Iron Axe (21 page)

“What is your name, human?” Hess asked.

“T-Talfi,” he managed.

“May Fell and Belinna guide your spirit, Talfi,” he said. With a single stroke, Hess cut off Talfi's head.

W
hen Danr came to himself, it was dark. A group of drums beat in the near distance, and stars burned steadily overhead. The air was cool now, but Danr was slick with sweat. He couldn't move, and his head ached. It took him a moment to work out that a wyrm had wrapped itself around him, gently but tightly. The scales were cool and unyielding as iron. Danr could draw breath, nothing more. He shook his head. The last thing he remembered was—

Talfi. Talfi was dead. Hess had cut his head off. Danr could still see the blood fountain from his neck, hear the awful thud of Talfi's lifeless head hitting the ground. Grief and despair crushed him, and if the wyrm hadn't held him upright, he would have fallen to his knees. Tears ran unchecked down his face. Talfi was dead. The orcs had killed him. How dared they call themselves Kin when they murdered a crippled man? And how could he create an alliance with creatures that were as cold-blooded as the wyrms they rode? They might slaughter the Stane as fast as look at them.

But these thoughts were nothing but a dodge from the main matter—that this was Danr's fault.

Danr had known little of orcs and less of their ways, and
he had definitely known how dangerous a long-range Twist could be, but he had allowed Talfi to come along anyway. If he had told Talfi to stay behind, Talfi wouldn't have lost his leg and none of this would have happened. But Danr had allowed it, and Talfi was dead. Worse, he had died thinking Danr disliked him, maybe even hated him, for being
regi.

Danr's cheeks burned with shame and guilt. Talfi had been forced to reveal a secret that frightened and unnerved him, and what had Danr, his closest friend, done? Shunned him, shamed him. Danr himself knew what it was like to be despised for being born the way he was. How could he have turned around and done the same thing to the first real friend he'd ever had after Aisa? Now Talfi was dead.
Dead.
And Danr had no way to beg his forgiveness. The grief crushed him like the wyrm's coils.

“You are yourself again,” Kalessa said. It was her wyrm that held him. “Fell's fever took you when your friend died. It took six orcs to pin you down so Slynd here could wrap you. My father was much impressed.”

“You filth,” Danr spat. “He was helpless. He hadn't done anything to you, and you killed him.”

She cocked her head. “What a strange and cruel person you are.”

“I'm cruel?” he said. “Vik's balls, what—”

“Your friend could never again ride or run or even walk. So cruel to condemn him to such a life. Instead he was dispatched by an honored chieftain and sent straight to Valorhame itself.” She slapped her chest. “Most orcs would give their wyrms for such an honor.”

Danr closed his eyes. Even without looking at the truth, he could see she meant every word. His gut felt filled with lead.

“Just let me down,” he said woodenly.

“Has the madness left you?” she said. “Chax and Xentho will be aching for days.”

“I'm . . . I can't say I'm fine, but I won't attack anyone.”

Kalessa made a gesture. Her wyrm uncoiled and withdrew, recoiling itself a few yards away. Danr winced as his feet touched the ground and hot pain scored his side. His wound hadn't been attended. He grimaced. Maybe he should just leave it, let it fester as a penance for his foolishness.

“Hamzu!” Aisa hurried over. “You are yourself again. They would not let me—I was so worried.”

“I'm sorry. Talfi—” Still grimacing, he started to sink to the ground, but she wouldn't let him, and somehow the support turned into an embrace. He knew she feared him and his strength, but for just this moment, he gave in and let himself hold her, and even though he was more than twice her size, it felt as if she was holding him. She was a rock, a mountain, even, and he was able to rest on her. It felt good to let someone else prop him up, and until this moment, he hadn't noticed how difficult it had been to keep himself upright on his own all this time. Only Aisa could do that. Tears welled up, and he couldn't hold them back.

“It will be all right,” Aisa whispered into his chest. “It will.”

“How can he be dead?” Danr choked. “He was my friend, and now he's dead.”

“I know,” was all she said, and it had to be enough. “I know. You must come to the fire so I can examine your side.”

