The Blood-Tainted Winter (29 page)

“The name, by the gods, give me the name!”

The cry seemed to come from the sky, but it was his voice, his misery, and the shadow-formed Einarr shattered.

“You fool! You beg like a dog. Such weakness. Such a pathetic form of life.” The Deepminded threw back her head and laughed, her mouth gaping wide enough to swallow the sky, and Raef stepped backward, dragging himself away from the abyss she had opened, reaching for the hilt of his sword as though it alone could bring him back.

“Then I will carry my shame to Valhalla,” Raef whispered, drawing the blade forth.

He lunged at the Deepminded but he met only empty air. A hard laugh caused him to spin to his right but she vanished again the moment he made to strike, this time appearing close to the water. She laughed again but Raef willed away the sound and the ringing in his ears. He closed his eyes as the skin on his wrist began to feel warm and he knew the burning sensation would follow. Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes. She stood yet by the mountain stream. Raef stepped forward again, his sword held high, but this time when she reappeared to his right, Raef’s knife was quicker and the blade, flashing away from his other hand, caught her shoulder. It was not a solid hit but it opened a line of blood through her robe. The knife fell to the snow behind her.

The Deepminded’s face showed more surprise than pain as she reeled backward and then she let forth a howl that shook every fiber of Raef’s being. Her voice contained all the rage in the world in that moment. When she disappeared again, a flare of nothing in the growing darkness, Raef knew she would not return. Raef exhaled, relieved to be free but unable to rid himself of the sight of his father, so close, but forever out of reach.

He collected his knife from the snow and looked close at the smear of red that lined the edge of the blade. A noise drew his attention and he looked up to see Vakre sprinting through the snow. Siv and Eira were close behind.

“Raef,” Vakre shouted. He drew closer and stopped, confusion on his face. “What happened? We heard a scream.”

Raef flipped the knife to Vakre, who caught it with one hand. “The blood of the Deepminded,” he said.

Vakre’s face grew grave. “She was here?”

Raef nodded, not ready to speak of the choice the Deepminded had given him and the ease with which she had stripped him of his will. “Perhaps she will not trouble me again. She will have a mark to remember me by.”

“Raef,” Vakre began but paused, and Raef wondered what had put such unease in Vakre’s voice. Vakre stepped close to him and pressed the knife back into Raef’s hand. “That was not the Deepminded. You have spilled the blood of Loki.”

Raef looked down at the knife that rested in his palm. Then he glanced back up at Vakre, but could not find words.

Vakre spoke when he could not. “When we found the Deepminded in the mountains of Darfallow, I had my suspicions. Though I had never met my father, I had come to know him in other ways, and, there in that cavern, I could feel something of his presence. The arrows she fired, too quickly to be loosed by a man’s hand. Or a woman’s,” Vakre added, looking at Siv. “The lack of fire to light the tips. But most of all the effect she had on you in those moments in the cavern and after. But it was not until Loki took me from the flood waters that I learned the truth, that the Deepminded was but a guise he created to bend the minds of men.”

Siv asked the question that Raef was trying to form. “Why did you not speak of this before?”

“I do not know.”

“You tried to warn me,” Raef said, his voice quiet. “In the mountains, you tried to tell me.”

“I should have given voice to my fears with more certainty. But that would have meant giving voice to my heritage as well. I was not prepared to do so.”

“Has Loki always been the Deepminded?” Eira asked.

“No,” Vakre said. “When the last one died, he took her place. It is strange that he bled. I had thought the gods only susceptible to the weapons of Asgard. Perhaps the shape of the Deepminded weakens him in some way. But you can be sure he will not forget what you have done.”

Raef knelt and wiped the knife blade in the snow. “Under the light of one moon I have insulted one god and wounded another. Wrath and retribution will follow.”

“If you are thinking of leaving, of taking yourself into the wild where you might face Loki’s wrath alone and spare us,” Siv said, “you will do no such thing.”

