Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (13 page)

Hulderic shook his head. “They left it. They took the sword, yes, but they left the hammer and the shield. I think they feared it. Judging by the wounds of the dead mercenary dogs, you killed terribly many with it. They dared not touch it.” He got up and pulled at the curtain, and I could see the room. The Celt lord was leaning on a table, looking at the hammer, his old face wrinkled with tears and sorrow. The hammer was gore-covered, still magnificent. On the table, there was a huge sack of silver and gold, spilled half out, his treasure, a fabulous hoard.

Hulderic spoke softly. “They had no time to look for the wealth of Teutorigos, either. He had it well-hidden, and now, he will sacrifice it to give his son a proper send off. Camulos, his god, might listen and help Cerunnos in the afterworlds.” The Celt nodded at his men, one a very thin, wolf-like man with striped bracae pants and leather mail. That one, and some of the servants, carried the silver and gold out, and the shield as well, and walked outside. The Celt lord grabbed the hammer and sat down listlessly. Hulderic pulled the curtains closed, and shrugged. “He is terribly hurt. I’ve not lost a son, as I said, not that I know of, but what they did to Cerunnos? Animals. Took his head. Took it with them. Some Chatti hunt heads, no?”

“It
wasn’t
the Chatti,” I said tiredly.

“So, let us agree then,” he coughed, and walked back and forth. “Here it is. They are going to use the sword for some evil, something beyond Bero’s knowledge, and as the blade is well-known, and I suspect the evil they plan with my weapons is similar what they planned with you. A lie, a diversion. A cause for war?”

“They wish to frame
you
for something,” I agreed. “And the Marcomanni with you.”

“Me,” he said. “And the Marcomanni. I’ll assume Bero isn’t aware of their plans. Perhaps he is. And you said Leuthard didn’t care either way. Thinks he can benefit from war, no doubt. And there may very well be war due to my blade. The victims will blame me, no matter across the river, or in our own lands. Men will judge me, exile me, and kill me. It’s possible. But you say this Raganthar said it is not Bero’s plan, and so it is someone else’s. In any case, it must not be allowed to take place. They wish to use my ancient blade to smother the Marcomanni in blame for some grand act of violence. Someone is doing something that might bring down the sky on our necks,” he stated. “It is a very famous Marcomanni sword. The most famous one. Someone will know it. A death will take place? A famous one? And then, vengeance?”

“Yes, it is possible,” I said breathlessly. “They would have us fight—”

“Rome,” he said darkly. “We make war, but it is a war of dogs. A dozen men raided once a month across the river. Few Romans really plan to cross to this side. They have lately been fighting in the south, with the Dalmatians, the Pannonians, taking the Alps from our kin. Noricum may have already fallen? Their lords Tiberius and Drusus, praetors both, are taking Roman arms north, slowly towards us, for the river they call Danubius, and things have been gentle and silent here near the river they call Rhenus. They own Gaul, but they need the Alps to link with their dominions here in the north and with Greece. They have been doing that for years, and we have been spared major wars as they fight elsewhere.”

I nodded, and felt like a peasant. “You know much. We Chatti don’t know that much about the troubles of the world,” I said. “Well, perhaps Oldaric does, and others, but—”

He sat down and thought deep for a while, running his hand across his helmet, which was set on a table. I had missed it in the shadows, but he pulled it to light. It was a masterful, fine thing of metal, and its eyeholes bored into me eerily. “There are things happening across the river in the north, though. There was a war with Rome, a full-blown one. Marcus Lollius, the governor, lost an eagle to the Sigambri alliance earlier.
Legio V Macedonia
was shamed,” he said, the foreign name twisting uncomfortably from his lips. “The Romans are angry and hurt, and the great man, Augustus, is probably hungry to punish them up there. They may bring legions against the Sigambri and the others at some point in the future.” He pointed a finger at me. “We need no such trouble here in the south. Rome got the eagle back, because of this Tiberius, who went there to show his sword to the Sigambri. The Sigambri saw it, shat their pants, and gave Tiberius their oaths, which they will break and everyone knows it. The Roman is touring the river now, and let’s make sure he hears no complaints about the Marcomanni. Someone will probably try to kick our names high in the list of Roman enemies. Many would love to see that. Treveri Gaul’s, the Mediomactri, both. Vangiones? Yes. So you have a job.”

