The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (40 page)

‘Well, they haven’t thrown any axes at us yet,’ said Alahan, letting his eyes play over the rugged battlements of the city.

Timon screwed up his face and pouted. ‘I don’t want an axe thrown at me,’ said the berserker. ‘They’re sharp.’

Alahan laughed. ‘Yes, yes, they are... they wouldn’t be very useful otherwise.’

They waited, while the sound of footsteps came from beyond the wall. Whatever else Alahan had done, he’d clearly caused a bit of alarm within. Whoever Ice Fang might be, he was audibly complaining as he approached the battlements.

‘Yeah, Alahan Teardrop is here... of course he is,’ came a croaky voice from above.

Timon smiled and looked up gleefully as a red-haired man poked his head over the wall. The Ranen was in his mid-forties, though his features were difficult to make out behind his huge, bushy beard. He raised an eyebrow at the two men standing in front of his gate.

‘And you are?’ he asked.

‘Did your man not tell you?’ answered Alahan.

The red-haired Ranen called Ice Fang seemed annoyed by this response. ‘Don’t answer a question with a question... it makes you sound like a stupid cunt. Who are you?’

Alahan decided to stop being so guarded. ‘I am Alahan Teardrop and I seek friends against Rulag the Betrayer.’

Ice Fang nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes, looking at the young thain. The man had a thick chain wrapped around his chest signifying that he was a chain-master, responsible for the security of the settlement. It was a position of great respect, second only to the axe-master, and marked the man as a leader in Tiergarten.

‘And you are?’ asked Alahan, attempting to be cheeky and to establish a rapport.

‘I am Tricken Ice Fang, chain-master of Tiergarten and loyal battle-brother of Summer Wolf,’ he barked, showing some anger at Alahan’s cheek. ‘I am loyal and I am true to Fjorlan, but I decide who passes this gate, boy.’

Timon frowned, while Alahan resisted the urge to throw out a challenge. ‘Careful, Tricken Ice Fang, I am not in the mood to argue with an ally...’ He paused, his lip twitching at having been called
boy
. ‘If you need proof that I’m a man, draw your axe and I’ll kill you.’

Ice Fang smiled suddenly and waved behind him. ‘Open the gates,’ he shouted. ‘We have a high thain that needs to get warm.’

* * *

The walk from the lowest level of the city, up the Steps of Kalall, had seemed almost as exhausting as their trek from the realm of Teardrop, but Alahan was glad of the roaring fire in front of him and was looking forward to the mug of mead that was on its way.

They were seated at the end of Aleph Summer Wolf’s hall, a single fire-pit warming their backs as Tricken Ice Fang drew two large mugs of mead from one of several barrels off to the side of the large building. It was smaller than the hall in Fredericksand, but not by much, and had similar decorations adorning the wooden walls. Troll skulls and massive war-axes hung on steel hooks, and wooden tables were arranged in two parallel lines down the length of the hall.

Timon was in awe of the city and had stated repeatedly that he hadn’t known such places existed in the lands of men. The Low Kast might boast a few impressive halls and the odd large settlement, but there was nothing like Tiergarten. The Butcher expressed surprise that stone could prove such a useful building material and had commented on it being difficult to burn. Alahan had taken this as a joke, though whether it was meant as such he didn’t know.

There had been little commotion when they entered the city. Tricken had insisted that there was no need to confuse an already troubled population by announcing that Algenon Teardrop’s son was alive. They’d walked briskly up the towering stone steps without stopping at any of the lower levels. In any case, such attention as they did attract was directed towards the monstrous berserker rather than Teardrop’s son.

‘This hall hasn’t seen much drinking of late,’ said Tricken Ice Fang, as he delivered two large mugs of mead. ‘Since the fleet was lost, most people have stayed indoors. There’s an odd atmosphere around.’

‘Understandable,’ responded Alahan. ‘How many battle-brothers do you have left?’ The young man of Fredericksand scanned the empty hall and saw no sign that it had been used recently. Currently, there were only the three of them there.

Tricken raised an eyebrow and scratched at his huge red beard. ‘You cut straight to the chase... why don’t we just have a drink for now, my thain?’ Alahan found it strange to be addressed by the honorific.

‘That’s not a thain,’ boomed a deep voice from the back of the hall. ‘That’s a thain’s son.’

The speaker was tall and broad, but he walked with a rolling stride that indicated an old leg wound. He had white hair, receding at the temples, and sharp facial features which made his appearance stern. At his side hung an old war-hammer with rough, well-used edges and a worn leather grip.