Raef smiled. “I was thinking that I am glad death comes with the Palesword’s shadow. That I will fight one last time beside the three of you, that the battle will be glorious, and that I will welcome the Palesword’s blade into my heart if it means a good death.”

Twenty-Eight

A
s they trekked
on through Hullbern, intending to come upon Gornhald from the northeast corner, they began to see the destruction wrought by the Palesword. Farms were smoking ruins. The carcasses of cattle, horses, and goats littered the ground. Some had been butchered for food, others slaughtered for sport. A tiny fishing village was no more than a smear of ash on white snow. The fishermen’s boats were splinters in the mud. Here and there, bodies could be seen. As with the blonde sister and her men, they were untouched by wolves, though Raef heard the pack song nightly.

The fortress of Hullbern was a shell of stone, empty save for cackling crows picking among the already pilfered corpses of both men and beast. A single sheep lived yet, hunkered down in a pile of straw, bleating to the wind. Eira killed it and they cooked the meat in the fortress’s kitchen hearth. It was good to be sheltered from the cold, even in such a desolate place. They scavenged for wood and built a large fire in the hall. Vakre discovered a cellar full of mead and Siv found some withered, wild plums and hard cheese tucked away. It seemed a feast as they sat on wooden benches before the fire, the juice of the meat dripping from their hands, the mead sweet between their lips.

The hall was big and empty but that night they filled it with laughter and even a song. One of Raef’s men, Kerol, produced a small flute and the melody floated high into the rafters, carried by smoke. As he listened to the song, Raef leaned back against the table, warm and content, despite what lay ahead and behind. Raef imagined Dagmaer walking among the buildings, imagined her watching her husband, Sveinn, ride away, never to return, imagined her leaving this place with no certain future. When the music ceased and the talk died down, Raef led Eira out of the hall and to a bedchamber. The heat of the fire had not spread, and the stones were cold beneath Raef’s feet. But there, in the forsaken fortress, Eira’s hands hinted at tenderness and Raef slept long and deep.

Raef picked up the Palesword’s trail on the sixth day after leaving the Hammerling. By Siv’s reckoning they had crossed into Gornhald early that morning and it was clear that a large force of men had passed through days before. The swatch of destruction was larger here, cut through the open land like a wound. Raef kept his party to the trees and out of sight, but as the sun climbed in the sky, he felt eyes on them. A rustle of snow falling when it should have been undisturbed, the birds growing quiet far ahead of Raef. Whoever it was stayed out of sight, but Raef, his thoughts on the ambush in the ravine in Ver, grew restless.

Raef caught Eira’s eye. He could see that she, too, felt uneasy. With a nod, he released her to circle around and seek their watcher. Raef and Vakre rode close to her to shield her from watching eyes as she dismounted. Siv grabbed Eira’s horse and Raef watched Eira slink away into the snow. The group continued on as before, their voices drifting across the air to whatever ears were listening.

Several miles passed before Eira reappeared in front of them. She was not alone. Caught in her grasp, a boy struggled to free himself but Eira’s grip held. The boy was tall, perhaps fifteen, and would one day be strong, but the small knife tucked in his belt was no match to Eira’s wealth of experience. Raef was pleased to see Eira hadn’t harmed anything other than the boy’s pride. Eira forced him to his knees as Raef dismounted and approached the boy.

“He was alone,” Eira said, “and quick. Not quick enough, though.”

Raef studied the boy. His eyes were fearful and wary. Twice he glanced to the east before bringing his gaze back to Raef’s face. “Your name?”

The boy swallowed hard. “Brannen.”

“What are you doing out here in the snow, Brannen?” Raef kept his voice low, almost gentle but with a threat underneath. “There are wolves in these woods.”

Again, Brannen’s gaze flickered to his left but he said nothing.

