Shardfall

CHAPTER 5 – AMBUSH

  The bridal party was two days underway from Jonthal on the coast to Leidwald, deep in the forests of Dalland. Two oxen pulled the wagon over the frozen road. One side of the leather hood was open, so that Swanfrid could converse with her new husband.

  Young Ajkell Gudrofsen followed with the rear guard, his eyes alert and his hand never far away from his sword. Not that he expected any trouble, but the sons of Gudrof came from a famous clan of bear totem warriors, and they were battle-ready even in their sleep. That was why Leidwald had hired their youngest son as bodyguard to their theynling.

  Ajkell looked at his master and mistress. He grinned. The bride, an avid huntress, was sulking at being cooped up in the with her young slave maid and her wedding gifts, and Meili, her husband, was doing his best to coax her out of it. The theynling was in a good mood and no wonder; he was young, healthy and proud of his new wife. The wedding had been a great success. Only the absence of Theyn Brandr, Meili’s father, had marred it, but the old man’s heart wasn’t strong enough for a long trip. Now there was a second feast awaiting them when they got home.

  Ajkell’s gaze went to the headman, a giant warrior in a mail shirt, with copper rings in his braided hair and his three-forked beard. His face looked carved in stone, his mouth grim.

  It started to snow. Ajkell looked at the sky and sneezed. Rattling, the wagon went onward. The wheels crunched through the snow and the oxen trudged unperturbed. Theynling Meili said something to his young wife. It must have been funny, because Ajkell heard her laugh.

  The young bear warrior looked up. Something felt wrong. The headman had noticed it, too. He looked around, his hands clasping the grip of his mighty ax. Then the snowflakes became spikes and the large man died, his body pierced by a dozen arrows.

  Before the headman fell, Ajkell sprang forward and dragged the theynling from his horse.

  ‘Get under the wagon. Leave the fighting to me.’ But a shaft had burrowed into Meili's breast and the blood from his mouth ran down Ajkell’s bear coat.

  Around him, only three soldiers were still fighting, The young bride jumped from the back of the wagon with the new short bow that was her father’s gift. She shot at the grim shadows in the snow and killed two of them, when others rounded the wagon and fell on her from behind. Ajkell ran to her aid and swung his sword. The first attacker collapsed with a bemused expression on his rolling head. While the young bear warrior turned to the next, he saw how one of the attackers stuck his short sword into Swanfrid’s back. Her last arrow disappeared aimlessly amongst the snowflakes. Blood welled under her breasts, her festive robe colored pink and Ajkell yelled in desperation. His opponent went down with his helmet and his skull split. Panting, Ajkell looked around for the killer of his mistress. Then the stars in the sky burst in his head and all went black.

  What made him wake up, were two hands plucking at his belt. He groaned and hit out with one arm, as if he wanted to chase away troublesome flies. Above him, he heard a muffled cry, and he opened his eyes. A child, a boy with a dirty face and fierce eyes stared at him. He had blood on his hands, his cheeks and his mismatched clothes. On his greasy hair sat Swanfrid’s bridal wreath and in his fist, he had a knife.

  ‘No,’ Ajkell said and he grabbed the wrist with the knife. ‘No, son of a lice-eaten bitch, keep your paws off me.’

  A big grin spread over the filthy young face. ‘You're alive. He thought you were dead and his men left. Yet you’re alive. Let me go, oh Thor with the mighty muscles. Enjoy your life and let me go, before I lose him.’

  Ajkell gritted his teeth against the pain in his head. ‘Who’s him?’ he asked. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘I am nothing, Thor. I am a shadow. Too insignificant to kill. Or maybe I'm already dead.’

  ‘You're not dead,’ Ajkell said. ‘I feel your arm; your heart beats. Do you have a name?’

  The boy laughed again, his head cocked. ‘Call me Hraab.’

  ‘Raven,’ Ajkell said, grim-faced. ‘Robber of the dead. A good name, child. Who is your ‘he’?’

  ‘He's Vulf. Mrrrarh,’ the boy said with a nice imitation of a snarling wolf. ‘That’s what he called himself.’

  ‘Raven and Wolf. Tell me more about Vulf. ‘

  The boy’s face twisted. ‘He is Death with the face of a young man, my brother’s age. The Wolf serves a great lord in the south, a jarl.’ He leaned over and whispered, ‘Rannar the Snake.’

  Ajkell sat upright and the boy squeaked when his hand was squeezed. ‘Rannar?’ the young warrior said. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘While I was dead on the floor, I heard them talking. Boasting about the rewards Rannar would give them for their deeds.’

  ‘Rannar. He's a friend of my master’s father-in-law. Why would he do this?’

  ‘The snake bites his friends as well,’ Hraab said. ‘He’s made that way.’

  Ajkell pulled the boy toward him. ‘You speak the truth? I'll kill you if you’re lying, child. ‘

  ‘I am already dead, Thor. I died when Vulf destroyed my family. I lay beneath my brother’s body, next to my father and my mother. Then, as with you, the Norns spun me a bit of life and I awoke. The house burned, but I managed to get away. Vulf’s troop was not far and I followed.’

