War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  The Ghoulslayer let him come on, then lunged forward with his blade, holding it two-handed and driving the point through the man’s banded armor until it stuck out through his back. The axe came forward and hit the Ghoulslayer on the arm, but did little more than cut him, and not seriously. The Borni was too dead to strike again.

  Still, the Ghoulslayer was her property, and she would not permit any Borni to damage what was hers. She threw her knife expertly, and it stuck the last of them in the eye. She stepped forward and calmly slit the throat of the one the Ghoulslayer had hamstrung, and that accounted for all five Borni. The little rabbitkin watched her from her room as she did it, her weak Mortentian face turning pale. Yset winked at her and smiled, still holding her knife.

  What a mess. Yset had killed two Borni and Levin had killed the other three, leaving blood and gore all over the hall in the upper part of the mead hall. Hrulthan’s men were there, demanding answers, and Yset was answering them calmly, as naked as a newborn and as unself-conscious as an animal. Levin listened in quiet amazement.

  “I have told you.” Yset was explaining. “These Borni came to steal the Ghoulslayer’s thrall and we killed them. It was a simple case of defending one’s property. They have broken the peace, not the Ghoulslayer.”

  “But the law says you may not kill without the permission of the one killed.” Hrulthan’s man, a giant Thimenian in half plate and leaning on a two-handed sword, was interrogating them. “This was no lawful duel.”

  Levin shook his head, wrapping a length of cloth torn from the bed sheet around his injured forearm. “We didn’t attack them, they attacked us.” He explained. “They came with armor and weapons, we did not.”

  “But they came only to steal. That is not the same as a duel. You will have to answer to Hrulthan.”

  “Nonsense.” Yset said. “Be silent Ghoulslayer and let me speak to this man. When they came in the night with swords to take what was not theirs, they gave permission to any person to slay them. I work for Hrulthan, and I know that will be his judgment. Go and fetch him, and we will settle this.”

  “You may have to pay wergild.” The armsman said.

  “If their kindred have not fled already, we will see if they have the courage to claim wergild.” Yset replied. Levin remembered that wergild was some kind of fee paid to the family of a dead man to compensate them for their loss, but had no idea what the rules surrounding it were. “Go and fetch Hrulthan from his bed if you dare, and see what he wants to do. As for me, I am still tired and would sleep. Ghoulslayer, if you have finished binding your wound, come back to bed.”

  “But you must face the Thane!” The armsman said.

  Yset raised her voice slightly, and with an angry edge. “I have told you. You go and fetch him. We have done nothing wrong, and I am not going to get out of bed in the small morning hours to deal with a few dead Borni. If you like, I will pay for the time of the thralls who must clean up the mess. The Ghoulslayer’s thrall will help.” Levin’s eyebrows shot up at this, and he looked at Limme, who was standing in the hall and looked ready to throw up.

  The armsman seemed in no mood to let them get back to bed, but Yset was firm. She crossed her arms underneath her considerable breasts and stared him down. “I am Yset from Khumenov, armsman. You will do as I say.”

  Eventually, and to Levin’s everlasting amazement, Hrulthan’s man turned and walked muttering down the hallway, and several thralls came from below to take the dead Borni away and scrub down the halls. He turned and looked at Yset, standing in the room as calm and as solid as Jarlben on the deck of his longship. She was still nude, and utterly glorious. She smiled at him.

  “Sing me a song of battle, pretty man. I am awake again and I want you inside me.”

  “What a woman, eh Ghoulslayer?” Jarlben slapped Levin on the back while they walked toward the longship. He was laughing as he spoke, and everything he said seemed to make him laugh even more. Yset was waiting on the dock for them, dressed for work and smiling. “I heard everything early this morning. Hrulthan himself came to my room in the hour before dawn.” He laughed again. “He was afraid to go and wake Yset, so he came and woke me.”

