Fell Winter

  Brand lifted his sword high above his head, ran forward, and brought the blade crashing down on Volina’s neck. The darkling was so blinded by the ecstasy of feeding that she had lost her catlike reflexes. The blade cut through the neck and the head went flying, spurting blood onto Stenn’s wounded body.

  Stenn began shuddering and convulsing. He was badly wounded.

  Barely a minute had passed before the entire Riverhall family was awake and running in.

  “Great Umbra!” cried Lady Alysse.

  “Dragon scales, we must find a healer!” Harald shouted.

  Kenna rushed in and screamed, “It’s the skald’s fault! He told us to let the whore in! Let him be hanged!”

  “I’m sorry,” Brand said, and tears formed in his eyes. “I’m so very sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  “We will not hang a housecarl,” Harald said. “We will find little Stenn a healer.”

  “These wounds are beyond the skill of any in our keep,” Lady Kenna grumbled bitterly.

  “Only at the High Temple of Vana could we find a healer who could purge such devilry, but that’s too far away,” Harald said. “That would take days of hard riding, and we only have one day before he turns into—”

  “Don’t say it!” shrieked Lady Kenna. “My boy will never turn into one of them.”

  “What of Trowfell Keep?” asked Alysse. “It is possible to make the journey in less than a day, if we ride hard.”

  “The Trowfells are poor and live in the mossland,” Kenna said. “I will not have our family be associated with them.”

  “Then will you have your son die, Kenna?” Alysse sneered. “The Trowfells may not be as rich as we Riverhalls. But you know as well as I do of their Healing House, with its hot springs and expert physicians.”

  “Don’t talk down to me, you southern slut,” Kenna growled. “I see the way you eye men who aren’t your husband.”

  Alysse laughed. “Southern, I may be. But my father is the Duke of Voraigne, and my mother the duchess; and with one one-hundredth of the gold in our coffers, we could buy all your family’s holdings, Kenna Wildsaber.”

  Kenna jerked toward her, as if to start a fight.

  “Enough, ladies,” Harald said, stepping in to block Kenna. “I won’t have you quarrel. We make for Trowfell Keep now.”

  “No, we won’t do that,” Lady Kenna growled. “My son is too good for the Trowfells. We will ride to Wildsaber Keep and to my brother the earl. We go there, or we go nowhere.”

  There was scratching on the door.

  “What is that?” Harald said.

  “Milord,” Brand said, “if I had to guess, I’d say that those who were stricken down yesterday have arisen as darklings.”

  “We leave at first light then,” Harald said, then gave a sidelong glance to Kenna, “for Wildsaber Keep.”

  Kenna smiled.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  At first light, they retrieved all their horses from the lord’s stables, and then fetched a few from the commoners’ stables. Then, they left out of the city gate and bade goodbye to their ancestral home. Brand knew he would miss the easy living of Andarr’s Port despite Hilda and Gunnar’s accusation of its “southernness” and “luxury.” Vana grant rest to their souls.

  They continued for a few miles down the road on the north side of the river, following it due east, and reached the rocky river valley a short time later. Aspens grew everywhere except the road, but now the winds and frost had shaken off their leaves. Now they were naked and gray against the deep snow.

  They passed several tiny fishing villages on the way—Utja Thorpe, Ormer Thorpe, Garn’s Hole, and other unimportant settlements that Brand had never heard of. In the mad dash with Hilda, they had paid no attention to the villages they traveled past. Here there were plentiful farms: numerous apiaries, where bees were kept for honey and mead; fruit farms such as apple orchards and pear orchards; and, to a lesser extent, cereal farms where wheat and barley grew. All were snowy and silent in the winter, their color discarded.

  Besides Brand and the Riverhalls, about twenty servants—and the twelve-strong Guard—traveled with them, creating a long caravan stretching across the road that surprised travelers. Brand felt safer than he would alone; vicious brown bears were known to live here, and they had acquired a taste for human flesh. Some people north of the main road—wild-men, as they were called—had a special reverence for them and cloaked their priest in brown bear hides. Among the wild-men, eating raw bear meat was considered to increase a man’s vigor in battle and in bed.

