Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  Banke faced Kjeld. He had taken sword and spear but could not carry the spear one handed. He tried to hitch the sword into his belt without dropping the spear, or cutting his leg open. Gund was swinging an axe double handed, his sword sheathed. Ollaf had his axe already wedged into the turn of his boot and Sodar, Ollaf’s brother, had fitted the first arrow to the string. He loosed the arrow.

  The preparations had been prolonged and careful. But in the end, it took very little time at all. Kjeld began to swing his axes, swirling each one-handed in a fluid, looping motion, the path of each cutting across the other. The blades did not strike, missing collision by the width of a bear’s claw, spinning in dancing reflections. His wrists, twisting rhythmically, seemed to revolve. The prisoners stood awed. Sodar’s first arrow struck the wolf pelts at Kjeld’s hip, tearing across the fur and falling uselessly to the snow. Ollaf nodded, and Sodar notched another at once, readjusting his aim. Kjeld continued to swing his axes. His speed increased. Banke flung himself flat on the ice and began to howl, pounding his fists into the snow. The ice flew in splinters. Gund’s axe hand lapsed limp at his side. The sound of Kjeld’s axes had become music.

  Banke was still beating his hands and feet on the ground. It seemed that Kjeld was irritated. Banke’s squealing was interrupting Kjeld’s spinning composition. He placed one very large boot on the top of Banke’s head and ground downwards with some force. He did not release the pressure. Banke’s struggles became silent. No further noise interfered with the sound of Kjeld’s musical steel.

  Sodar’s second arrow had flown strong, the shaft straight and true, the feathered flight in a wide arc against the sky. But as it fell, Kjeld, without looking up, stepped back and the arrow head rebounded against the blades of his weapons. Watched by Ollaf, Sodar fitted a third arrow and immediately straightened his bow arm. Kjeld released both axes very suddenly and at precisely the same moment. A stream of blood swept each blade. Crimson drops spun in an arch, hovering on the wind. Gund sprawled headless on the ground. Neatly beheaded and sliced again through the waist, he lay in three quite separate pieces.

  With a wild twang of the bow string, Sodar’s third arrow flew wide. He screamed, horrified at the corpse beside him, and Ollaf ran at Kjeld, wrenching the knife from his boot. Kjeld grinned. Having relinquished both his weapons, he made no illegal attempt to retrieve them. He caught Ollaf in his arms, flicked the knife from his hand, pulled him close and began to squeeze. Ollaf went scarlet, his body twisting helplessly. Kjeld’s grip slowly tightened. The archer’s eyes began to bleed. They protruded as his face crumpled and the bones cracked. Then the sound of his head exploding was audible. The skull popped. The brain seeped down Kjeld’s hands. He tossed the body aside. It twitched twice. Kjeld bent, wiped his hands on Ollaf’s tunic, and looked in faint amusement at his remaining adversary.

  Mouth open, his scream now silent, Sodar stared, watching his brother’s death, then turned, threw down his bow, and ran. He would not run far into the endless ice, and his death would be slow.

  Kjeld removed his foot from Banke’s head and let him free. Banke did not notice at first and continued to struggle. Kjeld gave him a nudge with his toe. Banke gulped and sat up. He stared around. Beside him on the snow were the two bodies of his companions, each spread in bloody carnage. Banke vomited. Kjeld waited politely until Banke had finished, then picked him up by the back of his collar and peered at him. Banke hung limp, retching and coughing, kicking spasmodically. Kjeld tapped him under the chin, either attempting a favourable reaction, or wondering what to do with him. Banke spluttered. Kjeld dropped him.

  At the height of the battlements, the wind was shrill and bitterly cold. Grimr looked over Knut’s head at his brother and sighed. “Did you expect me to be entertained by this nonsense? Or did you bring me up here for some other reason?”

  “I brought you as a means of encouraging your men,” smiled Thoddun. “I want your senior jarls as witnesses. I wish to impress them. They need a small lesson in the powers of monsters.”

  “All the more reason to keep them out,” Grimr spat. “Did you imagine this exhibition would make us want to open the doors, and usher these beasts inside? It’ll be a long siege, big brother.”

