by Dan Davis
The axe swung and he caught it on his arm, the blade cracking into his forearm and slicing his flesh down to his elbow but he struck the warrior a blow under his chin that threw his head back with a snap and sent him flying backwards from the bed and onto the floor beyond, his axe flung out with such force that it struck the wall.
By then his men had finally crowded into the space around the bed and they threw themselves onto the fallen warrior.
Pehur was there and Wetelos and Mardoc and Sunhus, Gelbus, and Desgen and even Amra.
“Do not kill him,” Herkuhlos shouted. He pointed at the terrified Genna. “And take her.”
They moved to obey and Herkuhlos struggled to get up.
“Lord,” Pehur said, eyes wide and pointing with a shaking hand. “There is a dagger in your neck.”
Herkuhlos stepped down from the bed on shaking legs and sat while Pehur got up behind him. “By the fires of Wolkanos, it is in deep, lord. It is stuck against your collarbone, lord, and it is up to the hilt.”
“Pehur,” Herkuhlos said, gritting his teeth. “Just pull it out.”
It was crowded now with more and more people cramming into the longhouse to see what had happened and Mardoc and Sunhus bellowed at them to get out while Gelbus and Desgen kept the prisoners under guard. The warrior had not yet stirred and Herkuhlos wondered if he was also dead from a single blow like the priest of Torkos.
He winced as Pehur grasped the handle and whimpered as it was twisted and pulled. “What are you doing? Get on with it?”
Pehur wiggled it back and forth. “I’m trying to be gentle, lord.”
“Mardoc!” Herkuhlos snapped. “Get this weakling boy out of the way and draw this knife from my neck.”
At this, Pehur grasped the handle, braced his knee against Herkuhlos’ back and yanked it out with a roar of triumph. Herkuhlos cried out and whimpered and fought a wave of nausea.
“Look at that,” Pehur said, dazed and holding it up to the light of the lamps. “Good work, that. Bronze dagger, sharp as obsidian with a wicked long point on it.”
“Bind the wound,” Herkuhlos said, clutching his knees and fighting to remain conscious.
Amra pushed the men around him away and snapped orders at the servants behind her and she washed away the blood and cleaned the wounds. He patted her hand and she looked at him grimly before shoving his tunic at him. He did not know why she was angry but perhaps she was simply afraid for him.
“Lord,” Wetelos said, looking up from where the prisoner lay.
“What is it?” Herkuhlos said. He was still too hurt to stand let alone put on his tunic and he sat shivering on the edge of the bed, his naked skin damp from where he had been washed.
“He’s alive, lord,” Wetelos said. “Barely.”
“Who is he?”
“Kerwes.”
“And who is Kerwes?”
“He is one of Helek’s sons.”
“Helek,” Herkuhlos muttered. “He sent his son to kill me.” As he spoke, Amra pulled a fur over his shoulders and he stopped shivering. “Why would he do that?” His eyes moved from Kerwes to Genna, crouched on the floor beside him. She was still naked and had her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her hair was a wild mess around her face but in the lamplight he could see the tears streaking silently down her cheeks. “Who told you to kill me?” he asked her. “Was it Helek?”
She glanced at him and in her eyes was such loathing, such contempt that it was like a slap across his cheek. What he had done to warrant such hatred he had no idea but he was sure it was not justified and her hostility angered him. He had done nothing to harm her, indeed he had been kind to her, and she had repaid him with treachery. He reached up beneath his furs and gingerly touched the wound beside his neck that still oozed with hot blood. She had come as close to killing him as any warrior had.
“No one told me,” she said and spat at his feet. “I did it for us.”
“What do you mean, us?”
She turned away and at her defiance he felt his anger growing once more.
“How did he get past you?” Herkulos asked his men. “Was no one guarding the door?”
Wetelos and Mardoc bowed. “No man came through the door, lord.”
“Clearly he did.”
