The Broken Sword (6 page)

Orm shrugged, while tears glimmered in Ailfrida’s eyes.

They set out next dawn, many men on horseback, dog-barks coming in frost out of mouths, and scattered into the woods according to plan. Valgard went alone and afoot as was his habit. He carried a great axe for weapon and bore a helmet on his tawny mane, but otherwise in his shaggy garments he might have been a beast of prey. He snuffed the crisp air and circled about looking for spoor. At tracking he was inhumanly gifted. Erelong he found faint remnants of a trail. He grinned again and did not sound his horn, but set off at a long easy lope.

As the day wore on, he came west into thicker and older forest where his rambles had never taken him before. The sky greyed and clouds flew low over skeleton trees. Wind whirled dead leaves through the air like ghosts hurrying down hell-road, and its whine gnawed at Valgard’s nerves. He could smell a wrongness here, but having no training in magic he did not know what it was that bristled the hair on his neck.

At dusk he had gone far, and was tired and hungry and wroth at Ketil for giving him this trouble. He would have to sleep out tonight, with winter on the way, and he vowed revenge for that.

Hold-Dimly through the thickening twilight he saw a glimmer. No will-o’-the-wisp that; it was fire-shelter, unless it was a lair of outlaws. And were that the case, Valgard snarled to himself, he would have joy in killing them.

Night outraced him to the cottage. A thin wind-driven sleet stung his cheeks. Cautiously Valgard edged to a window, and peered in through a crack between the shutters.

Ketil sat glad on a bench before a leaping fire. He had a horn of ale in one hand, and the other caressed a woman on his lap.

Woman-almighty gods, what a woman! Valgard sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. He had not dreamed there could be such a woman as her who laughed on Ketil’s knees.

Valgard went to the door and beat it with the flat of his axe. It was some time before Ketil got it open and stood spear in hand to see who had come. By then the sleet was thick.

Huge and angry, Valgard filled the doorway with his shoulders. Ketil cursed, but stepped aside and let him in. Valgard stalked slowly across the floor. Water from the melting sleet dripped off him. His eyes glittered at the woman, where she crouched on the bench.

“You are not very guest-free, brother,” he said, and barked a laugh. “You leave me, who travelled many weary miles to find you, out in the storm while you play with your sweetheart.”

“I did not ask you here,” said Ketil sullenly.

“No?” Valgard was still looking at the woman. And she met his gaze, and her red mouth curved in a smile.

“You are a welcome guest,” she breathed. “Not ere this have I guested a man as big as you.”

Valgard laughed again and swung to face Ketil’s stricken stare. “Whether you asked me or not, dear brother, I will spend the night,” he said. “And since I see there is only room for two in the bed, and I have come such a long hard way, I fear me you will have to sleep in the stable.”

“Not for you!” shouted Ketil. The knuckles stood forth white where he gripped his spear. “Had it been Father or Asmund or anyone else from the garth, he had been welcome. But you, ill-wreaker and berserker that you are, will be the one to sleep in the straw.”

Valgard sneered and chopped out with his axe. It drove the spear against the lintel and split off its head. “Get out, little brother,” he bade. “Or must I throw you out?”

Blind with rage, Ketil struck him with the broken shaft. Fury flamed in Valgard. He leaped. His axe shrieked down and buried itself in Ketil’s skull.

Still beside himself, he swung about on the woman. She held out her arms to him. Valgard gathered her in and kissed her till their lips bled. She laughed aloud.

***

But next morning when Valgard awoke, he saw Ketil lying in a gore of clotted blood and brains, the dead eyes meeting his own, and suddenly remorse welled up in him.

“What have I done?” he whispered. “I slew my own kin.”

“You killed a weaker man,” said the woman indifferently.

But Valgard stood above his brother’s body and brooded. “We had some good times together between our fights, Ketil,” he mumbled. “I remember how funny we two found a new calf that strove to use its wobbly legs, and wind in our faces and sun asparkle on waves when we went sailing, and deep draughts at Yule when storms howled about our father’s hall, and swimming and running and shouting with you, brother. Now it is over, you are a stiffened corpse and I gang on a dark road-but sleep well. Goodnight, Ketil, goodnight.”

“If you tell men of this, you will be slain,” said the woman. “That will not bring him back. And in the grave is no kissing or coupling.”

