The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1) (16 page)
Read The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1) Online
Authors: Tony Daniel
Tags: #Fables, #Legends, #Action & Adventure, #Juvenile Fiction, #Norse, #Fantasy & Magic, #General, #Myths
Chapter Twenty:
The Valley
“Wulfgang, remember that spot!” cried the duke.
Wulf did his best to memorize the area of the bald eagle attack, trying to picture in his mind what the landmarks around it might look like below, at eye level. He hoped Finn had also marked it, because even though he was good at tracking, Wulf didn’t entirely trust himself to find the place once they rode down. He knew how easy it was to get lost and turned around in the woods, because he’d done it enough times on his own.
They moved back from the overlook and went to get their horses. Grim and Harihandel had them ready. Just before they mounted up, Wulf turned to his father. “Father, why did you send Adelbert to Sandhaven? It should have been me.”
Duke Otto, who had been about to climb into his saddle, stopped. He turned to Wulf, and stared at him. After a moment, he motioned Wulf over to himself. Wulf, who was only a pace away, stepped to his father. Duke Otto pulled him into a strong embrace, hugging Wulf to his chest. To Wulf’s complete surprise, his father kissed the hair on the top of his head. When Wulf looked up, he saw tears in Duke Otto’s eyes.
“Never in a thousand autumns,” his father said. “They would kill you.”
The Duke finished mounting his horse.
“And they won’t kill Adelbert?”Wulf asked.
“Not the Siggi I know. He’ll be fair.”
Before Wulf could say anything else, the duke kicked his horse and they were off. Duke Otto led the way, while Wulf and Finn followed behind in file. They worked their way down a narrow trail that led them under the top of the cliff where they’d just been standing. Then they headed into the woods and left the trail. Now the duke gave way to Wulf and the hunt master, and Wulf tried to make sense of what he was seeing and tried to figure out where he was, and where the eagle and wolf might be.
The smell of early winter was in the air, and the horses’ hooves crackled in the fallen leaves. There was a chilly breeze and Wulf drew his wool cloak tighter around his shoulders.
A screech came from a nearby beech tree. Wulf smiled. He recognized that voice. It was the little screech owl, Nagel.
He put out an arm, and down Nagel came to land on his glove. She then hopped from his arm and onto Wulf’s shoulder. For a moment, he was going to shoo her off himself. She might take a shine to his ear and bite out a chunk. But she seemed chilly and tired after her mighty flight to lead the eagle to the wolf, and appeared mostly to need a perch that was not jostling all about, as his wrist would do.
Now to find the kill.
There’s a big oak tree, but then there are
hundreds
of big oak trees in this forest, Wulf thought.
Finally, they came to a stream, and Wulf decided to assume it was the little creek he’d glimpsed from above.
But which way on the creek, up or down?
Nagel came to the rescue. She squawked and fluttered off his shoulder and landed in a tree that was clearly to the right.
I guess that’s as good a clue as any
,
Wulf thought. Nagel was the most intelligent bird Wulf had ever hunted with by far.
He turned in the direction the owl indicated, and the three horsemen and their mounts splashed down the middle of the creek. Nagel quickly flew back down and again mounted Wulf’s shoulder.
They tramped on as quickly as they could. Everybody knew the eagle might have more than she could handle in her talons.
It seemed to Wulf that they had gone way too far, but then he noticed an overhanging cliff and realized it must be a rocky area he’d seen from above. The attack had been directly across the creek from that rock.
Then they heard the cry of an eagle and knew they were in the right place. As Wulf made his way through the tangled vines that hung from the trees near the creek, he heard it again. Then they were in a clearer patch of woods, and in front of them was an explosion of hair and feathers. That must have covered an area of ten or twenty paces. And near the middle was the bald eagle.
She was sitting on what looked like a small mound of earth. Her wings were spread out to cover and hide it.
The sight caused Finn to smile for the first time all day. “She’s mantling, m’lords, dropping her wings like that,” he said. “That’s a good sign, it is.”
Wulf and his father dismounted.
“She is, by Sturmer. She’s got it!” the duke said excitedly. He turned to Wulf and smiled broadly and innocently. “What a day for a hunt, isn’t it? And what’s your name again, sir?”
Wulf blinked. “I’m Wulfgang von Dunstig, sir,” he answered. “I’m your son.”
The smile on the duke’s face became puzzled, but then he brightened again. “My son!” He turned to Finn. “This is
my son
. He is, isn’t he?”
The hunt master didn’t know how to reply. He looked to Wulf, who nodded.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“He’s a grown man?”
“And a good hunter, Your Excellency.”
The duke turned back to Wulf. “I have a son,” he murmured to himself, shook his head and smiled.
I want him to fade away happy like this, Wulf thought. To always see the world like it was the first time, especially at the end.
“We’d better take care of the bird, Your Excellency,” Finn said as gently as his gruff voice would allow.
“Yes, yes.”
Duke Otto took a spear from a holder on his horse’s saddle. Wulf drew an ax from his side for his left hand—and his new dagger for his right. Grer had finished the knife two days after the fight with Gunnar.
