The Clovel Destroyer (3 page)

“
That is not an option, old man,”
the Esterblud raged, his spittle striking the man who struggled to
breathe
. “If you don’t have the skill, we’ll
take him to the city.”

It took Guthlaf and an attendant who entered the
room to get the healer out of Urith’s choking grip. They pushed the
enraged man away, Guthlaf holding on to Urith, telling him to let
the man speak. The old man shook his head, long gray hair spilling
on
his face as he struggled to catch his
breath. After he had
recovered
, the healer
spoke quietly.

“
I’m sorry, but your father is
beyond any human’s help. I will not lie to you, for I know him
well. That is why they brought him to me. The cart ride made his
suffering worse.” Urith could see from the expression on the man’s
lined face that he words were true.

“
Is there no hope?” Guthlaf
asked.

“
I’m afraid, only the healing
waters of the Sky Realm could help now. Unfortunately, that is
reserved
for
the gods.”

“
So, I will finally go
to Haligulf
and drink with Mivraa. Not a bad way to go.”
The voice of Uolven growled from the cot. “My son should know
better. Unless I’m
truly
betrayed by the gods,
I will have much to be thankful for soon.”

Uolven looked at Urith, giving him a thin smile. “My
second son, you must not grieve. You will shame our warrior
ancestors who wait for me.”

“
Forgive me,” Urith told him,
searching for something to say. “I don’t like losing.”

“
Yes, that is something I’ve
always considered one of your finest traits. Now, grab us a
heathmead and we will discuss the future.” His father coughed
suddenly, spitting up blood. While the healer helped Uolven, the
tall
boy who worked for him began pouring the
drinks from a
wooden cask
on one of the
tables. Urith and Guthlaf slid a
rough-hewn
bench over so that they could sit next to
Uolven's
bed
. Copper mugs in hand,
they waited
on the injured man
to gather his
strength before they toasted the gods and Haligulf. It was a ritual
that was comforting for the clan sending a warrior on his journey
to Haligulf. But the effort taxed the mortally wounded
man.

Uolven peered at his son, “You will need
Mween
to mend your face, he is the best healer outside of
Cilgarran
.” Uolven summoned the healer with a
weak nod of his head.
Mween
spoke, begging
forgiveness for his inadequate skills, but was stopped by Uolven.
“My old friend, you have patched me up before, but you can’t
overrule the Fates. Now, just fix up my son,” the leader of the
Esterblud tribe told the old man.

The old man’s attendant came over with an oil lamp.
After painful prodding, Mween sent the boy off with instructions to
find items they would need for a poultice.

“
We will get the infection out of
there,” the old man told Urith confidently. “However, I can tell by
the way you speak and move your
face;
some
damage will remain. How much, I’m not sure until the swelling goes
away.”

Urith appeared confused at the news. It was apparent
that he never considered the possibility. Uolven spoke up, catching
the look in his son’s eyes. “By the gods, he’s
young,
and I’ve seen such a scratch go away with time.
Now, let’s get to business. Tell me about your mission to Iffwer. I
want to know how someone finally got the best of you.”

Urith’s eyes went cold at the observation. The pain
of losing a battle felt worse than the wound. But he could not say
such a thing to Uolven. His father was a great warrior, and would
be until his last breath.

“
There were six of the Aberffraw
scouting the area when I met them. They seemed intent on raiding
the
village,
so I stopped them.”

“
That doesn’t explain your
wound.”

“
I met one warrior called Kirowan
in the group. We fought to a draw.” Urith’s briefly lowered his
head as he recounted the story. “Both of us were
injured,
and he stated he would fight no more. Since he
is an honorable man, I gave him safe passage to travel
home.”

Instead of the verbal abuse he expected at
overstepping his authority, Uolven reached over his hand, grabbing
his son’s shoulder. “You are truly ready to lead our tribe. To
taste the bitterness of defeat will open a new world for you.
Don’t look at such things in their darkness, instead,
learn from such things and it will make you a better
leader.”
Urith nodded, unsure what his father meant.

“
It’s
strange,
but I heard tales of Kirowan riding as a
mercenary now. From the songs of the skalds, if you met him and
only came away with a scratch, you make me proud.” Uolven stopped
for a moment, gathering his strength as another coughing fit seized
him. The blood filled the man’s graying beard. By now, it was
evident
to Urith his father would pass to
Haligulf soon.

“
It is honorable that you let him
return to Vulthnal. Maybe he can raise an army to restore order to
such a lawless land.” True to his nature, Uolven continued to worry
about the need for stability, even in lands far away from
Esterblud. The dying man closed his eyes for a moment.

After returning to the hut, the attendant now stood
at a table using a small wooden spoon to stir the poultice
together. Even from across the room, the stench was overwhelming.
The healer spread the green substance on Urith’s wound. He covered
the area with several layers of linen cloth, then bound Urith's jaw
and head to hold it in place. The poultice burned at first, before
soothing the area. Guthlaf smiled broadly at the sight, and Urith
instantly knew soon he would hear the jokes from his friend about
his appearance. He was about to say something when Mween told him
to remain quiet for a while. Urith just glared at him.

“
Now we must discuss the next
days,” Uolven proceeded to lay out his instructions to Urith and
Guthlaf. On his death, Pehnuwick, the older brother of Urith, would
be named the
head
of the kinship guard. As
leader of King
Penhda’s
personal guard,
Urith’s elder brother was in line to become overlord of the lands
in northern Esterblud. Urith would become the
new
leader
of
the clan. It was no
surprise to the men, only a final confirmation
.
Uolven went on to say that King Penhda held Guthlaf’s
family
with
great respect and that he wanted
Guthlaf to become an advisor to the king. This would give the
family more influence with the king. Urith's friend smiled at the
news, thanking Uolven for such encouraging information.