  ‘Why?’

  The boy shrugged. ‘I am like a draug, a walking dead. Following them gives me a purpose. I eat what they leave behind, sleep in the snow and wait for an opportunity.’ A grin broke across his face. ‘They know I'm there. Vulf thinks it is funny. He waves at me when he sees me and at times, his men leave some food behind. As if they want me to follow.’ He sighed. ‘When I find him alone he’ll have my little hawk in his back.’

  ‘Another beast?’

  ‘Let me go and I’ll show you.’

  ‘I’ll let you go if you won’t run away.’

  The boy laughed. ‘I will not run. Our goals are the same, Thor. ‘

  Ajkell released him and the boy shook his fingers a few times.

  ‘Good. The hawk flies.’ He moved his hand and a moment later a small throwing ax sat trembling in a tree about ten yards away. ‘He found his prey.’

  The young warrior nodded. ‘A useful animal, child.’ He stood and stared at the corpses. ‘The heirs of two holds lie here dead. Two rich lands with old rulers robbed of their successor.’ His voice was cold, stripped of all laughter. ‘You see the noble lord? That was Meili Brandrsen, Theynling of Leidwald, whose life was mine to protect. The lady whose garland you wear was Swanfrid, Jonthal’s heiress and Meili’s bride of three days. See their paleness, their blood. I have failed, raven’s child, failed in my oath. I should have fallen before them, but I'm still alive. With them died my honor, the honor of clan Gudrofsen.’

  ‘You're like me, brother draug,’ the boy said. 'Vulf’s death restores your honor, and–perhaps–my life.’

  Ajkell searched for his sword and found it lying in the snow, with a foot and a half of the point broken off. ‘How in Hel’s name...’ Then he saw the point, wedged between two rocks. ‘I must have fallen upon it.’ His sword and his honor, both broken. Without thought, he lifted the weapon to the sky. ‘This sword will not be repaired while my revenge is undone and my honor soiled.’ He returned the broken upper half to its scabbard and turned around. ‘Help me lay out my lord and lady. I can’t leave them like this. Then we’ll follow the Wolf.’

  ‘Good,’ the boy said. ‘Thor and the raven together.’

  Belisheim can’t be far, Tuuri thought. “Just follow the river,” the villagers had said, “you can’t miss it. The völva is a great lady, she’ll feed you well and you’ll sleep dry for a night.” Tuuri had thanked them. Hot food was promising, but more important was the question his master wanted him to ask her. He was to offer money for the answer. One hundred gold coins, carefully put away under the false bottom of his saddlebag. Another one was to ask the same question, but his argument would be force of arms. Tuuri grinned; he thought his own way much more pleasant.


  For the second time the smell of burning filled his nostrils. He slowed his horse to a walk, ready to flee at the slightest hint of danger. He saw the glowing remains of burned-out buildings through the trees. Someone had dared to touch the greatest völva in the world? Tuuri followed the gods of his mother and to him the wisewomen were handmaidens of Freya herself, inviolate.

  He stared at the ruins of the völva’s place. It refused to penetrate his brain. Had they killed the wisewoman? His eyes went to the men among the trees. Most of them were sleeping, drunk on plunder and mayhem. One man, older, bearded, with the same markings as Vulf wore, regarded him bleary-eyed. ‘Whor you?’ he said. ‘Ya look a Fynnikin, pup.’

  ‘I am. And who are you? Did you do this fool deed?’

  The man bristled. ‘Fool? We burned the witch, the lying arrogant whore. Whaddayar doin’ here?’

  ‘I’m Jarl Rannar’s messenger. I was to ask the völva a question, in case the first asker with the soldiers failed. Were you that one?’

  The man spat a glob of saliva in Tuuri’s direction. ‘I didna fail, Fynnikin pup. I’m Swinne, Tarkynn of the Azdainii. I can’t fail. She kept me waitin’ for nearly a day and then... then she said no. So we killed her.’ He slumped back against the tree he was sitting under, and belched.

  Tuuri shivered. He felt his world collapsing around him. First Vulf and now Swinne. His past, his pride, it was all a lie. He straightened. ‘This wasn’t what the jarl intended. He wanted her advice.’

  ‘Then the more fool he,’ the drunken tarkynn said, scratching under his wolfs cap. ‘You don’ trust a lyin’ woman, pup.’

  ‘I’ll have to report this.’ Tuuri could barely contain his anger.

  Swinne stared at him, his eyes red as the embers of the smoldering house. His grin was unpleasant, showing rows of rotting teeth. ‘You do that, little lickspittle. That damned jarl of yours pays me; he don’ tells me what to do. I’m a Fynni chief. Naagh, get away from ’ere while you’re still whole, you bloddy half-breed. Your prattle starts to irritate me.’

  Without a word, Tuuri wheeled his horse around and rode back into the snowy woods. Panic gnawed at his heart. I must go home. The jarl needs to know what’s happening here. His whole plan is becoming undone by those animals. Half-breed. The word he hated most and the one that was the truest.