  The road turned into a bridge over water as they reached a swamp. The dark, frozen waters bled inland from the river. Giant sycamores—their leaves shed for winter—dominated the landscape. Now, the swamps were frozen, but Brand knew that in the summertime, it would teem with life: frogs, water shrews, geese, ducks, and more. He had heard of the Waterwood, but never thought he’d get to see it for himself.

  “The fishing is great in the Waterwood, or so I have heard. Trout and herring abound,” Harald said. “It is all the domain of the Wildsaber family.”

  Brand, not sure of the exact distance between Andarr’s Port and Wildsaber Keep, was surprised that they reached their destination before midday. The keep was built on a large circular hill—obviously artificial—that jutted out of the frozen water. The walls were built of wooden palisades, similar to White Wolf Keep. Numerous flags flew from the posts, bearing the coat-of-arms of the Wildsabers: a white swan against a yellow field, with two crossed swords in the upper right-hand corner.

  They had not yet reached the gate when a pair of warriors rode up to them. Their tabards also bore the Wildsaber coat-of-arms. “State your business,” one said.

  “We are the Riverhalls,” Harald said. “We do not need to state anything.”

  “I am Lady Kenna, and a Riverhall, but I am also a Wildsaber. My son is wounded. We must get him help. My brother is earl of this keep, so let us through at once.”

  “The keep has had trouble of late and the city has been closed to visitors for the past week,” the guard answered. “But if you are a full-blooded Wildsaber, lady, I suppose you—and you alone—may have audience with the earl; you must remove all weapons, however. Our lord is distrustful of strangers of late; and for good reason.”

  Kenna removed a thick steel dagger at her side—her only weapon—and handed it to the guards. She rode off while the rest of the Riverhalls waited.

  She returned an hour later, after her family had suffered a long while in the cold.

  “My brother wants my son and my daughters, and them alone,” Kenna said. “Only my children and I may stay in the keep.” She glared fierily at Alysse. “I suppose he does not want any southern sluts in his hall.”

  “And what of us?” said Harald. “Surely you don’t mean to leave us out here in the cold.”

  “He believes you have failed me as a brother-in-law,” Kenna said. “However, if you disband the River Guard, swear fealty to him—”

  Harald laughed darkly.

  “—strip yourself of your titles, become a lowly housecarl of the Wildsabers, then he will accept you into the keep and grant you whatever minimal provisions you require to survive.”

  Harald drew his sword out of the sheath with a wild ring. “You insult me, she-wolf! Guards…”

  “Kill her!” Alysse screamed.

  Brand was inclined to agree with her command.

  “No,” Harald said. “Don’t kill her. Kill her son. And give her daughters scars, that they may become even uglier than they already are.”

  A large group of Wildsaber guards started riding out of the gate. They were, perhaps, forty strong, dressed in chainmail and bearing heavy spears.

  “The River Guard is strong, she-wolf,” Harald shouted. “Twelve of my Guard are stronger than all of your impoverished, backwater Wildsaber soldiers combined.”

  “I wouldn’t test it,” Kenna sneered. “Give me my children now, ‘Lord’ Harald.”

>   “You win for now,” Harald said. “I may prefer the luxury of the port. But I will take vengeance upon you, she-wolf. You married my brother, but you never were and never will be a Riverhall.”

  “That is a good thing,” Kenna said.

  “I am not a true Riverhall,” Brand said, speaking from his heart and his heart alone. “I have been across Badelgard, however. I have seen many cities in my time. I have been to White Wolf Keep… and this… this pitiful wooden keep of the Wildsabers is the worst I’ve ever seen. You call Lady Alysse a slut… she is of a wealthy house. And you, Kenna, come from the dirtiest, most disgusting keep I have ever had the misfortune of seeing.” Brand drew his sword and rattled it in the winter sun, and cried out, “Long live the Riverhalls!”

  “Long live the Riverhalls!” the River Guard called after him.

  “Long live the Riverhalls!” Harald cried, “and long live Sir Brand!”

  Kenna’s children rode out away from the Riverhall host, and Harald did not command the River Guard to kill them.

