The Blood-Tainted Winter (23 page)

“I mean to see it done, with or without you.”

Raef did not want to argue with the captain. “You do not need to threaten me, Leifnar. I may disagree, but I have given all to the Hammerling, my word first and foremost. I intend to keep it.”

Leifnar nodded but his eyes remained hard and Raef knew he could expect trouble if things went badly with Fengar. But the captain was loyal and Raef would expect no less. He did not fault Leifnar. The blame lay with the Hammerling and his demand.

Twenty-Four

I
n these parts
of Solheim, there was yet no sign of war, save for the path they followed. It cut through open farmland and forested hills alike, a swath of broken ground amid clean snow and quiet trees. They caught sight of Fengar’s host before midday, as Raef had thought. Reaching a barren hilltop, Raef and Leifnar got their first glimpse of men and horses snaking along the shore of a narrow lake. Their numbers were still strong, though it was clear Fengar had lost many in battle and to the flood. From their vantage point, Raef could see that the men were positioned well, even in flight. A rear guard of mounted warriors trailed the larger group, prepared to defend those on foot. Ahead, those at the front set a pace easily managed by those who walked. Raef suspected the weakest had been given horses as well, for there were a large number of mounted men in the middle of the pack. That Fengar had sent a scouting party ahead, Raef had no doubt.

Rather than descending to the lakeshore to follow the trail, Raef kept his men on higher ground until trees interrupted the sightline to the enemy. He then split his force in two, riding ahead with a small group that could get close to Fengar and leaving the rest to follow at a distance. One swift rider he sent back to alert the Hammerling that they had closed the gap on their quarry.

The mood of Raef’s company changed that day. At first they had been glad to be free of the crowded confines of Fengar’s stronghold, glad to be away from the wounded and the grisly battlefield. They had ridden north with joyful, proud hearts. With Fengar sighted and within reach, the joy turned to resolve, for these men remembered the brothers they had lost to Fengar’s spears but a few days past.

For three days they followed Fengar in this way. Riders moved back and forth between Raef’s scouting party and the main force. Two camps were kept each night and each day Raef sent another rider south to pass word to the Hammerling. Progress was slowed on the second day, for the terrain grew rough as they passed into Ervard lands, a jumble of rocky hills and deep ravines.

Hauk of Ruderk grumbled at their pace when he joined Raef’s lead party that second day and Raef found him looking east often as they scrambled over the rocks.

“Had we but gone further east into my lands, the way would be easier,” Hauk said after a steep descent into a ravine nearly sent two men tumbling from their horses.

“He is smart to have gone this way,” Raef said. “For the first time, his path has become hard to follow. But we will not lose them.”

“Why should I not take the main force east? I could meet you on the other side of this forsaken land and we can descend on Fengar then. We will be fresher for having ridden over smooth fields.”

“Fresher after going far out of our way? No, we will hold this course. And I do not mean to fight Fengar. Broken though they are, his numbers still give him an advantage. We will take him by other means.”

“Our command is equal, Skallagrim. I could insist.” Raef turned in his saddle to read Hauk’s face. The other man held his gaze and then grinned. “I only wish that troll-friend, Harald Valderson, could see me now as I stomp through his lands.”

Raef thought of his vow to end the border dispute between Ervard and Ruderk, the vow that had ended with Einarr’s death. “Has the Hammerling made you any promises against Valderson?”

“He says he will reward me well. I will see that he does.”

The third day brought a reprieve from the harsh land and they spent the sunlit hours within a deep pine forest. As day turned to night and the birds and the creatures of the day gave way to darker things that roamed in the moonlight, Raef saw at last a way to make Fengar a captive without engaging in battle.

Creeping close to Fengar’s camp as they had done each night, Raef and Leifnar observed the scene before them.

“Luck is with us, I think,” Raef whispered as they looked down on Fengar’s camp. It was set within a large bowl in the forest, surrounded on two sides by small cliffs and containing few trees. “He has chosen poorly for the first time.” The men and horses were packed tightly into the bowl and the horses were grouped near the cliff faces. Raef indicated the ledge they were crouched on. “Place archers up here. With a few flaming arrows, the horses will panic and run. As the fire spreads, Fengar’s captains will look for his safety, but we will have infiltrated those closest to him before the arrows ever fly. The fire will push Fengar out that way,” Raef pointed across the bowl, “where our full force lies in wait. We take care of the guards and bring him into our fold.”