“You accept my—” I begun excitedly.

He snorted. “Not yet. You have a job, I said. Perhaps soon, maybe when things are clearer, and if you succeed. It’s a test, if you will. Since you have your innocence to prove, you shall help us with this problem?”

“I could fight for you, but how do I help with a missing sword?” I asked, exasperated. It was like he was asking me to find lost tears of Freya. “I’m just a warrior from the east. I doubt anyone else is tested like this for service?”

He smiled grimly. “The others have not been found with a spear in the guts of my oathsman. And no, you are not just a warrior from the east. I’ve seen plenty of men with the battle madness. You have it, no?”

I stammered, embarrassed. “I think I do. I just found it out here, in this hall. My uncle hinted at it. Gisil said Hraban might have it, and she saw it in me.”

He hummed. “Hraban has it. I know. He dreams, and those dreams are odd. He belongs to Woden. So do you. Now, I need a berserker. I don’t like it. One caused much trouble for my son, until he … solved it. Some think it to be a disease, leaving men listless with fatigue if they are lucky, dead more often than not, and it changes a man, like illness does. When you fight so, you will die in battle, and probably young, eh? A normal warrior can choose to give up a fight and surrender, no matter how dishonorable that might be, or to retreat to fight again, if he is wiser than most Germani. But a berserker, one who goes first to break the shields and crush the skulls, won’t give up until he is victorious, and leaves the battle last, dead or alive. I see you are very young, boy, so I met you at an opportune time to help you develop some sense. I’ll not be a lord to send you to your death, and I’ll ask nothing from you that might get you killed needlessly.” He rapped his hand on the helmet, as if to invoke the gods to help us. ”But before that, I need a man of reckless bravery.”

“But what can I do?” I asked darkly. “Reckless bravery doesn’t help find lost swords.”

“It might,” he said. “You’ll have to be recklessly brave to find it. It will help you if you
do
find it, at least,” he added regretfully. “But there is more. Be a fox for a while, Adalwulf, not a bear. You are in a unique position to help us, it will be madly dangerous, and I cannot help you much after you begin.”

“How am I in unique position?”

“You are my enemy, and everyone knows it,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll go, and pretend to hate me. Men who also hate me, naturally think highly of you.”

“I see,” I said, rubbing my face. “Is it honorable—”

He slapped the chair. “No. It’s not, thief. But I’ll accept your service after you have solved our issue. I’ll lift you high, give you honor and fame to cover your shame, and I’ll give you wealth and a hall to die for, and you shall lack for nothing. I’ll set you against your kin, and our other enemies, and you will be my sword-lord, and you shall lead my men well. The price is
my
sword. Find it, dishonorable or not.”

“And Gisil,” I breathed.

“And her,” he agreed, sorrow darkening his face. “Though a woman caught in such a trap is going to suffer before she dies, and well you know it. Have hope, but let it not cloud your judgment. Even if she is alive, she will be fragile, and they will have hurt her.”

I dragged myself up to my elbows, threw my legs around, and fixed an eye in his. “So, where should I begin?”

Teutorigos pulled aside the curtain. He had an absent look on his puffed face, and Hulderic frowned as he stood there. “He agreed?” the Celt asked. He had been listening in on our discussion.

Hulderic looked at me and let out a long breath. “We agreed.”

“Leuthard,” Teutorigos said hollowly, and ripped the curtains to the ground, silencing the hall. “Cerunnos is dead, and that bastard, that bald deer-fondler knows more about this than any man. So you will begin with
him
.” He ambled forward, and I knew the Celt was drunk and unsteady.

“I shall go and challenge him, and he will sing like a bird?” I asked harshly, and regretted it as Teutorigos’s face went ashen gray. Hulderic got up, and the Celt let his friend speak, while taking deep breaths.

“You will get help from Teutorigos, Adalwulf. We know a slave with Balderich who will be there to aid you. She helps us, because she wishes to serve Sigilind one day again. Sigilind is Balderich’s daughter, and lives with me, you see. And Teutorigos has men who are near, ready to jump in when you have a plan, and the girl will know how to get them. To find the sword will be much like hunting for a wolf. You follow tracks. The tracks we have are made by Leuthard and Bero, and if someone knows where this Raganthar is to be found, it will be the champion of Bero.”

