The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood

by A. J. Smith

  ‘Tricken, does that mean they’re coming?’ he asked.

  The chain-master peered across the icy plains, his eyes following the trajectory of the arrow. Before he could answer the question, another arrow was fired from the adjacent cliff, and then another from the low harbour, causing the citizens of Tiergarten to stop their hasty preparations and look skywards.

  ‘Three arrows,’ said Tricken. ‘That means they all saw them at once.’ He screwed up his bearded face. ‘That means there are a lot of men out there.’

  ‘How many?’ pressed Alahan.

  Ice Fang considered the question as more arrows were fired from the lookouts. ‘A few thousand at least... probably enough to sack Tiergarten.’

  ‘They’re not here to sack the city,’ interjected Father Crowe. ‘They’re here for him.’ He pointed at Alahan and stood up from his bench. ‘Rulag and that poisonous son of his know that they can never truly claim the hall of Fredericksand until he’s dead.’

  Tricken puffed out his chest and gripped the chain wrapped around his torso. The mark of office gave him comfort and he stated boldly, ‘They’ll have to get through gates, men and... and me, before they take the son of Teardrop.’

  ‘Strong words, my friend,’ responded Alahan, ‘and I thank you for them.’ He placed a brotherly hand on Tricken’s shoulder and saw the concern just discernible through the chain-master’s bushy red beard.

  ‘I’ll trade strong words for a few hundred battle-brothers,’ replied Ice Fang.

  ‘Spider Killer... get to the ballistae. Mark your targets well,’ ordered Alahan.

  ‘Aye, lad,’ said Earem. ‘And the trolls?’

  ‘They’d have fired a lot more arrows if they’d spied Ice Men,’ offered Tricken. ‘I think we’re on our own for now.’

  ‘See you in the ice halls, lads,’ said old Father Brindon Crowe, draining his mug.

  * * *

  Alahan stood on the second level of Tiergarten, to the side of the Steps of Kalall and within sight of the city gates. Tricken’s men had carried great wooden struts to the outer wall and braced them against the solid wood of the gates, while Spider Killer had lit burning braziers along the battlements, intending to light his ballista bolts before firing them.

  Crowe had joined the young thain. Since the enemy had been sighted, the old priest had made no further insulting or unhelpful comments, though his continued presence was more intimidating than reassuring. Several hundred of the common men and women of the realm were arrayed across the lower two levels of the city. They huddled in close groups, around small fires and protectively in front of their houses. He had counted no more than a hundred seasoned battle-brothers, and many of those were approaching old age or had missing limbs. The uncomfortable fact was that any man still in Tiergarten would have been too old or incapacitated to join the dragon fleet, meaning that the city’s defenders were cast-offs, farmers and the infirm. There was also no small number of children, young boys and girls, eagerly holding axes too big and heavy for them.

  Alahan breathed in deeply as he considered the forces at his disposal. They had thick walls and ample conviction that their cause was just, but those would not be sufficient to hold back a determined force intent on taking the city.

  ‘Look yonder,’ said Crowe, pointing across the ice.

  Scanning the white horizon, he saw a mass of dark figures emerge on to the plain in front of Tiergarten. The lordling Kalag and his men had passed the docks and were now spread out across the north–south road, moving towards the outer walls. They were in organized ranks, with giant battering rams and mobile ballistae.

  Suddenly, old Father Brindon Crowe shouted, ‘This is the realm of Summer Wolf.’ His words carried and every citizen of Tiergarten turned their eyes to look at him. ‘This city has stood for thousands of years and it will not fall to the men of a betrayer and a child killer.’ He raised his hammer above his head and gestured at the approaching forces. ‘We will drink in the ice halls before we feel fear.’

  His cry was taken up by Tricken Ice Fang and the men guarding the forward battlements. In moments, every man and woman of Tiergarten was chanting, ‘We will drink in the ice halls... we will drink in the ice halls.’

  Alahan felt goosebumps rise up on his arms. ‘Honourable words, Father, and I thank you for them,’ he said with conviction.

  ‘They weren’t for you, lad,’ replied the priest. ‘They were for the men and women about to die for you.’

  ‘I never wanted this.’