Leifnar thought for a moment and then nodded. “It is good.”

They returned to the scouts and sent word back to the rest of the men. Leifnar would be responsible for positioning the archers and the warriors who waited outside the bowl. Finnolf, the young Vannheim captain, requested command over the archers and Raef granted it. He showed Finnolf the cliffs and explained the plan.

“Once Fengar is ours, we will ride hard to the east and the safety of Ruderk lands. You and your archers will be the target of their retaliation. If you escape easily, head east. If they are hard on you, you must lead them away.” It was a risky position, but Raef trusted Finnolf to handle it.

“I understand, lord. It will be done.”

Raef selected five Vannheim warriors he knew well to infiltrate the camp with him. They waited near the camp until Leifnar crept forward to tell Raef that all were in position. “We approach from the eastern side of the camp. The largest tent is not far from the edge. It must be Fengar’s. Once inside we will have no way to signal. You must alert Finnolf when you judge we have had enough time,” Raef said. Leifnar nodded and disappeared again.

Without another word, Raef led the men among the thick trees until they reached the bowl. One by one, they descended the gentle slope and slipped into the camp at different entry points as though returning from relieving their bladders, their hoods hiding their features. Raef watched them go, saw that no one accosted them, and then was the last to make his entrance. They reconvened near the large tent, from which voices were audible, but kept their distance from each other, standing alone or in pairs. That Fengar would not recognize his men, Raef knew. When the fire started, they would be among the first to reach the lord. Under pretense of taking Fengar to safety, they would move him out of the bowl, killing any who might follow.

Raef stood close to the rear of the tent and listened to the voices within. He heard four distinct voices. Fengar’s was one, though it was Stefnir of Gornhald who spoke the most. The other two, Raef was unsure of.

“We should make for Gornhald, lord,” Stefnir was saying. “We have word that Freywyn has suffered an attack and we do not know where Sigholf is. There is no refuge there, though it is closer than my lands.”

“And who is to say Gornhald is any stronger? We have little knowledge of the state of your lands, Stefnir.” Fengar seemed weary, as though they had argued over this before. “You know as well as I the rumors of battle in the northern lands, of foul betrayal and cursed blood.”

Time passed slowly as Raef stood near the tent and he began to wonder when the arrows would be loosed. If they had been discovered, Fengar would have been brought word already, and yet Raef worried that something had gone wrong or that Leifnar would wait too long.

He heard the horse scream before he saw the flames. The cry pierced the night and the far end of the bowl became of flurry of movement. Some horses tried to flee, rampaging through the sleeping men, heedless of obstacles. Others seemed uncertain, their feet dancing over the cold ground as they lunged first one way and then another. Shouts sounded as men raced to the fire’s origin point, but the horses slowed their progress and the flames began to spread, catching on woolen blankets and dry pinecones. Raef watched, waiting a moment, and then gave a nod to two of his men. They slipped around to the front of the tent just as Raef heard Fengar ask what all the noise was.

“Come with us, lord,” one of Raef’s men said. “There is a fire. Archers are on the cliffs. We must get you away from here.”

Raef held his breath as Fengar protested. “I will not flee. We will fight them.”

“We do not know how many they are, lord.”

“He is right, Fengar,” Stefnir said. “We can regroup and engage them.”

If Fengar agreed, he did so without speaking, but a moment later the tent was empty and Fengar was being led away, Stefnir of Gornhald at his side. The two nameless voices seemed to have rushed to help those who fought the fire, for they were not in sight. Raef held his position as two more of his men fell in around Fengar, but then Fengar paused and turned to look behind him at the flames that were eating away at his camp. Raef ducked around the other side of the tent so he would not be spotted and accosted for being an idle bystander.

