by A. J. Smith
As the land began to look the same as far as the eye could see and the rain started to fall from the grey sky of Wraith, Theron of Haran rode to the front of the column and fell in beside his captain.
‘Would you mind if we spoke for a time, sir?’ he asked.
‘What would you like to speak about?’ Fallon himself found it infuriating when someone answered a question with a question, but he wasn’t really in the mood to talk.
‘When I was a boy in Ro Haran I heard a story about you from General Alexander Tiris... I just wanted to know if it was true.’ The young knight had a way of occasionally slipping into conversation the fact that he had served under Xander.
‘What was the story?’ asked the captain, prepared to humour his adjutant for the time being.
‘You were called the Grey Knight for a time in Ro Arnon... is that true?’ asked Theron.
Fallon smiled to himself. He’d not heard that story for a long time and had almost forgotten his old nickname. ‘Yes, it’s true. I’ve not been called that for a long time, though... I expect you want to know why?’
‘The rumour was that you killed a Purple cleric and got away with it,’ said the knight of Haran, unsure if he would cause offence.
‘That’s the general thrust of the encounter, yes, though, as with everything, there are nuances. It was a fair fight. I didn’t jump him in an alley or anything.’ Fallon dimly recalled the encounter. He could have been no more than eighteen at the time. ‘Neither of us were where we were supposed to be, and neither of us was wearing armour or any mark of office. He didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t know who he was.’
Theron was leaning forward over the pommel of his saddle and listening intently. ‘The general said you were one of the best swordsmen they had, even then.’
‘That’s maybe an exaggeration. I was good, but I knew it, and that made me cocky and arrogant. To be honest, I was lucky the Purple fucker didn’t fillet me.’ He raised an eyebrow at Theron, realizing that the young knight had asked him an interesting question for perhaps the first time since they had met.
‘Did he challenge you?’ asked the adjutant.
‘No, nothing like that. He’d been in a brothel, I’d been in a tavern, and we bumped into each other – quite literally – in the street between the two buildings. He saw that I had a longsword, this one right here...’ He patted the weapon at his side. ‘And he was quite rude in his questioning of why I was wearing such a weapon.’
‘Did he not wear a longsword?’ pressed Theron, eager to hear more.
‘He did, but I was a little drunk and didn’t care,’ replied Fallon. ‘Well, not until he punched me. I don’t think I answered his questions properly and he felt justified in striking me – quite hard – and so, when I stood up, I killed him.’
Theron gasped at the offhand way in which Fallon said this. His eyes widened as if he were about to hear the details of a long and heroic duel. ‘Did he not fight back?’ asked the young knight.
‘Not really, I didn’t give him a chance to. I suppose I expected him to draw his sword when I did. When he didn’t, I thought I’d just stab him... as I said, I was a little drunk.’
‘How did you get away with it?’ pressed Theron.
‘Well, that’s where the Grey Knight thing came from. I was pulled up in front of Knight General Frith and a few Purple clerics, and they demanded that I be stripped of my Red armour. The general disagreed and said that I was wearing a grey cloak at the time and maybe I should be stripped of that.’ Fallon smiled as he remembered the incident again. ‘The general pulled my cloak off my back and threw it at the clerics and said: There, he’s a grey knight now and you have no authority over him. I suppose the nickname stuck.’
‘And what if you’d been wearing a pink cloak, sir,’ asked Theron, displaying more of a sense of humour than Fallon had credited him with.
‘I suppose I’d have been called the Pink Knight,’ replied the captain, sharing the joke with his adjutant.
CHAPTER 5
HALLA SUMMER WOLF IN HAMMERFALL
Each time she rose from sleep and looked back along the rugged gullies, it seemed as if winter was chasing them. Halla and her company of Fjorlanders had slept for barely three hours and it was time to move on again. Rexel Falling Cloud, one of her captains, who hailed from the woods of Hammerfall, had insisted the weather would calm within days, but Halla remained sceptical.