  ‘And yet it is happening, whether you wanted it or not,’ replied Crowe, with a stern look in his dark eyes. ‘And now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself, boy.’

  Involuntarily, he gritted his teeth at being called boy once again, but he said nothing. Reacting to the old man’s insults would not help the gates to hold.

  As the ranks of Kalag’s men came closer, he estimated the force arrayed against them as close to five thousand battle-brothers. Not all would be seasoned warriors, but they were sufficiently organized to make Alahan suspect that most were. In the centre of the army, flanked by rolling ballistae and crews of men carrying battering rams, was a platform, recently constructed from tree trunks. The men either side set the platform down just out of range of Tiergarten’s own ballistae, and the army paused in tight formation.

  ‘What are they waiting for?’ he wondered, mostly to himself.

  ‘Kalag’s going to call you out, I suspect,’ replied Crowe. ‘Finish you quickly in front of his men and yours.’

  Alahan pondered this. The thing he and Tiergarten needed most was time. If a duel against the lordling would buy Timon sufficient time to arrive with his friends, it might be worth doing.

  ‘He’ll expect you to say no, but honour dictates he make the offer,’ said Father Crowe. ‘I’ll bet you a mug of mead he’s got a priest with him. Killing you personally would be the only way to make his claim to lordship legitimate in the eyes of Rowanoco’s faithful.’

  ‘Why would a priest of the Order of the Hammer follow that troll cunt?’ spat Alahan.

  Crowe looked at him as if it were a stupid question. ‘Even betrayers need the Ice Giant, lad... your family isn’t squeaky clean either. Algenon killed my thain out of hand to secure the rescue of his brother, remember.’

  Alahan lamented what had happened to Aleph Summer Wolf. His father’s action in killing the thain of Tiergarten might yet determine the fate of many.

  A horn sounded from the platform in the middle of the icy plain and several men climbed to the platform to stand before the city.

  ‘I am Kalag Ursa,’ roared Rulag’s son, ‘thain of Jarvik and rightful heir to the hall of Fredericksand, son of the Lord Bear Tamer. I demand that the son of Teardrop show himself and be judged before the Ice Giant... I offer him single combat.’

  The lordling was a large man, slightly older than Alahan, and possessed the bright green eyes of all the lords of Ursa. He carried a battleaxe and wore heavy furs over chain armour. His thick brown beard was unkempt, though his fluid movements and stern voice spoke of a man who knew what he was doing. He would be a dangerous opponent.

  ‘You have no right to demand anything here,’ shouted Tricken Ice Fang from the forward battlements. ‘This is not Jarvik or Fredericksand. This is Tiergarten. If you want something, you ask politely.’

  Kalag was obviously annoyed at the chain-master’s words, but a thin man standing on the platform whispered something quietly in his ear and calmed him down.

  ‘That’s Father Grey Claw,’ supplied Brindon Crowe, ‘Rulag’s confessor... be wary of him, lad.’

  ‘If he’s a priest, surely he can be trusted,’ said Alahan, instantly realizing how naive he sounded.

  ‘In the same way that I can be trusted,’ replied Crowe. ‘Those in the Order of the Hammer are not saints, boy. We can be trusted to speak the word of Rowanoco, but that word is often not gentle.’

  ‘I wish no harm to the people of Tiergarten,’ boomed Kalag. ‘None of you need
die today, but I mean to kill Teardrop and any man that stands in my way.’

  Alahan closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. If he fought Kalag and won, the men of Ursa would surely sack the city. If he fought and lost, he’d have abandoned Fjorlan to its fate and betrayed the memory of his father.

  ‘I can’t win this, can I?’ he asked Crowe.

  The priest shook his head. ‘Not really, no... either way Fjorlan is fucked.’ A twisted smile appeared on the old man’s face. ‘There is still one thing in your favour, though. He doesn’t expect you actually to go down there and fight him.’

  ‘Because only a fool would do so,’ replied Alahan. ‘If I kill him, his men will kill me and annihilate the city.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t be trying to kill him, lad, you’d be trying to buy time for your berserker friend to return with reinforcements.’ Crowe could at least be trusted to advise what was best for Tiergarten. ‘Our gates are strong, but those battering rams will need less than an hour to smash through them and then... well, we won’t hold out for long once they’re inside the walls.’