  The men leaning over the stone walls, peering down at the battle below, saw more than fighting, the milling of the huge bears and the numbers aligned against them. They saw the banked fires and smelled the meat roasting. Within the castle, unable to spark any flame for more than a breath or two, they were bitterly cold and now ate their food raw. Many were weak and dysentery was rife. In the great freeze the food remained largely untainted, but a ravenous belly distends and refuses the raw offal that disgusts the tongue. “Living out on the snows is natural for us,” Thoddun shook his head. “But in spite of my well stocked pantries, your people are beginning to starve.”

  “Do you really think me such a fool?” Grimr looked back down at the arena and its encircling spectators, white fur against the white ice. “I may choose a civilised life but I understand the sea bears. Do you think I remember nothing of our mother? Spring is coming. Soon your people will wander north to hunt the seal pups and escape the melt. They’ll lose interest in your war and desert you. And that creature down there fighting for my slave bitch, is that a walrus channel, as he looks? Then he’ll be itching to get back to the spring rookeries and find himself a harem. How many of your grand army will be left once the sun climbs towards summer?”

  Thoddun laughed. “Oh, we’ll be back inside and have taken over again long before that, my dear.”

  Grimr paused and frowned. “If you make a bargain and treat with me fairly, you might.” He paused again, watching his brother’s expression. Thoddun remained watching below. Softly, Grimr said, “I might even give you the castle. Allow your people back in peace. Send most of my own men home. I could stay here a few months, with Knut and a small bodyguard. As your guests.”

  Thoddun raised one eyebrow. “Uninvited guests?”

  “I’d expect an invitation. And gifts. For instance,” Grimr said, “the resuscitation of my channel; a consistent and thorough process of awakening, without excuses. Without failure. And once my wolf is restored to me, I would expect the immediate return of my slave girl.”

  “How predictable of you, Grimr.” Thoddun grinned and pointed below. “But you’re interrupting the proceedings.”

  Kjeld was standing, unarmed, watching Banke struggle up once more. The snow was scuffed and the ice looked as though it had been bleeding. Great dark stains spread beneath the discarded bodies. Gund’s head had rolled a little and now lay on its scarlet cheek, mouth and eyes open in surprise. His torso lay crumpled at some distance, his pelvis and legs further away, the knees both bent strangely contrary to their joints. Ollaf’s body lay closer. Its broken head was a mess of black and crimson, the brains and eyes jellified in the cold. The skull had been spread open, the huge crack down the middle dividing nose and mouth, each glazed eye gazing in terror upon the other. His shoulders and chest were black and wet. The blood was already turning to ice.

  Banke felt ill. He had no special objections to the insides of a man presented in gory evidence. Violence had been part of his life since birth, but he had always been the instigator. When he had come to fight monsters, he had rather doubted their existence. It was the existence of the treasure he had hoped was true. He looked at the giant before him, reached down, and picked up his spear. It was oak handled, well oiled and well balanced with a steel forged head. His temper rumbled.

  “Not’n legal,” objected Kjeld. “Dropped. Dun gone.”

  Banke had no idea what his enemy was talking about. He raised the spear, wiped the tears of rage from his cheeks and the bubbles from his nose, took an upwards aim, and started to run. Kjeld stuck out one mighty hand and grasped the shaft of the spear from above, wrenching it abruptly away. He then snapped it quickly over his knee. It was a neat break and the upper half of the handle fell to the ice. In the same movement, Kjeld turned the
front of the spear forwards. Banke, still running, impaled himself.

  The spear head entered Banke’s groin. With the impetus of Kjeld’s mighty arm and Banke’s own charge it sped up through his body, cleaving though genitals, intestines, belly and lungs. The shortened haft disappeared as Kjeld released it and the steel point protruded immediately from Banke’s throat, jutting in sudden scarlet through his neck. The body hissed as it voided gas and excrement, the gurgling rush of escaping air and blood. Then silence. Banke curled in a heap, shuddering momentarily, face down in the steam of his own blood.

  Kjeld stepped back and wiped his hands on his wolf pelts. Then he turned and strode to his queen’s sled. He bowed and put his hands behind his back, conscious of bloody smears. He was not even out of breath. “Lady,” he announced loudly, “honour dun. Champion dun.”