They had no tents and for nearly a month now the two hundred battle-brothers and one axe-maiden had wrapped themselves in thick fur cloaks and huddled together in the snow. Several had muttered off-colour jokes about Halla being the only woman, but a few broken jaws had put a stop to that. Warmth was a rare commodity and Halla had slept close to Master Wulfrick for the last week. The huge axe-master of Fredericksand was the strongest, bravest and most honourable man she knew and having him as an ally made her believe they still had hope.
As the axe-maiden sat up and untangled herself, she felt the bitter wind strike her face. Her men were a line of black shapes, starkly outlined against the craggy white background. Her single eye burned for a second from the glare.
‘Any regrets?’ muttered Wulfrick, without opening his eyes.
She held up a frozen hand and replaced her eyepatch, scratching the deep scar as she did so. ‘What am I suppose to regret? Are you still alive?’ Halla said, without looking at the axe-master.
‘I meant the king,’ he growled under his breath, coughing slightly. ‘We could have kept hold of him... or dropped him off a cliff.’
‘I gave my word,’ she replied with conviction, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders. Seeing a clear blue expanse, with no sign of an imminent blizzard, she smiled.
‘Halla,’ barked Wulfrick, ‘are you listening to me?’
‘I said I gave my word. Did you want another answer?’ Halla continued to smile and looked across at her men, most of whom were just beginning to rise from sleep. ‘I won’t miss the company of King Sebastian Tiris,’ she yawned.
‘I suppose it won’t affect us too badly. I feel sorry for Wraith Company, though. Good men... good beer... no chance against those knights, though,’ said Wulfrick as he sat up next to Halla.
They had seen Captain Horrock and the men of Wraith safely out of Ro Hail as they took the captive monarch north. As she promised, the king had been released in the low passes of the Deep Cross and they had seen an honour guard of Purple clerics pick him up. Since then, their path had been a difficult one as winter gripped the mountains. Luckily, they had now entered the lowlands and the ground was becoming more level by the day. Falling Cloud had insisted that they would sight a few settlements within a day or two, and Halla was looking forward to a bed and some hot water.
‘Let’s worry about Fjorlan right now,’ said Wulfrick, mostly to himself. ‘We have to find Alahan... if Rulag hasn’t cut his head off yet.’
‘He’s a clever little bastard, from what I hear,’ said Halla, remembering the few times she had met Algenon’s son.
‘Too clever for his own good. A bit more violent than his father, though,’ elaborated the axe-master.
Halla saw her captains rise first and was gratified that they were happy to do the shouting for her. The axe-maiden disliked raising her voice unless it was absolutely necessary and she had established a quiet authority with her men over the last month, an authority build on intelligence and respect. She knew that her name, too, was a major factor. Her being a Summer Wolf, to whom Wulfrick deferred, had silenced most of the queries regarding her command, and the capture of the king at Ro Hail had answered any questions that remained.
Rexel Falling Cloud and Oleff Hard Head were invaluable to Halla as she tried to keep her men’s spirits up. Oleff was the older of the two and had a curiously out of place ability with song. He was a grizzled man in his fifties who would break into song in a deep baritone at the slightest provocation, and his lengthy sagas of trolls slain and women bedded had been a constant background to the Fjor
landers’ journey north. Falling Cloud was quieter, until angered, at which point he would erupt into a shout that demanded silence. Even Wulfrick and Halla were surprised whenever Rexel delivered a roaring reprimand to the men. Her third captain, a common man of Tiergarten called Heinrich Blood, had not stood out initially. However, as they travelled, he had revealed himself to be a novitiate of the Order of the Hammer and an aide to Father Brindon Crowe, a cunning old man of Tiergarten whom Halla knew well. Heinrich’s gift was not shouting or singing, and Wulfrick had commented that he seemed slightly ill at ease in combat as well. Instead, what he offered the company was morale and an assurance that they were on a path laid down by the Ice Giant. His ability with the voice of Rowanoco was in its infancy, but he had managed to heal several wounds and stop several more from festering.
