The Blood-Tainted Winter (10 page)

Raef stared hard at Stefnir. “Be careful of your words.” He looked back at Fengar. “Tormund died in his sleep. Odin himself would not tell you otherwise.”

Fengar seemed uncertain. “And these Hammerling men? Could they have killed him?”

“Why would they? They shared your purpose in visiting him. Killing a man is not likely to win you his spears.” Raef tilted his head back and drained his cup but saw Fengar glance at Stefnir. “Or maybe that was your intent.”

Fengar shook his head. “No, no. I want no such thing. But my scouts, they said Tormund would welcome us.”

“Then your scouts were fooled.”

Fengar was quiet. Stefnir spoke instead. “We should speak to the Hammerling’s men, lord, and then press on to Darfallow and discover the lie in Skallagrim’s words.”

Raef stepped close to Stefnir and looked down at the other man. “Say I lie again, and they will be the last words you utter.” Stefnir tried to hold his gaze, but soon his cheek twitched and he looked away. Fengar called for the prisoners to be brought in and the four bound men were shuffled into the tent.

Fengar looked them over. “Why are you here? The Hammerling’s lands are far from this place.”

“We could ask the same of you,” said one man, Norl.

“You are speaking to your king,” Stefnir said.

Norl answered by spitting near Stefnir’s feet. Stefnir drew a knife and pressed it to Norl’s chest. Fengar hesitated so Raef spoke. “Now is not the time for bloodshed, Fengar. They are four and you many. They are not worth the stain on your blade.”

Still Fengar did nothing. Raef, deprived of sword and axe but determined that Norl should live, pushed Norl back and let Stefnir’s knife rest near his own heart. “He is my prisoner.”

“See this,” Stefnir shouted. “You defend these men, their treachery is yours.”

“Perhaps the Palesword would like to meet them,” Raef said.

Fengar found his voice. “Enough. Put the knife away, Stefnir.” Stefnir scowled but did as he was told. “You will come with us to Darfallow,” Fengar said to Raef. “And these men are my prisoners now.”

Raef could only nod his understanding. To speak might spark further confrontation. He could sense that Fengar’s initial trust and good humor had waned, though whether it was his own actions or Stefnir’s influence that had caused this, he could not be certain.

The four Hammerling men, prisoners in truth now, were taken away and the blonde sisters were instructed to return with the remainder of Raef’s group. Once they were all gathered, Fengar ordered the departure of his forces. Though Fengar feigned joviality as they rode, Raef and his companions were closely watched and contained by horsemen on all sides.

“Fengar believes Tormund is alive,” Raef said to Vakre. They rode in the middle of their group and were unlikely to be heard over the drumming of horse hooves.

“How?”

“He sent scouts ahead. They say they spoke with Tormund and that he would welcome Fengar. Yesterday.”

“Then they saw someone playing a part.”

“I told Fengar as much. What his own thoughts might be, I do not know. Stefnir seems to hold sway here.”

“And the men? Norl and the others?”

“They may be out of our reach,” Raef said. “They will die before they betray the Hammerling.”

“Will you let them?”

Raef didn’t answer. The men were devoted to the Hammerling, but the journey north had brought, if not friendship, fellowship. He could still hear Norl singing the hero tales in the moonlight. Perhaps there was hope that Fengar might seek ransom for the four men, rather than take their lives.

Vakre asked another question. “Will you betray him?” It was spoken without accusation.

“For Fengar? No. I have seen enough here to know that Fengar is not my king.”

“Even if he could bring you to your father’s killer?”

Heat rushed through Raef. “What do you mean? What do you know? Tell me what you know!”

“Nothing.” Vakre remained calm. “I ask only because it is no secret that you accepted the Hammerling’s offer in hopes of finding answers. You crave vengeance more than you crave a king.”

