Slaves to Darkness 02 (The Blades of Chaos)

by Warhammer

  'Thank you.' said Kurt, retrieving his drinking horn and lifting it in appreciation.

  'Who said he was talking about you?' said Narthur with a grin. His face grew serious. 'You have no ship, but I would be honoured if Kurt Sutenvulf of the Fjaergard would travel on my kingship when we leave tomorrow.'

  'I accept your offer and swear that you will never need fear the enemy while I and my best warriors are with you.' said Kurt.

  'You look confident.' said Undar, 'but it is many years, a generation or more, since anyone here has seen the like of this enemy. They have ships and soldiers that are more than a match for any single tribe, and they sail with a purpose.'

  'These are men of my old homeland.' said Kurt. 'They have little stomach for fighting. In truth, it is probably no more than a display of strength by one of the nobles, to show his rivals the power he wields. The Empire is no threat. It is a divided land, with its leaders at each other's throats, and their armies spilling the blood of their countrymen in meaningless feuds. Their division is their weakness, and the time is ripe for us to reap the harvest.'

  'What will you do?' asked Undar.

  'We will crush these impetuous sailors and soldiers and scatter their bodies on the water as a tribute to the gods.' said Kurt, raising his ale to the skies in a toast to the powers of the north. 'We will leave a few alive and take them back to their gods-forsaken homes to show that they do not have the strength to face the Norse.'

  'I like this plan!' said Jolnir. 'And then what, Sutenvulf?'

  'And then back to the Lands of the Dead.' said Kurt. 'There will be a freigattur the like of which our great-grandchildren will sing songs about, and we will sail south and the oceans themselves will be terrified of our fleet. If the dead kings rise from their tombs, we will slay them. Their legions may march forth but we will destroy them. All the wealth of Nehekhara will be ours for the taking! What of the Empire then? Their stone castles will be hovels next to the glorious golden palaces of Norsca. Their cannons and muskets will be as bee stings compared to the carnage our shamans can wreak after we have heaped the altars of the gods with the treasures of our conquests!'

  'You think this could come to pass?' asked Undar, eyes glittering.

  'I promise it!' said Kurt.

  'Then let us celebrate the will of the gods tonight, and the saga of the sheep who learned to howl,' said Narthur, gesturing with a wave of his arm to the army camped outside Slangothold. 'Tomorrow we set sail, heralds of the age of gold!'

  The champions clashed their drinking horns together and drank deeply in honour of the gods and their coming victory.

  The next morning, just after dawn, Kurt woke with a sore head. His sour disposition soon lightened as he realised that within days, he would be back in Fjaergard, where his son and wife were waiting for him. He savoured the thought.

  He also relished the prospect of his triumphant return, the look on the faces of those who had not followed him. The doubters would regret their misgivings, as he and his warband returned in glory, with riches beyond anything the Fjaergard had ever seen before.

  He would give half the gold to Hrolfgar, he decided, as reward for the chieftain's faith in him. The winter would be spent in celebration and preparation, and next summer, the season of raiding, his next great endeavour would begin.

  All-in-all, Kurt had many reasons to be cheerful.

  There was, however, one other matter he had to attend to. Leaving the Fjaergard camp, he entered Slangothold through its massive wooden gates and made his way to the long hall at the centre of the town. Narthur's closest warriors, his own warband, lounged on the steps that led up to the large building, blurry-eyed and aching from the previous night's festivities. They eyed Kurt suspiciously. A few of them drew their weapons, but they let him pass.

  Inside, the long hall was dark, the light from the doors stretching only a few yards into the dim interior. Loud snoring could be heard from the far end of the hall and Kurt picked his way toward the sound past the barrels, sleeping forms and rows of round tables. The air was thick with pungent smoke, which made Kurt's head spin as he breathed it.

  In the dim light that came from the embers of the firepit, Kurt could see Narthur lying draped over his high chair, four naked women clustered around him. His chest rose and fell with each heavy snore, causing the chains piercing his flesh to rattle heavily. One of the women turned over and moaned lightly in her sleep, stroking a chain that had fallen across her legs.

  Narthur opened one eye and peered sleepily at Kurt.

