The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood

by A. J. Smith

  ‘And your allies?’ asked the shade.

  Alahan had grown more accustomed to the strange presence in his mind, but his head still throbbed whenever he beheld the incorporeal image of his uncle.

  ‘I have few,’ he responded.

  ‘You have more than you know, exemplar.’ The words were spoken knowingly and were slightly barbed, as if the shade had inherited some of Magnus’s impatience. ‘The Ice Father can no longer commune directly with his followers, but their stubborn refusal to lie down and die has brought you loyal and hardened battle-brothers... and sisters. Even now they try to contact you.’

  ‘Unless they’re hiding somewhere in Tiergarten, they’re of little use to me.’ The comment was glib and Alahan regretted it as soon as the words had formed.

  In a show of annoyance, the shade stood tall in the young thain’s mind. ‘Think not only of the instant, exemplar... you are a soldier of the Long War,’ boomed Magnus.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ replied Alahan. ‘I have no army and no hall. I’m an errant thain at best.’

  ‘You are the exemplar of Rowanoco,’ roared the shade, causing pain to erupt in Alahan’s mind.

  He awoke sharply. The thick, bear-skin blanket was wet with sweat and he was panting rapidly. A quick look at the outer window showed the barest glimmer of blue cresting the horizon. He had spoken with the shade of Magnus a number of times over the past few weeks and each time the exchange had left him with more questions than answers. All that was clear was that the Ice Giant had lost the ability to contact his followers directly and was roaring his instructions from somewhere in his halls beyond the world. Rowanoco’s anger had been sufficient to prevent Father Magnus Forkbeard leaving the lands of men entirely, and he now functioned as a sort of interpreter, trapped between worlds, passing on advice to the exemplar.

  The empty space on the floor where Timon had slept made Alahan feel the weight of what he had asked his friend to do. That the berserker of Varorg had not questioned the plan, but had acted with absolute trust, made him feel worse, as if he had manipulated the simple man of the Low Kast into a course that could mean his death. He’d had no other option, but he would greatly regret Timon’s death.

  Dressing quickly in his moulded leather armour and heavy wolf-skin cloak, he retrieved his weaponry and stepped into the cold and empty corridors of Aleph Summer Wolf’s hall. He placed his two hand-axes on his belt and slung his battleaxe across his back, instantly feeling better for being armed and armoured.

  There were no guards in the corridors and the large stone building was cavernous and empty. The walls were bare, without tapestries or trophies of war. The winding passageways functioned as living quarters for the city’s lords and Alahan wondered whose bedroom he had borrowed. As he made his way to the great hall, he felt a tingle at the back of his mind and stopped walking. He had come to accept the pain that accompanied talking to the shade, but this sensation was different, softer somehow, and he turned sharply. He headed towards Oreck’s Spire, the tower that contained the cloud-stone of Tiergarten.

  He passed no one on his way and had only the sound of his armour and the whistling wind for company. Beyond the master suite, used by the city’s thain, was a winding stone staircase that led directly upwards. As he stood at its foot, he was greeted with a biting chill that travelled sharply downwards and reminded him that winter in Fjorlan was as harsh as a grumpy troll. The realm of Summer Wolf was considered the least inhospitable part of Fjorlan and it contained more farms and livestock than the other realms put together, but even here the winds were unforgiving.

  Pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders and placing his hands across his chest, Alahan began to walk up the steep stone steps. They circled round a central stone column that rose from the back of the hall. The spire itself was not visible from the rest of the city and was accessible only to the thain of Tiergarten and his axe-masters.

  The wind continued to bite as he ascended Oreck’s Spire and the temperature dropped even further once he had emerged at the top. The platform was circular, protected against the wind by nothing more than low walls and arches, which left the top completely exposed. In the middle of the small space was a plinth upon which sat the cloud-stone of Summer Wolf, and an ever-burning torch provided the only warmth and light.

  A figure huddled next to the torch surprised him. A pipe protruded from the hood that covered the figure’s face. Whoever it was, was small and frail, with gnarled hands shivering against the cold as they touched a small taper to the bowl of the pipe.

  ‘Greetings, young man,’ said a female voice from under the grey hood. ‘I am Runa Grim, cloud-mistress of Tiergarten. How may I help you?’ The old woman raised her head to reveal sparkling blue eyes and a face that couldn’t be much less than a hundred years old.