I brightened. “Yes, he knows. He said he knows where they live. He led them once,” I said.

Teutorigos was smiling coldly. “Yes. We don’t need anyone else, do we? Leuthard it is, and he will give us the rest. Bero will wait.”

“Will he give us the rest?” I asked, not so confident suddenly. “That one looks harsh as a disease. He looks like a stone hurtling giant from Jotunheim. He is a beastly large man,” I said. “What if he won’t let me near him, no matter if I’m enemy to Hulderic, or not?”

Teutorigos shrugged, tired to his bone. He had not rested since he found his son dead. “You will not antagonize him, but try to find a way to speak with him. Find a way to his favor.” His eyes flashed. “And if that doesn’t work, be his enemy. Either way, find his
weakness
. He has to have one. In the end, find something that lands him in our lap, in a place he will be alone, tied up and under our blades. Then, boy, we will make him speak. He is brave as an enraged bull, but is he loyal to Bero or anyone, if he is promised his life in return of the sword? No.”

Hulderic nodded. “He’ll speak. He is as mercenary as this Teutorigos is. He’ll tell us everything we need, if properly motivated.” He didn’t sound certain as he spoke, and I was about to question his logic, but he waved a hand to silence me. “And when I have the sword, Teutorigos here shall take his life. Slowly, quickly, as he pleases. But only
after
we have the sword.”

Teutorigos nodded curtly, his eyes glinting evilly. “No need to remind me, friend. Leuthard is also a key to this Raganthar, the man who probably took my son’s head. I’ll be patient, though it irks me.”

Leuthard. They wanted me to find a way truss up the beast of Bero, and give him to them. It made my belly twitch with fear. “The sword. They say it is cursed,” I said.

“Gisil said that?” Hulderic asked with a small smile. “Or did she say our blood is?”

I nodded. “Both. I think she might be right. Maybe the sword will cause death to those who stole it? And what if we cannot find it? We could just tell the Romans something evil is afoot.”

“Reneging on this deal?” Teutorigos asked with simmering rage. “You coward. I—”

Hulderic shook his head and placed a hand on Teutorigos’s shoulder, and the Celt relaxed slowly.
Him helping me?
He was not well.

“We
must
regain it. First of all, the Romans do not care for our excuses. They’ll see it was used against them, and that’s enough. Someone will use it to gain power and prestige. They won’t sit down to ponder who did what, when they have evidence like that. But there is more. The sword is important because it has a function. Our family, Adalwulf, it is as evil as it is old. Gisil is right. This family of ours is cursed, and has been since no other men walked the land but our family.”

Teutorigos snorted. “All people have stories of them being the first.”

Hulderic waved a hand at him. “But our story is true. We are of the first men and women, born of Aska and Esla, weaned in the cold shores of Gothonia, the islands of the northern sea, Adalwulf. Woden made us from wood and stone, other gods cursed his creation, and so my son, Maroboodus, was born of such cursed blood. He was tormented with an old spell of a dark god, who wants to see the Nine Worlds in a watery grave. There’s bad blood in him. I should have killed my son many times. It is the family way. That blade has killed many men like that. If I ever gather the strength to use it against Maroboodus, if I need to, I’ll need it. I’ll
need
that blade. I’m weak without it.”

“You look as weak as a sturdy bit of Roman steel,” I said, and he chuckled gratefully.

“I should have killed my son, whom my mother claimed him to be
the Bear
, a harbinger of destruction. And then, there is
the Raven,
another similar creature of the cursed blood, but I cannot do it easily. I love them both, Adalwulf. But if the need should arise one day soon, I will want that sword, and I’ll need it. If the blade truly is the bane of family and foe alike, I shall need it to do something terrible, and then I’ll know what my friend here goes through.” Teutorigos shook his shoulders, and I saw tears stream helplessly across his old cheeks. Hulderic went on. “And Bero, my foe, the relentless foe to me and Maroboodus both, he fears the blade. He held it once, you see, like he held the Draupnir’s Spawn, the ring my son stole away.”