“Lord, I think that I understand how he did it.” Pehur pointed to beyond the hearth at the great piles of food, baskets, sacks, and the mounds of woollen blankets and furs. “He hid beneath there and waited until the deepest part of the night. We were all sleeping and did not notice him.”
Herkuhlos shook his head. “How did he expect to survive this? You would all have slain him moments after my death.”
Wetelos shrugged. “Perhaps he thought we would not kill him but instead make him chief?”
“He must be a madman to think such a thing,” Herkuhlos said.
Pehur spoke softly. “But is that not the same thing you intend for Torkos, lord?”
Herkuhlos looked sharply at him. “No, that is not the same thing, Pehur, for I will defeat Torkos in combat. Now, bring me my tunic.” He gestured at the prisoners. “Take them both outside.”
The captives Genna and Kerwes were dragged by his men through the longhouse and out into the centre of the village. By now the sky was growing light and it seemed the whole village had been roused from their beds by the commotion and had come in from the most distant houses and tents to find out what had occurred. They had naturally gathered in an arc around the central tomb and the long wall of the chief’s longhouse and their chatter fell quiet as the prisoners were dragged by their ankles out into the open space before them.
It hurt to duck beneath the doorway but Herkuhlos clenched his jaw so that he would not show weakness by crying out in pain and then he stood before them. Some held lamps and others bundles of tapers but they only seemed to increase the darkness in the grey world.
“This woman and this man,” he said as he walked to the centre of the open space, “tried to kill me in my own bed.”
When the captives were dragged upright and their bruised faces held up for all to see the crowd cried out in surprise and outrage and confusion.
Herkuhlos scanned the crowd and saw the powerful form of Helek grab his other two sons to stop them rushing forward to aid their younger brother.
“The woman Genna admitted her crime before witnesses,” Herkuhlos continued. “The man Kerwes is too much of a coward to speak.”
“I will speak,” Kerwes growled, though his head still wobbled on his shoulders and his legs would not have supported him if Sunhus and Gelbus were not holding him between them. “I am no coward.”
“Your actions speak for you,” Herkuhlos said. “You tried to slay your chief in his own bed. These are the actions of a weakling and a coward.”
“You are no chief!” Kerwes cried. “You do not belong here. You are an intruder and a thief.” He shrugged one arm free and pointed at the great mass of the tomb. “There lies my forefathers, the chiefs of my people and lords of this place. My father should be chief and not you.”
Like the other heads in the crowd, Herkuhlos turned to look at his father. “Helek, did you command your son to murder me?”
“He had nothing to do with it,” Kerwes said. “He knew nothing of it. I did not speak of it to him because I knew he would forbid it.”
Herkuhlos ignored him. “Helek. What do you say?”
“Lord,” Helek growled. “My son is a fool. He is young and he is in love and his love has driven him mad. If there is any mercy in you, I beg that you grant it for my fool of a son.”
“In love?” Herkuhlos asked. “With whom?” He followed the looks of the crowd to Genna who glared at him with open hatred. “But you were Kapol’s wife, not his.”
“Kapol stole me from my husband,” Genna said, anger and sadness breaking her voice. “As did you.”
Herkuhlos shook his head. “Why didn’t you speak of this to me?”
“Speak of it?” she said, her t
one dripping with contempt. “You who cared only for your wealth and who mean to drive all our men to their deaths? Why would I speak to you about my love? Who knows what evil you would have wrought with such knowledge.”
He almost laughed at how wrong she was but he felt a great sadness and could only shake his head. “If I had known about this then I would have given you to Kerwes at once. There was no need for this deception.”
Kerwes’ head came up and hope kindled in his eyes but Genna sneered. “You lie.”
Herkuhlos shook his head. “It hardly matters now. You tried to slay your chief and so you must die.”
The crowd cried out in horror.
“Lord!” Helek said, coming closer with his hands out to show he meant no harm. “Lord, I beg you not to kill him. Exile him or take the hand that struck you but in the name of the Sky Father, I ask you not to kill my son.”