  ‘Cloud-mistress?’ queried Alahan. ‘I thought all of your order were dead and gone.’

  Runa chuckled and took a deep puff of her pipe. ‘We will be when I am gone. I’m the last.’

  ‘There hasn’t been a cloud-mistress in Fredericksand for fifty years or more...’ He had heard stories of old women tasked with interpreting the visions received through cloud-stones, but had not expected to find one residing in Tiergarten. ‘Well, mother Grim, I am Alahan Teardrop Algesson and I need to use the stone.’

  ‘A thain, no less?’ said the frail old woman, her blue eyes scanning his face. ‘That explains the visions.’

  ‘The visions...?’ he began, stepping closer to the torch.

  ‘A one-eyed maiden and an enraged axe-man seek your counsel. They are far away and desire to speak to you for very different reasons. Step closer to the stone, Alahan Teardrop,’ she said with a smile.

  He turned away from her and approached the cloud-stone of Tiergarten. It was milky white in colour and the size of a man’s head. Its surface shifted and pulsated in the manner of waves crashing against rocks. Deep within it, Alahan glimpsed far-off places and people, some dead, some not yet born, and he sensed that the stone was one of the oldest in all of Ranen. As he peered into its white depths, he saw faces come into clearer focus and the unmistakable skyline of Jarvik, the city of Ursa.

  The cloud-stone whirled and spiralled, pulling Alahan further and further into it, until he could make out a specific face. Bearded and battle-worn, he saw the comforting face of Wulfrick, axe-master of Fredericksand.

  ‘Alahan!’ exclaimed the huge warrior. ‘You’re alive... Rowanoco gets a drink for that.’

  Alahan felt a tingle of joy flow down his spine and he smiled warmly at Wulfrick. ‘Please tell me you have an army, my friend... we’re a bit short of men here.’

  The axe-master raised his eyebrows and frowned. ‘Not an army, but five hundred tough men and women who are still loyal.’

  ‘How did you get to Jarvik? Have you taken the city?’ Alahan had a hundred questions and something about the presence of Wulfrick made him babble like a young boy.

  ‘Settle down, we’re safe for now,’ replied the huge warrior, talking from the other side of Fjorlan. ‘A few of us sneaked into the chapel and borrowed Rulag Ursa’s cloud-stone. There aren’t too many of his men here, but he appointed a new thain of Hammerfall and he’s being a pain in the arse.’

  Alahan leant back. Suddenly he felt better. It was a slight feeling, but enough to infuse the young thain with sufficient conviction to maintain hope.

  ‘I’m not sure I can convey how glad I am to see you, Master Wulfrick.’

  ‘It’s mutual, lad... we’re a long way from you, but we’re up for a fight,’ replied the axe-master. ‘Halla plans to take on Grammah Black Eyes and then march on Tiergarten.’

  Alahan frowned and moved closer to the stone the better to see his old friend.

  ‘Aleph’s daughter... she’s alive?’ he asked, surprised that Wulfrick would follow a woman into battle.

  The axe-master suddenly became defensive. ‘She’s our captain. She’s saved a lot of Ranen lives, lad. I’d listen to her if I were you
.’ He smiled again. ‘If she ever gets out of bed, the lazy bitch. One little Gorlan bite and she’s on her back for weeks.’

  ‘Tell her that her father’s hall is warmer than mine,’ he said, relieved to have allies, no matter who they were.

  ‘Between you and me, Alahan, she’s not entirely on your side. Your father killed hers... that kind of scar doesn’t go away overnight.’ The axe-master was wise and Alahan found that it helped just to hear his voice.

  ‘I can live with that. As long as Halla hates Rulag more than me,’ he replied, feeling suddenly wide awake.

  ‘You can at least be sure of that,’ said Wulfrick. ‘We’ve seen what that bastard and his men have done to Hammerfall.’ He continued, ‘Are you safe in Tiergarten? I’m not going through all this to find you dead when we get there.’

  Alahan nodded, again feeling like a small child. ‘As safe as can be expected. Kalag and a bunch of his battle-brothers tracked me out of Fredericksand. Unless they’re complete idiots, they should be on our doorstep in a day or two.’

