the birth, and she was uncommonly weak, barely strong enough to walk. I could not sleep, nor did I try. I stopped before I entered the hall, and gazed forlornly at the harbor. There was a feast, a happy merrymaking outside in the harbor area. Women were laughing, furiously celebrating, it seemed, for their men and sons would be spared the spears of the north. Gods seemed to be on our side. I hated myself for my doubts as I sat in the dark, fingering the damned blade. It did not make me happy, and I had loved the blade. No, it felt malevolent. It felt cold, like I was petting a half-frozen snake, about to spring up.

  It did not feel like mine.

  It whispered warnings to me, with the rasping voice of Grandfather, stern and kind, but reprehensible, nonetheless, for he was dead and I was hearing things. Hands and even Shayla, warning me of my birthday? Wyrd, said Ishild? Was it our Wyrd to go seek Wandal, free of my father? Or was there something else afoot? Where was Nihta? Where were his men, who would likely pay their respect to their fallen lord, and try to smite down the men who killed their master? It was a man's duty. I turned and went to the main hall. Cassia was sitting there, alone as well. She nodded at me, and she held a precious axe, one she had worn the day we killed Leuthard. 'I cannot sleep,' I told her, glancing out of the door toward Burlein's hall. 'They are all celebrating. Tomorrow, you must take them away.'

  She said nothing, until I sat next to her. 'We are mostly packed,' she told me nervously, wringing her hands. 'Have been for a week. All the gear is in the stable. I asked Fulcher to pack some more rations, and prepare the household so you will manage. For the war,' she added, as she saw me look at her with a
question.

  'For the war, right,' I said, looking at her. 'You know there might not be one?'

  'I heard. I am sorry,' she said.

  'Sorry? Need not be, if it is true,' I said, 'yet … ' She did not say anything, nor react in any way. I poked her, and she scowled at me, her pretty face screwed in anger. I smiled at her. 'You do not think he is dead.'

  She shrugged. 'I am not a man. Not a warrior. I have neither sight, nor spells. Nevertheless, I do not like rumors. Trust is for the peasants, and rulers must see the corpses of their enemies with their own eyes. This is a warm wrap, made of sheepskin, and should keep her warm.' She nodded at the table, and I took up the warm clothing, fingering it. I grunted thanks for it was for the baby. She smiled wistfully. 'Spring brings ever strange tides, Hraban. It is always so. Rarely good ones, save for the sun. I hope that will keep her warm. Even if Ishild does not wish to leave.'

  'What do you mean?' I asked with a tired shake of my head. It had been an unhappy hall that week. I wanted no more quarrels between them, though I was not sure what they had quarreled about. 'You have tried to speak with me, but I have not listened. So spit it out now.'

  She snickered. 'Oh, now? Yes, why not? Gunhild is a fool, Ermendrud hates to travel, and Ishild, whom Gunhild thinks is too weak and weary to travel, is a liar.'

  'Liar? Are you saying she is pretending to be weak?' I scoffed as I looked at her.

  'Yes. I have seen plenty of births—'

  'Come, now. I doubt she would fake weakness. Why would she?' I reasoned. 'She bled so much. She was very, very hurt. You told me she will never have—'

  She rubbed her temples, as if trying to explain something to an idiot. 'She bled like a pig, Hraban, but so do most others. It was not as terrible as the idiot Gunhild made it sound,' she fidgeted, agitated by the discussion. 'Life begins with birth, and hers was hard, and hurtful, but she is strong, and able to travel. Has been for days. But, she says she cannot, that she is too damned weak.'

  'She is weak, Cassia, and I think you are paranoid,' I told her sternly.

  'Really? So why does she sneak out when the night comes?' she asked me with bitter amusement.

  'She what?' I asked.

  'Sneaks out. At nights,' she told me. 'She meets with someone.'

  'She is too weak to walk,' I insisted.

  'Ah, well, then she has crawled out this very night, for she sure as Hel is not in her bed. Oh, before you panic, she leaves the baby here. I make sure of that.'

  'What!' I asked, and rushed to her room. I opened the door briskly, scanning the room with puzzled fear. It was true, I thought. She was not there; nothing was in the room. I checked under the bed, unwilling to believe what was before my eyes. I walked back out, and leaned over Cassia with a scowl, as she grabbed her axe hilt. I stared at her in shock. 'You would pull that on me?'

  'Only if you don't believe me,' she said frankly. 'Was she there?' she asked sweetly.

  'No, she is not there, and I admit you might have a point. I have kept an eye on her before the birth.'

  'But, not after, for she was too weak to be a danger. Moreover, you were too happy, you utter idiot,' she told me. 'You failed.'

  'Where is she?' I half shouted. 'Since you seem to know so much about her.'

  'Ermendrud and I have been keeping our eyes on the baby, Hraban; she was your responsibility,' she told me brusquely. 'But, if you must know, they have seen strange men lurking in the woods these past days. Not Marcomanni. Not the men of the north, or the south. Ragged. One was found dead. He was ripped open, gnawed upon.'

  'Men are found dead all the damned time, Cassia. And there are strangers and ruffians all over the woods.'

  'This one was devoured. Ripped and torn.'

  I laughed. 'Wolf? Bear? You are saying Ishild eats men?'

  She nodded, afraid to the bone. 'This was happening in Hard Hill, remember. There is something out there that is not sane, not … like us. But, the corpse is not the point, it is the fact he was out there and looked like those furred filthy shit-bags Odo orders around.'