Between them, Rexel, Oleff and Heinrich had formed Halla’s company into a well-drilled unit capable of moving swiftly and responding to a threat with brutal efficiency.
‘The dragons of Ranen were mighty and brave,’ sang Oleff, as a way of rousing the remaining men. ‘Through ice storms and battles, fair maidens they’d save.’ His voice rose in volume until most men were either up or yawning themselves awake. ‘With teeth and with claw the trolls they did smite,’ he continued. ‘But when they met Oleff with fear they did shite.’ He elongated the last note and held it for a moment as the assembled men laughed.
‘True story,’ he whispered to Halla with a wink. ‘Right,’ he roared at the men, ‘that’s as much laughter as you lot are allowed today. Get up and get moving.’
The laughter died down quickly as Rexel took up the shouting and moved among the men, kicking them awake and querying the condition of axes, hammers and armour. Each man was responsible for keeping his equipment sharp, clean and well maintained, and Rexel took this duty very seriously indeed, chiding any man who neglected his weaponry.
‘You can’t kill a man with a dull axe, you useless troll cunt,’ he roared at a sleepy-looking man of Tiergarten.
‘Young Falling Cloud seems to have been blessed with the voice of the Ice Giants,’ said Wulfrick, as he stood up and stretched his enormous frame. ‘He scares the shit out of me with that roar of his.’
Halla looked to the sky again. ‘Looks like we may stay dry... for today at least. And hopefully a warm bed isn’t too far over the horizon.’ If Falling Cloud’s estimate of their location was accurate, she thought they should sight habitable land within a few hours.
The Deep Cross marked the traditional boundary between Fjorlan and the southern lands of the Free Companies, though the snowy plateaus of Hammerfall and Ursa were almost as rugged as the high mountain passes. The battle-brothers of Fjorlan were a maritime people, preferring to travel by sea or river, but their encounter in the Kraken Sea had robbed Halla’s company of ships and men, rendering their journey a long and dangerous one across difficult land.
‘Rexel,’ Halla shouted through the press of bodies, ‘when you’re done, get your arse over here.’
The man of Hammerfall turned from his morning tasks and strode through the men to approach where Halla and Wulfrick stood. ‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Nice day for it.’
‘Better than yesterday,’ replied Wulfrick, as he retrieved his troll-hide armour and began to strap it on. ‘Now, where the fuck are we, Falling Cloud?’
Halla raised an eyebrow at the axe-master and interjected, ‘I’d settle for a rough direction of travel.’
Falling Cloud grinned at Wulfrick. ‘She’s a much better commander than you, big man... and that armour stinks.’
‘And you’re ugly, Rexel,’ responded the axe-master.
‘You can both shut up.’ Halla’s tone was sharp and she held her hand up to emphasize that she was serious. ‘We can’t keep trudging north. We need to have some idea of where we’re going,’ she went on more conversationally. ‘And before you say anything, Master Wulfrick, I know we need to find Alahan Teardrop, but we’re a long way from Fredericksand.’
Falling Cloud nodded and, shielding his eyes from the glare, peered north along the snow-covered gullies. ‘The edge of the Wolf Wood can’t be more than a few hours away and there are villages around there. We’ll at least be able to get our bearings.’
Rexel knew Hammerfall better than any of Halla’s company and had acted as their guide since they entered the low lands. His estimates had not always been accurate and they had stumbled into more than one encounter with trapdoor Gorlan, the large, unpleasant ice-spiders that were almost impossible to detect, but delicious to eat.
‘Are we going to meet any trolls or spiders in these gullies?’ asked Halla.
Falling Cloud considered the question, screwing up his bearded face. ‘I’d say no, but I’ve been wrong before... the damn beasties don’t stay still, you see.’
‘To be absolutely fair,’ said Wulfrick, ‘if Rexel’s directions had been any better, we wouldn’t have so much salted Gorlan meat in our packs.’
