The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  Does power automatically make a man speak as if he were the lead role of an epic play, Lethos wondered. "Captain, err, War Chief Blund, this is Grimwold. He is neither dead nor alive. It is a long story to tell. May I set him down?"

  Blund blinked, a frown coming to his scarred face. "Of course. Place him on that table."

  With an absent wave of his hand, two young boys cleared away the indicated table and Lethos laid Grimwold across it. He fixed the cloth so nothing would accidentally show before he was ready to reveal it. He imagined Grimwold sitting up and casting away the cloth to proclaim it had all been a joke. He was only keeping his eyes closed this whole time and was really cured. Yet Lethos turned his back on the body, knowing how foolish he was to hope for that. The ache in his own chest reminded him of the black stain on Grimwold's. He wasn't sitting up again until that was gone.

  Valda was already seated beside Blund, and servants rushed around to fill cups while men jostled with each other to sit as close to their lord as they could. A space on the bench to Blund's left remained open for Lethos. He sank into it, shoulder to shoulder with a burly man with no hair and a bushy gray beard who smiled down at him. He was one of Blund's crew he had helped rescue.

  "Now tell me what has brought you to my hall in what I can only guess must be under the direst circumstances."

  Lethos leaned back to see if Valda wanted to speak, but she nodded to him. A cup was thrust into his hand and he sipped the warm, sweet mead. He pulled back at the deliciousness of it.

  "Best brew of the summer," Blund said, slapping the table. "And the last of it, saved for a special guest, of course. It's like I knew you were coming, friend. Maybe you're not the only one to see the future anymore!" Blund laughed, now more like his old self, as did his old crew who had experienced Lethos's prescience. The rest gave confused, polite chuckles.

  "That may be truer than you think," Lethos said. He drank deeper, hoping a warm glow of mead would enhance his storytelling. "This is going to take a while."

  He started his tale from the morning when his powers urged him to the beach. The mead had not enhanced his oratory, for he saw his audience sharing glances. Even Valda seemed less interested in what he had been doing for breakfast that day. Perhaps he had begun too early. He moved on to the appearance of the white ark. From there, he retold all that had happened, clear until the deaths of Kafara and Turo and his and Valda's search for a boat to take them to Finnmogur. By now, every eye was wide and fixed upon him. Mouth tacky from his long speech, he drew another sip of the sweet, smooth mead.

  Blund had turned on his bench to face Lethos, and he blinked several times before rousing to words. "Well, never will a more amazing story be told under this roof."

  "If it were only a story," Lethos said. "But now you know the threat facing us. And the death of Eldegris and his family is not widely known yet. I think all of Norddalr was killed or taken by these storm riders--at least all inside the fortress were gone."

  The silence was complete but for the light patter of rain on the thatched roof. Blund ran his knobby fingers through his beard and his eyes drifted far away.

  Lethos did not need his powers to predict that he had lit a fire. Perhaps Grimwold would have known who to contact without setting off troubles, but he was not of much use to anyone lately. Blund's eyes narrowed as he surveyed some grand vista visible only to himself, doubtlessly a vista where he was no longer sharing rulership of Finnmogur with someone in the south.

  "We need your aid," Valda said. "Lethos trusts you, and I trust him as my father had. These invaders might have been driven off now, but they will come again. We cannot be fighting amongst ourselves when that day comes. We must reunite."

  Blund woke up, fingers still raking his tangled beard. "Of course, Lady Valda! We have seen firsthand what happens when men dig into their old ways. See my neighbor to the south, Harald Redfingers. He thinks whoever sits in Muldvik should be the war chief of Finnmogur, just because that's where the last two war chiefs have set their halls. But I am here in Brunholm, and I'm the rightful war chief. Our elders selected me at council."

  Men growled or slapped the tables in support of Blund's assertions. Lethos smiled placidly. These barbarians gave their villages such quaint names, but they were all shabby and colorless. How one could be perceived as better than another was something only the natives would ever understand.

  "Then you understand why I must ensure I'm recognized as my father's rightful heiress, and that leadership of Valahur should be united under me."