  'I see your tributes to Slearg were great last night,' said Kurt, looking at the women. Narthur grinned, opened both eyes and pushed himself upright, toppling the wenches to the floor. They writhed dreamily in the straw, smiling in their sleep.

  'Slaneir was bountiful with his gifts, yes,' said Narthur, standing up. He stepped past Kurt to where a barrel was placed next to one of the tables. He ducked his head inside and then brought it up, spraying red liquid across the floor. Kurt smelt the distinctive scent of wine.

  'There is nowhere in Norsca you could grow grapes.' Kurt said, stepping forward and cupping his hand into the wine. He drank it, savouring the deep, rich taste. It had been a long while since he had tasted wine, and two years of drinking the strong, sour ale of the Norse. He enjoyed again the blend of tastes and fragrances.

  'Yes, the horsemen were very kind with their gifts.' said Narthur. He ducked his head back into the wine barrel and took another draught. 'I find it very refreshing in the morning.'

  'You raided Bretonnia?' said Kurt. Narthur frowned, not understanding the word. 'The lands south of the Empire, with knights who wear great crests upon their helms and horses draped in coloured livery.'

  'Yes, I went far south this summer.' said Narthur. 'I thought it would make a change from the coastal villages of the Empire.'

  'I have never been there.' said Kurt. 'Perhaps next year when we return from Araby.'

  Narthur smiled.

  'We should prepare to leave.' said the champion of the Slangot. 'The tide will be turning soon.'

  Narthur looked at Kurt and then slapped his forehead in realisation.

  'Of course.' Narthur said. 'There is something you have to do first. I'll have him brought to the beach, and I will see you there.'

  'Thank you.' said Kurt, turning and walking back along the hall. Narthur called out to him as he reached the doors.

  'What are you planning to do with him?' asked Narthur.

  Kurt laughed and turned back to face the champion.

  'I'm going to follow his own advice.' he said. 'You'll see for yourself later, I think you'll enjoy it.'

  Kurt stood on the beach with Bjordrin, Gird, Narthur and Undar. The others had boarded the ships and were beginning to row out along the fjord. In front of them, hands bound behind his back, his face blackened and bruised, lay Gerin. The traitor stared up at Kurt with hateful eyes then turned his head and spat at Gird.

  'You betray your people to this southern scum!' said Gerin. He tried to stand up, but a kick from Narthur sent him reeling back to the ground.

  'You betrayed us.' said Gird. 'Gafnir should have never listened to you. It was you who told him to demand the gold that set us against the Fjaergard in the first place.'

  'It was our right!' said Gerin. 'You cannot deny that.'

  'And it is the Sutenvulfs right, by his conquest of us, to be our lord.' said Gird. 'He killed Gafnir fairly, and slaughtered more than thirty of our warriors. What did you expect him to do? Forgive us for our insolence?'

  'It was you who spoke of killing him as we marched.' said Gerin, and Gird nodded and shrugged.

  'Yes I did.' said Gird. 'But not after we became blood brothers, not after he became our kin and we shared in his glory.'

  'He bought you off.' said Gerin. 'I did not think the loyalty of the Sneirkin could be bought.'

  'At first my loyalty was bought, I admit that.' said Gird, crouching down beside his brother. 'But I have realised that he is the leader I
wish Gafnir could have been. I am proud to be the companion of the Sutenvulf, and one of his favoured Fjaergard. He has earned his tribe much honour, and I will earn honour and glory with him in the future.'

  Gerin did not reply, and turned his head away. Gird stood and looked at Kurt.

  'What is your wish?' said Gird.

  'He is your brother, your blood shares his shame.' said Jakob, stepping forward with a sour glance at Kurt. 'As blood brothers of Kurt, his blood now also shares your dishonour for the cowardly attack on him. Your words are pleasing to our Chosen, but the shame must be absolved by the letting of that blood.'

  Gird looked fearful, and turned and looked at Bjordrin in appeal.

  'I understand that my family has brought this shame upon us all, but the crime was not mine.' said Gird. 'I wish to serve with the Fjaergard, not to die for the Sneirkin.'

  'It is not the letting of your blood that I want.' said Kurt, looking down at Gerin with a savage grin.

