Read The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1) Online
Authors: Tony Daniel
Tags: #Fables, #Legends, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Norse, #Fantasy & Magic, #General, #Myths
The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1) (17 page)
Chapter Twenty-Two:
The Harbinger
Just after the melken bell rang out from Allfather Cathedral, a rider on a sweat-glazed brown stallion rode through the eastern gate of Raukenrose Township. He was wearing the silver buffalo badge of the castle garrison and would normally have been well known to the town guards. The watchmen at the gate didn’t recognize him through all the caked dust on his face. His horse stood still while they questioned him. The man started to answer when the horse let out a pitiful whinny and fell down dead. It seemed as if its sinews and joints had disintegrated.
The man was knocked out cold.
Two watchmen picked the man up and poured some water on his face. Another tended to the horse. The water woke the man out of his stupor.
Closer up, they saw who it was. Captain Geizbart of the guard. Suddenly Geizbart’s face twisted in fear as he gazed at the watchmen. “Are they here?”
“How long have you been riding?”
“Two days,” Geizbart replied, as if this were the stupidest question he’d ever heard, the fear on his face replaced by confusion.
“Without resting?”
“I ruined one horse, stopped to get another from an inn,” he said dully. He sat up. “Let me speak!”
“Speak then.”
Geizbart blinked, as if trying to remember what it was he had to stay. He squeezed his eyes together as if to force the bewilderment from his mind, and the fearful expression returned.
“They are coming,” Geizbart said.
“Who?”
“Men. Thousand. More. Men.”
“What men?”
“Sandhaveners.”
“Did they accept the blood price for Prince Gunnar?”
It was not surprising that the watch should know about Adelbert’s mission. Everyone one in town had by now heard of Gunnar’s death. Most had wondered what it meant to the duke’s family and to the mark.
“No,” said Geizbart, shaking his head. “They’re coming to attack.”
“Attack the mark? But there’s an alliance.”
“Take me to the duke.”
“He’s hunting.”
The officer considered. “Lord Otto, then,” he said. “Take me to Lord Otto.” He suddenly reached out, grabbed one of the watchmen, and shook him by the shoulders. “Right now!” he screamed in the man’s face. Then he began to sob.
Ravenelle was still on the Dragonback Ridge slipping her falcon when the Sandhaven raiders came charging down the ridge and attacked her hunting party. Her cry alerted her bloodservants Donito and Raphael, who had ridden out with her. They were spread out. Donito was watering Ravenelle’s kalter, and Raphael was preparing her next meal. At her call, they both came running like moths drawn to a candle flame.
It was her bloodservants who saved her. They were on a cliff with about a fifty-hand drop below them. Nearby was a trickling creek that formed a dripping waterfall, and the rock nearby it was mossy. The raiders charged the other servants, who were grouped around the raptor stands.
Ravenelle saw swords and axes rise and fall, heard yells, and then a terrible bleating like a dying lamb.
A faun, screaming, she thought. The horses thundered past where they’d slaughtered the servants. They wheeled through a clump of short cedars to make another pass. Meanwhile, archers fired on those left standing.
Beside her, Axel von Kleist roared in anger. He ran at the men, who were headed back out of the cedar stand. He tried to grab the saddle of a raider that passed near him. He got hold of it, too, Ravenelle saw, but then the raider chopped down with his saber—
Axel’s hand was cut off at the wrist. He reeled back and let out a terrible scream. His brother ran toward him, and when a man on horseback came between them, Erik leaped up and managed to knock the raider out of his saddle. The startled horse jumped forward. Its hooves hit the moss by the creek, and it fell on its side. In scrambling to get up, it pushed itself closer to the cliff edge.
That horse is going over the side, Ravenelle thought numbly.
And in a moment, it did.
She turned back to see Erik on the man he’d knocked off. He was pounding on him with a rock. Baron von Kleist had run to get his sword and was drawing it from its scabbard when five saber blades struck him, almost at the same time. He fell down dead.
Who are these killers? Ravenelle thought.
How do I get out of here?
The cliff, mistress,
said Raphael, her oldest bloodservant and the leader of the others.
You must climb down. Donito and I will keep the archers away long enough for you to get into the woods.
But I’ll fall. The horse—
It is not a sheer cliff. It is possible to climb down. Now hurry.
She felt a moment of resentment at being ordered around by a mere bloodservant. But this was Raphael. He had taken care of her since she was a baby. Back then, she’d called him her Bubby, and she still did sometimes when speaking only to him. He was almost entirely a part of her now.
All right.
She lay on her belly and slid her feet over the edge, moving slowly, trying to find something to balance on.
Faster, mistress.
This time it was Donito who was speaking.
They are coming.
She heard shouts of men and knew it was true.
But I have to find something or I’ll fall.
And then she did find a small ledge. She let herself all the way over the cliff, clinging only with her hands to the rim. She spotted a handhold below that and grabbed it.