“What of the woman?”
Helek glanced at her. “Her father was my friend. I brought her into my house when she was a child. But I see how my trust has been betrayed. She has warped my son’s mind with her poison words and urged him to commit this crime against you. Lord, she must die.”
“I have no wish to kill either of them,” Herkuhlos said, looking down at the naked, shivering captives. He truly did not want to kill them but they had committed the worst crime imaginable in trying to murder their chief and if he did not exact the proper punishment then he would look weak before his people and that was the last thing he could afford. “Before the gods, I swear I have no wish to kill either of them,” he repeated. “But I must.” He looked for Pehur. “Bring my war club.”
His servant brought the weapon forward and Herkuhlos took it. Both captives were forced to their knees and he stood over Kerwes looking down while the crowd muttered and unseen women wailed and sobbed.
“If you had spoken to me of this,” Herkuhlos said, “you would have shared your own bed with this woman tonight. Or you could have challenged me as one warrior to another and died with honour. Now, because of your cowardice and your weakness you will die like the criminal you have become in sight of your ancestors. You have shamed them and your remains will not go to your ancestor’s tomb and your spirit will not be welcomed by them.”
“I curse you,” Kerwes said, his face twisted in rage. “Thief. False lord. Yotunan!”
At that, Herkuhlos swung his club and smashed Kerwes’ skull to pieces with a single blow, spraying blood and bone as he fell face down in the earth.
The groaning of the crowd was drowned by Genna’s wail of anguish and horror and he looked down at her. The way she writhed and cried out and stretched her hand to touch the body of Kerwes was pathetic and moving. There was no doubt that by all custom and by the law Genna deserved death for her betrayal but he felt sickened by the thought of killing her and he found he was too weak to carry out the sentence.
“Set her free,” he muttered. His men stared in confusion and he raised his voice. “This woman is banished. Go now, Genna, and survive if you can. Your life is in the hands of the gods now.”
“No,” she said between sobs. “Kill me!”
His men dragged her upright and pulled her away from the body of Kerwes and out through the crowd to eject her from the village. She could walk to another village nearby and beg them to take her in. She was young and pretty and someone would take her as a slave if nothing else so she would not starve.
The night wind had dropped to nothing now and the village stared at him in something close to silence as the sun began to rise behind low cloud and a light rain began to fall. Helek and his sons looked between their fallen kinsman and their new chief and Herkuhlos knew that he had done everything badly. There had probably been a better way but he could not think what it might have been.
“This was a dark night for this village but justice has been done and now the day is upon us,” he said. “All warriors are to arm themselves and bring food for himself and his slaves for two days. If you do not have food or weapons come to the longhouse and you will receive what you need. We go now to defeat the yotunan Torkos. And when victory is achieved we will all have great wealth and power over all the villages and peoples of this land. This I promise as your chief.”
They stared at him in silence and made no move to obey.
Sunhus stepped forward and roared at them. “You heard your chief! Make ready!”
Slowly, they returned to their houses. All but Helek and his sons Hargu and Lekkas who stood by the body of Kerwes, staring at Herkuhlos.
“Pehur, prepare my weapons and armour,” Herkuhlos said, looking back at them.
Herkuhlos turned and walked back to the longhouse. Their petty concerns were of no consequence. All that mattered was defeating Torkos and the time of battle was fast approaching.
17. Hrungna
In the opening to his tent, Torkos greeted the huge figure with a slap on his massive shoulder. Though not quite of a height with Torkos, he was broader by far, especially across the belly.
“Hrungna the Gorger, you old glutton, you grow fatter,” Torkos said.
His kinsman threw off Torkos’ hand and pushed past him into the tent. “Once again your first words to me are not of greeting but insult, Torkos. Am I not your guest?”
