by Dan Davis
“Even if it increased the chances of victory, lord?” Pehur asked, leaning closer. “Perhaps you might share a little of your strength with your most trusted warriors? Not the full power of the potion of course but just a taste of your blood would give strength to the men you trust most.”
“Sunhus, you mean?”
“Him, lord, yes. And Wetelos and Mardoc and also me.”
“You?” Herkuhlos laughed. “You are not a warrior.”
Pehur’s face was shadowed as he leaned back from the fire. “I will fight tomorrow, lord.”
“Nevertheless, my blood is too precious to share it with anyone other than a Heryos warrior and anyway, I shall not do it for any man. To bleed myself now would be to weaken myself for the coming battle and everything depends on my victory. Mine alone, Pehur. For any of us to survive the coming battle I must challenge and defeat Torkos.”
Pehur bowed his head. “I understand, lord.”
“You sleep, lord,” Mardoc said, creeping closer and patting his bow. “I will keep watch and I will stick anyone who comes close with one of my arrows.”
“I want to sleep but I doubt I will get much of it tonight.” He looked at the older man. “You have been a great help to me since I came to your village, Mardoc. You will be rewarded for your service when the victory is won.”
Mardoc shook his head and his loose grey hair fell over his face and he brushed it back with his gnarled hands. “The gods sent you to us, lord. You set me free. I am in your debt to the end, no matter what occurs.”
Herkuhlos frowned. “For slaying Thrima, you mean? That set you free?”
“Yes, lord. My spirit is cleansed and now I can go on again like a man. When the enemy is defeated, I would like to take a wife.”
“Then that is what you shall do. I will find you a suitable wife. I’m sure there will be many women in need of a husband soon enough.”
Mardoc smiled and pointed at a rocky knoll a few paces away. “That is a fine place to keep watch.” He took his arrow bag and moved to sit there with his bow across his knees, scanning the lengthening shadows of the distant treeline.
Crouching at his side, Amra unwrapped a pack of dried beef and other food. She said something with a smile and he knew enough of the Furun tongue now to recognise she was saying something about wheat cakes. Joking, he guessed, that he would prefer to eat the meat.
“Pehur.” He called his servant to his side. “Tell her thank you.”
“I told you, lord, I do not speak their language.”
“You lie, Pehur, I have seen you speaking to her often. Tell her that she is the daughter of a chief and need not serve me.”
He translated. “She says her father is dead.”
“Your brother Eron is chief, Amra. You could be there with him now. You should be there, at your home, not here with just a few of your people.”
“Lord, she says her people have been destroyed and they now face nothing but a slow death. Her brother the chief will be a slave by next year if he survives at all. And none of them will survive unless you defeat Torkos and subjugate his warband. And she says that is why she is here.”
Herkuhlos looked down at her and saw again that she had a pretty face and recognised the courage of her spirit. He remembered the night when she had taken him to bed along with those other young women and smiled. “Ask her if her real reason is because she desires to be my wife.”
Pehur gritted his teeth before asking the question, his voice flat.
She rolled her eyes and scoffed openly.
“Lord, she says she has no such desire.”
“Thank you, Pehur, I understood that much. Not afraid of me, is she? No, don’t ask her that, you fool, I was speaking to you. Everyone else here is afraid of me.”
“You are more like a god than a man and that frightens some,” Pehur said.
Herkuhlos nodded for that was certainly true. “Tell her that you, Pehur, will look after her in the battle.”
“I will not, lord,” he snapped. “I will fight. With spear and axe and dagger I will fight your enemies and win fame and glory for myself, lord.”
“You are brave and your spear arm is strong but I want you to live and she deserves to survive, does she not? Listen, if I fall, take her south and east. She likes you, I think, though I have no idea why. Yes, that is what you will do if I fall, you will take her away and you will make her your wife.”
“Lord, she would not do that. Besides, you will not die. And if you do, we will not be able to escape from Ghebol’s warband.”
Herkuhlos gestured toward the village. “Steal some of Negwis’ horses. You ride terribly of course and you will have to hold Amra tightly because the Furun ride worse even than you but you may make it. Tell her what I said so that she understands it is my wish and that it should be done.”
Pehur was embarrassed but he seemed to relay the words honestly enough and Amra reached out and touched the back of Herkuhlos’ hand. “She said she knows you will win. All of the people from her village, the ones who saw you defeat Thrima, know you will be victorious.”
Herkuhlos nodded as her words were translated but looked over his shoulder and gestured at the old man sitting on the knoll a few paces away. “Ask her about Mardoc for me. Ask her to tell me why was he cursed and living at the edge of her village?”