Her foot slipped and a small rock fell. It clattered below. Holding tight, she regained her footing. When she’d glanced down, she’d seen another small ledge. She searched frantically for another handhold so she could lower herself. Just when she thought she had to let go, she found one.
Ravenelle continued down twenty hands or more this way until she reached a spot where there were simply no footholds beneath her. A fall now would kill her, and she was panting so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
A scream, and Raphael came toppling past her. He crashed into the forest leaves below. She felt a kick in the stomach as hard as a mule. A sickly feeling washed over her, as if all strength had drained from both her muscles and her mind.
You can’t die! No, Bubby! You rocked me in your arms. No . . .
Get down! Get down now, mistress!
She let go and slid down the face of the cliff. The rock scraped against her skin. Her toes caught in a crack, her hands found a knob, and she was ten hands farther down the cliff face.
Only I remain,
said Donito.
Run, mistress, run!
Another scream came from above, and she felt the life-light of Donito go dark. The sick weakness hit her again.
Arrows flew by her. The raiders were at the cliff edge. They were shooting down at her! But there wasn’t anything to hold onto. She had to let go, had to—
She released her hold and let herself drop. It was nearly fifteen hands, and she hit hard, her legs crumpling under her, but she landed partly on the body of the dead horse. It broke her fall. She blinked until she was completely conscious again, then turned her head. The body of Raphael lay nearby. His eyes were open and unblinking.
An arrow thwacked into the horse next to her. The horse’s still hot blood spurted onto her. She rolled away and regained her feet. The trees. Run for the trees!
They were just budding for spring and weren’t very good cover, but they were all she had. She hitched up her dress and ran as fast as she could into the woods, stirring up a trail of winter brown leaves behind her. Arrows rattled through the branches. She had no idea how hard it might be for the attackers to get down from the cliff. So she had to run and keep running.
Which direction? Trees everywhere. Oak, pine, others she didn’t know the names of. She was lost. She had no idea which way was home. But down seemed like a good idea. Down into the valley.
She used the red lace of her sleeve to wipe sweat from her face. It came away soaked, and she realized her hands were bleeding from the rocks.
Down. There would be water there. Maybe a chance to follow it somewhere.
Who were the raiders?
Down the hill she went, chuffing through thick layers of fallen leaves, tripping over unseen roots but always picking herself up, always moving.
She was alone. Her bloodservants were dead. She felt ripped apart on the inside as well as the out.
They were gone.
For the first time in her life, she was alone, truly, totally alone in her mind. And she hated it.
Chapter Twenty-Three:
The Slaughter
The buffalo people had a reputation for slowness and taking a long time to consider everything. But now they came to a quick decision. One nodded his big, shaggy head, motioning for Wulf and Grim to follow him. He led them away toward a path on the other side of the clearing. Before he could lead them into the woods, Wulf turned and looked across the meadow.
The other buffalo people raised their spears and walked toward the buffalo herd scattered around the grassy clearing. From somewhere deep in each of their throats came a call. Wulf couldn’t make out if there were any actual words in the call, but the buffalo seemed to understand. They stopped eating or chewing on their cuds and came trotting toward the buffalo people. Within a few eyeblinks, the herd had gathered.
Then the buffalo people—there were ten or twelve of them—moved to a point behind the animals, forming a line about two arm lengths apart. When they were ready, they lowered their spears, pointing them toward the buffalo.
Then they waited. Soon there was crackling and crunching in the woods. The voices of men shouting. Still the buffalo people waited.
They stood silently. Almost peacefully.
Finally, a man came out of the woods on the opposite side of the meadow. He took a few steps, then saw the line of buffalo standing there, all of their eyes on him. He tried to turn back, but there were more men behind him, and he stumbled into them. Others emerged from the woods, some on foot, leading their horses, some on horseback, and fully visible to Wulf over the backs of the buffalo. Finally enough of the pursuers had entered the clearing for them to be crowded between the woods behind them and the wall of standing buffalo in front. Wulf could see the tops of their helmets bobbing.
The buffalo people behind the herd looked at each other. The one in the middle, taller than the rest of them, shook his spear.
They bellowed. Loud.
“Hooooooo!” It was a sound of alarm, fright, and maybe even a little panic. At the same time, the buffalo people walked forward. “Hooo, cow, hooo!”
The buffalo herd began to churn. Several animals turned toward the buffalo people. Nothing doing. Their spears were lowered. There was no way to go in that direction.
So they turned back to rejoin the herd, and those in the rear started to move forward to get away from the line of spear barbs heading for them. The bellowing of the buffalo grew loud, insistent.
Soon the pushing and ramming grew frantic. Finally, as if they’d come to a decision at once, the buffalo charged.
It wouldn’t have mattered if the Sandhaveners were in front of them or not. It was the spears of the buffalo men that they knew and were afraid of.