  Skarga was indignantly aware of her own tears. She had seen men killed before, she had seen violence and been the object of it. She had seen Thoddun kill to protect her. But she was finding it hard to smile and instead fought to control her thoughts. “Thank you,” she said, stuttering. “I’ve nothing to bestow as a reward but I’m – most grateful. You are truly a – worthy champion. A great champion.”

  Kjeld grinned and bowed again. “Proud,” he said, struggling with pronunciation, “atta service.” And he turned on his heel and strode away, stepping over the bodies of his dead, and to the cheers of the men, marched off to the warmth of the cooking fires and a good feast to satisfy his growing appetite.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The crowd was becoming noisy. Shouting and cheering, ale barrels rolled out and the hurried turning of the sleds back facing the castle. For a few moments Skarga was frightened the dead might be utilised and cooked or given to the bears, but a small gang of men came with shovels and carried the remains away. After asking Skarga for permission to leave her, Lodver hopped down to organise burial. Then immediately Egil was with her, jumping up to her side and putting both arms around her.

  “You’re crying,” he accused cheerfully.

  “I am such an idiot,” she sniffed. “Anyone would think I loved my brother and I didn’t. I hated him, really I did. But seeing that -”

  “Well, I suppose I understand,” said Egil without noticeable sympathy. “That’s why I tried to have him escape before, so he could be eaten by bears without you knowing. And the lord understands too. It was him sent me to cheer you up.”

  Skarga turned at once, looking up to the battlements. But there was no one there except a few of Grimr’s men, still leaning over the balustrades and staring down at the massed crowds of their enemy, at the huge blazing fires and at the beginnings of the feasting. “No, he’s back in his room,” said Egil. “But he sent a message to Safn and Safn told me. Erik’s gone to get you something to eat and he’ll be here in a moment.”

  “I’m not hungry. Will someone pitch my tent?”

  “It’s too early yet. And Lord Thoddun’s not likely to sneak out again this evening if that’s what you’re waiting for. Besides, even if he does, then it wouldn’t exactly be hard for him to find you. Beaks and feathers, he could find you if you decided to take a quick swim over to the Sheep Islands.”

  Skarga smiled. “Alright, I’ll eat something and then you can show me where they’ve set up the middens. And I ought to say another thank you to Kjeld. He’s amazing with those axes. But I expected to see Asved on the battlements. Did he really stay at home when Grimr set out here? It doesn’t sound like him.”

  “Well, no.” Egil paused a moment, then spoke in a tumble. “As it happens, I believe he did come with Grimr. But I’ve heard he’s dead too. You don’t mind do you?”

  Grimr sat silent on the bed. Knut sat at Grimr’s feet, hugging his knees. It was Thoddun’s chamber, and Thoddun stood with his back to them, staring at the waterfall. The day’s melt of the snow cover above had joined the cascade, strengthening its speed, deepening its thunder, entwining blue within the silver.

  “Your men are starving,” said Thoddun. He did not turn around. “They are freezing. They’ve no stomach for raw meat or fish, and can’t sustain any fires. They’ve discovered how little treasure we store here, and no women. Now they’re frightened. The wild ones no longer obey you. There was a fight this evening, after they’d seen the battle outside. Did you know? One of the wolves tried to Shift, and two of your men thought he was a spy and killed him. Have you any idea how demoralised and weak your people are? Do you care?”

  Grimr spoke without expression, addressing Thoddun’s back. “No, I don’t care. They serve me. They serve a purpose. And I know exactly what they get up to. My boy reads minds as you do, and tells me what I need to know.”

  Thoddun turned and strode back. “A useful child,” he said. “Look after him, since he also serves you and serves a purpose. But his insight is undeveloped. Until he’s of an age to Shift, he won’t be able to hear clearly. It’s necessary to remember that.”

  “I ordered you here to bring back my wolf, not talk of Knut,” Grimr said. “Don’t think of giving up on me, big brother, or I’ll have you thrown in a hole somewhere. You may have more power than I once realised but it’s all camped outside where it can do you no good at all. In this castle I hold power and you’re greatly outnumbered. You only keep your grand room on sufferance.”