  Valda's smile was so confident Lethos was tempted to see what army had arrived to back up her assertions. Her sparkling eyes glanced over Blund's shoulder to Lethos, and with a sudden burn in his gut, he realized he was that army.

  "You mentioned your brother ..." Blund's voice trailed away. More than one nose had wrinkled at the thought of a woman leading them, and now those same faces became more hopeful.

  "He is gone to wherever my father sent him. We cannot wait for his return, if he ever will. These invaders are upon us, and even without them, Valahur is still weakened after the war of the trolls. How fast will war chiefs fall upon each other with no High King or queen upon the throne?"

  Blund nodded and the room fell silent while he appeared in deep reflection. Lethos was beginning to realize he did not know much about Blund or his capabilities. In the aftermath of the war he had managed to convert his capture by Avadur into a platform that made him war chief, at least in half his island's opinions. Perhaps it was not as scheming as Lethos assumed it was. Barbarians tended to fight out all their disagreements with the strongest one standing declared right. Maybe Blund had fought his way to power. What might he do with this new opportunity, Lethos wondered.

  "Still, if there's a question of who your father intended to be his heir--or heiress, as you say--then I can't see how we can have any unity. The High King's throne has sat empty before. It might sit that way again." Blund's smile answered Lethos's question. The smile was shrewd and smooth, too much to be natural. He had a plan coming together behind his smiling eyes, and he was starting work on it right now.

  "And war was the only outcome of that empty throne," Valda said. "Remember Agnar Cruel-Ax and how he led the smaller war chiefs to ruin. We cannot afford to repeat that disaster again. Besides, we have a larger threat now. Worse than the Avadurians ever were. These storm riders command magic undreamed of. We must unite against it if we are to have any hope. I ask you to support me as I travel the islands and ensure all are prepared and united against this threat."

  Blund did not answer, and the room continued to linger in uneasy silence as the rain drummed harder on the roof. Lethos scanned the men, seeing skepticism and hesitation in the lines of their brows. How could he blame them? If he were in Blund's position, he would be cautious as well. Still, if he had Grimwold's powers he might just bend him to the answer he needed, too. This was no time for hesitation.

  "Men of Finnmogur have always valued freedom. It is no secret we kneel to no one but our own. Yet your father was a good king. He knew to leave us alone." Men laughed at Blund's words. "I would support you if you promised the same."

  "I will change nothing of my father's rule," Valda said, sitting up straighter. Lethos wished her voice had not brightened with so much hope so quickly. For Blund had not finished.

  "But I have a problem. Harald Redfingers." If Lethos had thought tension high before mentioning Harald, he now watched dozens of faces redden with anger and every mouth clench in hatred. Blund continued, leaning conspiratorially to Valda. "If you had delivered an army to me, then I might settle Harald's rebellion and be able to concentrate upon your needs. Right now, I fear I cannot take my eyes from the south even for a moment."

  "Even if what happened in Norddalr happens here?" Valda stood from the bench and stepped away, her face as stiff as plaster.

  "I can't be certain that will happen here. But Harald will most certainly exploit any inattention. I'm sorry, Lady Valda, but without sup
port against Harald, I cannot offer you more than my best wishes in your attempt to secure the High Throne."

  Blund's knowing smile slid toward Lethos, and he realized what he wanted in the same instant Valda promised it to him.

  "You forget who accompanies me on my journey. Lethos destroyed an army of Avadurians on his own. You know what he can become."

  "I do." Blund's smile widened.

  Lethos swallowed. With dozens of armed men watching, now seemed the wrong time to admit he could no longer sense the bull spirit in himself. Blund grunted and placed his hand on Lethos's shoulder.

  "The gods truly blessed me the day I met you," Blund said. "You come to my aid yet again."

  Lethos could only nod and flash a smile that died hard on his lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  "Was siding with Blund before you know the actual situation with Redfingers the wisest choice?"