They charged in the direction of the Sandhaveners. There were shouts and screams. Despite the grass on the ground, a cloud of dust rose up when the turf was chuffed away. For a time, Wulf couldn’t make out what was happening. Then the dust settled.
The Sandhaveners had thrown down their weapons and turned tail and
run.
Run back into the forest. Run
anywhere
to get away from the river of buffalo that was headed straight toward them like a spring flood.
Some tried to use swords or halberds against the surging animals. The pikes they couldn’t get lowered in time, and the swords may have sliced into a few, but even the injured beasts were shoved forward by those from behind. The herding instinct, bred into their bones and blood, wouldn’t let them stop moving. They rolled over whatever stood in their way.
They trampled over the Sandhaveners who couldn’t escape in time. Men screamed as hooves crushed them, a three-hundred-stone weight digging into their stomachs.
“Hoooo, weeeee!”
The trot of the herd became a quick jog.
More screams.
The final bellow of the buffalo people seemed to shake every leaf in the forest. “Hooooo, waaaa!”
The jog became a rush. The buffalo people behind pricked at the rear of the herd with their spear tips.
The rush became a stampede.
The herd charged into the woods, some leaping over brush or fallen logs, some disappearing like a knife into flesh. Behind them, the buffalo people walked at a steady pace.
The buffalo left behind a field of trampled men. Some moaned, some twitched on the ground. When one of the buffalo people came upon one of these, they plunged their spears into the man or cut his throat.
“Come,” said the buffalo man beside them. “We will go to the camp and send others. We will take the duke to a wise woman. She will know how to take care of him.” He turned his sorrowful-seeming gaze to Grim.
“Do you want me to relieve your burden, brother goat? I can carry his Excellency.”
“Keep your hands away, dirty coat.”
The other did not smile, but there was a snort that sounded a lot like laughter. “All right, goat man,” he replied. “You know that’s what my mother used to call me. Little Dirty Coat. But no one else.”
“What is your name?” asked Wulf.
“Likainenvuoto.” The buffalo considered for a moment. “It is hard to say.” He turned to Grim and snorted, then turned back to Wulf. “You may call me Dirty Coat, m’lord.”
He motioned for them to follow. He broke a path through the branches and brambles and they trailed after him, moving as quickly as they could with Grim carrying the duke in his arms.
In Buffalo Camp, Wulf was met by a strange sight.
“We came on her drinking from a spring near the salt licks at Broken Cliff,” said the buffalo man. “That is bad water.” He thrust forward what looked like a forest witch, dark skinned. Her hair was a tangled mass, and her dress was tattered to ribbons in spots. She tried to break away from the buffalo man, but he kept one hand on her arm and pulled her up short. “We were going to kill her, but she said you would be very unhappy if we did. Will you be?”
It was Ravenelle, being held by both arms by two buffalo men.
Wulf considered for the smallest moment whether he should tease Ravenelle. But the buffalo people took things so literally he was afraid they really might stab her to death on the spot.
“She is my foster sister and my cousin.”
“Ah, the terror princess of Vall l’Obac. She lives in the castle?”
“Get your hands off me,” she said to the buffalo man holding her. She turned to Wulf. “Tell them to let me go, von Dunstig.”
Wulf sighed. “She won’t hurt us,” he said. “Turn her loose, please.”
Ravenelle ran at him, but tripped over her dress and fell flat on the ground in front of him. Wulf knelt and gently helped her to her feet. “You need water,” he said. “Maybe something to eat.”
Suddenly Ravenelle’s defiance collapsed and she began to sob. Blood-red tears flowed from her eyes. Wulf pulled her close, and she hugged his neck. “My people. They died saving me.”
Wulf held her. There was nothing he could say. He didn’t really understand the kind of relationship she’d had with her slaves, but he knew it had been deep.
“Who were those men?”
“They were from Sandhaven.”
“It’s my fault,” Ravenelle said with a sob in her voice. “If I hadn’t let Ulla’s secret slip to Prince Gunnar, none of this would have happened.”
“Gunnar was an animal,” Wulf said. “Nothing is your fault.”
She sobbed again. His tabard cloth was soon red and smelled of blood.
Then she saw the wounded duke, and she dried her tears with the back of her dress sleeve.
“What’s happened? Is he . . .?”
“He’s alive, but hurt. It’s pretty bad.”
“I can see that, von Dunstig,” she said. Her determination was back. “But what’s being
done
?”
“They’ve sent for the wise woman.”
“So you’re just
waiting
?”
“I…I guess so.”
“No, this isn’t the way to do it. We will take
him
to
her
. I’ve heard their shamans are all women and that they are very good healers, even though they
are
barbarians and basically animal doctors. Come on, von Dunstig, let’s go find this buffalo wise woman.”
The buffalo men pointed her in the right direction, and Wulf allowed her to drag him along with her. Grim followed, holding the duke as gently as he could in his arms.