Torkos snorted in mirth as he pursued Hrungna into his tent. “Not insult but truth. And no, you are not my guest, you are kin.” He pointed at the bulging stomach stretching the tunic. “You are hungry after your journey from the west, of course.”
“Do not mock me.” Hrungna stood looking around the tent at the slaves and the richness of the furs and food and weapons piled around the edges. Torkos knew his kinsman was impressed by what he saw.
Torkos shrugged. “If you have no wish for food, Hrungna the Gorger, that is well as there is much to speak of.”
“Curse your eyes, Torkos, I admit it,” Hrungna snapped. “Yes, I am hungry after my journey here, I am hungry indeed. Bring me an aurochs and I will eat it head to tail.”
“I have no aurochs to offer you but I have cattle in plenty.”
Hrungna turned his broad nose up in distaste. “Bring me horse flesh, Torkos, I will eat all that you can bring me.”
Torkos grunted. “So be it but there are few enough horses here in the west.” He waved at a frightened slave who bowed and hurried out to fetch the meat.
“There are enough horses for me.” Hrungna rubbed his stomach, still looking around at everything that filled the great tent. He was especially interested in the mound beside Torkos that was covered with skins. Perhaps he could smell the blood and decaying flesh emanating from it.
“You eat your horses faster than they can breed,” Torkos said. “Your greed limits how many horses you have here in the west.”
“Lies.” Hrungna spat onto the ground between them. “Why am I here?”
Torkos’ grin faded and he felt his anger rising at this display of disrespect. Hrungna did not enjoy his subjugation and that was to be expected and Torkos could allow him great liberties but there had to be a line drawn and Hrungna was fast approaching it. “You are here because I commanded it.”
His red faced flushed in anger, Hrungna snapped a reply. “And I came, didn’t I? You are like a woman with your twisted words and trickery. Speak your meaning through those repulsive tusks or kill me if you must but do not waste my day with prattle.”
A silence fell over the tent and the slaves hunched their shoulders, afraid of what sudden explosion of violence Torkos would unleash upon the other yotunan. Torkos considered grabbing the fat beast and beating him down and imagined taking his hands and biting off one or more of his fingers and chewing while Hrungna wailed and begged him for mercy.
But violence against his kinsmen was forbidden and Hrungna had submitted to Torkos and so instead of destroying him, Torkos snorted a laugh.
“A fair request.” He sighed. “Perhaps I delay and twist my words because it is no good thing that I must speak, Hrungna. But you must hear it. Thrima is
dead.”
That got Hrungna’s attention. His huge face turned from red to purple. “You lie.”
“I have his head here. I had it brought to me. You can see for yourself.” He threw back the cloth and exposed a vast skull with the bones of the face broken. It was rotting and reeked of corruption but no one who knew him could deny that this was the skull of Thrima.
Hrungna shook with rage. “Why? Why, Torkos? Why must you be this way? You have no heart. You have no honour for the old ways. You must destroy and undo everything. It is in your blood, I know, but why would you do this to Thrima who only ever did as you commanded?”
Torkos covered the skull and smiled again. “Hrungna, you misunderstand. I did not do this.”
Confused, Hrungna looked around the tent as if expecting to see the one who did. “Then how did he die? This was no accident, his face is broken inward.”
Torkos nodded. “A killer of gods has come from the east.”
Hrungna’s great mouth fell open. “Not Kolnos? Kolnos has not finally come?”
Torkos raised a finger. “A fine guess, my kinsman, but no. A half-breed spawn of the Usurper has been set against us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No,” Torkos said and growled softly as he sighed. “That is why I am your lord and you serve me.”
Hrungna grunted. “You are the elder, of course I will obey. Explain it, then. Who could do a thing like this?”
“It’s true that Kolnos always despised us. Always he said we should have been killed instead of subjected to the Covenant. Now he has sent a killer to do his bidding.”
“But who would break their oath?” Hrungna said. “Not Ekwa? Manu? No, he would not act without Yemo. Welnos lacks the courage—”