  'You saw the corpse?' I said softly.

  She nodded. 'I think Ishild is trying to get back to Odo.'

  I sat down heavily. It was true she had an obsession about Odo, the gaunt, dirty mongrel of a vitka, her brother, and the bastard who wanted to make a child with her, and who wanted me and the ring for the prophecy. 'If she is trying to get to Odo, if she is meeting with something out there, why didn't she just go? It's not like we could have stopped her.'

  She leaned forward. 'That is why I am watching the baby.'

  'And he wants her, not Ishild alone,' I nodded. 'If this is true, she must be desperate.'

  'She won't take the baby,' she said grimly. 'Besides, didn't Odo also want you?'

  I spat in anger and nodded. 'I do not know if you are right,' I told her gently, 'but I thank you for thinking about Lif. And me.'

  She looked away. 'Yes, yes. And I still do not think your father dead. Nor do you,' she said casually, now looking at the sword in my hand. 'That sword. Evil. The Winter Sword, I call it, cold and deadly, full of deceit. It has lost its master before, and now you have it. I do not trust it. Nor do I trust your father. So, go and find out if we are in trouble, will you?'

  'I will try to repay you, Cassia, one day,' I told her as I got up. Her eyes glimmered in the dark as she got to her feet, her womanly shapes brushing past me.

  She smiled as she turned. 'I will go to Ermendrud and the baby, and see how they fare. She will make a terrible mother for Wandal's children. She is constantly fussing over her small problems. As for paying back, I would like to be considered a friend, Hraban. Friends help each other. I'll also alert Ansbor and Fulcher. I have a bad feeling.' I nodded and squeezed her hand, and she smiled as she went, letting go of me.

  I pulled on a stiff leather shirt, and then Leuthard's former mail. I looked at my old Athenian helmet as it was staring back at me from the table. It was whispering unworldly things to me, of like mind with the suspicious sword, and spoke of trouble. I hoped the night would end and morning would come, my birthday gone.

  I picked up the grinning helmet, and hiked for the harbor. It was very late.

  The Gauls were still there, as they should be, for no sane men rowed the river in the dark. But, when I looked at the ships, I noticed there was a nervous bustle on the decks. Things were being packed and moved off the shore to the pier, then to the ships, and the items on sale were growing few. A small Gaul in a leather hat and a large featureless cloak was gathering coins from the sales, and their dark leader, tired now and smiling less, was pointing toward the hall of Burlein. Evidently, they paid a tithe of their sales to the lord. Burlein was not wise with money, I had learnt, but was making some profit from the merchants. A wise trader knew whom to please, especially if the lord was to lead the whole nation of the Marcomanni.

  I waited in the shadows, uneasily, brooding over Cassia's words, and wondered as one of the small men walked by, throwing colored wooden balls up in the air. I decided I had waited and brooded enough and roughly grabbed him, the balls falling all over the road. I dragged him near empty shed by the riverbank. Amidst his many shrill protests, I pushed him against a weak plank wall and scowled at him from inches away. He scowled back and laughed.

  I slapped him.

  'Hey! You cannot hit me; I am smaller than you!' he shrieked.

  I slapped him again, much harder, and he yelped and cursed softly.

  'Bastard elk humper,' he said in bad Latin, and I corrected his pronunciation, though mine was not perfect at all. His eyes rounded in panic, knowing what to expect, and I rewarded him and struck him again, this time balling my fist and driving it to his belly. He threw up violently and I placed a foot on his back, pushing him to his vomit, holding him down like a landed trout.

  'Now. Questions,' I told him.

  'Why is your mother a filthy prostitute? Why do you smell of old sweat, even older piss, and fresh fish, all intricately mixed up together?'
he tried, and before he could ask another one, I stepped on him hard, so hard he flattened on the ground with a crunch, and groaned in panic as his leg thrashed wildly.

  'All right! Ask! Your turn!' he whimpered.

  'Where did you come from?' I asked as I kicked him.

  'From our mother's cunts!' he said stubbornly. I drew Nightbright, and frowned at a pair of boys peeking at us from behind a corner, and they disappeared.

  The small man sobered as he turned his head to look at the sleek blade on his face. He nodded his head. 'Sorry. A bad habit! Yes. From Moganticum.'

  'Not Hard Hill?'

  'Yes, but Moganticum is our home!'

  'Who are you?' I asked.

  'We are a travelling group of actors! The best in Greek drama,' he said proudly and adopted a look that he apparently thought passed for an ancient Greek hero, or a fool. I pushed the blade closer, and he went quiet and abandoned the heroic face in favor of a meek one.

  'The best in the backwoods of Moganticum?' I sneered.

  'Best in Moganticum, certainly!' he explained. 'This mud is cold, and there is my dinner here as well, so can I—'

  I poked him, drawing some blood from his nose, and he was happy in the cold mud and the remains of his dinner.

  'Who are the Gauls who do the trading bit?' I took my foot away, and he stayed put. He learnt slowly, but he learnt.

  'I do not lead the troop, nor am I friends with the big, dark man and his Gaulish friends; I just followed them onboard when they paid us to join them.'

  'Why would traders in fine arms and precious food want a troop of horribly bad actors with them on a trip to a dangerous shore?' I inquired.

  'Your hairy kind have never seen a good act; it is good to have men amuse your customers, for they pay more that way. It is unfortunate for the actors. We have to endure the smell of men sleeping with their cows, and the cruel pinches of their mongrel children,' he sniffled in indignation.