  “Did he give judgment?” The Borni ship had left in the night, within minutes of the failed attempt to kidnap Limme, and there had been no one in the steading to make a formal claim for wergild.

  “It was as the woman said.” Jarlben couldn’t stop grinning. “I think Hrulthan is afraid to say different than she says. Gods, what a woman!” He roared with laughter, slapping his knees. “You looked for a lioness and picked out a she-dragon. If she ever comes looking for you, you had better do as she says.”

  “Thimenian women.” Ohtar the Orange added. “Now you know why we fear them so.” But Yset looked anything but fearful in the morning light, standing by the longship with her arms held demurely at her side. A line of Thimenians walked by her, each one nodding or giving her a small bow when they passed. They climbed into the longboat and busied themselves with loading gear, but Levin suspected that they were all watching to see what would happen when he reached her. She did not disappoint.

  When Levin came abreast of her she reached out and put her arm around his shoulder, drawing his face close to hers. Then she kissed him long and deeply, and he reached to embrace her, dropping his sea bag to the dock with a clatter. She put a hand on his cheek and smiled. “Come back anytime you want to, Ghoulslayer. Bring me back a new song.”

  “Yset.” Levin said, but words failed him for a moment.

  She smiled again. “No poem for me?”

  “You are more than ever little words could touch, Yset. I will miss you.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded at his words, satisfied. “More than little words can touch.” She repeated, half to herself. “I will miss you, my pretty man.”

  Last to come to the longboat was Limme, and she looked tired but clean, having washed the stink of blood from her hands and knees in a warm bath just after dawn. She was carrying a sea bag full of clothing, and she looked like a thrall should, but the clothing was her own, warm things for a sea journey, bought for her by Levin. Her leash and collar were gone. Before she could climb into the ship, Yset took her hand. Limme turned to look at the blonde giantess.

  Yset nodded toward the bag and then looked at Uldrick son of Uldrick who once killed a troll. Catching the signal, the man leaped to obey, coming out of the longboat and picking up Limme’s bag to stow it in the sheltered bow of the ship.

  “I give him to you now, little sister, and don’t tell me you don’t want him. Thimenians do not lie, nor do we listen to lies. You are twice a fool if ever you let him escape you. If you come again to Hrulthan’s Steading and I am still here, I may have to kill you, but you should know that I would not wish it so.”

  “I shouldn’t like to kill you, either.” Limme replied gravely, but then she giggled despite herself. “Can’t we share him? I thought Thimenians could have more than one wife.”

  “He is not a Thimenian, and I would not share him, would you?”

  “Maybe with you, Yset.” Then Limme remembered that Thimenians did not like lies. “But probably not.”

  “Fare you well, little sister.”

  “Goodbye.” They clasped hands then, knowing they would never see each other again.

  Jarlben took the longboat out of Hrulthan’s steading and quickly called Brito to him. “Brito, do you have them?”

  “Yes chieftain. They are no more than three shifts to our north. It is as you suspected.”

  Jarlben smiled broadly. “Walks Tall is grown desperate. He imagines he can ambush us on our way back to Thimenia. They are truly mad to steal the thrall.”

  Kuljin stood from his place at the front bench and walked up to Jarlben and Brito. “Everything is ready, chieftain.”

  Jarlben smiled again. “Good and better. We will let them catch us at Hulmar’s camp. It is the perfect place.”

  Levin pushed, lifted, pulled and then pushed again, falling
into the easy rhythm of the oars as the ship left the sheltered harbor and entered the long sound that lay facing northward out of Hrulthan’s Steading. He did not know where they were going, but he had told Jarlben of his need to return Limme to Mortentia, and he knew the chieftain would see it done. While he rowed he thought of treacherous Elithea Britic and playful Enna the sailor’s wife from Kancro and of Yset from Khumenov, who outshone them all. It could not be said that he had not been warned of Thimenian women, but the reality was something else entirely. He understood now.