Amra was reluctant to speak of it but Pehur coaxed the answers from her as darkness fell and then he relayed her words all together. “He was an important man. Some of his forefathers were chiefs until her father’s line took over at some point but still his line is almost the equal of hers and she shares some ancestors with him. Because of his skill as a trader, he brought great wealth to their village and he helped it to grow large and powerful and had his own team of oxen and Mardoc’s wife was Amron’s sister. He was not fortunate in his children, though, and his sons all died but one girl lived and was healthy and strong and he loved her. But while he was away trading with the Heryos, his wife had been lying with another man in their village and when Mardoc returned early after many days away he found this man in his own bed, in his own longhouse, lying with his wife. Mardoc killed the man and in his rage he killed his wife also. By the laws of her people, both had deserved death but Mardoc was in the wrong for killing them in anger and he was punished. His punishment was for his daughter to be the next sacrifice for Thrima, as there had been no human offering for some time, and the god had to be appeased. They say that Mardoc began to believe his daughter was not his after all and that she was the other man’s and also that she had been part of the deception against him and so he allowed it. Indeed, he helped take her to the sacred Stones of Thrima and left her there as an offering. But when he heard her screams of terror he ran back to take her away. He was too late and when he tried to drag his daughter from Thrima, the god struck him a blow and carried the girl away. The village would have considered his crimes paid for and he could have taken a new wife and lived in his longhouse again amongst his people but he had betrayed the sacrifice and so they said he was cursed. He rarely went trading after that and instead lived in the hovel and made bows and other things and his wealth in cattle barely kept him alive. She always thought he was sad and weak but now she sees him as he must have been when he was young, strong and wise, and it is because you gave him the strength, lord.”
Herkuhlos listened with his head in his hand and rubbed his eyes. “What god made me ask about him?” he muttered. “By Kolnos, Pehur, it is a sad story.”
“Yes, lord. But what Amra says is true about Mardoc finding his strength again. He is a good man.”
“He is.”
Unable to sleep, Herkuhlos stood and wandered here and there amongst the groups of warriors, boys, women, and servants who had followed him. Some slept, others sat or lay talking quietly. A few spoke greetings, more watched him passing by them, and some pointedly ignored him. They seemed nervous or perhaps it was his own fears that he felt and finally he returned to his men where he laid down to rest
on the hard ground of the pasture. His dreams were vivid and filled with violence and all too soon, Pehur was shaking him awake and leaning over him in the darkness.
“Dawn approaches, lord.”
“By Kolnos, already?”
Many of his warband were already up and readying themselves to set off. They would march for most of the day at a steady pace so they had strength left to fight at the end of it when they reached Torkos.
“Go around and make sure they are awake and ready, Pehur, Wetelos, Sunhus.” He looked into the shadows. “Mardoc, did you get any rest?”
“I have rested long enough, lord,” Mardoc said. “I am ready for glory.”
Herkuhlos smiled to hear it. “You sound like a warrior of the Heryos. Find Dolon and the others and be sure they are fed and ready to go.”
“Lord.”
Soon his warband had assembled, the fires were stomped out, and he led his men down the slight slope of the pasture well around the village. Chief Negwis had his own people standing ready within the enclosure of the village and some were armed and all watched closely.
“They don’t trust us, lord,” Helek called out as they passed.
“We will return here when Torkos is dead and they will submit to me also. We will take all they have and you will have some of this wealth, Helek.”
Helek grunted, apparently amused by the thought. “Yes, lord.”
Beyond the village was a broad and long pasture with woodland running on both sides and a low ridge ahead on the horizon. Beyond that grassy ridge, a day’s walk from this village, was the village of Torkos.
Negwis had herded away his cattle so they would not drive them off and likewise his herd of horses was penned close to the outermost tents in an enclosure with wicker fencing around it. As his warband passed the village Herkuhlos stared longingly at those horses and he promised himself that he would come back here and take the whole herd for himself and his men. A couple of the horses looked big enough and strong enough to carry him and he smiled while imagining running back to the enclosure and simply taking one for himself now but of course he could not break his agreement with Negwis. Later, though, after his victory.
“Lord,” Wetelos said. “There are men ahead.”
On the ridge a handful of figures appeared, climbing up from the other side to look across the pasture at them. A couple of men on foot were followed by two men on horseback.
“Our riders,” Herkuhlos said. “The scouts we sent ahead have returned already.”
“No,” Helek growled. “They are Ghebol’s men, I am sure of it.”
“It matters not who they are,” Herkuhlos said loudly so that those around him would hear. He strode on with his men spread out behind and on either side of him and they would soon drive off the handful of men before them. Probably they would drive them all the way back to Torkos but he would have to watch for ambushes on the way, especially if they passed through woodlands or crossed rivers.
Even as he spoke, however, more figures appeared. A dozen warriors soon dotted the ridge and then a score of them. They kept coming and Herkuhlos slowed to a stop and the men behind him likewise slowed and spread out further to either side to better see ahead at what was coming.
More and more figures appeared and some began descending the ridge onto the lower pasture. They were armed with spears and slings and war axes and more and more of them came and then Herkuhlos understood that the warband of Ghebol had come out to meet him. Perhaps they had run and ridden though the night or perhaps they had camped out of sight until this morning but it did not seem to matter what had happened or why they had come. If the battle was to be here then so be it.
But a jolt of fear shot through him. What if Torkos had sent his warband out without him? The only chance they had was if he challenged the yotunan to combat and if he had not come then it would be a straight fight between warbands and that would be a difficult victory to win.