“Come, lord, we must hurry,” Raef heard one of his men urge. Their progress resumed and Raef moved to follow, though keeping his distance and staying alert. His last man was visible mirroring Raef’s movement on the other side of Fengar’s escort. As they approached the rise of the bowl, four warriors hurried to Fengar’s side and Raef readied himself to attack but his heart sank. They were equal in number now and to kill the unwanted extras would take too long and draw too much attention. Already, they had slowed again and had not gained the top of the bowl. Without another thought, Raef grabbed the mane of a horse that had escaped the fire and vaulted onto its back. Urging it up the slope and keeping his hood up and his head low, he began to shout.

“Traitors, traitors! They mean to kill you, lord. Give me your hand.” Raef slowed slightly and extended his arm as he approached Fengar. The escort was suddenly alive with flashing steel as weapons were drawn. Fengar did not hesitate. Grabbing Raef’s arm, he held tight and managed to climb up behind Raef. Looking back just once, Raef saw knives find homes in two of Fengar’s men. Then he turned his attention to the trees ahead and wove through them to safety.

As the firelight faded behind them, Raef could feel Fengar’s heart beating against him and knew his own was pounding as well. He wanted to look back and see if anyone followed, friend or foe. He wanted to return and help them fight their way out. But he could only move forward, bound to the Hammerling’s will.

“They do not give chase,” Fengar said, his voice loud in Raef’s ear. “Pull up.” Raef did not slow. “Do you hear me? Halt at once.” Raef only urged the horse faster and then he saw the faint glint of moonlight on metal ahead and knew they were close to his waiting men. “Stop, I command you,” Fengar shouted. Raef pulled the horse up hard and they skidded to a stop. Fengar jumped down, his gaze on the distant scene behind them. Raef dismounted and approached Fengar from behind, drawing his knife. Stepping close, he pressed the blade against Fengar’s neck.

“Do not move,” he said, his voice low.

Fengar tried to turn to see who accosted him. Raef twisted with him and kept the blade on Fengar’s throat. A thin red line appeared as the skin was cut. “Odin curse you,” Fengar said. He spat. “All the gods in Asgard curse traitors.”

Raef leaned in close and spoke in Fengar’s ear. “But I am no traitor, Fengar.” Grabbing Fengar’s shoulder, Raef spun him around so they stood face to face. The knife, now ready to stab Fengar’s heart, was the only distance between them.

Fengar’s face showed surprise and fear, but most of all anger. “Skallagrim.” He reached for a weapon of his own but the moment his hand twitched, Raef slashed his blade across the back of Fengar’s hand. The lord winced and was still. “What do you think to do with me? Kill me here among the trees? You will not get away with it. My men will hunt you.”

“They can try.” Raef let out a sharp whistle and from the trees behind him emerged his warriors, Leifnar at their head. Fengar’s contempt vanished from his face and Raef knew he had not expected such a large force. Raef patted the bleeding hand with the flat of his blade. “Get him on a horse.” Four warriors closed around Fengar and dragged him to a mount, tying his hands as they went. Raef gave the unsaddled horse to a waiting captain and then mounted his own, the grey the Palesword had given him. A moment later, the warriors receded into the trees as quickly as they had come.

Raef thought to circle back and see Finnolf and his archers to safety or discover if the five men who had infiltrated the camp with him had extricated themselves, but he knew his place was with his prisoner. He pushed through the trees, his head low behind the horse’s neck to keep the branches from his face, and forced himself to think only of the road ahead. The men had played their part and knew the risks they took. Only Odin could help them now.

Their course took them east and they did not stop until dawn. As the horses drank from a stream, Raef found Hauk of Ruderk.

“How far to your lands?”

“Half a day. There is a large village at the border where we can replenish our supplies.” Hauk eyed Fengar, who had not been allowed to dismount. He sat tall in the saddle, not looking at the warriors who watched him or the lead horse his own was tied to. “We can push further into Ruderk and wait for the Hammerling to meet us.”

“No. We will wait nowhere. We must keep moving.”

“And the other men?”

“They will find us if they can. We cannot linger.” Raef turned and called for the warriors to mount. Leaving the men ate at him and he did not wish to discuss it. Even if they did all make it out alive, only Finnolf’s men had horses. Unless they found each other, the other five had only their feet. Raef knew their chances were poor.