Valgard nodded. He picked up the body and bore it into the woods. He did not wish to touch the axe again, so he left it sticking in the skull when he raised a cairn over the dead man.

But when he came back to the cottage, the woman was waiting for him, and he soon forgot all else. Her beauty outshone the sun, and there was naught she did not know about the making of love.

The weather grew unrelentingly cold, until the first snow whispered down. This winter would be long.

After a week, Valgard thought it would be best if he returned home. Else others might come looking for him, and fights might break up his crews. But the woman would not come with him. “This is my place and I cannot leave it,” she said. “Come, though, whenever you will, Valgard my darling. I will always gladly greet you.”

“I will be back soon,” he vowed. He did not think of carrying her off by force, though he had done that to many before her. The free gift of herself was too precious.

***

At Orm’s hall he was joyously greeted by the chief, who had feared him lost too. None else was overly happy at seeing him again.

“I hunted far to the west and north,” said Valgard, “and did not find Ketil.”

“No,” replied Onn, with sorrow reborn in him, “he must be dead. We searched for days, and at last found his horse wandering riderless. I will ready the funeral feast.”

Valgard was but a brace of days among men, then he slipped into the woods anew with a promise to be back for Ketil’s grave-ale. Thoughtfully, Asmund watched him leave.

It seemed odd to the youngest brother how Valgard dodged talk of Ketil’s fate, and odder yet that he should go hunting-as he said-now that winter was on hand. There would be no bears, and other game was getting so shy that men did not care to go after it through the snow. Why had Valgard been gone that long, and why did he leave that soon?

So Asmund wondered, and at last, two days after Valgard left, he followed. It had not snowed or blown since, and the tracks could still be seen in the crisp whiteness. Asmund went alone, walking on ski through silent reaches where no life stirred but him, and the cold ate and ate into his flesh.

Three days later, Valgard returned. Folk had gathered at Orm’s garth from widely around for the grave-ale, and the feast went apace. The berserker slipped grim and close-mouthed through the crowded yard.

Ailfrida plucked at his sleeve. “Have you seen Asmund?” she asked shyly. “He went into the forest and has not come home yet.”

“No,” said Valgard shortly.

“Ill would it be to lose two tall sons in the same month and have only the worst left,” said Ailfrida and turned away from him.

At eventide the guests met in the great hall for drinking. Orm sat in his high seat with Valgard on his right. Men crowded the benches down both the long sides of that room and lifted horns to each other across the flames and smoke of the fire, where it burned in the trench between. Women went to and fro to keep those horns filled. Save for the host family, the men had grown merry with ale, and many an eye followed Orm’s two daughters through the hazed, restless red light.

He bore a cheerful mien, as befitted a warrior with scorn for death; none could tell what lay beneath it. Ailfrida could not keep from weeping now and then, quietly and hopelessly. Valgard sat wordless, draining horn after horn until his head buzzed. He only deepened his gloom. Away from the woman and the alarums of war alike, he had naught to do but brood on his deed, and Ketil’s face swam in the dusk before him.

Ale flowed until all were drunk and the hall rang with their noise. And then a knocking on the main door cut loud and clear through the racket. The latch was up, but the sound drew men’s heed. Through the foreroom, into the big chamber, trod Asmund.

The firelight limned him against blackness. He stood white and swaying. In his arms he bore a long cloak-wrapped burden. His hollow gaze swept the hall, seeking one man; and bit by bit, a great silence fell.

“Welcome, Asmund!” cried Orm into that quiet. “We had begun to fear for you-”

Still Asmund stared before him, and those who followed his look saw it fixed on Valgard. He spoke at last, tonelessly: “I have brought a guest to the grave-ale.”

Orm sat moveless, though he paled beneath his beard. Asmund set his burden on the floor. It was frozen stiff enough to stand, leaned against his arm.

“Cruel cold was the cairn where I found him,” said Asmund. Tears ran from his eyes. “It was no good place to be, and I thought it shame that we should hold a feast in his honour and he be out there with naught but wind and the stars for company. So I brought Ketil home-Ketil, with Valgard’s axe in his skull I”

He drew aside the cloak, and the fire-glow fell like new-spilled blood on that which was clotted around the axe. Rime was in Ketil’s hair. His dead face grinned at Valgard. His staring eyes were filled with flamelight. Stiffly he leaned on Asmund and stared at Valgard.