  ‘Is Brindon still there?’ Wulfrick leant back from the cloud-stone to reveal three other people clustered round him, listening to the thain’s words.

  ‘I think he wishes I was my father, but yes, he’s still here,’ responded Alahan.

  ‘He’s a prickly old sod. Don’t let him get to you... tell him I won’t be pleased if he doesn’t lend you all the assistance he can.’ Wulfrick squared his shoulders and adopted a more protective demeanour, reminding the young thain that men with honour still existed in Fjorlan.

  ‘I’ll tell him, but he’ll probably slap me again.’ Alahan glanced over Wulfrick’s shoulder. ‘Who are they?’ he asked.

  ‘Rexel Falling Cloud, Oleff Hard Head...’ He paused and gestured to the third figure, a hunched-up old woman with a crazed look on her face. ‘And this is Anya... she’s cleverer than she looks.’

  ‘When Halla recovers, tell her that I’m grateful for all she’s done... keeping you alive to become my axe-master. There must be thousands of men in the halls of the Wolf Wood... make sure they know that I’m still alive and fighting.’

  Wulfrick nodded. ‘By the time we reach you, we should have an army that can at least give Rulag the Betrayer something to think about.’

  A moment of silence followed as the two warriors exchanged silent oaths of kinship. Alahan was glad to see that Wulfrick’s companions looked equally sure of their allegiance and, though he worried what he would say to Halla, at least he knew that he was no longer alone.

  ‘Just stay alive, Teardrop,’ said the axe-master of Fredericksand.

  ‘I certainly intend to... I have a plan. Even if it doesn’t work, it should scare the piss out of Kalag.’

  The axe-master narrowed his eyes, but didn’t press the issue. The image became indistinct and his grizzled face began to disappear.

  ‘The cloud-stone will not let you talk any more today,’ said Runa Grim from the other side of the spire.

  ‘The thing has a mind of its own?’ queried Alahan.

  ‘No... but it has a will not of its own.’

  * * *

  History does not recall a time when the Ice Men of Rowanoco were not a presence in Fjorlan. Alguin Larson, first thain of Fredericksand, wrote about them five hundred years ago and his book Memories from a Hall has remained the definitive text on the trolls of the northern ice.

  Alahan was no scholar, but like all Ranen children he’d grown up hearing stories of the Ice Men and the danger they posed to anyone and anything that lived in Fjorlan. He had always respected and feared them, as he had been told to do, but had given them little thought before his encounter on the ice when Timon the Butcher had revealed a strange kinship with the beasts. They were not monsters, like the ice Gorlan or the Krakens, but rather a remnant of a simpler time when the Ice Giant’s followers were more numerous and widespread than men. If they worshipped Rowanoco, or even if they had a concept of the Gods, was unknown. Even old Father Crowe spoke about them in hushed terms, as if no one could truly understand them.

  What was known was recorded in scattered stories from a hundred settlements that had weathered their attacks and a thousand battle-brothers who had encountered the Ice Men. They were dangerous in a way that the south men of Ro and Karesia could not possibly understand. They treated rocks, trees, beasts, men and steel as food. Cross in the extreme, it was only their habitual keening that rendered them a manageable hazard.

  Even cities were not immune from their attacks. Several famous stories told of families of trolls getting lost far from Trollheim and attacking Fredericksand in search of food. The last such incident had happened a hundred years before and involved six trolls, the deaths of a hundred battle-brothers and the destruction of dozens of houses. The encounter had ended when the defenders of the city shot flaming ballista bolts among them, provoking a confused stampede away from Fredericksand. Records of Ice Men actually having been killed were extremely rare and, without exception, it was trickery that had been successful rather than brute strength.

  To use them in the way Alahan planned had never been attempted. Brindon Crowe repeatedly reminded him that it was inviting disaster. He had only Timon’s word that they would not assault the city, and only their bond with the Low Kast berserker to ensure they would attack Kalag and his men. If Timon really could direct the trolls, a stampede would break the lines of any army, no matter how big, and the forces of Ursa would surely be routed. However, there were many maybes and what ifs in the plan and, if Timon did not return in timely fashion, Tiergarten would be sacked.