  Alahan looked skywards and wished for the presence of his uncle’s shade to guide him. For now at least, the Magnus had left him to make his own decisions. With a deep breath, he unslung his two-handed axe and strode down the Steps of Kalall towards the gates of Tiergarten. One step behind him was Father Brindon Crowe. It was apparent that the old priest intended to accompany him.

  ‘Thains shouldn’t die alone, lad,’ was all Brindon said, as he hefted his war-hammer and fell in beside the young thain.

  The men and women of Tiergarten watched with wide-eyed astonishment as the two men walked towards the gates in answer to the lordling’s challenge.

  ‘Tricken,’ said the priest, ‘keep those ballistae trained on the platform. At the first sign of treachery, light the bastards up.’

  ‘Aye, Father,’ replied the chain-master, clearly uncomfortable at what he was witnessing.

  Alahan waved at the guards to indicate that the reinforced wooden struts be removed. They paused for a second in evident confusion before doing so.

  Beyond the gates, the vista was one of armoured men standing on a stark white ground and poised for combat. Most wore chain mail and carried glaives, though no few hammers and axes were also present. Kalag’s army had units of skirmishers, carrying throwing axes, and half a dozen sled crews stationed off to the side, trying to keep their dogs quiet.

  Alahan and Crowe stood in the gateway for a moment to give the warriors of Ursa a chance to have a good look at them. Most of the battle-brothers were silent now, surprised that the young thain was answering Kalag’s challenge. A few more recognized the priest and exchanged whispered words about Crowe’s fearsome reputation.

  ‘You want to fight me?’ challenged Alahan, locking eyes with Kalag Ursa for the first time.

  The lordling seemed unsure, but quickly regained his composure and drew his own axe. At his shoulder, Father Grey Claw was glaring at Crowe and hefting his own hammer. The two men of Rowanoco would not fight, but Alahan knew that they would ensure the duel remained fair.

  ‘Hasten to your death, boy,’ said Kalag, jumping down from the platform.

  Another deep breath and Alahan began to walk away from the wooden gates. Crowe followed and the gates of Tiergarten were closed, leaving the two men facing each other on the plain. They walked slowly and Tricken Ice Fang was able to lower the trajectory of his ballistae to cover the two men.

  To the north, tall cliffs framed the sea and towered over the coast road. To the south, the arable plains of Summer Wolf stretched as far as the eye could see. Alahan felt small and insignificant, a dot on the featureless white plain, with nothing but a bitter old priest and an army of enemies for company.

  The battle-brothers of Ursa did not advance, remaining in loose ranks behind their lord. Once Alahan was within axe-throwing range he stopped and turned to old Father Crowe. ‘If you happen to see my sister, please tell her... that I tried, but I’m not our father.’

  ‘Don’t worry about buying time, lad... don’t worry about your hall, your followers or even Fjorlan... just kill him,’ responded the old priest. Emotion showed in his eyes for perhaps the first time since Alahan had arrived in Tiergarten.

  The young warrior tried to smile, but the expression got lost around his eyes. Instead, he turned to Kalag and stepped forward. The lordling of Jarvik was carrying a well-used battleaxe and he held it skilfully, showing he was an experienced fighter.

  ‘Your father was a treacherous troll cunt,’ said Alahan, spitting on the snowy ground. ‘He killed my father and now I’m going to kill you.’

  Kalag advanced until the two men were face to face. The lordling had an army at his back and Alahan had the city at his. Both knew that the duel meant more than just life or death.

  ‘That axe got a name?’ asked Kalag, gesturing to Alahan’s weapon.

  ‘Not yet,’ was the growled response.

  ‘Not ever,’ retorted the lordling, launching an overhead strike at Alahan’s head.

  The blow was easily avoided, but Kalag followed up with a series of wide, arcing attacks, trying to finish him quickly. He grunted with exertion at each attack and Alahan had to give ground backwards to avoid being split in two.

  Kalag was strong and each attack would be sufficient to kill if it struck home. He tested Alahan’s defence, continuing the series of powerful downward swings of his axe. The young thain didn’t parry or raise his weapon at first, preferring to stay out of reach and look for an opening. When no obvious line of attack appeared, Alahan decided to test Kalag’s speed instead.