  The salty wind was strong as the kingship sliced through the waves out of the mouth of the fjord and into the Sea of Claws. Kurt stood at the prow of the ship, as he had become accustomed to doing on his long voyage south and back, and gazed out at the horizon towards the rising sun. Three days, perhaps four days, away lay Fjaergardhold. He turned and smiled at Gird, who was stood a little behind him.

  Gird was spattered with blood across his face, chest and arms, and it dripped down onto the deck of the ship. His hair was matted with gore. He had a long pole braced against his foot, resting against his shoulder, with a crosstree tied at the top with thick iron chain. The bloodied skeleton of Gerin, torn flesh and ragged skin still hanging in tatters from the bones, was tied to the banner pole with knotted straps, his face still wearing the same look of agony and terror that it had when he had died. In the ravaged eye sockets, two fist-sized rubies glittered, taken from the haul of Nehekharan treasure.

  Kurt thought it a magnificent banner, and was sure that Gird would be proud to carry it for him in battle.

  For three days they sailed eastwards, with no sign of the Imperial ships. On the morning of the fifth day they were joined by two more longships, crewed by the Thurskins. They told Kurt and the other Chosen that they had seen the enemy fleet two days before, also heading eastwards. Bjordrin guessed that they were heading to the Kislev port of Erengrad at the far eastern tip of the Sea of Claws.

  It was decided that they would call in to Fjaergardhold, for Kurt and Bjordrin to speak with Hrolfgar and gather the rest of the tribe's warriors. Kurt was pleased: by dawn the next day he would be home after his long journey. He could offload his hoard of treasure, see Heldred and Anyata and then lead the other warriors in the pursuit of the Imperial force.

  He spent the rest of the day pacing nervously back and forth across the deck of the kingship. Narthur left him alone, but just after midday, Jakob interrupted his excited contemplation.

  'There is something you must think about.' Jakob said, gesturing for Kurt to follow him to the side of the ship, out of earshot of any of the other Fjaergard.

  'What is it?' asked Kurt. 'You look worried.'

  'What is different about you and the other champions of the gods who sail with us?' said Jakob.

  'There are lots of differences.' said Kurt.

  'But there is one thing they all have in common that you do not.' said Jakob. 'They are all chieftains of their tribes.'

  'Are you suggesting that I usurp Hrolfgar?' said Kurt with a frown. 'It feels like betrayal to me.'

  'It is not betrayal.' said Jakob, leaning over the side of the ship and spitting into the foaming waves below. 'Your sense of loyalty is still that of the Empire.'

  'Hrolfgar is chieftain of the Fjaergard.' said Kurt. 'I am the Chosen, sent by the gods to protect him as much as the other members of the tribe.'

  'And when we arrive tomorrow, what do you expect to find?' said Jakob. 'A cheering welcome?'

  'What do you mean?' said Kurt, grabbing Jakob by the shoulder and turning him so that he could look the shaman straight in the eye. 'What are you implying?'

  'You saw how uncertain, how timid Hrolfgar was before we left.' said Jakob. He nodded towards Bjordrin, who was sitting with his back to the mast playing dice with some of Narthur's followers. 'It was his brother who helped him keep his hold on power. If it hadn't been for their greater dislike of you, the Fjaergard would have ousted Hrolfgar rather than challenge you.'

  'You think he sent me on this raid to get me out of the way for a while, to allow him to tighten his grip on power?' said Kurt.

  Jakob laughed, a short barking noise.

  'He sent you away Kurt, so that you would not come back,' said Jakob. 'He will not be pleased to see you when you return. He will be more displeased to see you return with wealth and glory, with the warriors of a conquered tribe at your command, and the ships of a freigattur behind you.'

  Jakob's words troubled Kurt. He knew that the shaman was only telling him this because he had some agenda of his own to fulfil, but Jakob's reasoning made worrying sense.

  'Do you think he will have harmed Anyata or Heldred?' Kurt said, his fingers digging into Jakob's shoulder until the shaman winced and tore himself away.

  'It is not the way of the Norse,' said Jakob. 'Not while you are not there to protect them. Hrolfgar will see that he cannot challenge you openly. You are chosen, he cannot defeat you in combat, and you have more blades under you than he has. No, he will fear for his position, and will doubly fear for it because he knows that those who remained in Fjaergardhold, those he thinks he can trust, will be impressed by your achievements.'

  'So how can I assure him I am no threat?' said Kurt. 'Why are you telling me this?'