  Alahan had met with Tricken Ice Fang and several of his men as soon as they awoke and now they all stood at the top of the Steps of Kalall surveying the city beneath them. Old Father Crowe was seated on a stone bench with his ever-present mug of mead and a deeply sceptical look on his weathered face. The priest had said little while Alahan and Tricken planned the defence, confining himself to snorting in derision whenever someone said maybe or hopefully.

  ‘We’ve put men on the two bluffs overlooking the pass,’ said Tricken, pointing to the narrow path that led along the coast towards Tiergarten. ‘We’ll have at least some warning when they arrive.’

  ‘Is there any point in blocking the pass?’ asked Alahan, wondering if a landslide or some such would buy them time.

  Another of Tricken’s men, a barrel-chested old warrior called Earem Spider Killer, stepped forward. ‘Those cliffs wouldn’t shift if Rowanoco himself threw his hammer. You’d have an easier time causing a landslide at the bottom of the Kraken sea.’

  ‘So, once they enter the pass, we’ll have... how long?’ he asked.

  Tricken scratched at his bushy red beard. ‘An hour or two. I suppose it depends how many men they have.’

  Alahan looked down the stairs of Tiergarten. Arrayed across the stone, tentatively emerging from their houses, were several hundred men and women, holding weapons of various kinds. Some were family heirlooms, not used for centuries, others had been hastily forged in the past few weeks, but all were held in uncertain, shaking hands. The battle-brothers and sisters of Tiergarten were not an army. He surveyed their faces and was deeply sorry at having to ask them to fight. If they’d been seasoned warriors, they’d have been with the dragon fleet and would now be dead. As it was, they were farmers and craftsmen who had never imagined they would have to defend their city from other Ranen.

  Stepping forward to stand at the edge of the highest level, Alahan considered what words would inspire the citizens of Tiergarten and whether anything he could say would make their situation appear less hopeless. Telling them that a family of trolls was coming to their rescue would likely be met with laughter. Confessing that his strategy relied on a Low Kast berserker who wouldn’t fight seemed equally unwise. As he muddled these things through in his head, he chuckled to himself at the absurdity of it.

  ‘Something funny?’ asked Tricken.

  ‘Something... everything,’ was the vague response. ‘It’s pro
bably not the time for inspiring words, is it?’

  Brindon Crowe emitted a throaty laugh from behind him, before loudly taking a swig of mead. ‘You’d need to be an inspiring person to offer inspiring words,’ he said, wiping the residue of the honey liquor from his mouth.

  ‘Why don’t you shut up?’ replied Alahan, not turning to see the priest’s reaction. ‘You’re not helping.’

  ‘I’m not here to help, lad. Think of me as your doubting adviser.’ The priest was on to his fourth mug of the morning and didn’t look as if he were about to slow down.

  ‘Well, if you could doubt quietly, I’d appreciate it,’ responded Alahan, turning back to Tricken and Spider Killer.

  He pointed to the narrow pass that ran along the Fjorlan coast and served as the north–south road through the realm of Summer Wolf. ‘Once Kalag gets his men within sight of the city, they’ll charge...’ He swept his hand across the flat, icy plain between Tiergarten and the low gullies of the deserted harbour. ‘We can pick off a few of them with catapults and ballistae, but they’ll get to the gate in a few minutes.’

  ‘They won’t have ladders,’ said Spider Killer, ‘and with burning pitch thrown down at them, they might just run their treacherous arses away.’

  ‘Not likely,’ supplied Tricken. ‘Tiergarten isn’t hidden. They’ll at least have battering rams... in fact, that’s probably why they’re not here yet. Finding trees to cut down takes time around here.’ He stepped forward to stand next to Alahan. ‘Where’s your friend going to come from?’

  ‘The northern gullies,’ he replied. ‘The trolls won’t get close to the sea, so they’ll avoid the men of Ursa unless Timon can lead them on to the plain.’

  ‘Optimism or stupidity, I can’t decide which,’ interjected old Father Crowe.

  Alahan turned to the priest. ‘Go and have another mug of mead,’ he said, attempting to keep his temper in check.

  Father Crowe said nothing further and confined himself to grunting with disapproval. Alahan was about to move towards the top of the Steps of Kalall and address the populace of Tiergarten, when he was interrupted by a single flaming arrow, fired from the cliff tops that flanked the north–south road.