Danr pulled away and wiped at his eyes. The orcs had set up camp. Hide tents of many sizes and more fires had sprung up all around the river. The wyrms, unsaddled, curled together in hissing mountains. The drums throbbed a constant rhythm, though these didn't stir Danr up like the ones in the troll city. These drums were instead softer, quieter, calming.

“The comfort drums are to aid us through Talfi's death,” Kalessa said as they came to the fireside. “He was a friend
of my blood sister, which makes him a friend of the Eighth Nest.”

Danr knew she meant well, but he wanted to hit her. Only the pain in his side kept him moving toward the fire instead of dropping to the ground beneath a black load of guilt and grief. Next to the hearth lay a sad little bundle covered in a red cloth. Talfi's body. The sight of it wrenched Danr's chest anew, and his jaw trembled. Orcs drummed nearby. Danr didn't want to show more tears to them, but he wasn't sure he could hold off, and he desperately wished Kalessa and her friends would go away.

“The orcs use red for mourning,” Aisa explained quietly. “Sit here and let me examine you.”

All three of them sat. The heat of the fire felt good. Aisa pulled up Danr's tunic, and he hissed at the fresh pain.

“This is not as bad as I had feared,” she announced. “It just needs a few stitches. You do heal quickly.”

She poured something alcoholic and burning over the wound—Danr had no idea where she'd gotten it—and set to work with a needle. Danr didn't feel the pricking, not with Talfi's corpse cooling a few feet away. The orcs drummed on.

“You were immensely brave, Prince Hamzu.” Kalessa was seated cross-legged next to him, her auburn hair neatly braided across her head. Danr couldn't help noticing how striking she was, but he found her much less beautiful than before. “And my sister Aisa was equally brave. You acquitted well both Kin and Stane.”

“I don't understand that,” Danr said, more to take his mind off Talfi for a moment than anything else. “What did you do?”

“Aisa was brave and resourceful, even at the point of death. When I looked into her eyes, I saw a like spirit, even if she didn't know how to fight,” Kalessa said. “Among our people, the bonds between sisters are the strongest of all, but
I was born with none, so I made Aisa my sister. I will defend her to my last breath, and she will do the same for me until Belinna takes us to Valorhame.”

Danr closed his right eye. Kalessa was filled with truth. “How does Aisa feel about it?” he asked.

“Aisa never had a sister, either,” said Aisa. “She finds the arrangement satisfactory, though she is unhappy about . . .” She paused and gulped air. “. . . Talfi's death.”

“Yes.” Kalessa's voice turned sad. “I wish there were some other way, friend Hamzu. Talfi could not ride a wyrm or run beside one, and we could not leave him behind to starve or be devoured by wild animals. That would be cruel indeed. Your friend died the moment he lost his leg. He just did not know it.” She touched his shoulder. “I am very sorry.”

New grief welled up and Danr worked his jaw back and forth while the orcs drummed and drummed. His head said Kalessa was right, but his heart shouted she was wrong, that they could have found another way.

“Done,” Aisa said. “I will check this in a few days, but I think you have nothing to fear.”

“Good, then.” Kalessa rose as an orc dressed in an elaborately embroidered green cloak with the hood drawn approached them. “Now it is time, good Prince Hamzu.”

Danr got stiffly to his feet, followed by Aisa. “Time for what?”

“You must give your friend to the fire.” The hooded orc gestured toward Talfi's red-shrouded body. Her voice was female, but her face remained hidden and she wore emerald gloves. Ashkame, the sacred tree, was embroidered in gold thread across the back of her cloak. “We have built it up for you so his remains will burn quickly while we drum for his spirit.”

“Oh.” Already? Danr looked at the red bundle. It seemed too small to be Talfi. How could he put his best friend in the fire? It was that, or leave his body for wolves and vultures.
Except the orcs hadn't put any amulets or coins into the shroud. How would he bribe his way past icy Halza? Danr searched through his pockets, and came up with nothing. He touched his throat.

“Wait,” he said.

The shaman waited, her emerald hands clasped within her sleeves. Danr unbent the heavy gold torc from around his neck, knelt, and slid the piece into Talfi's shroud. It was enough to bribe passage for a dozen earls past Halza. But it still felt paltry and small. Perhaps he could take something from Vesha's chest. He shook his head. The torc, troll-made coins, all the treasure from under the mountain, was nothing but gold, not worthy of someone like Talfi. Danr needed something more, something real.

