The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (22 page)

Wulfrick stood at his right side and allowed the Ranen lords to enter one by one to pledge their support to the high thain. Each man walked with a small retinue from the open doors to where Algenon sat. The hall was otherwise empty, and the lords had to pass seven long feast tables as they walked towards him. Wulfrick had often commented that Algenon’s ancestors, who had built the hall, had a way of making their battle-brothers uncomfortable, as the walk was long and they remained in the thain’s sight the entire way.

Rulag Ursa and the lords of Jarvik appeared to have been reconciled to the plan, and they now hungered for combat. Borrin Iron Beard, Aleph’s axe-master, was curt but respectful and had pledged three dragon ships and five hundred warriors.

The lords of the Low Kast and Hammerfell had been less keen to pledge their full support, but threats and reminders of their duty had gained a further thirty ships with battle-hardened crews.

‘How many is that?’ Algenon asked his axe-master.

‘That’s fifteen lords and their battle-brothers, my thain.’ He was looking over a piece of parchment that sat on a table in front of him. ‘We have a hundred and twelve ships and no small amount of bloodlust.’

Algenon shot a dark glance at Wulfrick. ‘You think I’m wrong to do this?’

‘Yes, my lord, you are wrong to do this,’ he said with no humour, ‘but you knew that when you did it.’ Wulfrick had known the thain all of his life and felt free to speak his mind. ‘I don’t know what Samson the Liar told you that pushed you into this, but we’re going to war against the knights of the One. You can rationalize it as a decree of Rowanoco, or even say you’re going to try and kill an immortal Karesian witch, but the reality is that we’re going to war with those Red bastards.’

Algenon looked down at the floor. ‘Samson is closer to Rowanoco than any priest of the Hammer and his counsel… on certain matters… is without equal.’

He may have pushed the lords into war, but he had not done so on a whim. He was following the will of his god and he had never felt he could question such a command. He wished he could tell Wulfrick about his duty, but he was forbidden from doing so.

The only Ranen who knew of the legacy of the thains of Fredericksand was the old-blooded Samson. He had the blood of Giants and, through thousands of generations, could claim a familial bond with the ancient Ice Giants that once walked the land. He was largely insane and was seen as a dishonourable old liar by most, but he had come to Algenon on the day of Ragnar Teardrop’s death and told him of his hereditary duty – that the high thain of Ranen is the exemplar of Rowanoco and is pledged to the Long War, the endless battle between the Giants.

‘Tell the other lords to return tomorrow.’ Algenon rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m tired and night is well into the sky.’ He got up slowly. ‘You’re my friend, but I need trust now and not friendship,’ he said to his axe-master.

‘You will always have both, my lord,’ Wulfrick said plainly, ‘but a friend tells a friend when he’s being foolish, and so I think we’ll stay friends for a while.’ He offered his hand to Algenon who took it warmly.

The battle-brothers stood face to face for a moment before Wulfrick spoke with a smile. ‘I assume you had considered talking to Aleph’s daughter?’

‘I had considered it, yes. That, too, can be dealt with tomorrow,’ Algenon said with no smile.

Wulfrick took the long walk to the entrance and left the hall, leaving Algenon standing by his chair, deep in thought. He had much to do before he could sail for the lands of Ro and most of it needed to be done in private.

Speaking to Halla Summer Wolf, Aleph’s daughter, was necessary, but not likely to end in bloodshed. The axe-maiden was a hard woman and knew the way of things, having fought in many conflicts between rival lords. Algenon hoped she would accompany the fleet and do her father honour.

He tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes, but with his mind able to fix on nothing but the night, Algenon Teardrop Ragnarsson, high thain of Ranen and exemplar of Rowanoco, decided to go to bed.

He walked from the centre of the long hall to the tall wooden door behind his chair. The door was closed, but not locked, and Algenon paused a second to listen against the wood before knocking quietly. He stepped back as the circular handle was turned and the door swung slowly outwards. Towards the bottom of the door the face of a child peered out.

‘I hope your brother knows that you’re still awake and that you’ve been listening at doors?’ he asked his daughter.

Ingrid Teardrop was nine years old and was becoming more mischievous with each passing winter. She had her father’s black hair and her mother’s deep blue eyes, but the grin was all her own.