Raef fought to steady his mind as his horse danced sideways, reflecting its rider’s tension, and for a moment he saw the Deepminded’s cold smile on Vakre’s face. As quickly as it came, the flare of anger vanished, leaving only a taunting whisper. The whisper lingered and Raef could not banish it or summon up words for Vakre. The silence stretched between them until the walls of Darfallow rose up in front of them.

The sleeping giant, for Raef could think of it as nothing else, seemed even larger in daylight. Where darkness had hidden much, the sun revealed all and glinted off the spears of at least a dozen men outside Darfallow’s gate. Raef exchanged a look with Vakre. Fengar called a halt and he rode to the gate, followed closely by the sister-warriors and Stefnir of Gornhald.

Raef could hear nothing and see only that Fengar was speaking to someone. The gate swung open and shut, swallowing Fengar and the others. There was nothing to do but wait. When Stefnir emerged alone, he wore a smug smile. He spoke to Fengar’s captains and the two other lords traveling with the king, giving orders that camp be set up. Raef recognized Vakre’s uncle, Romarr, as one of the lords.

Stefnir approached him next. “Tormund welcomes us eagerly.” Stefnir made no attempt to hide his satisfaction. “The king would have you join us.” He turned his attention to Vakre. “Your uncle is glad to know you are well, Vakre of Finnmark. You are also asked for.”

Inside the walls, Darfallow teemed with life. Servants and livestock were abundant, children raced about, and leather-clad men practiced their fighting skills. It was what Raef had thought to find upon arrival but he could not believe this transformation a mere two days later. Most startling of all was to see a man Raef had burned on a funeral pyre now striding through the snow.

The limp was there, the milkiness in the eyes, and the scar feathered the jawline just as Raef remembered. He caught Vakre’s eye and then Tormund Ravenbane was upon them, Fengar at his side.

“Welcome to Darfallow.” The voice was all wrong. It boomed and blustered, a far cry from the permanent hoarseness Raef had heard. And then there was the sword. Though sheaved in its scabbard, the hilt was not the one Tormund had grasped on his deathbed.

Raef could not keep silent. “Two nights ago, I helped build a funeral pyre for Tormund Ravenbane. You are not him.”

Laughter burst from the old man’s mouth like a rocky mountain river, coarse, clear and exuberant. When he regained control of himself, he turned to Fengar. “Who is this fool, Fengar? I ought to cut his balls off.”

Raef would not be brushed aside. “My name is Raef Skallagrim and I speak the truth.”

The old man chortled again. “Ah, the same Skallagrim who thinks something other than a boar killed his father. Now I see. This is not a fool, but a mad man.”

Raef, heedless of his surroundings, lunged for the man’s throat and succeeded in grabbing his fur collar as half a dozen swords came alive and pressed at Raef from all sides. Hands pulled him away and Raef’s arms were twisted behind his back and bound. All trace of amusement in the old man’s eyes had died. “You will regret that, dog,” he said as Fengar’s guards pushed Raef to his knees.

Fengar loomed in front of Raef. “I had thought to trust you, Skallagrim. It seems I will have to lay waste to Vannheim instead.” A look of pity crossed Fengar’s face. “You needed only to keep your mouth shut.” He turned to Stefnir. “Bind his friends and keep them under watch.”

“And these two?” Stefnir indicated Raef and Vakre, whose wrists were being tied by his uncle.

The man calling himself Tormund broke in. “I have a good place for them.”

Raef and Vakre were escorted to a lonely tower on the outer wall. The stones were crumbling in parts, but the structure was sound and the ropes that were used to bind them further were new. The blonde sisters trussed them well and then Raef and Vakre were left to listen to the wind whistle through the cracks in the tower. Though Sol and her chariot had climbed into the sky long before, the day grew dark. Raef, craning his neck to see out an arrow slit, watched boiling clouds rage overhead. Before long, streaks of lighting split the sky and thunder threatened to crack open the earth. But no rain came and Raef wondered what had caused Thor Odinson’s fury.