“Something of value to you lies in that direction, does it not?” Raef pointed to the east and Brannen’s face fell. “Learn to control your face, boy. It speaks louder than words. Now, tell me why you were watching us. And what you wish to keep us from.”

“I meant no harm, lord. I only wished to keep you from harming others.”

Eira laughed. “With that little thing?” Using the toe of her boot, she loosed the knife from his belt and flicked it away.

“If you got too close, I was going to let you chase me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but to them.”

Raef understood at last. “Your family?”

“Yes. And others. We have been hiding. I was sent out for mushrooms and winter berries.”

“Show me,” Raef said. Brannen hesitated, his eyes on Raef’s sword. “If they are what you say they are, no harm will come to them.”

Brannen hesitated again, though he had little choice. He rose from his knees. “Follow me.”

The boy led them east through the trees. Raef and his men kept a watchful eye on their sides and rear to be certain this was no trap. But the woods were still. The ground grew rocky underfoot and the boy led them between great boulders a giant might have cast down. Behind one such boulder, Brannen paused and pointed. Raef stepped around the rock and saw a tunnel cutting back under the boulder, just wide and tall enough for a man to slide down. Raef peered down it but could see nothing for it curved out of sight.

“Down there,” Brannen said.

“Do you take us for fools, boy?” Eira said. She grabbed Brannen’s collar.

“Eira,” Raef said. She looked at him. “Let him go. He will go first.” The boy nodded. “And I will follow.” Eira scowled but released Brannen. The boy wasted no time and soon disappeared down the hole. Raef looked at Vakre, who gave him a nod, and then, tucking his arms into his chest, slid down the tunnel.

The descent was short but curved twice. Raef tumbled out but sprang to his feet, ready to defend himself if need be. The faces around him told him it wasn’t necessary. The underground cave was long and narrow. Two torches gave light that did not reach the edges and the faces around Raef were solemn and dirty. Women, children, a few men, young and old. Nineteen in all, Raef counted.

A small voice whispered, “Does he have food?” and was quickly shushed by a worried mother. Raef called up and Vakre, Eira, and Siv joined him. One by one, they slid down the tunnel and the cave dwellers shrank back. Brannen placed himself between Raef and the closest child, a boy who looked to be Brannen’s brother.

“You said they would be safe.”

“I said no harm would come to them from me. Safe they will not be, not here, not anywhere. Are you all of Gornhald?”

Brannen shook his head and a man stepped forward. He was not elderly, but an old wound made him limp and his hair and beard were grey. “We are of the north,” he said. “Skolldain, Norfaem, Hullbern, and Gornhald. All are represented here. And all bereft of home and land. We wish no part in this war. Only to be left alone.”

“Wishing does not make it so. You are part of this war. We all are. You were a warrior once,” Raef said. “You,” he gestured to a younger man, “you are no fisherman. What banner did you follow?”

The younger man stood. “Stefnir of Gornhald, lord, and Fengar, the king.”

“And yet here you are, hiding underground.” Raef swung around and pointed at another man. “And you. Who owns your sword?”

“I followed the Palesword until he woke that cursed army from the mountain.” The man blinked and looked away. Raef saw his hands tremble. “The things I saw. The things they did. I ran.” He looked Raef in the eye then, but still his hands shook. “These people were kind and took me in.”

A woman spoke from the edge of the circle of light. She held a baby in her arms and her voice did not waver. “Are you here to kill us, lord?”

Raef shook his head. “I am not such a man as that. Would you fight me if I said yes? Is there life yet in any of you?” His words echoed off the stone walls. “Will you live in a cave forever? Is this what you want? Will you raise that babe with stories of the sun and the wind in her face but live in this hole?”

“What can we do against such reckless destruction?”

“Face it and live. Or face it and die. But that is still living compared to this.” Silence met Raef’s words. “You fear the Palesword and the men who follow him. I do not blame you for I know what they are. But I will not let that fear take hold of me.” The cave was silent but for the steady drip of water somewhere in the far recesses. “We will leave you in peace. May it last longer than I think it will.”