  The late summer sky was golden and the sun shone down warmly into the banks of rowers on the longboat. Levin was glad to be back at sea, and surprised to find it so. Somehow his life had turned him into a sailing man, and he looked forward to his next adventure.

  The rowers were singing while they rowed, but it was a Thimenian song, and Levin only knew the chorus. He sang along “digidum, digidum, rat a tat tat, digidum, digidum, rat a tat tat”. Kuljin was walking by and noticed him singing. The halfman looked bemused.

  “Do you know what you’re singing?”

  Levin squinted up at the man in the sunlight. “Thimenian rowing song?”

  “It’s a Thimenian love song.” Kuljin laughed. “Did you know that Tolrissan love songs and Hulmini love songs and Vheradoran love songs are translated and sung all across the Tolrissan Sea and all the way down to Araquesh?” Levin shook his head. “It’s true. But nobody translates Thimenian love songs, and that one is a prime example of why not.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Let me translate it for you while they sing it. It goes like this:

  Dearheart I have watched you, walking in the sun

  And you know that I want you, but I am not alone

  You have seen my rival, and he desires you also

  He is a small man, but has much silver

  I will go a reaving, and I will find much plunder

  I shall return to you a rich and happy man

  Like I run my fingers through your fair and silvery hair

  You will rattle your fingers through silver, and it will sound like this

  Fingernails, fingernails, rat-a-tat tat,

  Fingernails, fingernails, rat-a-tat tat,

  I shall dance with you by the fire of my steading

  The moon will accompany us as we dance

  And silver will shine in your hair with moonlight

  My rival will reach for you still, for you are so fair.

  But if his hand offends you I shall seek him out

  I will take his hands and I will pull the bones all out

  Dry them on a string and make a necklace for you to wear

  They will rattle when you dance and sound like this

  Fingerbones, fingerbones, rat a tat tat

  Fingerbones, fingerbones, rat a tat tat

  And if his eyes offend you, I will rip them out

  Take them in my hands and squeeze the juice all out

  Hang them on the necklace with the fingerbones

  So you can wear it dancing, lovely when you dance

  And if his mouth offend you, I will rip out all his teeth

  Drill a little hole in each and shine it up with wool

  String them on the necklace with the eyes and fingerbones

  You will dance and it will rattle and make this sound

  Fingerbones, fingerbones, rat a tat tat

  Fingerbones, fingerbones, rat a tat tat.”

  Levin laughed. “That’s truly disgusting.”

  “That’s a Thimenian love song, Levin. They pretty much all sound like that.”

  In his head Levin composed songs while he rowed, but not Thimenian ones, and poems that were entirely inadequate, and the miles went slowly by until he was shifted from the outer post on the oar to the middle, and then to the inner post, and finally it was his turn to rest. After the first three shifts Levin began to feel the western breeze, still warm in this latter part of Diremonth, but the sun was already falling from the sky when they finally unfurled the sails and let their fearsome god of the sky take over the work of moving the longboat ever northward. He had missed his eighteenth birthday in Merryis, and could not recall where he’d been when it happened. It was nearing dark when they finally sailed the boat close to the shore, and then beached her at a known landing point.

  The men waded ashore, and Jarlben turned to Brito. “How close are they?”

  “They are where we expect, chieftain.”

  “Thanks be to Sheo.” The chieftain said, then he outlined his plan to his men.

  Walks Tall had a shipsniffer on his ship. It was a fact known only to himself and the man, and although he would often be seen in conference with the shipsniffer, none were permitted to overhear. If word spread of his luck some other Borni would steal the man from him with promises of gold and thralls, and Walks Tall did not think he would find another.

  “Are they where we expected?” Jorl of the Boats turned to Walks Tall and nodded. Walks Tall shuddered a bit at the site of the man’s intense gaze. Shipsniffers were strange and uncanny folk, no matter that they came of seemingly normal families. They wore strange markings on shoulder and face, and they had witchy eyes.