Raef closed his eyes, letting the storm roll over him, until a scuffle at the arrow slit claimed his attention. A large raven, flapping its wings for balance, clung to the stones and croaked once. Tilting its head, the bird seemed to stare at Raef for a moment, then, with a scream, thrust itself away from the tower and disappeared. Raef met Vakre’s eyes and knew that he, too, thought the raven’s presence strange. He had always known animals to shy away from storms.

After the storm rumbled away, the day dragged on. Raef counted the stones on the opposite wall of the tower, then counted them again. Vakre’s eyes were closed and his breath even, though he sat upright and did not slouch over in sleep. Raef had begun to recall the lines of an ancient poem he had learned as a child when Vakre stirred and spoke.

“The gods must care a great deal about who rules these lands.”

“What do you mean?”

“One man who looks like another we saw dead. A host of men in a place that was deserted not two days past. Is this not the will of Asgard?”

Raef did not want to believe it. “One king is much like another to those who live in Asgard.”

Vakre’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you do not think that raven looked at us with the eye of Odin and I will keep silent.”

Raef could say no such thing. “But why? Why would Odin seek to influence this war?”

Vakre shrugged. “The why does not matter. I would not want to guess the Wise One’s mind unless I, too, had drunk from the well of Mimir. What matters is he is here and we can be certain of nothing.”

“Even so, am I to stand by and watch the Allfather do as he pleases? No, I will carry on.”

“Carry on with what?” Vakre’s voice grew harsh. “We are prisoners.”

“For now.” Raef felt a surprising calm. “And if I am meant to end my life bound by ropes, I will still find a way to die with sword in hand.” Raef heard himself echoing the words Tormund had spoken. It felt right to do so. “That is enough for me. If I die here tomorrow, leaving my father’s murderer unscathed, I will go to Valhalla knowing that one day I will meet him there. And then I can draw his blood for all eternity.”

Vakre was silent for a moment. “You are right.” He leaned his head back against the stones. “Allfather or no, this war is still ours to fight and this world is still ours to live in.”

As the sun dropped, Raef and Vakre worked on their bonds but succeeded only in removing skin. By the time the moon had risen, Raef’s wrists were raw and his insides protested the lack of sustenance. They had not eaten since dawn. The cold had begun to wear on them as well and Raef could see snow falling by the light of the moon. The night seemed to span three days. Sleep eluded Raef, though Vakre appeared to drift off for a time. Even this rest, though, was broken. He jerked twice and shouted before waking, though he did not seem aware that he had done so. Three times Raef thought he saw the sky lighten and three times he was mistaken. When the grey light of dawn did finally begin to grow, Raef felt as though the sun was already bathing him in brilliant light.

Thirteen

T
hey were retrieved
from the prison after the sun had appeared on the horizon. The warriors said nothing and prodded Raef, his limbs weak with cold, as he stumbled from the tower. They were brought before Fengar in the grand hall that had been long empty on Raef’s last visit. A large fire burned strong and bright and Raef was glad to linger near its warmth while waiting for Fengar to arrive. At the king’s entrance, the guards shoved Raef and Vakre to the floor.

“I wonder what you thought to accomplish here, Skallagrim.” Fengar bent over and looked Raef in the eye. “And the lies about Tormund. What purpose could they have served? But it matters not. Whatever you hoped for will not come to pass now.”

Raef did not extend an answer, but kept his eyes fixed on Fengar’s face. Fengar could pretend he did not care to know what Raef might have planned, but Raef could see this to be a falsehood.

Fengar stood upright and paced a few steps away. “Stefnir wants me to kill you. Should I let him have his way?”

“Killing me would only drive Vannheim further from you.”

Fengar shrugged. “And?”

“And leave six hundred spears burning for your blood. I am sure the Palesword would welcome them gladly.”

Fengar’s lip curled but he did not threaten Raef further. “And you, Vakre of Finnmark? What part do you have in all this?”

“One that does not concern you.”

