Some of the unseen boatmen had jumped into the water and could be heard pushing the vessel off the stony beach. The keel shuddered and then they were free. The men hauled themselves aboard again and the oars settled into a rhythm. The Thegns looked out across the dark loch. The mountains were invisible on this cloud-blackened night and the water too was almost impossible to see when nothing reflected on its surface. They could have been flying across space and the completeness of the dark made it seem to their exhausted brains that they were indeed crossing to Hades.
There were new lights coming from the far shore. At first they were just a smear of yellow across the horizon, but as the longship continued on its silent journey, they broke into a myriad of separate flaming torches and braziers, dozens of them, even hundreds. The shoreline came closer and they could see banners raised into the night. There were figures now too. Lines of them. Waiting and wordless. Light danced on shields and gleamed from mail.
Sveinn’s voice growled from behind. ‘Behold! My Horde.’
The boat approached the shore and the oars which had been dipping in unison, ceased as one and were raised. The keel rumbled across pebbles and juddered to a halt and the oarsmen again jumped over the side and secured it. Sveinn rose and walked imperiously up the length of the boat and the Thegns parted for him. With practised ease, he vaulted over the side and strode through the water to the shore.
‘I think that’s our cue,’ Brante said and jumped into the water too, followed by the others. The drop was greater than Punnr expected and his knees jarred on impact and almost sent him sprawling into the water in front of the ranks of warriors, but he just steadied himself and joined the others in a little bewildered cluster on the beach.
Sveinn was already in front of the centre ranks and speaking with a beast of a man, a huge bearded warrior, helmeted and carrying an axe and a crimson shield depicting a hammer. Punnr spied Freyja at the head of a troop to their right. She was wreathed in black, with a short silver mail brynjar and a necklace sparkling around her throat. Her hair was untied and the braids flowed over her shoulders. A raven decorated her shield.
Sveinn returned to them and he was accompanied by the warrior. ‘Bjarke, these are my Thegns. And this, my Thegns, is the mighty Bjarke – the bear. Jarl of Hammer Regiment, the Heavy Infantry Shieldmen. The core of the Horde and the heart of our shieldwall in any battle. Bjarke leads the berserkers at the centre of our line.’
The giant harrumphed and barely looked at them. He had a thatch of unkempt blond hair that fell to his shoulders, matched by an equally unruly blond beard. His face in the half-light was creased and bunched into a scowl. His arms were bare except for leather wrist protectors and silver rings around his huge biceps. He wore a studded leather jerkin that dropped to his thighs, leather leggings and boots, and a bearskin tied across his shoulders which hung almost to the ground. An evil-looking dagger was thrust through his belt and he held his axe casually across his shoulder as though it were merely a spade. On the side of his neck, Punnr noticed a tattoo running across his throat until it disappeared under the collar of his jerkin.
Despite the bulk of the man behind him, the High King exuded quiet authority. ‘Now, let me recall. Thegns Ulf and Havaldr, you are assigned to Hammer Regiment. My Valhalla Horde numbers 220 warriors this Nineteenth Season, and the Hammer Regiment accounts for 119 of them, fifteen litters of eight, each commanded by a Hersir to whom you will report.’
‘Asmund.’ Sveinn raised his voice and another warrior approached. He was short, but lean and light on his feet, clean-shaven, young and with long dark hair which was carefully combed. He carried a crimson shield with a lightning flash across it, similar to the one the female Perpetual had been given, and over his shoulder hung a longbow. ‘Thegn Signe, you will go with Asmund. He is Jarl of Storm Regiment, Light Infantry, comprising forty-seven. Four litters of eight in Arrow Company and two litters in Spear Company.’
Signe stepped over to Asmund and Sveinn regarded the remaining four. ‘Now we have the ex-Thralls. The truly new recruits. Those found by the Venarii Parties. You have been much tested today. Thegn Erland, you too will be joining Hammer Regiment under Jarl Bjarke. As for the remaining three of you, I think you are acquainted with your commanders already. Halvar! Freyja! Come forward.’