  Thoddun frowned. “I’ve no intention of abandoning you, my dear. I’ve a great interest in resurrecting your channel, and will do it if I can. But your threats are absurd and your offers at barter are ludicrous. None of this encourages my co-operation.” He turned again and began to search amongst his property, strewn in casual piles along the bench.

  “I don’t care about co-operation,” Grimr spat. “I expect results.” He looked down to Knut. “He says he still means to help. Does he tell the truth?”

  Knut nodded. He rested his chin on his knees and peered up at his father. “He wants to help. He believes every inner channel must be encouraged. But he thinks the wolf’s dead. He’ll try to help but he doesn’t think he can.”

  “He’s sure?” Grimr glared.

  Knut lowered his eyes. “He’s not sure of anything.”

  Thoddun came back to the bed, holding something. He looked down at Grimr and threw two silver brooches into his lap. “These belonged to our mother. You gave them to Skarga. I smell them every time I come into the room. I’ve given her others. Take these.”

  Grimr fingered the little metal carvings, then handed them to Knut. “They were your grandmother’s. They’ll smell of nothing to you and carry no memories. They’re beautiful and have some value. Keep them.” He looked back up at Thoddun. “So sensitive, big brother? Our mother is ten years dead. Can her stench linger so long? And what does your bitch smell of? Of my prick and my seed, when I raped her?”

  Abruptly and at once, Thoddun leaned over, his fingers inside Grimr’s collar. He hissed, snow bear fury. Grimr choked, struggling for his knife. He thrust his steel at Thoddun’s neck and it pierced the flesh. Two bright drops of blood fell, staining the blade. Thoddun did not move. “Your mistreatment of a woman who didn’t even know you is repellent,” Thoddun said between his teeth. “Beware angering me too much.” He struck Grimr’s hand away and the knife slipped, scratching his neck. He wiped off the blood and glared down at his brother, his own fingers still tight inside Grimr’s silk embroidered shirt. “I dislike discussing her with you, but I shall say this. Because it was loving her that made you more vicious, does not excuse you. That she was not then mine, does not excuse you. She is mine now, and vengeance belongs to me. Be very careful, little brother, since each time you mention her, I see deeper into your mind and your memory of what you did to her.”

  The boy wandered to the waterfall, turning his back on the two men. Through the shimmer of the water he could see the rich star patterned sky, as prettily embroidered as his father’s shirt collar between Thoddun’s fingers. Knut held tight to the brooches he had been given. He said, “If they’d belonged to my mother, I
’d cherish them forever.” Nobody heard him.

  Neither man nor wolf guarded the chamber’s doorway. Haphazard and reluctant patrols wandered the corridors, but no one stood at Thoddun’s chamber door. The attempt to keep the man tight enclosed had failed, close scrutiny of his frequent wanderings impossible to maintain. Those considered sufficiently ferocious and able to guard the prisoner had been the wild ones, and they had abandoned their posts. But although Thoddun now roamed at will within his castle, he was not, ostensibly, permitted to leave it. Discipline held and all doors to the outer world were relentlessly guarded. It was sometime later when Thoddun shrugged his bearskin over his shoulders and walked quickly down to the great castle gates. A hoard of men straggled there, chattering, elbows against the walls. They lurched to attention as Thoddun strode towards them. Several drew their swords, now more nervous of their freely wandering prisoner. The fighting they had witnessed from the battlements had terrified them, but they were also frightened of Grimr whose long rule was etched across many of their backs. Above all they knew their own safety depended on locked doors and a well-guarded seclusion from the hoards outside. But Thoddun did not attempt to leave. He asked for the men’s names, and said he remembered some of them from boyhood. Not all of them had previously realised that this was the old chief’s eldest son. This, then, should have been their king. Thoddun did not remind them of his right to rule. He slumped down on the ground beside them, stretched out his legs, one knee bent to support his elbow, leaned back and smiled. He was unarmed. He seemed no threat. He talked of the old days. There were stories of the old king. There had always been stories, even before he died. “Chief Ulf, wolf-sight,” said one man. “My father served him. I went with my Da to the great feasts. I remember you. You and Grimr, just boys like me, sitting on the grand carved chairs by the hearth. My father said the king was a terrible man, and his queen more terrifying still. Begging your pardon sir, for the saying of it.”