  “May you always live in shame,” Harald said. “Kenna, traitor to our house.”

  “I am a member of your house no longer,” Kenna sneered, and rode off with the Wildsaber soldiers.

  “I hope your son becomes a darkling and eats you tonight!” Harald said.

  And Brand knew, in all likelihood, his curse would become reality.

  They set up camp in the Waterwood, about ten miles south of Wildsaber Keep. The servants made a fire and set up tents. There Harald and Alysse sat around in the light of the crackling flame, and Brand joined them.

  “I may prefer peace to war,” Harald said, “but I will not bring such dishonor as to not retaliate. I have never liked my sister-in-law, but now I hate her.”

  “We will go to my father and bring back a hundred knights of Zarubain,” Alysse said. “None can stand against their steel swords and thundering hooves.”

  “Let’s go there!” Brand said. “Nothing will please me more to have revenge, though I am not a Riverhall.”

  “From now on, you are a Riverhall,” Harald said. “I proclaim you more a Riverhall than Lady Kenna will ever be, and more a Riverhall than any of her children will ever be. If you have children, boy, then they will be Riverhalls!”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Brand said. “Thank you so very much.” His face grew stern as he looked into the orange flame. “We should do as Alysse says… bring back an army and take vengeance on Wildsaber Keep.”

  “Come spring, we will,” Harald said. “The ocean cannot be sailed in the winter—at least, not with the ships we currently have. And the Sky Cliffs cannot be climbed down; only the King’s Drawbridge can take us to the southlands, and that has not been lowered in a long time. The High King will never lower it for us.”

  “So where shall we go?” Brand asked.

  “Come with me, where we cannot be heard,” Alysse said.

  They walked under the shade of a large sycamore, away from the servants. There, Alysse whispered to Brand and Harald.

  “My sons that I had with the warrior Ragni… they are probably big enough to hold a sword by now. We shall go to the Dragonmount and reclaim them. They shall be delighted to hear they are noblemen; and we shall find them wives. Thus, the line will be perpetuated.”

  “I did not realize Brand knew of our secret,” Harald said.

  Strange, Brand thought, that he did not care about Alysse’s illegitimate children.

  “Sir Brand is trustworthy,” Alysse said. “Now… let us make for Dragon Temple.”

  “What will we tell the servants?” Harald said.

  “We needn’t tell them,” Alysse said. “Half will go to Oskir and petition the High King for defense and aid. Half the Guard shall come with us; and Brand, our housecarl who has proven himself so very loyal.”

  “And if the Dragonpriest does not relinquish our sons’ care?” Harald said.

  “He will,” said Lady Alysse. “No one can refuse a duke’s daughter.”

  “We will do as you say,” Lord Harald said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  At first light, Erik and five other members of the Guard, as well ten servants, left for Oskir and the High King’s throne.

  Lord Harald, Lady Alysse, Brand, six of the Guard, and ten other servants left for Dragonmount. They rode long and hard, following the river valley east. Around noon, they began an ascent up steep switchbacks and, after a ride that exhausted both horses and riders, reached the rocky upland area of Badelgard densely covered in spruces, firs, and pines. Snow buried the land up to the horses’ knees.

  They were now in Trowheim, the domain of the Blackhelms. Blackhelm Keep, overlooking Frost Lake, was just a short ride west. It was the domain of Gunnar’s father. Brand reflected briefly on his friend and prayed he would honor his memory.

  By the time darkness fell, they had reached the foot of the Dragonmount: An impossibly tall peak that distinguished itself from the others by its jaggedness and steel color.

  It was here that the Green Dragon once rested; it was here that the father of Badelgard battled with him a day and a night. And it was here that, after becoming friends, they launched an all-out attack on the evil Ulfr, worshipers of a vile demoness. Riding on the Green Dragon, Buntringer had burned their cities with all-consuming dragonfire and driven them to extinction.

  Or so it was said. Now, things were stirring in Badelgard that made Brand question the accepted legend. An Ulfr witch still remained; an army of dead walked behind her. There was a rumor that monsters walked the Ice Shelf.