The two Housecarls approached from opposite ends of the massed ranks.
‘Thegn Calder, I have placed you under Housecarl Freyja in Raven Company House Troop, the elite Squadron of Scouts, numbering sixteen. You will go with her and learn from her in the coming weeks. You will be the Horde’s eyes and ears.’
Calder looked emptily at her two companions, then walked with Freyja back to her troop under a giant raven banner.
‘And finally, Thegns Brante and Punnr. What am I to do with you two?’ Sveinn mused in his low rumble. ‘You will both be joining Wolf Company House Troop, my elite Kill Squads, numbering thirty-two in four litters. Halvar is your captain. I wish to see if you have the mettle to be my assassins. Bjarke and his Shieldmen make all the noise in battle and are unbreakable at my centre, but my Wolf Company wields death in a much more refined manner. Halvar speaks well of you both. Learn from him. Go now.’
Sveinn brushed them away and they followed Halvar’s great cloaked form up the shore. Sveinn stood alone on the beach in front of the combined regiments of the Valhalla Horde. ‘Now my warriors, we feast with Odin!’
As one, the ranks burst into howls and cheers, and the noise rolled out in a great wave across the empty loch.
XXI
On their return to the castle, Sveinn’s Mead Hall had been transformed and Punnr stood spellbound at the entrance, while all two hundred and twenty warriors of the Valhalla Palatinate deposited their weapons outside and pushed their way through the door, laughing and calling and posturing. Gone were the benches and scattered furs and the remains of the simple breakfast that the Thralls had hurried to eat early that morning. The central hearth had been swept clean of ash and a new mighty fire licked up towards the hole in the ceiling.
On either side of this, tables ran seventy foot down the length of the hall ready to seat every member of the Palatinate. But these weren’t oak tables, darkened with age and befitting of the ancient space. They were glass, spotless and sleek. The benches that ran under them were of burnished steel, with cream cushions. Silver cutlery was laid and fine stemmed glasses. Along the centre of each table ran a solid wall of cut glass, dividing each table into two sides, but at a foot high, low enough for the revellers to speak to those opposite, and down the entire length of this glass were fixed candles, more than a hundred on each table, so close they too almost created a second barrier of wax and flame.
But what really took Punnr’s breath away was the lighting. He had believed the hall had no electricity and for the last week they had laboured by burning torchlight to heat food over the fire. Yet now, jets of aqua-blue shot heavenwards from points on the floor near the walls, illuminating the coats-of-arms on the vaulted ceiling. The entire back wall behind the dais was awash with blue rays. The modernity of the glass and the steel and the spotlights should have been jarringly out of place in this medieval hall, but in fact it was wondrous. As Punnr followed his new Wolf Company to their allotted places, he thought the scene summed up everything he understood about the Pantheon. The blood and violence of the ancient world, conjured into this modern age by the unconstrained power of money.
He was seated with his litter of eight, one of the four Kill Squads comprising Wolf Company, and he could see Brante a few places down on the other side of the table with his own litter. Punnr looked further, searching around the hall at the many faces, believing he must at last see the one he had been missing for so long.
He was interrupted by the man next to him. ‘I hear there are seven corpses burning on fires beside the loch.’
‘Is that so?’
‘That’s a violent day’s work for someone so wet behind the ears.’
The other members of th
e litter had ignored Punnr so far, but now they peered at him.
‘If you’re attacked,’ Punnr shrugged, ‘there’s no other option.’
‘So you’re a man who will spill blood just to get a seat at this table.’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘But how do you know we’re worth it?’
‘I don’t, but I’ll have a better idea when I’ve tasted your wine.’
It was a good response and there were muted grins. The man grabbed a flagon from a passing server and filled Punnr’s glass. ‘My name’s Leiv. Hersir of Litter Four, Wolf Regiment.’ He waved an arm at the group around them. ‘It’s my misfortune to be in charge of these bastards.’