  'I am telling you this because without you, I will not survive long,' said Jakob, turning away. 'I led you to them, but only while you still remain will they tolerate my presence.'

  'But you are a shaman,' said Kurt. 'You have powers they can use.'

  'Use? Yes,' said Jakob. 'But perhaps not of my free will. I am not a powerful shaman, I cannot make prophecies or speak in the tongue of the gods. I channel the breath of the gods, I can bid their minor servants to enact my will. It is not much, and certainly not enough for a bastard half-Norse in a tribe that he was not born into.'

  'So you fear for yourself,' said Kurt with a sneer. 'That is nothing new. What has that got to do with Hrolfgar and me?'

  'He will try to turn you, try to make you his slave,' said Jakob.

  'And how do you think he'll try to do that?' said Kurt. He saw Bjordrin stand up, laughing with the Norse he had been dicing with, and start towards them. Kurt stepped forward and waved to Bjordrin.

  'I don't trust Narthur's man,' Kurt said to him. 'Check that we are on course and heading for Fjaergard.'

  Bjordrin nodded and turned back up the ship and walked away. Kurt rounded on Jakob.

  'What is it you are trying to get me to do?' said Kurt. 'And tell me plainly why I should.'

  'Hrolfgar will expect a challenge from you,' said Jakob. 'Do it. Be strong, become chieftain of the Fjaergard. If you do not, you will seem weak to the others. That is loyalty in Norsca. The strongest lead, the weaker follow. It is the best way, and they all know it.'

  'I am the strongest, that's true,' said Kurt with a disconsolate shake of his head. 'Perhaps you are right, perhaps it is time that I took my place at the head of the table rather than at Hrolfgar's left hand. But what of Bjordrin? He has been my ally for these past months.'

  Jakob simply pointed to Kurt's ragged banner stowed amongst the treasure, and Gird who was sat next to it.

  'Even brothers will follow a strong leader.' said Jakob.

  That night, Kurt could not sleep. His skin itched with impatience, and he stood on deck looking at the stars. He longed to be back with his family and time could not pass quickly enough for that. However, Jakob's warning and advice unsettled him, and he pondered a possible confrontation with Hrolfgar.

  As the moons rose and set, he made a decis
ion. He would challenge Hrolfgar the moment he returned. If Hrolfgar wished to fight, Kurt would slay him. If he wished to remain, Kurt would hear his pledge of loyalty, and if he, or any others, wished to leave, he would give them supplies and wish them the fortune of the gods.

  Feeling happier about himself having made the decision, Kurt went once more to the prow of the ship and stood there, waiting for dawn to arrive so that he might see the familiar sight of Fjaergardhold.

  The first rays of the sun did not bring Kurt a welcome sight. He could see the headlands that marked the entrance to the Fjaergardfjord, and above them a haze of smoke drifted. He could smell burned wood on the breeze as they rounded the headland, Narthur's warriors at the oars to bring them into the deep valley.

  There, at the beach, Fjaergard lay in ruins.

  The burned out shells of the longships sat on the rocky shore, the torched huts of the village reduced to ashes and rubble. The palisade was torn asunder and shattered in places and the gates hung off their hinges.

  A great murmuring of dismay rose up from the Fjaergard who stood behind him, also hoping to see their home. Kurt was stunned. As he stared at the devastation, his mind went blank. Then a single thought ran through his mind.

  Heldred and Anyata.

  He turned and roared at the Slangots to row faster, bellowing his rage at them. Shock and horror was written across the face of Narthur, who stood next to the mast, looking dumbly up the fjord.

  For Kurt, they could not land soon enough, and as soon as the keel began to scrape the ground, he leaped over the side and splashed through the water up the shore. He called out Anyata's name and a few figures emerged from the smoking ruins, faces blackened with soot, streaked with tears. He recognised Anyata's mother, Getha, and raced across the blackened ground and piles of charred wood and ash towards her.

  'Getha!' he said. 'Getha! Where's my son?'

  She looked up at Kurt, her face set, her gaze hard. Then she slapped him hard across the face, making his cheek sting. She drew her hand back for another blow, but Kurt grabbed her wrist and hauled her from her feet.

  'Where's my son!' he said. 'Where's Heldred?'