‘My lads did. We had no contact from Gerulf or Birgir all day yesterday, Ruric and I were concerned. I sent out a couple of lads after you had passed out yesterday evening, hoping to catch them up and discover what they knew. They only got as far as here.’
‘So we still know nothing of Gerulf or Birgir?’
‘No. But if this is anything to go by, we won’t be hearing from them anytime soon, if at all.’
I sank to my knees and sobbed silently. I did not cry for the four dead men at my feet, for if I am being honest I didn’t even know their names. They may have had family eagerly awaiting their return at some small village or other, and that wait it seemed, would last until the end of days. I cried for Gerulf, my loyal captain that I had sent to his death, and Birgir, the scout that seemed would be forever young. How could I have doubted his loyalty, after all he had done for me. I thought back to the fight for Ulpia Noviomagus; his reckless charge and clumsy kill once we had snuck over the walls that had almost got us both slaughtered before we could open the gate and let the Ravensworn in.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and breathed deep, despite the stench from the bodies. ‘Bury them,’ I said to the two Harii warriors. They turned to Ketill for confirmation, who nodded his assent. That small gesture left me feeling lonely. I commanded the greatest war band in all of Germania – well, what was left of it – and here I was, entirely reliant on my old comrade. As I rose to my feet a thought struck me, and I realised it had been lurking at the back of my mind since I had first sighted the bodies. I looked around at the ground, it was dry and dusty, as one would expect at the latter stages of a summer as fierce as that one had been.
‘What is it?’ Ketill asked, trying to follow my eyes.
‘You two, when did you discover the bodies?’
One of the two men looked up, he was young, a shot of dark hair above a pale face. Again he looked to Ketill, who once more nodded. ‘Just before sundown, lord.’
‘Anyone else been here?’
‘No,’ Ketill answered this time. ‘I would not let anyone else near this place until you had seen it. The only people that know of this are us four and Ruric.’
I nodded, a frown set on my face. ‘What is it?’ Ketill said with urgency this time.
I looked once more at the light coloured mud, dry as old timber and dustier than a Roman prison cell. ‘There is no sign of a struggle,’ I said in a quiet voice. ‘Surely these men would have fought. Gerulf certainly would have! Where is the blood on the ground? The odd link of broken mail? Where are the enemy dead for that matter?’
There was a period of silence as each man considered the question. ‘Ketill?’ I asked as I studied him.
‘Leave us,’ Ketill said to his two men, who immediately backed away out of earshot. ‘You are right,’ he said once we were alone, ‘something isn’t right here. I am angry with myself for not noticing.’ He slapped his hand against his thigh and growled. ‘What do you think?’ he asked me.
‘They were not killed here,’ I said. I pointed further up the track, deeper into the break in the trees. The sunlight was stronger there, waves of heat broke the air as it rose from the baking mud. ‘Look there, there are faint lines in the mud, running directly before us.’
‘Or towards us,’ Ketill said as he crouched and ran his eye down the path. ‘Fenrir’s fucking fangs, these poor men were dragged here!’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think they were hanged, their genitals removed; their guts sliced open as they were slowly strangled, but it was not here, brother.’
‘If not here, then…’ Ketill left the question open. When I looked at him his eyes were wide and I thought I saw a rare speck of fear cross his face.
‘That, old friend, is what we need to find out.’
THIRTY-FIVE
I abstained from wine for the days after the discovery of the bodies. Even the pain of my missing teeth and the wound below my nose seemed to lessen, such was my desire for justice. I rode out in front of the main column at dawn every day and did not return till after dark. We found nothing. Not just no sign of Warin and Dagr, but no signs of life at all. Village after village had been burnt out and all the livestock had been driven from the land. All that was left was smoke and the dead. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. Why would Dagr go to such lengths? I understood the desire to take from the land, for the more livestock he gathered, the less food there was for my men to forage as they marched in his wake. Though, to be fair we ate well and wanted for nothing. Ruric had emptied the stores at Viritium before we left and there was always a grain barn or two hiding just off the beaten track for us to relieve of its precious contents. Ruric insisted we pay our way with silver taken from one of my great chests, and I did not object when he suggested it, for it seemed we had enough enemies without leaving new ones at our rear.