“
Just as your father acts as a
rudder to my needs, I know you can guide my son.” The old warrior
gave him a smile before turning back to his son. “Urith, I know you
will remain loyal to your brother and Penhda. I ask that you guide
the training of your brother’s son, Oslaf. I know you will soon
have a son of your own but the responsibilities Pehnuwick as a
leader second to the king will make it difficult to train a
warrior. It is a regret that I was not able to teach you all I’ve
learned. But, despite my shortcomings, you are becoming a great
man, both as a fighter and my loyal son. I commend the gods for
this.”

He
shifted himself in
the
uncomfortable cot before he continued. “Remember, being the leader
of your tribe can be
tough
. Many leaders seek
to make the world what they wish, without considering advice from
trusted friends and allies. Failing to listen
to the
right men
or
an excellent
wife is a
terrible curse for a leader.” Uolven went silent for a while,
remembering his dead wife and loyal friends. Urith and Guthlaf
remained quiet as the rays of light left the sky, turning the room
even darker than before. The healer came near with another oil
lamp;
the light reflected off the copper
sending shadows dancing on the whitewashed walls.

Outside, the men could hear the sound of a cart
coming to a stop on the main street. Murmured sounds of voices
crept into the room, but neither warrior paid attention. Not long
after the voices, they heard the sound of footsteps near the door.
The door burst
open,
and a tall, statuesque
woman stepped inside.

“
Earmis, what are you doing here?”
Urith scrambled to his feet, meeting his wife near the cot. They
hugged each other for a long moment. Urith could feel the growing
bulge of her stomach as he held her, taking in her sweet scent. Her
long blond hair spilled out of her hood when he pushed the wool
cloth back, revealing her
beautiful
face.
Pleasant thoughts of their short marriage swept across him.
However, he forced himself to set aside those thoughts as he saw
the worried look in her big blue eyes.

“
I heard the news, rumors are
spreading like wildfire in the city,” she told him quietly, her
eyes carefully scrutinizing his covered face. “They say your father
is dying. But no one told me you were wounded as well.”

Urith nodded, backing away slightly as the woman
tried to place her hand on his bandage. He told her that his father
was the one in
need,
and he would be happy to
see her. She
frowned
, staring Urith for a
moment before she knelt at his father’s
cot
.
Uolven opened his eyes
in
her presence.

“
You old
oretta
, you are laying around when there is work to be
done,” Earmis
scolded the man lightly. By calling the
warrior, a hero, Uolven’s gray face took on a
smile.

“
It
is good
to
see my little
birele
,”
he told her, using his pet name for her. The elder Esterblud
enjoyed treating Urith’s wife as his
daughter
while always remembering her noble status.
Urith
noticed his father’s voice was growing weaker.

Sighing slightly, Uolven told Earmis that she should
not weep at his funeral pyre. “It is my only regret to leave this
realm,
and I will be unable to see you and my
grandson around the fire of my home.”

Urith’s wife held the old man’s rough hand while
Uolven spoke of his wife who passed many seasons before.
Uncomfortable in the atmosphere of coming death, Urith walked away,
telling his father he would be just outside. He and Guthlaf walked
through the doors into the dusk, softly talking about the changes
coming to their tribe.
The leader
of the clans
for many seasons, Uolven sat on the right side of King Penhda, as
his most senior and trusted advisor. Urith’s brother would now fill
that role, and the Esterblud told Guthlaf he was pleased.

“
Pehnuwick is better suited for
working with the king and the other tribe elders,” Urith stated to
his friend. “I have no patience for putting my nose up another’s
butt to see how the wind blows.” Guthlaf laughed at the joke,
telling his friend that they must take his father to the great
temple at Gramcan. Urith nodded in agreement. They would burn his
body in a ritual offering to the Sky Realm. Such a funeral was only
given to great warriors and leaders of such
fighters
. The idea pleased Urith as he thought about his
father, struggling with his internal grief.

“
You will need to ride
to the village of Cilgarran
to talk with the elders of
the clans,” Guthlaf told Urith. “S
everal warriors
might
decide they are more worthy to be the leader of our
tribe.” The thought of traveling to their home village brought
Urith back to the moment.

“
Yes, there are a few like that,”
he agreed. “But when I return, my brother and I will stop any
possibility that someone will go against my father’s wishes.” The
giant warrior knew well that no one would directly oppose him and
his
outsized
brother. However,
some
men might use the death of Uolven to stake a claim
at his position. Guthlaf was reminding his friend that ambition,
strength,
and power drove the Esterblud
warrior culture. A new leader could be vulnerable to the intrigues
of other ambitious
men
. Urith turned to
Guthlaf, “I will always try to listen to your
counsel
, my friend. That is a promise.”

“
And if you don’t, I’ll remind you
with a swift kick in the butt,” Guthlaf told him, smiling. Urith
paid little attention to the joke, his attention caught by an
unusual low whistle that drifted
through
the
rising crescendo of insect sounds. His eyes focused
on
the stone bridge over the river. Despite the failing
light, he could see a tall woman with a black shawl covering her
head crossing the structure. The Esterblud was immediately
impressed
by
her poise and confidence. A
female alone on such a dark trail could easily become a victim,
even in the relative safety of a village. Yet, this
full-figured
woman walked with
a
confident
gait that reminded him of a warrior. Although he
saw no
visible
weapons on her belt, the long
black shawl could easily hide a short sword. When she reached the
end of the bridge entering the town, the woman went to the tavern.
Urith caught a glimpse of her auburn hair and an attractive face
from the partial lamp light when she entered. It was a face he
recognized.