  He spun round, avoiding a thrust and tensing his arms for a horizontal swing. Alahan’s axe split several links of Kalag’s chain mail and caused the man of Ursa to back off, but no blood was visible.

  ‘You’re quick, boy,’ said Kalag, surveying the slight damage to his armour.

  Alahan growled at the insult and attacked again. He took a leaping stride to the left and swung his axe in a controlled arc at Kalag’s mid-section. The lordling parried and jumped back, only to be met with another axe swing. Alahan didn’t let up and pressed on with the attack. Kalag roared with frustration as his opponent darted from side to side, relying on his superior speed.

  Alahan tuned out their surroundings, keeping his breathing even and preserving his energy as he began to realize that he was the superior fighter. Kalag was well trained and strong, but he was not used to fighting a man who wasn’t scared of him.

  ‘I’ll eat your fucking entrails,’ spat Kalag, overextending his arm in an upward swing.

  Alahan avoided the attack and sent a powerful kick against the haft of Kalag’s axe, unbalancing the lordling. A second kick to his chest, and the man of Ursa had lost his footing and fallen backwards, albeit with a firm grip on his weapon. Alahan pounced, driving his knee into Kalag’s stomach and pressing his axe haft across the man’s throat. His opponent raised his own weapon and the two men engaged in a desperate wrestling match as Alahan fought to break his opponent’s neck. The two axe handles made a dull, hollow sound as they grated against each other. Kalag gritted his teeth with exertion, while Alahan used his extra leverage to press down with all his body weight.

  They locked eyes. The lords of Jarvik were all cursed with bright green pupils – a punishment for a past act of dishonour – and Alahan thought he detected fear behind the anger in the pools of shimmering green. Kalag’s arms were beginning to shake and his resistance to falter. Alahan flexed his shoulders and, with a sudden knee to his opponent’s groin, the high thain of Fjorlan drove his axe haft into Kalag’s throat.

  The lordling’s eyes widened and he lost his grip on his axe. His hands flailed around Alahan’s shoulders, trying to squirm free, but the strength quickly left his body as the young warrior on top of him began to crush his neck.

  ‘Alahan!’ shouted Father Crowe in warning, just as a burning pain erupted in the young thain’s side.

  He released
the pressure on Kalag’s neck and looked down to see where a throwing-axe had struck him, causing an ugly wound and a gush of blood. His strength waned and his head swam, though he saw Brindon Crowe dart forward to crouch protectively over him.

  ‘Dishonourable bastards,’ shouted the priest at the man of Ursa who had thrown the axe.

  Kalag tried to sit upright and say something, but the wound to his neck wouldn’t allow the words to form. Alahan fell forward on to the snow and saw the lordling of Ursa turn red as he struggled to speak through his crushed windpipe.

  Father Grey Claw raised his hammer. ‘Kill them both,’ he ordered.

  The battle-brothers of Ursa hefted their weapons and Alahan smiled thinly, realizing he was about to die.

  ‘Tricken,’ shouted Crowe towards Tiergarten, and half a dozen ballistae filled the air with their massive projectiles. Ice Fang had sighted his weapons well and the bolts thudded into the massed army on either side of the two men.

  Then the keening started, coming from all directions at once. Alahan’s vision was growing cloudy. All he could make out was the tall figure of Brindon Crowe, crouching over him, but the panicked faces of the men of Ursa were indistinct as they looked around, trying to see where the low, rumbling sound was coming from.

  ‘Kill them,’ spluttered Kalag, clutching his neck in pain.

  More keening, louder and angrier, and Alahan cried out, turning to look towards the northern ice fields of Summer Wolf. He blinked rapidly, trying to shut out the pain in his side and focus on the shimmering figures that were emerging from the snowy glare. The battle-brothers of Ursa had backed off and no words of Father Grey Claw or Kalag could make them move.

  A loud, hollow bell sounded from Tiergarten.

  ‘Ice Men... from the north,’ screamed a man of Ursa.

  Dotted across the northern landscape, a dozen distinctive shapes loped forward. Alahan smiled, barely able to move, but he could make out the lumbering figure of Timon the Butcher across the plain.