I was blinded by my fury, a burning desire to see Dagr and his cowardly son strung up at the end of a noose. They would die slowly, I vowed, and I would look them in the eye as they breathed their last. The last thing they would see on this earth was my face, I vowed it to all the gods. Ketill and his men rode with me; we both agreed it would be best to separate them as much as possible from the Ravensworn, for I did not want it to become common knowledge that our scouts had been taken and we were marching blind.
On the sixth day of my fury driven and frantic ride, I found Ketill waiting for me atop a small ridge in the road. He had with him twenty men, all armoured and armed to the teeth. ‘Found something,’ was all he said as I approached. ‘Let’s go.’
Emmerich Fridumarson, chief of Ketill’s guard and one of the most fearsome men I had ever encountered, was the man who led us into thick woodland. Giant trunks of pine, oak and ash rose above us, shadowing us from the merciless sun. Ketill’s men were silent. Even when Emmerich asked us to tether our horses at the edge of the woods, he spoke in nothing but a whisper. I crunched and snapped my way through the thick undergrowth, much to the disgust of Ketill, who tutted every time my boots hit the ground. ‘How do you do it?’ I asked him as we slithered between the trees. It as a genuine question; that was not the first time I had witnessed the warriors of the Harii in what they would consider their natural habitat. They trod lighter than field mice and left a smaller trail than a lonely worm. ‘We just watch where we are putting our feet,’ he said with an annoyingly straight face. For what seemed like half a day or more we crept and stopped, ran and crawled. The forest seemed all but deserted save from the odd bird call. I grew tired quickly, making me more and more frustrated. ‘Can someone please tell me where the fuck we are going?’ I snapped. ‘Feels as though we are going to pay Vidar a visit!’
Vidar was the god of the forest, and more importantly to me: the god of vengeance. It seemed appropriate that we were going to seek our revenge in his domain, presuming, that was where we were going, of course. Right then I was I think the only one in our party that had no idea of our destination.
Emmerich signalled the halt and scurried down our line until he was beside me. ‘Lord Alaric,’ he said in a flat tone, ‘you are a great warrior and a leader of men, of that there is no doubt.’
‘Thank you, Emmerich,’ I said in the most sarcastic voice I could.
‘But we have left your world, out there in the sunlight. In here, under the canopy of these trees, this is my world. And in my world, you do as your told. Understood?’
I considered him for a moment. His heavily muscled torso covered in dark blue tattoos and thick arm rings. He had a sword perhaps near equal to mine in length at his waist, though it looked like a toy against his massive leg. His face was a patchwork of thin white scars, he wore no beard to disguise them and had his hair cut short more like a Roman than a German. His eyes were flat, seemingly void of the spark of life. If I fought him in single combat he would kill me within three heartbeats, he knew it, I knew it. I decided it was probably best not to piss him off any more than I already had. ‘Understood.’ I said. ‘But, if you could be so kind, Em
merich, feared warrior of the Hari, would you please tell me where we are headed? And why you have made me crawl through mile upon mile of woodland inhabited by no more than the odd field mouse?’
Emmerich sighed, but did not strike me, which I took as a small victory. ‘We are headed to a sacred grove, used long ago by our tribe. Now, we are unsure as to who festers there or what god it is they worship. But, we believe this is where your men were killed.’
I gawped. ‘You think my men were killed all the way in here? Then dragged all that way back west?’ It was impossible, folly I was sure. Six days I had ridden like a madman; there was no stone in all of Germania I had left unturned in my search for Gerulf and the rest of my men.
‘Yes,’ Emmerich said, still looking at me with those dead eyes.