The anger Fengar felt toward Raef but dared not act on was unleashed on Vakre. Fengar lunged forward and delivered a vicious blow to Vakre’s jaw with his fist. Vakre rocked back but stayed upright on his knees, eyes defiant.

Raef stood. “Your fight is with me, Fengar. And remember that Vakre’s uncle could take what he has given if you displease him.”

Fengar scoffed. “His uncle. Romarr told me he would not stop to give his nephew water if he found him bleeding by the road. You will find no friend there.” A warrior rushed into the hall and whispered something in Fengar’s ear. Whatever it was delayed Fengar’s decision on their fate. The king turned to the guards who had brought Raef and Vakre and said, “Get them on horseback and keep them under close watch. We are leaving.”

The horses were their own, though their gear had been removed. Raef and Vakre’s hands were tied to the saddles and they were ushered into the column of mounted men. Of their companions, there was no sign. Unlike the previous morning, the warriors moved efficiently and quickly and Fengar’s force was soon ready for departure, horsemen in the rear and on the sides, warriors on foot in the middle. Whatever news had spurred them on remained a secret to Raef.

A steady pace was set, one that would push the men on foot but keep the horses fresh in case of sudden battle, and they soon passed from Darfallow’s valley. Raef could not even be sure Tormund himself had accompanied them, but the Darfallow banner was present and he thought he saw a rider with a white beard in the distance.

Two of the three blonde sisters were among Raef and Vakre’s guards. The third was riding ahead with Fengar. Their shields were broad, their swords long, and their arms as thickly-muscled as some men. They rode with blank faces, looking left and right only occasionally, and never at the same time; a habit to ascertain oncoming threats. They did not appear to be very concerned with their prisoners, but Raef was certain he was being more closely watched than it seemed. Even if the sisters did turn their backs, escaping from the column would be impossible.

Deep into a pine forest they traveled, their pace slowed by low branches and undergrowth and their footsteps matching the path of the sun. Raef wondered why Fengar would choose to bring his entire host through the trees, rather than send the bulk on a different route and press through with a smaller number. So many men and horses were loud and difficult to hide. Whatever waited in the trees, Raef had to assume Fengar was certain his numbers would outweigh any hope of surprise.

A thick fog roosted among the trees, but Raef judged it was midday when a halt was called. Raef could see a pair of scouts return to Fengar, and then the king spoke to the lords and captains surrounding him. Four distinct groups were then formed and it became clear to Raef that Fengar intended to proceed with three fighting groups, leaving behind servants, prisoners, and a few warriors. Raef and Vakre were relegated to the fourth group along with their companions, who were also bound but bore no injuries.

Within moments, Fengar’s warriors were deep enough in the trees to be out of sight, but the woods were still alive with the sound of men and horses.

The prisoners had been unhorsed and grouped together. Raef worked his way to Siv and Eira, who were clustered among a group of men Raef did not know.

“Do you know what brings us here?” Raef asked Siv and Eira.

“No,” Siv said. “We heard nothing.”

“They would not let me fight,” Eira said.

“Did you tell them you were worth five men?” Raef smiled a little.

“No, I told them I would cut out their eyes if they did not give me my sword.”

“If we could find our weapons, we could overpower the warriors and be gone before Fengar returned,” Siv said.

Raef scanned the wagons that, having been outdistanced leaving Darfallow, had straggled into the clearing to join them. Nothing caught his eye.

“I will find out,” Eira said. She walked over to one of the warriors, who watched her warily. Raef could not hear what she said, but soon the warrior seemed to agree to whatever Eira was asking for, and followed her into the trees. They disappeared from view. Raef watched the spot where he had last seen them, half-expecting the warrior to return with Eira’s severed head in hand.

After a long moment, Eira reappeared alone some distance away and darted back among the prisoners. Raef looked around; no one seemed to have noticed.