Though he was joking, the point was a fair one. Supplies had been getting thin until they had begun to snare the ice-spiders and preserve them. The meat was tough and stringy, but surprisingly tasty after being cooked for several hours. Added to the roots and grain they had taken from Wraith Company, Halla’s company had not had to starve during their tough march. With hunger defeated, they had only the cold to dampen their spirits, but these men were used to the cold.
‘If you weren’t so funny, Wulfrick, you’d be fucking useless,’ replied Falling Cloud with a grin on his face.
‘Yeah, yeah, just no more surprise Gorlan, okay?’ said the axe-master of Fredericksand. ‘Though I suppose Heinrich needs the practice with that bow of his.’
‘Wulfrick, you’re making me weary,’ said Halla. ‘Please shut up.’
* * *
The men were roused quickly and, after sharing a hastily assembled breakfast, they began to make their way further north. The journey was slow and the company was in relaxed mood now that the terrain was level and the sky clear.
From the north, where the eastern edge of the Wolf Wood met the plateaus of Ursa, Halla could see smoke. It was not the smoke of chimney or hearth but the slowly rolling smog of destruction. It rose in several black plumes and the acrid smell carried across the tundra. She raised her hand and signalled the company to stop, followed by a cacophony of shouts from Oleff as he relayed the order.
‘What is it?’ asked Wulfrick.
‘Smoke,’ was the axe-maiden’s simple response.
The axe-master moved up to join her and peered north towards the smoke. Soon Falling Cloud had joined them, leaving Heinrich and Oleff to quiet the company of Fjorlanders.
‘Rexel, what does that look like to you?’ she asked the man of Hammerfall.
‘That’s no simple cook-fire,’ he replied with concern. ‘Looks like one of the villages of the Vale to me – farmers that serve the lords of Hammerfall.’
Falling Cloud’s thain and many cloud-men of Hammerfall had died in the Kraken Sea, and as one of the few remaining lords he was now responsible for most of the common people of the area.
Wulfrick gripped the hilt of his battleaxe. ‘Farmers? Not battle-brothers?’
Rexel shook his head. ‘A lot of the toughest cloud-men were with the dragon fleet. Maybe there are a few left in the halls of the Wolf Wood, but that’s a long way west of here.’
Halla stepped to the front and considered the possibilities. Behind her, Falling Cloud and Wulfrick considered the dishonour in burning the homes of common men and exchanged oaths of vengeance. She tried to tune out their swearing as she peered northwards to assess the situation. The nearest large town was Jarvik, the seat of Rulag the Betrayer, but that was a good way north and it was unlikely that the men of Ursa would come this far south just to burn a farm. Bandits were another possibility, but the cloud-men of the Vale had little of value.
‘Rexel,’ she ordered, silencing the two men behind her, ‘take twenty men and see what’s causing those fires.’
‘My lady?’ he queried.
‘Did you misunderstand, Master Falling Cloud? Are you or are you not an axe-master of Hammerfall?’
‘And proud to be so.’ He stood taller and thrust his chest out. ‘It will be as you say, Halla.’
Rexel turned sharply and pointed to the nearest squad of men, standing idly in the snow. ‘You useless bastards have just volunteered to come with me. Light arms and armour, leave everything else with the column.’
They didn’t hesitate before beginning to remove their chain mail and throwing their travelling packs on the floor. The men unslung their axes and moved into rough formation behind Falling Cloud.
‘Right, there’s smoke over there and Lady Summer Wolf wants to know what’s causing it.’ He paused and let silence return for a moment before roaring, ‘With me,’ at the top of his voice.
Halla and Wulfrick both jumped at the ferocity of the axe-master’s shout, before exchanging a smile. As Rexel and his men broke into a dead run and moved swiftly towards the edge of the wood, Wulfrick asked, ‘What do you think, Halla... bandits?’
She shook her head. ‘Unlikely,’ she said, still focusing on the north. ‘Get the men ready. I have a bad feeling.’
Wulfrick stepped forward and she felt the wind drop as his enormous frame acted as a windbreak. ‘I’ve had a bad feeling since Algenon died,’ he responded. ‘And I imagine I’ll continue to have one until I find Alahan.’