‘We are the Wolves!’ smirked a bearded fellow across the glass barricade. Legions of youngsters were serving mead and wine now and the warriors’ voices were becoming oiled into life. ‘Hunt them; trap them; devour them. We are the Wolves!’
There was a chorus of cheers up and down the table and Punnr gulped down his drink. It was good. Expensive. Food arrived and he realised how famished he was. He had endured the whole Sine Missione and the Oath-Taking with only the mid-morning bread he had shared with Gulbrand. Gulbrand, who was now a corpse. His glass was refilled by a boy and he drank again. Platters of duck and venison arrived, steaming potatoes, fried fish, sausages, goat’s cheese and more flatbreads. The troops gorged themselves.
Punnr looked up to the high table on the dais. Sveinn sat on a glass throne, sipping from his wineglass and scanning the length of the room, while Radspakr whispered into his ear. Freyja was seated on his other side, and Halvar, Bjarke and Asmund were the other occupants.
‘The Council of War,’ Leiv said through a mouthful. ‘Those are the five who work with Sveinn and Odin on all strategic decisions for the Palatinate – recruitment, training, deployment, tactics in battle. Our seniors and our betters.’
‘You say that with sarcasm.’
‘Let’s just say they’re a mixed bunch.’
Further down the table, Brante was raising his glass to the men opposite, and on the far table Calder perched stiffly listening to her new Raven Company. Punnr thought she looked flushed and incredibly tired. His eyes moved on, running along the length of both tables, searching again the faces of all the warriors. She must be here. Sveinn had said his entire Horde was present. So why the hell couldn’t he spot her? He leaned forward and looked up and down his own row. A sick dread rolled in his stomach and he forced himself to ignore it.
He tried to change his line of thought and focused back on Leiv. ‘Tell me about the Kill Squads. “Hunt them, trap them, devour them”?’
‘We’re Sveinn’s specialists, the ones he sends to eliminate targets. On a battlefield we wait on the flanks of Bjarke’s shieldwall until a pivotal moment and then we go hunting.’
‘Who are your targets?’
‘Maybe a unit of the foe that’s performing strongly, or an individual trooper if he’s leading the line. We go for the officers or stalk the banner bearers. But mostly it’s the same overriding order. Get to Alexander. Take him, kill him.’
‘Have you ever managed that?’
Leiv eyed him. He was late thirties, tall and beardless. ‘Almost. Last season. We broke behind the Titan line and came in from the flank, sixteen of us. We were hidden in the melee and the foe didn’t notice us. Alexander was there, in the middle behind the line, and for that moment he had only his immediate attendants around him. We could have killed him with a thrown spear, but we were too bloody ambitious and thought he would perish on our swords.’
‘So what happened?’
‘We didn’t reach him. We were maybe thirty feet away when he saw us coming from the flank. In that moment, I don’t think he had an answer. His bodyguard had deserted him and advanced into the battleline. He looked utterly shocked to see us that close. But then Agape and her Sacred Band came from nowhere. They’re the elite Hoplite Light Infantry. A match even for us. They numbered only fifteen last season, but it was enough to blunt our attack and hold us until Alexander’s bodyguard began to return in numbers. We had just seconds before we would be surrounded and massacred, so we had to fight a costly withdrawal.’ He ate a small piece of duck. ‘But we were close that day.’
‘What would have happened if you’d been successful?’
‘To kill the King? That depends. If a King is felled by an arrow or a thrown spear, or by any other missile from distance, it’s a reward of fifty Blood Fund credits to the attacking Palatinate. A hefty amount. Perhaps fifty new Drengr warriors for the death of one King. It’s rare, but it’s happened before.’
‘Does the losing Palatinate get a new King?’
‘Aye. Kings are replaced and the Pantheon continues. There will always be another Alexander and another Sveinn when one is killed.’ He chewed on his duck. ‘But kill a King with a sword in your hand, get close enough to drive it directly into him, that’s a different matter. To my knowledge, it’s never been done in the history of the Pantheon. Kill the King face-to-face – get to him before he can take his own life, before his bodyguards can cut you down, and stand over his fallen body – well, do that, and the entire Palatinate falls.’