“Fengar is keeping your weapons close at hand,” Eira said to Raef. “A prize to brag about. Ours?” Eira shrugged. “Scattered among his captains.”

“And where is our friend?”

Eira grinned. “He has found refuge in a hollow log. Or, part of him has. Part of him is up a tree.” She moved aside the edge of her cloak just enough to reveal the hilt of a sword. It was wet with blood. “But he gave me this.”

“We cannot fight our way out with a single blade, but we can sever our bonds.” They huddled close to each other, shielding Eira from view as she cut the ropes that held their wrists. Their hands free, they edged to the outside of the group of prisoners and stood as close to the trees as possible. “In the commotion of Fengar’s return, we may be able to slip away,” Raef said.”

“And the others?” Vakre gestured to the Vannheim and Hammerling men.

Raef looked across the clearing and smiled. “Sindri has not been idle.” The young Vannheim warrior, using a wagon to conceal himself, had worked a narrow knife free from his boot and now he used the blade to saw at another warrior’s bonds, though his own hands were still tied behind his back. It was an awkward, difficult task. “I dare not go to them. It would draw far too much attention. With luck they will fashion their own escape and we can regroup within the safety of the trees.” The guards continued to circle the prisoners and Raef’s stomach twisted as the roving eyes brushed over Sindri and his companions. Warned in time, Sindri went still. “It is only a matter of time, though,” Raef said, “before they discover one of their own is missing. And when they do, we will have lost our chance.”

Raef’s heart thrummed in his chest as he waited for the alarm to be raised, for Sindri to be spotted, but the only sound that broke the long, nervous silence in the clearing was the sound of victory as the bloodied and boisterous warriors began to return. Whatever Fengar had found in the trees, he had triumphed over it. The king’s horse pranced into Raef’s view.

“The first of many victories against the Palesword,” Fengar roared as he held up his bloody axe for all to see. “Break out the ale!” The men cheered, their blood still up from battle, and Raef glanced around. All eyes seemed fixed on Fengar, but Raef had eyes only for Sindri, who was staring across the clearing at him. They shared a nod between them and Raef watched as the redheaded warrior dipped out of sight. Raef waited with baited breath, hoping the rest had gotten free in time, hoping Fengar’s men were distracted by the promise of ale to wet their lips, but waiting would not guarantee their safety and would only endanger his own. Raef, sending a silent plea to Frigg to protect his men, began to back up, edging closer and closer to the pine branches that would provide cover. Vakre, Siv, and Eira did the same. Only when he had brushed through the branches and they slid back to block the clearing from view did Raef turn away and then come to a halt.

Four paces from him, a young warrior stood in his path, gaze darting from Raef to his friends, breeches unfastened, mouth open in surprise.

Raef did not wait another moment. Closing the gap in two strides, he caught the young man by the wrist and, twisting, brought him to the ground. With one swift motion, Raef encircled the man’s neck with his arm and then reached into his opponent’s boot for the knife he had seen stashed there. A quick strike and the blade sank deep into the back of the warrior’s neck. There had been no chance to struggle or scream.

Dropping the body, Raef plunged into the trees, knife in hand, his friends on his heels. They moved up and away, climbing a hill to the west of the clearing. Branches scraped by and loose dirt slid out from under Raef’s feet as the hill steepened and he had to work harder to scrabble his way up. So intent on his progress was he and so thick was the fog that he barreled straight into the crouching warriors who waited on top of the hill.

Too late, Raef tried to sidestep but tripped and sprawled in the dirt. A spear point in his back kept him there, his breath coming hard, earth in his mouth. The knife was still in his hand and the instant he felt the pressure of the spear lessen, he twisted and sprang to his feet, ready to defend himself. Eira had her blade threatening another man’s balls but Vakre and Siv, weaponless, were surrounded.

“Touch them and this man dies,” Eira said. The man who had the spear seemed uncertain whether to continue to point it at Raef or to turn on Eira.