Then he knew. With careful fingers, Danr removed the pouch that contained his and his mother's splinters and slipped it under the shroud into Talfi's cold hand. It was the most valuable thing he owned, and he could think of nothing better to give, no, he couldn't.

“I'm sorry I brought this on you,” Danr whispered. “I'll do everything I can to make everything better. I'm sorry I called you a . . . what I did. I'm glad you were my friend.” His voice choked over the last words.

Aisa came to stand beside him, and her eyes were wet over her scarf. “I should say a blessing,” he muttered thickly, “but I don't know how.”

“When my mother died,” Aisa said, “I had no words for days and days. That is why priests speak for the dead.”

He wished she would embrace him again, that he could hold her. But he remembered her fear and held back. The ache of loneliness, especially for Aisa, was the worst he could remember. And the drums droned on. Their rhythm shifted, readying themselves for Talfi's spirit.

His spirit.

A thought speared his mind and chilled his insides. Death was chained up. Everyone who died became a
draugr
, a spirit who haunted the earth. So where was Talfi's
draugr
? In his grief, Danr had entirely forgotten.

“This doesn't make sense,” Danr whispered. “Where are you, Talfi?”

“I don't understand,” Aisa said, confused.

And within the red shroud, Talfi sat up.

Danr shot backward, snatching Aisa with him. The drummers dropped their drums and fled. In no time at all, the circle around the fire was deserted, and screaming chaos spread through the camp. The fire danced as if nothing had happened. Even the emerald-cloaked shaman had vanished.

Kalessa, next to Danr and Aisa, had her sword out. Danr swallowed. This had to be Talfi's
draugr
manifesting a little late, that was all. Wasn't it? Except Danr couldn't see through Talfi, and it was clearly Talfi's body that was sitting up. This was not a spirit leaving the body behind. Danr's heart beat so fast his eyes hurt.

Talfi pulled the shroud away from his face and body. His hair was mussed and his face was a little pale, but he was still the handsome, sharp-faced young man Danr remembered. His head was back on his shoulders, no sign of the great sword cut, or any cut at all. Aisa put her hands to the scarf over her mouth and made a small sound. Talfi got unsteadily to his feet—both of them. His right leg was hale and whole, if bare. His leggings were still cut neatly at midthigh and his right foot was unshod. The gold torc fell out of the cloth and rolled away as Talfi gained his feet, and he stared down, confused, at the pouch of splinters in his hand.

“What creature is this?” Kalessa gasped.

Danr stood half in the circle of light, half in the dark. His mouth was dry as sand. He didn't know how to react to this, and his mind was stuck halfway between here and there,
between life and death, grief and happiness. This had to be a trick. Who had done it, and how? But the other half of him hoped beyond breathless hope that it was indeed true, that Talfi had somehow come back from the dead. He stared, unable to move, unable even to breathe.

Talfi blinked, as if blinded by the firelight. He raised Danr's pouch to his face and sniffed hard, then closed his eyes and sniffed again. He cocked his head like a cat listening for something. Then he put the pouch around his neck over the silver amulet he customarily wore, the one that he had refused to sell even when he was starving.

Danr couldn't stand it anymore. “Talfi?” he called hoarsely. “Is it you?”

Talfi's head came up and he shaded his eyes. “Who's that?”

By now a number of orcs had recovered from their consternation and a small crowd of them stole back to the darkness just beyond the fire, most of them with swords or axes drawn, though they didn't get too close. The shaman was nowhere to be seen.

“It's me, Talfi.” Danr cautiously stepped into the circle of light. “Do you see me?”

Talfi yelped when he saw Danr, and he backed away. Only at the last moment did he avoid backing into the fire. “The Nine! Who are you?”

Danr's chest constricted in iron bands. “It's me. Hamzu. Truth-Teller. Your friend.”

“Don't hurt me,” he said.

Orcish swords gleamed like grins in the darkness.

“I . . .” Danr hesitated. “I won't hurt you, Talfi. You're safe.”

“Is that my name?” he asked. “Talfi?”

The direct question forced Danr to answer. “Of course. You don't remember?”

Talfi shook his head.

“What's the last thing you
do
remember?”