‘But there would be signs surely? Tracks left on the ground, devastation left amongst the trees?’ I was going to go on and say that even I could have tracked that, but I did not, as deep down I knew I probably couldn’t.
‘There has been plenty of what you describe, Alaric. We have been following their trail since we left the road.’
‘Oh,’ I said as my cheeks coloured. ‘Well… lead on then, Emmerich.’
For another hour we crept. We left the sun behind, walking deeper into the dark abyss. After a time, I began to hear noises, faint at first, nothing more than a whisper on the breeze. They grew stronger, more distinct, until I could make out the gentle sounds of chanting. I began to feel something in the air around me, something that could not be grasped: something not from this world. We walked into a wall of mist, the rays of the sun behind us now. A cold chill ran down my spine, one so sudden and violent I visibly flinched, much to the horror of the man behind me. I was not the only one in our company to feel as such. Ketill’s men coughed nervously and one or two cast anxious glances back the way we had come.
I hurried through the men thronging together until I was next to Ketill and Emmerich. Both men stood as still as stone as they squinted through the mist that shrouded us. ‘What sort of Loki magic is this?’ I hissed.
Emmerich said nothing, Ketill shrugged and said: ‘I do not think this is magic brother, listen.’
I closed my eyes and focused on my hearing. I heard nothing apart from the rhythmic chanting at first but after a while, I heard what Ketill did. ‘Water?’
‘Hmm,’ Ketill said with a nod. There was the faint but unmistakable sound of bubbling water. Now my ears were attuned I heard it trickle and the odd splash where its current was disturbed.
‘A hot spring,’ I said, my courage taking a boost. This was no witchcraft or magic causing the dense mist – there appeared to be a natural source of hot water ahead of us.
‘How many men do you think are down there?’ Ketill asked. He looked back at his own men, silently weighing up his options.
‘One way to find out,’ I said as I silently tugged my sword free of its scabbard. ‘Gerulf and Birgir could be there, we have to help them.’
Even as I finished speaking the chanting rose to a rounding crescendo, quickly followed by a piercing, high pitched scream of a man clearly in agony. ‘That’s it, we go now!’ I bellowed at the top of my voice, heedless of giving away the advantage of surprise.
I raised my blade before me and charged through the mist; I could see no more than two paces in front of my face, my boots were nothing more than a deeper shade of black when I looked down. I had no idea what type of ground I ran over, it could have been formed of the very wool used to spin my fate, though it felt more like Fenrir’s fur. I had no notion of whether Ketill had unleashed his hounds behind me, or whether I was charging alone: I didn’t care. My men were in there, or so I thought, I was going to get them out.
I ran and ran, charging all the way. It was disorientating, as with every step I expected to meet a crowd of cloaked priests or a huddle of armed men in mail. I met neither, no one. I just kept running until my lungs hurt and I could no longer hold my sword above my head. I stopped, panting, looking around me dumbfounded. Where was I? Was it really just mist formed from a hot spring, or had I passed into another world? It was only then I heard it; the distinct clang of iron on iron and screams from men, the kind they only make when they have taken a fatal wound.
I swivelled on the spot, trying desperately to gauge where the cacophony of battle was coming from. I had no idea of the direction I had come from nor what lay around me. Two steps to my left could have been the trunk of a giant tree; two steps to my right could have been my death. I swivelled again, slower this time. That was when I saw it, a flash of scarlet in the world of white and grey. It was so brief I was not sure if I had really seen it. I paused, unsure if I should trust my own instincts, disorientated as I was. But then as I watched a shadow of a man fell to the ground, another black figure on top loomed above him and ran him through with a spear. There was no doubting it now. I sucked in a deep breath, adjusted the grip on the black leather pommel of my sword, and charged.