“No one needs to die. Yet.” The voice came from behind Raef and he turned just enough to see Torrulf Palesword. The legendary sword was still sheathed at his hip, but his eyes seemed to glitter with purpose and power. “Raef Skallagrim. I did not think to find you here.”

Raef kept the knife up and glanced from Torrulf to the spearman. “I could say the same for you.”

“Did Fengar honey his words well enough to entice you?”

“If there was honey on the ropes he bound me with, I did not notice.” Raef gestured down the hill. “We escaped. He is down there.”

“I know he is down there. I put him there.” Torrulf looked closely at Raef, taking in the raw skin around his wrists and the knife that was his only defense. “You say you escaped. How many men does Fengar have down in that clearing?”

“Two hundred.” Raef answered without hesitation. He met Torrulf’s gaze and did not look away. After a moment, the Palesword turned and looked at the warrior with the spear, who gave a slight nod in response to an unasked question.

“Bind them,” the Palesword said. “But do them no harm.” He turned back to Raef. “I will speak with you later.” The Palesword walked over to the other side of the hill as Raef’s wrists were bound and the bloody knife removed from his grasp. At a signal, warriors swarmed up to the top of the hill, too quickly and too many for Raef to count. He could only be certain that the Palesword’s men outnumbered Fengar’s. Four were left behind to watch over Raef and his companions, but Torrulf led the rest down the hill, a creeping, quiet avalanche of sharp blades and broad shields shrouded in fog, toward the clearing where Fengar celebrated his victory.

The stillness that remained on top of the hill was absolute. Where Fengar had pursued his quarry into the trees with sound and fury, Torrulf descended with purpose and patience. Left atop the hill, Raef closed his eyes on the fog and waited, his mind’s eye on the clearing below.

The first sounds of battle that floated up the hill were nearly imperceptible. A ring of blade on blade there, a muffled shout there. For a moment, Raef wondered if this was what the gods felt, looking down from Asgard, watching men fight. It would seem like children playing at war games to them. So distant did Raef feel, it was hard to imagine the maelstrom and savagery that he knew was unfolding below.

Vakre broke the silence and spoke to the warrior closest to him. “If Fengar wins, will you flee for your lives or try to kill us first?”

The warrior barred his teeth in defiance. Another answered for him. “Fengar will lose. The Palesword will tear him limb from limb.”

“So sure?” Vakre kept his voice calm, enraging the first warrior even more as he edged closer. Raef stepped in, prepared to intervene, defenseless and bound as he was. That Vakre was upset at being a prisoner again, Raef could understand, but to strike out in this manner was useless. Vakre needed to keep his tongue behind his teeth. And then Raef saw that Vakre’s bonds were loose and he was within reach of an axe handle on the warrior’s belt. Raef glared hard at him, trying to compel restraint.

“Listen,” Siv said, breaking Vakre’s moment. The sounds of battle had ceased. Raef strained to hear something, anything, that might indicate the result, but nothing reached him. The four warriors watching them exchanged glances and then one started down the hill. He, too, disappeared into the fog.

The wait was interminable and the nerves of the Palesword’s men were raw and exposed. Every snapping twig, every shuffled leaf, caused their gazes to dart and their grips to stiffen. Then, a single set of pounding footsteps approached and a shieldmaiden burst into view.

“We are victorious,” she said. “The Palesword says to bring them.”

Raef was encouraged down the hill by the same spear that had been in his back earlier. The clearing was filled with the voices of the dying and the stench of the dead. Blood ran from corpses to mingle with urine on the trampled ground. Wounded warriors groaned and writhed amid the gore. The Palesword’s men brought mercy to those they deemed worthy of it and let the rest linger on in pain and fear. Raef searched for a sign of Fengar but could not see him among the prisoners who were able to stand. But neither did he see Sindri’s red hair or Norl’s broad shoulders, and for this Raef was glad. The Palesword, surveying everything, looked long and hard at Raef and then beckoned him over.