She looked at her father with wide-eyed fear for a second. ‘Erm, Alahan’s asleep and I thought I should listen to what was going on. To find out about things,’ she said.

‘Things?’ queried Algenon.

‘For when I’m thainess,’ she said proudly.

‘I’ve told you before, Ingrid, there is no such position as thainess. The position is thain and, as I’ve told you a thousand times, a woman cannot become one,’ he answered with a smile.

‘But that’s stupid. I’m cleverer than Alahan and I’m faster and, when I’m older, I bet I’ll be better with an axe.’ She had an expression of mock hurt on her face and Algenon pulled the door further open and put his arm round her.

She was wearing clothes handed down from her twenty-four-year-old brother and was trying to look more like a man. She was barefoot, clearly in an attempt to remain silent, and her knees bore scrape marks from where she’d been clambering around the great hall. She was very quick and agile for her age, and Algenon had given up trying to chase her when she misbehaved.

‘Little wolf,’ he said affectionately, ‘you’ll grow strong and tall and give birth to mighty Ranen children.’

She shot him a disgusted expression. ‘I will not. I’ll be the first thainess of Fredericksand.’

‘Ingrid,’ he said seriously, ‘do you think combat and death holds more honour than bringing lives into this world and treating them with love?’

Ingrid looked as if she were about to break into a grin at her father’s seriousness, but instead wriggled under his arm and darted back into the house.

‘If you get out of bed again, you will have no story before bed tomorrow,’ he chided gently.

She looked slightly hurt at her father’s displeasure and said in a timid whisper, ‘But you were telling me about the Krakens.’

‘And if you want to hear any more about the Krakens, little wolf, you’ll do as I say.’

Algenon’s home was a simple place, a far cry from his cavernous feast hall. It had three rooms around a central area used for all things from cooking to bathing. The two smallest rooms slept Ingrid and Alahan, and were large enough for his daughter to keep untidy and his son to use only rarely. The room he had shared with his wife was now just a bare chamber with a bed in it. He’d removed all of the decorations when she died and had never spent more than a night in there since.

Ingrid disappeared into her room and then slowly poked her head back round the door. ‘Father, that monster man came to see you again,’ she said, referring to Samson the Liar. ‘He gibbered a bit at Alahan and then left. I think he was annoyed you weren’t here. I miss Hasim, is he coming back soon?’

‘Go to bed, little wolf.’

Al-Hasim had been an infrequent guest over the last few years and had grown to become an uncle of sorts to Ingrid. He told her outrageous lies about his adventures and was punched by Alahan on a number of occasions.

She grinned and closed the door, though Algenon doubted she’d go to sleep. He briefly considered waking his son to discuss his responsibilities while his father was away, but thought better of it as he yawned again.

The small fireplace in the central room burned all day and night to keep out the cold and Algenon warmed himself for a moment before clumsily removing his armour. The outer leather was heavy and the metal plates within made it awkward as he placed it over a chair. Once his chain mail was unbelted at the waist, it could simply be shrugged off and left to fall to the ground, making a loud clank as it hit the bearskin rug under his feet. Now, wearing a simple black shirt, Algenon looked into a small mirror for a moment. The scarred and bearded face he saw looking back at him seemed nothing but a tired old man and eventually he trudged across the room to his bed.

* * *

It was a cold and clear morning as Halla Summer Wolf, axe-maiden of Rowanoco and bearer of her father’s name, came to the great hall of Fredericksand to meet with Lord Algenon.

She stood at the huge oak doors with her bearskin cloak wrapped tight around her and her red hair flowing down to the small of her back. Halla was a woman of six feet in height and thirty years of age. Her chain mail and battleaxe were constant adornments and she took her role as axe-maiden very seriously. She’d lost her left eye to a thrown axe some years ago and wore a black eyepatch across the empty socket. She was still occasionally called
one-eye the axe-woman
, but had perfected her glare sufficiently to render the insult infrequent.

Her father had produced no sons and Halla felt the weight of her name more acutely as a result. She was quick to fight and cultivated a reputation for being bad-tempered and violent.