Orm turned slowly about to confront the berserker, who was meeting that blind stare with his own jaw fallen like the corpse’s. But on an instant rage came. Valgard leaped up and roared at Asmund: “You lie!”

“All men know your axe,” said Asmund heavily. “Now seize the brotherslayer, good folk, and bind him for hanging.”

“Give me my right,” Valgard shouted. “Let me see that weapon.”

None moved. They were too shocked. Valgard walked down the hall to the foreroom doorway through a breathlessness where naught but the flames had voice.

Weapons were stacked nearby. Passing, he snatched a spear and broke into a run. “You’ll not get free!” Asmund cried, and moved to draw sword and bar the way. Valgard lunged. Through Asmund’s unarmoured breast the spear went, pinning him against the wall so that he stood there with Ketil still leaned against him, the two dead brothers side by side gaping at their murderer.

Valgard howled as the berserkergang swept over him. His eyes blazed lynx-green and froth was on his lips. Orm, who had followed him, bellowed, grabbed up a sword, and attacked. Valgard whipped forth his eating knife, knocked Orm’s blade aside by striking the flat of it with his left arm, and buried his in the chiefs throat.

Blood spurted over him. Orm fell. Valgard took the sword. Others were coming. They blocked his escape. Valgard hewed down the nearest. His howling rang between the rafters.

The hall boiled with men. Some sought to get into a safe corner, but others to capture the crazy one. Valgard’s blade sang. Three more yeomen toppled. Then several bore a plank from the trestle table before them. With this, by their weight they pushed Valgard well away from the stack of weapons. Folk armed themselves.

But in that crowded space, it did not go fast. Valgard slashed at those between him and the door who bore nothing. They fell aside, several wounded, and he won through. A warrior who had gotten an iron-rimmed shield as well as a sword stood in the foreroom. Valgard smote. His steel hit the shield rim and broke across.

“Too weak is your blade, Orm,” he cried. As the man rushed at him, he reached back and wrenched the axe from Ketil’s head. In his haste, the other man was careless. Valgard’s first blow battered the shield aside. His second took the man’s right arm off at the shoulder. Valgard went out the door.

Spears hissed after him. He fled into the woods. The blood of his father dripped from him for a while, until it froze and gave no further help to the hounds set on to his trail. Even when he had lost them, he kept running lest he too freeze. Shuddering and sobbing, he fled westward.

The witch sat waiting, alone in darkness. Presently something slipped through a rat-hole. Looking down to the shadowed floor, she saw her familiar.

Thin and weary, he did not speak ere he had crawled up to her breast and drunk deep. Then he lay on her lap and watched her with hard little glittering eyes.

“Well,” she asked, “how went the journey?”

“Long and cold,” he said. “In bat shape, blown on the wind, I fared to Elfheugh. Often as I crept about Imric’s halls I came near death. They are beastly quick, the elves, and they knew I was no ordinary rat. But nonetheless I contrived to spy on their councils.”

“And is their plan as I thought?”

“Aye. Skafloc will fare to Trollheim for a raid in force on Illrede’s garth, hoping to slay the king or at least upset his readying for war-now that he has openly called an end to the truce. Imric will remain in Elfheugh to prepare defences.”

“Good. The old elf-earl is too crafty, but Skafloc alone can scarce avoid the trap. When does he leave?”

“Nine days hence. He will take some fifty ships.”

“Elves sail swiftly, so he should be at Trollheim the same night. With the wind I will teach him how to raise, Valgard can reach thither in three days, and I’d best allow him another three to busk himself. So if he is to greet Illrede only a short time before Skafloc, I must keep him here-hm, he will need time to get to his own men-well, controlling him will be no great task, since he is now an outlaw fleeing hither in despair.”

“You treat Valgard roughly.”

“I have naught against him, he not being of Orm’s seed, but he is my tool in a stiff and perilous game. It will not be near as easy to ruin Skafloc as it was to kill Orm and the two brothers, or will be to get at the sisters. My magic and my force alike he would laugh at.” The witch grinned in the half-light. “Aye, but Valgard is a tool I shall use to make a weapon that will pierce Skafloc’s heart. As for Valgard himself, I give him a chance to rise high among the trolls, the more so if they conquer the elves. It is my hope to make Skafloc’s downfall doubly bitter by causing the wreck of Alfheim through him.”