‘You mean no more Titans?’
‘Aye, no more Titans. Or Turk, Roman, Mongol, Hun, depending which King has the blade in his belly. It’s one of the sacred Rules of the Pantheon and the golden prize. It’s said that vast sums are gambled on this before every Blood Season. Business empires could crumble on the outcome of this one wager. Kill the King in direct sword combat and his Palatinate falls and becomes part of your own.’
‘Then what happens?’
‘The victorious and hugely strengthened force moves up a level and takes on a new Palatinate as foe.’
‘Which is?’
Leiv shrugged. ‘Any of the remaining five. Could be the Qin in China, the Sultanate in Istanbul, the Huns in Budapest, the Kheshig on the Mongolian grasslands or maybe even the Legion at the Palatine. I don’t care. Just point the Wolves at the enemy and we’ll eliminate them. Anyway, it’s never been done, so you only need to worry yourself about the Titans.’
The hall was buzzing now as the ale made them rowdy and argumentative. There were catcalls and shouted warnings amidst the laughter. Drink was thrown. Scuffles broke out and wrestling contests began over the glass divides.
‘Last year, during the Blood Season before the Battle, the Titans came for Sveinn,’ said Leiv, sipping his wine grimly and oblivious of the noise around them. ‘They really believed they had a chance to kill him in his own tunnels and they sent some of their best troops, the Companion Hoplites. But we already knew they were coming and we’d laid a trap. They lost many of their best warriors, including Timanthes, their Colonel. The losses of such fighters blew their chances in the subsequent Battle and they ended the Season severely weakened. The success of that ambush is the main reason Sveinn was able to recruit seven new Thegns like you, as well as twenty-six Drengrs. We are stronger than ever this year. It should be celebrated.’ He raised his glass and Punnr repeated the gesture, but Leiv still looked serious. ‘The whole thing was wrong though.’
‘Why?’
‘It was such a damn risk they took. That was no battlefield fight, they brought their elite troops to a raid beneath the streets in Valhalla territory. They must have been truly fooled by Sveinn’s trap.’
‘What had he done?’
Leiv thought for a moment then shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Above my pay grade.’
He looked towards the High Table, where Sveinn was standing, holding a huge horn cup. The King raised it in front of him and the hall fell silent. Troopers kicked their more boorish colleagues into silence and all heads swung to their High King.
‘My troops of Valhalla, we gather again for the first time since the glorious ending of the last Blood Season.’ Sveinn’s voice was soft, low and measured. ‘We welcome new Oathsworn to our ranks tonight, both Drengr and Thegn, and we will share Odin’s mead
with them.’ There was a murmur of approval. He waited until quiet returned. ‘After Yuletide, we will meet at New Year and raise our Hammer, Raven, Wolf and Lightning banners on the field of the Agonium Martiale. We will parade our strength to the Titan Palatinate and challenge them once again, in the Nineteenth Year of the Pantheon.’
There was a roar. Glasses broke as they were thumped on the tables. ‘I can tell you now, my troops, that Atilius, Praetor of the Pantheon, has this day shared with me the rules for this year’s Raiding Season. The Pantheon law-givers have excelled themselves this time and I can promise you there will be many adventures to be had in these next few weeks.’ Another howl of approval greeted this. ‘I will consult with my Council of War and we will determine the approaches, the formations and the tactics to ensure victories for the Horde of Valhalla.’
Bjarke hauled himself to his feet and thrust his glass into the air. ‘Odin, High King Sveinn and the Horde of Valhalla!’ The hall erupted and everyone’s drink was held high and then emptied.
Sveinn remained unmoved and the hall eventually returned to silence. ‘So,’ he said, as though there had been no interruption. ‘We will share Odin’s Mead.’
The Wolf Mile Page 18