The great hall sat on a hill overlooking the town and was set back from the low wooden buildings that stretched down to the Fjorlan Sea. Halla had received the news of her father’s death late the previous night, when Borrin had come to speak to her. She’d come to Fredericksand with her father from their home in Tiergarten three days before in answer to the high thain’s summons. They’d travelled up the coast with a small contingent of battle-brothers, unaware of what awaited them. Aleph Summer Wolf had told his daughter to remain away from the assembly, knowing that many of the lords would be angry at the presence of a woman. The Tiergarten assembly, though half as big as the Fredericksand hall, sat several women – Halla’s axe-maidens and some of the bravest fighters in Fjorlan. However, she was still seen as a curiosity by most, rather than a true warrior.

She’d met Algenon Teardrop before and found his inscrutable face disconcerting. It was as if he always knew what someone was thinking, and her father had often said he was the most dangerous man in Fjorlan.

The door to the hall opened and Wulfrick, the axe-master of Fredericksand, took a step out into the cold morning air. He raised his eyebrows at seeing Halla so early in the morning. He moved slowly from the doorway to stand before her, pushing the door closed behind him.

‘Cold this morning, isn’t it?’ He pulled his own heavy cloak around his shoulders. ‘The ice came early this year. I think we’re in for a bad winter.’ He didn’t look at Halla but kept his gaze directed over the roofs of the town to the Fjorlan Sea beyond.

Wulfrick was sometimes jokingly called the half-giant, due to his size. He wasn’t exceedingly tall for a Ranen, but his shoulders were enormous and his arms were the size of tree trunks. He wasn’t a true old-blood, but he was the most imposing man Halla had ever seen. His unkempt brown hair was never tied back and he wore troll-hide armour that gave out a constant background odour.

‘I need to speak to Lord Algenon,’ she said.

He smiled before he spoke. ‘And I thought we were having a pleasant chat about the weather,’ he replied without looking at Halla. ‘I assume that Borrin has spoken to you?’

Halla nodded and looked down, refusing to let grief show on her face. ‘I wanted to speak to the thain…’

‘For what reason?’ Wulfrick interrupted. ‘You know what happened, so you’ll only torture yourself by prying into the details.’ He turned to face her. ‘You’ve sat in the assembly before and you’ve seen men die to secure lesser objectives than this.’ He was speaking abruptly, but Halla detected concern in his eyes. ‘He was planning to speak to you today, but it’s not appropriate for you to be here.’

‘I’m not going to ask him why he killed my father. I know why he killed my father. I was going to… I don’t know… look into his eyes or something.’ Halla had not thought about what she’d say when she faced her father’s killer. All she knew was that sleep had left her as the sun had risen and she had felt compelled to address the high thain.

‘My father had no sons and Tiergarten needs a thain. Maybe you can tell me what that means?’ she asked curtly.

Wulfrick looked down at her. ‘It means that the lords of the realm of Summer Wolf will fight until one emerges strongest and that man will be thain. Borrin Iron Beard is a good man and a good axe-master, he’ll make sure things are done properly,’ Wulfrick said with a degree of formality.

Halla maintained eye contact with the huge axe-master. ‘And what of me, do I get to become battle-sister to the new thain and forever lament that I was born a woman?’

He smiled warmly. ‘You sound like Algenon’s daughter – Ingrid thinks that thainess sounds much better than thain.’ He relaxed his gaze. ‘There’s wisdom in youth and often foolishness in tradition, but we are bound by the latter. I know he would want you to join the dragon fleet.’

Halla considered the axe-master’s words for a moment and then turned and marched past him. ‘Then let him tell me that,’ she said defiantly.

Wulfrick didn’t stop her, but simply followed behind as she pulled the huge wooden door open. ‘This won’t end well, Halla. You should return to your own hall and wait for him.’

She didn’t reply and marched into the great hall, her leather boots echoing off the stone floor. She had been here once before, when she was a girl, and remembered it being impossibly large. Now it looked only slightly bigger than her father’s hall in Tiergarten.

An old grey-robed man was busy lighting the three fire-pits that ran along the length of the hall. The warmth from the fires had not yet fully filled the room and the hall was almost as cold as the street outside. The old man quickly became flustered as Halla marched past him, but a calming hand from Wulfrick silenced any objection before it came. She strode past the empty feast tables, sparing only the slightest glance at the huge troll skulls that hung from the ceiling, and slowed as she reached the high thain’s chair at the end of the hall.