  Lethos stood outside the room where Valda changed into fresh clothes. Blund had graciously allowed them a place in his hall, with a small room set aside for Valda and a servant to attend her. He was planning a feast to welcome her properly and to prime the men's spirits for an expected easy victory over their rivals. The hall had emptied now but for servants hustling to their chores. Lethos saw the same young boy running back and forth with the same black pot while everyone else was busy with a dozen different tasks. There's always one.

  The rain beat harder on the roof, and leaks in the new thatch were obvious. Buckets were placed where the drips were worst. The noise of the rain and servants made Valda's muffled answer harder to hear.

  "Blund isn't your friend, then? You trusted him. So why shouldn't I?"

  "Well, I trusted him to not throw us back into the sea. That's a bit different than trusting the stability of the country to his say-so. What if he's stretching the truth? What if Redfingers was the chief chosen at council?"

  Rain pounded the roof, and distant thunder rumbled. Servants tramped in the front door with their burdens, their clothing speckled with rain. The boy with his iron pot made another circuit and was as dry as kindling.

  "We don't have time to survey the whole island and figure out what happened. Besides, you're not going to do anything more than persuade Redfingers to submit. We will not kill our own people." The walls did nothing to muffle her irritation. That flowed right through the wood.

  "I hate to seem to be lecturing your highness, but I don't believe you understand how your own people think. Redfingers is going to rise to any challenge and would gladly stick himself and all his men on bull horns or spears if he thought it--glorious." Lethos mocked his last word. The barbarian concept of glory involved a lot of senselessly dead heroes.

  "Did you call me your highness?" She emerged from the room in her new clothing. She had insisted on the practical: a dark green blouse complemented by a leather vest, loose deerskin pants--a scandalous choice for any woman in any society--all cinched at her slender waist with a leather belt. New sealskin boots were unlaced, her pants tucked into them.

  She was beautiful. Lethos finally admitted it. The dirt had been washed from her face and the bruise on the side of her head was artfully covered with her golden hair. Her unblemished skin glowed, and Lethos's eyes traced a path to the V of white flesh exposed at the top of her blouse. She cleared her throat.

  "Well, you are royalty. I'm not sure how best to address you."

  "Valda has worked fine up until you became angry."

  "I'm not angry."

  She smiled and pushed past him. The servant Blund had appointed stepped inside from the rain, a girl of perhaps twelve. She cradled two sheathed swords in her arms, offering them first to Valda. She took the shorter one and slung the baldric across her shoulder. "Do I look like a man now?"

  Lethos accepted the other sword from the servant, his face growing warm. "Not really, Valda."

  She smiled and adjusted the baldric for comfort, then patted the young girl's shoulder. "Can you see to the man lying down inside my room? He felt cold. I think he could use another blanket."

  "Grimwold's in there? While you changed?"

  "He's hardly alive, Lethos. He can't very well remain laid out in the hall during the feast." She folded her arms and gave him a wry smile. "Do you think it is unbecoming of me to keep a man in my room?"

  Of course he felt that way, particularly if that man was his friend. But he never answered.

  An amazingly loud crack followed by a brilliant flash of light erupted beyond the hall doors, which blasted open to slam on the walls. A strange scent lingered in the air, and servants dropped their burdens. The servant next to Valda leapt screaming behind her.

  "Storm riders," Lethos said, drawing the sword he had just acquired. Valda pushed the servant farther behind her and drew her own blade with a metallic rasp. Everyone else stared in amazement.

  He bounded to the door, Valda directly behind. Outside the rain continued to pelt the ground in fat drops, mud splashing up and flowing down the hill. The guard at the door, who had been sheltering beneath an eave and his cloak, lay sprawled in the grass with his eyes open wide despite the rain striking his face. A spear length from the door the ground had been burned black from the lightning strike. Standing at the center of it were two of the most striking people Lethos had ever seen.

  He noticed the woman first. The rain parted around her as if an invisible roof covered her. She had a wide, cruelly beautiful face. She wore a robe of silver wolf fur that contrasted with her startlingly black hair. Lethos's vision could not help but plunge into the open neckline of her full bosom. His face grew hot.