Old Father Brindon Crowe marched from the end of the hall to stand before Alahan, looking down at him as a teacher might look at a troublesome student. ‘You’ve grown, boy,’ he said, with no hint of humour, ‘and you carry a man’s axe. Does that make you a man?’

Alahan had known Brindon Crowe since he was a boy. His father had sent him to Tiergarten to learn about Rowanoco. Magnus had been wandering Tor Funweir with his friends and had not been able to teach his nephew, so Alahan’s study under old Father Crowe had formed a significant period in his young life.

‘I’ve killed with it and defended my life with it,’ he replied earnestly. He did not mind this particular man calling him
boy
.

Crowe didn’t react to this, but continued, ‘And as a man, you can be thain, yes?’

‘I can,’ was Alahan’s simple response.

‘You’re a fool, boy.’ Crowe turned his back on them and strolled over to the mead barrels.

Timon coughed to let Alahan know that he wanted to speak. The young warrior smiled at his friend. ‘If you want to ask if he’s always like that... yes... yes, he is.’ He kept his voice low so that Crowe couldn’t hear him and felt like a child again.

‘Sorry to hear about your uncle,’ said Crowe over his shoulder, as he drew a large mug of mead. ‘Cloud-stone from South Warden told us what happened in Canarn... bad business. It seems Rowanoco’s faithful are all being tested... Ro Hail, Fredericksand... even South Warden is preparing to be annihilated by the Red knights.’ He turned and glared at Alahan once more, before continuing. ‘Perhaps the appropriate response is to sit in the hall and drink.’

Old Father Crowe heavily took a seat at the end of the bench and let out a groan as something clicked in his back. A weary flinch of pain followed and the priest of the Order of the Hammer threw back a deep gulp of his drink before flexing his back and grunting, ‘Nothing to say, boy?’

‘I thought reaching here was the important thing.’ Alahan had not planned very far ahead and had simply hoped that Tiergarten would have sufficient battle-brothers to hold out against the forces of Ursa. ‘As you said, I’m not a thain. Just a thain’s son.’ He was not trying to be cheeky, but the glare he received in return was withering. He took a comforting sip of his mead.

‘How defensible is Tiergarten?’ he asked, not looking at the old priest.

Tricken Ice Fang coughed. ‘The walls are as defensible as any in Fjorlan. What we lack is men.’

‘Maybe two hundred that will stand,’ said Father Crowe, draining his mug and standing to get another. ‘Two hundred and two, now that a boy and his pet have arrived.’

Timon the Butcher may have been simple, but he knew when he was being insulted. The Low Kast berserker pouted and dropped his head as if he’d been told off. ‘I can go, if it’s easier,’ he said to Alahan.

‘Stay where you are, berserker of Varorg,’ said Crowe in his booming voice. ‘You say you are friends of Tiergarten... Well, Tiergarten needs friends, whoever they are.’ He turned to Alahan. ‘Good to see you, young Teardrop,’ he said, offering his hand.

The young man of Fredericksand was unsure how to react now, but once he saw Tricken wink and nod at him, he took the old priest’s hand. Father Brindon Crowe smiled ever so slightly for the first time since he had entered the hall and sat back down with his fresh mug of mead. In a more relaxed tone, he said, ‘I feared you’d have been taken when Rulag sacked Fredericksand... any word from Ingrid?’

Alahan had been trying not to dwell on his sister and where she might be now. The simple fact was that he didn’t know. ‘She could be dead, or a captive,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s a cunning one, but I saw her taken away in a net.’

‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Crowe. ‘Rowanoco has a soft spot for precocious children, he’ll keep her safe. She’s got Algenon’s blood, as you have. That makes you both strong.’

‘Not strong enough to keep my hall from being taken. That bastard is sitting in my father’s chair,’ barked Alahan, suddenly allowing months of pent-up frustration to boil over. ‘He made a deal with a witch for his honour and now he’s proclaiming that Rowanoco values strength above all things.’

‘He’s wrong,’ said the priest, ‘and you know that. So do his men probably, but they sold their honour for power and wealth... We put a higher price on ours, yes?’

Tricken banged his mug on the wooden table and said loudly, ‘The Betrayer won’t take Tiergarten. By the time he gets here, we’ll have mobilized the realm and every farmer and blacksmith with an axe will be standing on those walls.’

Alahan looked at him with concern. ‘Kalag Ursa will be here soon... likely within a few weeks.’

‘Chasing you?’ asked Crowe. ‘How many men does the Betrayer’s son have?’

‘That is another thing I don’t know. The lordling had a couple of thousand in Fredericksand. Whether he took all of them after me, I have no idea.’ The young thain was tired and his head was beginning to hurt. He was indoors and warm for the first time in months and the prospect of removing his thick hide armour at last was just about keeping him awake.