THIRTY-SIX
I vaulted the body, blood still oozing from a deep wound in his chest. As I leapt above him I noticed he was both young and pale, he wore an off white robe spattered with gore. As I moved towards the clamour of battle the mist seemed to thin and all around me was carnage and death. Ketill was battling two strong looking men, both with spears. As I watched he thrust aside a spear thrust from the first man and ran him through with his sword. With his blade still embedded in the first man’s chest he caught the second man’s spear with his free hand and pulled his sword free, cleaving the second man’s head clean off with a backhand blow. He showed me his teeth as I passed him, the blood lust fully upon him. ‘Thought you had left us to it, Alaric!’ he said with a snarl.
‘Just giving you a head start, brother, that’s all!’ A man clad in just tunic and woollen trousers came at me with an axe, he hacked clumsily at my right shoulder. I parried the blow with ease and swiped my sword in a savage arc deep into his thigh. Another man jumped on my back and knocked me to the ground. My head hit a rock with such force I rebounded right off it, and with my ears still ringing I grabbed my assailant around his waist as he tried to rise. I had lost my sword in the fall but my right hand found a dagger in a sheath at the man’s belt. I yanked it free and jabbed hard into the man’s chest, feeling it grate on his ribs as the blade plunged into his lung. I left it in there as I recovered my sword and got to my feet.
I staggered for a couple of paces; men streamed past me in all directions, friend or foe I had no idea. I had lost sight of Ketill and could not make out anyone else I recognised as I stumbled deeper into the fray. ‘You there!’ A man bellowed behind me, as I turned I saw two men coming for me, one armed with a spear the other with a longsword. ‘Come and die, you traitorous cur,’ the man armed with the spear growled. It was he who had spoken before, and as he approached I squinted through the mist, trying to work out if I could place his grizzled features. He wore a dark riding cloak, although I could see the gleam of mail underneath. His hood was up, masking his eyes, but I could make out a shaggy grey beard and a toothless mouth. He walked with a stoop, he was slight of build and a fine looking bone hilted knife stuck out from the top of his left boot. His companion was younger, tall and blonde. He had no beard and even through the mist I could make out his piercing blue eyes. For a heartbeat they stopped me in my tracks, for the resemblance to Ishild was so obvious it almost stopped my heart.
Did she have a son? Gods, did I perhaps have another sibling I had all but forgotten? My mouth was slack, my eyes glazed as I stared at the young warrior. He raised his sword uncertainly, as if this was the first time he had bared it in anger. Judging by his age, it could well have been. The old man circled to my left and gestured for blue eyes to go right. I shook my head clear of Ishild’s image and concentrated on the older man. Blue eyes was no swordsman, that much was clear from the way he held the blade. The older man knew his business though, and as he circled he dropped to a crouch with the spear point held towards my chest. I tri
ed a feint, stepping in with my blade out to my right and letting it swing with a yell. The spearman didn’t move an inch. He had been trained to fight the way I had it seemed, or his eyes never left mine.
Most men give some sort of warning when they are about to attack. Their eyes will lock on their intended target or their bodies will flinch of shift slightly. There was no hint of either of these before the spear point licked out quicker than my eye could follow and hit me square in the chest. It was a magnificent thrust, one that my assailant would have expected to have pierced my mail and sent me packing to the Allfather’s hall. To be honest, as I looked down in panic and saw it pass my guard I prepared myself for that very end. But I did not die.
The leaf shaped blade struck my chest, but instead of penetrating through my mail and cleaving my sternum in two, it struck something solid and rebounded off me with an almighty clang. We both paused, the greybeard and I, and studied my chest. The golden torc, the one I had taken from Wulfric, the cowardly chief of the Fenni, vibrated at the end of its chain. I held it with my left hand and lifted it to my face. If ever there was a sign that I was blessed by the gods, that was it. Wotan himself had saved me from certain death, and by the looks of it lost his remaining eye in the process. There was a small, rounded dent in the precious metal, right where the Allfather’s remaining eye had been. I kissed it, and let it fall gently back into place. ‘That was the Allfather himself you just struck,’ I said to the spearman, holding my sword towards him. ‘You have just made a grave mistake.’
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