  “Yes, they make camp for the night. It is the only good landing near, and they are at the beach.”

  “Assemble the men. We will take back what is ours.”

  Hulmar’s camp lay in one of the rare places on Jutland where a ship could beach safely, free from dangerous shoals, with a broad and soft sandy beach with few rocks. The beach was a league and a half long, interspersed with inlets and rocky promontories covered in tall pines, and it lay at the end of a wide and descending plain, a land of scattered trees and many bushes. There were several places to camp, but the largest and best was the one farthest south, and that was where the Thimenians now camped. Walks Tall could not see their ship, but he knew about where it would be beached. He knew that the best time to strike would be in the hour before dawn, for the Thimenians had drunken much mead and ale at Hrulthan’s Steading, and they would want to sleep long.

  The soft and sandy beach was the perfect camping place, for there were no biting insects there, nor were there any sand fleas to trouble sleeping men. Eighty of his ninety five men moved silently through the pine forest behind the beach, climbing two tall hills and moving through the forest with stealth such as only the Auligs knew.

  They left fifteen men to guard the ship and the many thralls they had taken from Mortentia. Walks Tall wore scale armor, a fine suit he’d purchased in the steading, and each of his men had similar gear, but tucked tight under black leather tunics to keep the steel scales and rings from rattling in the night. They had traded Mortentian plunder for many fine things. Most of them also had shields and fine Mortentian or Thimenian blades. Even if the Thimenians were alert and awake, they did not sleep in armor, and the difference would mean victory for the Borni. A hundred paces from the beach, he crouched in the piney forest and waited for his scout to report, what little light there was coming from a waning yellow moon that hung over the water to the west.

  The scout, called appropriately Man of the Night, came back from the Thimenian camp silently, falling into place beside Walks Tall. “They sleep.” He said, slipping into his chainmail hauberk. “They are all in their blankets around the fire. Their longboat has slipped from the sand with the tide and we will have to swim out to take it.”

  “And their watchman?”

  “Sleeping also. I saw the bottle beside him.”

  Walks Tall snorted. It was like the arrogant Thimenians of the Wolf Clan that they kept no good watch, for who would dare to raid a camp full of sleeping Thimenians? Complacent fools. Tonight he would kill them all, take back the little thrall who had caused so much trouble, and return to the Borni forest loaded with plunder and many thralls. He would be a land chief by the time this war with the Mortentians was over, taking what he wanted from their soft and poorly defended country.

  Even as he gave the order for
the attack he thought of the softness of Northcraven. The foolish Mortentians had knocked down all of the old castles from the time of the hundred kingdoms, leaving the whole rich country ripe for the taking. The few new castles they had seen had been only in the bigger towns and cities, and all of the land between was rich with silver, gold and thralls. His hold was full.

  Eighty bloodthirsty Borni, armed to the teeth and screaming, came out of the night and were in the middle of Jarlben’s camp in seconds. The Thimenians had no chance to defend the camp.

  Two leagues down the beach, eighty bloodthirsty Thimenians, armed to the teeth, came out of the night in silence and swept into the small camp of the Borni, catching the fifteen men who guarded it by complete surprise. Swords rose and fell quietly, and Jarlben knocked down one man with his axe, splitting his skull. The Borni did not even seem to know that Jarlben and his men were Thimenians until it was far too late to defend themselves. The battle, if it could even be called such a thing, was over in minutes.

  While Jarlben gathered his victorious men around him, a small Borni crept from his blankets, where he had lain unseen in the darkness. He hurled himself at Jarlben, and the chieftain felt a stabbing pain in the back of his thigh. He spun about, knocking the small Borni to the ground, and half a dozen Thimenians approached with their broadswords drawn.

  “You attack too late, Borni.” Jarlben said, limping painfully while he approached the small man, who was holding out a short sword, little more than a dagger, to make a last stand.