He rubbed his eyes and saw a worried look pass between Tricken and Crowe.

The priest gulped down some mead and said, ‘We can’t hold out against that many. We have men, but none of them are battle-brothers. They’re brave and they’ll die for Tiergarten, but they can’t stand against an army. We need time to assemble our defenders.’

‘You should have kept running.’ Alahan had led the Betrayer’s army to the city before its defence was prepared. ‘This is the last free realm in Fjorlan... my thain.’ The chain-master was glaring at him and rubbing his heavily bearded chin.

‘Easy, Tricken, that’s Teardrop’s son you’re talking to,’ said Crowe, finishing his second mug of mead. ‘I have some good news for you, boy.’ The priest smiled thinly again. ‘Halla Summer Wolf and Wulfrick the Enraged survived the Krakens.’

Alahan sat bolt upright and smiled. To hear that the axe-master of Fredericksand was still alive was the best news he’d heard since he had left his home, and Timon visibly brightened when he heard about Halla.

‘The Daughter of the Wolf is alive?’ asked the berserker eagerly.

‘Have you pledged your fate, berserker?’ asked the priest. Clearly, he knew more about the traditions of the Low Kast than did Alahan.

‘I have, blessed of Varorg,’ Timon responded.

Crowe laughed, by far the most animated he’d been since they’d arrived. ‘That’s not a title I’ve heard for a while. Tell me your name, man of the Low Kast,’ he said, helping himself to another mug of mead.

The berserker straightened in his chair and towered over the men seated around him. Even Crowe, as he sat back down with his drink, was small in comparison with Alahan’s friend.

‘I am Timon, called the Butcher, and I have pledged my fate to the family of Summer Wolf.’

Father Crowe leant over slightly and looked at the berserker’s belt. Seeing the strange pouch that Timon guarded so closely, he smiled again. ‘Ah, you’re one of
those
berserkers,’ he said mysteriously. ‘I hear that your head never stops growing once you start on that stuff.’

Timon looked embarrassed. ‘I rarely sniff it any more. Only when I have to,’ he said, with what seemed like regret. He glanced at Alahan. A silent look, acknowledging their encounter with the troll, passed between them. Whatever was in the berserker’s pouch, it seemed that it made him attractive to the Ice Men of Rowanoco.

‘You should get some sleep, Alahan,’ said Crowe. ‘You’ve a hall to take back, and another to defend. You need to be well rested.’

* * *

The dreams were more vivid than usual. Alahan had been given a comfortable room with a fur-covered bed, but his mind wandered as soon as his head hit the pillow. He felt the presence of his father. He stood proud and tall and flanked by a guard of Ice Giants, but his face was as sad as usual.

Alahan was expecting the dark woman to appear, but he hadn’t expected to see his uncle at this point. Father Magnus Forkbeard of the Order of the Hammer, priest of Rowanoco, was a more powerful presence than usual. He stood behind the wreath of tentacles that emerged from the dark woman’s mouth and his appearance made the evil visage seem less disturbing than before. Alahan heard his name called in deep, resonating tones. He did not know who was speaking, but he knew that the Ice Giant was behind the voice. The exemplar of Rowanoco, Alahan Teardrop Algesson, high thain of Fjorlan, woke sharply from his bed.

By the look of the moon, which shone brightly through his window, he had been asleep for less than two hours. The room was simple, but the roaring fireplace and thick fur sheets made a pleasant change from sleeping rough and he felt warm right through his body for the first time in months. He had bathed before he took to bed and the sweat of the road had been scraped from his tired body.

The air was crisp and cold and he dressed quickly, feeling a strange but irresistible pull towards the chapel of Rowanoco. Something had opened at the back of his mind and now he was focused on the Ice Giant and his duty to the Ranen. Whatever he had to do, he knew that first he had to visit Rowanoco’s Stone.

Timon had refused his own room and was curled up like a loyal dog on the floor of Alahan’s room. Apparently, he was not comfortable when he was treated well, and he had insisted that he stay close to his friend. He was fast asleep and didn’t wake as Alahan left the room. He closed the door behind him and looked both ways down the stone corridor. The hall of Tiergarten was quiet and only the sound of the wind accompanied Alahan to the front door. As in Fredericksand, the hall had many levels and numerous bedrooms to cater to the free folk of the city. Most were empty now – a silent testament to the loss of the dragon fleet. Crowe had not told him how many men of Tiergarten had perished when Rulag Ursa turned on Algenon Teardrop, but with only two hundred capable warriors left, the city must have been without several thousand battle-brothers.