  The servants dispersed to gather kindling and firewood. They had brought provisions: smoked salmon and dry biscuits, and other travel fare. The rustic dinner took the edge off the hunger. Once the fire started, the servants put together the tents. Lady Alysse instructed the servants to set up the tents, and they obeyed in short order.

  The Guard slept in one tent; the servants in another; and in the third tent, Alysse, Harald, and Brand. What happened next, Brand would never forget.

  “Will you have me tonight?” asked Alysse, and shot him a fiery glare.

  Brand gave a shocked look to Harald. “I’m sorry, Alysse. Harald—”

  “Sir Brand, my housecarl,” Harald said, “I do not care if you bed my wife. I do not care if you bed commoners, or priestesses of Vana, or painted whores. It makes no difference to me.”

  “You are a strange man, Harald,” Brand said.

  “I would not normally let a commoner say that, but you speak truth,” Harald said. “And you are no longer common. So get on with the deed, Brand. Bed my wife—she’s all yours.”

  “I take that back; you are a very strange man, Harald,” Brand said. He looked down at the leather floor of the tent.

  The next morning, they made a stern procession to Dragonmount. Throughout the whole ride to the rocky peak, Brand’s mind swam with memories of last night.

  What kind of lot have I fallen in with? A man who will not bed his wife but will let another have her. A man who executes criminals for the people’s pleasure, yet does not shed a tear when the whole city dies.

  Brand grunted. His legs were terribly sore from riding, and his back ached horribly. He wondered if being a commoner was better than living as a noble in this sort of company.

  And yet, in many ways, they have been good to me.

  They reached the base of the peak and there, against the rock, sat the Temple of the Green Dragon. It was a large building of dark stone, supported by thick gray pillars and capped with a domed roof.

  “There is no beauty to this building,” said Lady Alysse. “In my homeland, we decorate the pillars and make them pleasing to the eye with flutes and carvings. And we do not use such grim stone.”

  “You will have to make do with what we grim Badelgarders have,” said Harald. “My people and your people are different; and yet, we are joined as one.”

  “In some ways we are, Harald. In others, not as much,” Alysse said, then glanced at Brand kn
owingly and smiled at him.

  Brand smiled faintly, then looked away in shame.

  At the entrance of the temple, a shirtless, hairy-chested man met them. He was huge and had a thick brown beard and wild, uncut hair. In his large, meaty fist he clutched a torch. He wore crude leather leggings and hanging around his neck was an amulet in the shape of a dragon.

  “What do you flatlanders want from the High Dragonpriest and his priesthood?” the man growled. “You’re dressed as dandies in your fancy-woven kirtles and cloaks, and you look like you’re off to some genteel party.”

  “Calm down, priest,” Lady Alysse said. “You speak to a woman of noble blood.”

  “The junior priests are racing up the peak with stones on their backs,” the High Dragonpriest said. “The trolls have returned to the Ice Shelf, and I am getting my boys ready for war, so I apologize for my barbed tongue, Your Honor. The evil of the Ulfr has returned… and the center of this evil comes from Oskir, and the High King’s throne.”

  “Do not speak of the High King so,” Alysse said.

  “It is not the High King I speak of,” the priest said. “It is something he possesses.”

  The Idol of the Great Mother. Brand shivered.

  “What is your name?” Alysse demanded.

  “I have no name but High Dragonpriest,” the man said. “And yet, I have not yet asked you what you want of me. Why do you come to our temple of dragon’s sons, fair lady of high birth? Why do you come with dozens of men in your retinue? This place is not fit for any but those with the toughness and spirit of dragons.”

  “My name is Alysse. Does that sound familiar?” she asked.

  “I admit that it does,” the High Priest said, “and yet, I do not know who you are.”

  “I come from Andarr’s Port,” Alysse answered. “Many years ago, I brought two blonde-haired, blue-eyed children to your temple. I travel here to reclaim my sons, Forni and Jarni.”

  The High Dragonpriest paled. He was slack-jawed for a moment, then said, “Forni is now known as Razorclaw; and Jarni as Whitefang. They do not know their original names, nor do they know of their high birth or anything about life outside the temple. They are some of my best junior priests, and better with a club than most any of their colleagues.”