  The man beside her was the first to speak. He wore leather armor studded with iron and a matching silver wolf fur robe over it. His eyebrows were thick and knitted as if someone were screaming in his ear. He was a strong, vibrant man, and his piercing eyes chastised Lethos for staring at the woman.

  "You are Lethos of Naleos?" the man asked.

  These were not the storm riders, Lethos was certain. He felt something from them, both familiar and foreign. They were a pair, and despite their youthful looks, they had that cast of age in their eyes he had seen in Kafara and Turo. It was a gaze that could no longer see anything without being reminded of a hundred similar things witnessed before. These were Manifested. The man was the Cohort. Lethos could sense the power coiling in him and spinning off to his Prime.

  "You must be Tirkin," Lethos said. "And she must be your Prime, Storra. Turo said we should seek you out, that you would help us as you helped him."

  Lethos nearly melted from the relief of finding more of his kind. If the rain was not already wetting his cheeks, his own tears might have done the same. They would help with Grimwold and explain why his own powers were so limited. They would fill the gap that Kafara and Turo left behind. He lowered his sword.

  The woman, Storra, slid forward, her hooded eyes capturing Lethos's. The rain parted over him and Valda as she spoke. "So you were told of our coming? How fortunate. Where is Turo now?"

  Valda stepped beside Lethos, her sword still ready. "Actually, we were told to seek you out in a place called Vanikka. How did you know to find us here?"

  Storra gave a thin smile at Valda's sword, but the man, Tirkin, answered for her.

  "After enough time you learn to sense our kind even from a great distance. You cannot feel our presence?"

  Lethos nodded vigorously, and sheathed his sword. The guard who had fallen was now shrinking back into the hall with the cowering servants. Only Valda remained poised for a fight, and Lethos frowned at her. "I do feel the power between you. It's like a spark that flies between your finger and iron."

  "Is Turo here? Please answer me," Storra asked.

  "No, he is dead." The words flew out of Lethos's mouth as if they had been torn away. He felt a strange distaste for the question, as if he had just been slapped. Did he need to answer so swiftly? Yet Storra smiled innocently at him.

  "I had feared as much," she said. "I felt a passing of our kind, and
knew he and Kafara were involved with great danger. I had hoped to learn otherwise."

  The mood sank while Lethos recalled how bodies that had once been so magical and invincible burned to cinders. Still Valda held her sword at the ready, and Lethos finally pushed it down. She gave him a wary look, but in the brief silence where only the splatter of the rain made any sound, she relented. She wiped the sword on her pants then slid it back into its sheath.

  "I'd say we should go inside, but the rain seems to be missing us," Lethos said, then gave a weak laugh that he immediately detested. Why did he sound like a desperate child, even to himself? He had to work on his presence. Grimwold would not have sounded like this, even if he were desperate. "Turo did not say what your powers are."

  "We have power over storms and weather," Tirkin said, his brows still knotted against a noise only he seemed to hear. "Still, we would like to go inside. We have much to discuss."

  As if hearing the request to enter his hall over the hiss and pop of the rain, Blund shouted from the gray distance. He huddled under a sealskin cloak, three guards with him doing the same, and all four looked like black stones sliding across the muddy field at the foot of the hill.

  "Who is that?" Tirkin asked.

  "War Chief Blund Bloodtooth," Lethos said. "He is our host."

  Tirkin grunted and glanced at Storra, whose smile had remained as fixed as if it had been fired porcelain. "We have nothing to discuss with his kind. Our words are for you alone. I will send him away."

  Raising his hand, Tirkin began to gather wind around it. Lethos felt its swirling power. "Wait! You're not going to blow him away? This is his hall."

  "He has no business with us," Tirkin said.

  "Lethos is right," Storra said. "Let us not mistreat our host. I'm certain he will afford us our privacy."

  Blund apparently mistook Tirkin's raised hand as a greeting, for he mounted the mud-slick hill with his own hand raised in greeting. He climbed through the rain to meet them, oblivious to the threat he had just avoided. Rain poured off his hood as he gave all of them a smooth smile. The three guards huddled behind him as if he could block the rain. Whatever magical shelter Tirkin and Storra had produced against the weather, they did not extend it to Blund.