Raef turned to climb from the cave but a voice stopped him. The young warrior who had called Fengar king had spoken. “Lord, my sword is yours if you will have it. Your words ring with truth.”

“I follow the Hammerling,” Raef said. “Will you turn on the man you swore an oath to?”

“An oath-breaker I am not. But my oath means nothing if I stay here.”

“Then join us.” Raef looked around the cave as the warrior collected his sword belt but the other faces were as still as stone. Raef crawled up the tunnel and emerged into the winter light where the others were waiting with the horses. He took a deep breath of cold air, glad to be out of the dark confines of the cave. Their fears were real, but Raef could not imagine hiding beneath the soil as a rabbit would. The young warrior, blinking rapidly to adjust to the difference in light, looked around at the unfamiliar faces, but he did not seem to regret his decision. “We do not have a spare horse,” Raef said.

“I can walk.”

The snow was deep, but the young man did not complain as they continued to push south into Gornhald. As they rode, the day grew dark and the sky filled with thrumming, writhing clouds that soon burst open, sending a fast and furious snowfall to the ground. Winds howled through the trees, blowing snow in all directions, and soon Raef could hardly see Vakre to his left and the trees in front of him not all. They would get no farther that day. Seeking the thickest pines they could find, they led the horses under the branches of six large pines grouped together and settled in to wait out the storm.

At first the men spoke a little, telling of the worst winter storms they had seen, passing dried meat back and forth, but soon the talk died off and the only noise came from the horses, snorting out hot breaths or stamping their feet in the snow. Raef slept and woke and still the storm raged around them. Closing his eyes again, Raef thought of Gudrik, the skald. He wished to hear the storyteller’s voice once more and wondered if they would meet in battle. When sleep took him, Raef saw Gudrik in death, bleeding on a white field of snow, a story on his lips.

When he awoke again, the world was in the arms of darkest night and Raef could not tell if the snow still fell. The winds had carried their fury elsewhere, leaving Raef’s small corner of the world in peace, and he rose, careful not to wake the others, and slipped through the branches of the pines until the sky was open above him. Of the moon and stars there was no sign, for the storm clouds still lingered. Tiny flakes of snow drifted through the air, but Raef could tell the worst was past.

Raef judged that the dawn was still far off but the quiet night beckoned and he no longer felt the pull of sleep. What game might be afoot after such a storm, he could not say, but it had been long since he had hunted alone. Back beneath the pines, he borrowed Vakre’s bow and quiver and, patting his watchful horse on the nose, stole into the night.

The snow, thick but soft, muffled his every move and Raef soon spotted the tracks of a deer. They were fresh, clean, and easy to follow. They took him down to a small, frozen pond and Raef spotted the deer at the edge, her nose deep in the snow, searching out food that lay beneath.

Raef raised the bow and fixed an arrow on the string. With a fluid motion, he pulled it back, inhaled, exhaled, and loosed. The arrow struck just behind the deer’s shoulder, where the heart lay, killing it instantly. Raef made quick work of the carcass, slicing into the stomach area and removing the organs, then separating the hide from the meat. His work done, Raef shouldered the deer, leaving the remains for the wolves, and made his way back to the pines.

He was steps away from the safety of the branches when he froze, his eyes on three men who had appeared just south of their makeshift camp. Though the darkness made them hard to see, he could tell their backs were to him and Raef slipped back under the branches. Dropping the deer to the snow, he shook Vakre awake, his hand over Vakre’s mouth. Holding Vakre’s gaze, Raef held up three fingers and pointed in the direction he had seen the men. Vakre needed nothing further and was up and gathering weapons in an instant. Raef returned the bow to him and then woke the others. As the men shook snow from their cloaks and sleep from their eyes, Raef and Vakre crept from the pines, staying low and letting the snow hide them.