“Hold here,” Herkuhlos called to his men. “Spread out and prepare for battle.” They stared, horrified by the sudden appearance of the warband they had not expected until later. “This is what we came here for!” he cried. “With our strength we shall defeat our enemies.”
“Lord!” Wetelos called, pointing with his spear.
More men cried out in shock and fear.
In the centre of the ridge amongst the approaching warband, a towering figure appeared. A great man, taller and broader than any other, flanked by mounted warriors, he advanced over the ridge and into the morning sunlight of the long pasture between the dark of the woodlands.
Torkos.
His men were muttering his name in fear and wonder at the sight of the advancing yotunan. This was the false god who had brought his warband from the east to subjugate these lands and the Furun and Heryos were awed by the sight of him.
“This is what I wanted,” Herkuhlos said to his men. “I came to fight Torkos, to challenge him in combat, with spear against spear. There is my enemy and I will challenge the false god and I will be victorious. Do you hear me, men?”
Before he finished speaking, his warriors muttered and cried out and began backing away and bunching closer together.
A second huge figure appeared on the ridge following Torkos. He was another giant, dwarfing the warriors beside him, and his shoulders were broad and his stomach massive and he stomped down the slope with legs as thick as the trunks of trees. This new figure carried a thick, long spear on one shoulder and a heavy club in his other hand as he advanced.
“By Kolnos, who is that?” Herkuhlos muttered.
“Lord,” Pehur said, his voice low but urgent and fearful. “There are two yotunan. Two! What do we do?”
19. Betrayal
“What do we do, lord?” Sunhus called, his axe held close to his chest in both hands. All his warriors were now looking between him and the advancing yotunan and their warband. They would soon be in range for their slings and bows and so he had to decide this very moment.
But what could he do?
Herkuhlos was certainly afraid to see a second yotunan advancing with the Boar and their warband was even larger than he had expected but really there was nothing to be done about it. He had to trust to his strength and to the will of the gods.
“I will defeat them both,” he cried and raised his spear above his head in the sign of the challenge. “I will defeat Torkos the Devourer and the other false god. I will defeat them all.”
“Lord?” Wetelos shouted, his tone an urgent warning. “Lord!”
It took a moment to understand what he was seeing but Helek and the other men of his village were now backing away toward the southern woods lining the pasture, separating themselves from Herkuhlos and his core followers.
“What are you doing?” Herkuhlos cried. “Do not flee!”
Helek was the foremost of them, flanked by his sons. “I am saving my people, lord.”
Herkuhlos felt his fear growing at the sight of so many of his warriors abandoning him. He felt defeat stretching out its fingers toward him. “Helek, the Boar will destroy you next.”
Helek glanced at the approaching figure. “Not if I help him to destroy you, lord,” he called as he continued backing toward the trees. His men were spreading out and creating a new line as if they all understood what they had to do. Herkuhlos realised that Helek had planned to do this and he had told his men before this morning what they would have to do and he felt despair clawing its way up inside him.
“You have betrayed me,” Herkuhlos called, thrusting his spear toward the enemy. “For that evil thing.”
Helek shook his head. “I am loyal to my people.” He glanced toward Torkos and then back to him. “I will have to start shooting you and your men now, lord. You should run if you can.”
Another cry of warning from behind and Herkuhlos found the warriors of Negwis were spreading out from the side of their village across the pasture they had crossed in order to now cut off his escape back the way they had come. Like Helek’
s men, they were stringing their bows, unwinding their slings, and holding their javelins at the ready.
In moments they had become surrounded by enemies on three sides and though he had been betrayed the failure was entirely of Herkuhlos’ doing and the realisation was like a knife to the guts.
“Lord!” Pehur shouted. “We must flee.”
Herkuhlos was caught in indecision. His enemy was still directly in front of him and if he could somehow reach Torkos he might be able to kill him and win victory despite the betrayal and terrible mistakes he had committed. But even if he could reach Torkos in time, most of his people would fall in the storm of arrows that were about to be unleashed.
“We cannot flee,” Herkuhlos said, turning and turning again. “There is no escape from this.”
“Through the woods,” Wetelos said, gesturing at the trees and edging toward them. “To the north.”
Pehur shouted, pointing with his spear and tugging at Amra with his other hand. “Horses,” he called. “We take the horses, lord, like you said.”
An arrow cut the air between them, shot from the warriors of Torkos ahead and then a sling stone flashed from behind them, shot by one of Negwis’ men who had run out toward them. More missiles were shot, even by the men with Helek who until moments ago had been their companions.
Wetelos turned, between him and Pehur who had already started for the horses, taking Amra with him. “Lord, we cannot stay here!”
The rest of his men were already backing away, bunching together and ducking but Gelbus was struck on the arm by a stone and he fell with a cry of agony and at once Desgen helped him up as more arrows, their power mostly spent, slipped into the grass around them.
Mardoc was hit with a glancing blow on his leg and he roared in anger and limped on, leaning on his bow stave as he made for the horse pen.