“It’s a good blade,” the smith had murmured as he took it to polish and install a handle. “And had the best quenching I ever saw, too.” He only smiled a little when he said it.
Wulf still had the gauntlet on his right hand, and this hid the mangled flesh of the scar, but even through the leather of the glove, the dagger fitted perfectly into the hollow between the scar tissue of his palm.
Wulf and his father walked slowly toward the eagle. This close, Wulf could see blood spatters across her white head feathers. A piece of torn flesh was in her beak.
In Duke Otto’s other hand, the one that did not hold the spear, was something shiny.
A fish, Wulf realized. A trout minnow. The shine came from the scales.
Duke Otto dangled the fish by its tail. He knelt a step or two away from the bird and clucked to get the eagle’s attention. He had been holding the shaft of the spear in his gloved hand, and now the duke slowly set the spear down in the leaves beside him. He put the fish on the top of his gauntlet. The eagle eyed the treat. Duke Otto raised his gloved arm, forming the familiar perch. He clucked again.
For a moment, the eagle didn’t want to move. Then she pulled her wings back in and tried to fly over to land on Duke Otto’s arm. This didn’t work. One of her wings did not fold right. It dragged along the ground, and her try at flying turned into a clumsy hop.
The wolf sprang.
With a snarl it launched itself toward Duke Otto. Wulf’s reaction was quick. The wolf was closest to his left side, so he swung the ax in that hand.
He caught the wolf in the side of the throat with the battle ax blade. The ax stuck in the animal’s muscle. Wulf held on. He yanked the animal toward himself. It snarled and twisted to get at his arm.
Screeeeech!
From Wulf’s shoulder, the little owl launched herself at the animal’s face. She shot like a bolt across the space between. One talon caught, the other missed and sank into the animal’s nose. The wolf cried out in pain, and gave its head a vicious shake. The little owl flapped away.
Wulf drew back.
—and plunged the dagger into the side of the wolf’s head, putting all his weight behind the blow. The blade slid in just before the hinge in the jaw and swept upward into the wolf’s brain.
The wolf yelped. Its feet kicked in spasms. And then it died. Wulf rolled it over to reveal the stomach.
A male wolf. He’d separated from the pack, and it had cost his life.
He was torn open with his guts hanging out. The eagle must have done this. There was no way he could have survived for long, even without Wulf’s stabbing him. The fact that he had managed to attack one last time was amazing.
Wulf pulled out his dagger and sat back, breathing hard. The eagle had dragged itself over to his father by this time and crawled onto the duke’s arm. It sat calming, crunching on the tail of the trout.
Wulf shook his head. He felt his sight swimming.
Breathe deep, he thought. Hold it for a two count like Koterbaum taught us. One. Two.
Someone was handing him something. It took Wulf a moment to realize it was Finn, giving him a pick-up piece, a reward to feed up the little owl.
Wulf sat looking at the dead wolf. His eyes were closed. His mouth was slightly open.
Wulf heard the distant sound of thunder. Was it going to rain on them going home?
This was a wild animal, and huge. He had dragged down
buffalo calves
. He might have killed his father or himself.
Still, he was beautiful.
The thundering sound grew louder.
That’s horse hooves, Wulf thought. A lot of them.
Then he heard the battle cries of men.
Chapter Twenty-One:
The Owl
There was a crackling in the forest to the east of them, and a rider appeared. He held a bow with an arrow nocked and pulled back. He wore a hauberk speckled with mud. He had blonde hair, held back with a leather headband.
Like Gunnar’s, Wulf thought.
The man’s aim settled to a deadly stillness.
He’s found his mark, Wulf thought. He drew his dagger.
The man let loose his arrow. Despite the noise, Wulf could hear the twang of the man’s bowstring.
Duke Otto was just turning to look at what had caused the commotion. The arrow struck him in the side, under his arm. The eagle flapped away on its broken wing, then fell into the leaves nearby. The arrow that hit the duke sank deep, and its point came out in the middle of his chest below where his sternum would be. When it did, blood gushed out.
“Father!” Wulf cried out.
The duke tried to speak, but a bloody bubble came from his mouth.
He slowly reached out his arm toward Wulf.
The duke’s lips curled into the faintest smile.
Then his torso slumped sideways, as if a string holding it up had been cut.
“Father, no!”
Wulf looked back up at the man on the horse. Now the other was aiming an arrow right at him. There was nothing Wulf could do.
A blur of motion seemed to crash into the man’s face. He let out a yell of surprise and, at the same time, shot his arrow.
There was a sharp pain in Wulf’s left arm. He looked down to see that the arrow had hit him in the upper arm near his shoulder. It had passed through the muscle. A deep flesh wound. Only its vanes showed on one side. On the other, the rest of the arrow hung out.
Wulf threw his dagger at the man as hard as he could.
He’d never been very good at getting a throwing knife to stick, and this time was no different. He completely missed the man. He hit his horse. The dagger pommel smashed into the horse’s face below its left eye.
The horse reared, and the man came crashing off and landed with a heavy whump on the leafy forest floor. For a moment, he lay scrambling like a bug turned upside down.
With a snarl, Wulf reached down with his right hand under his arm and pulled the arrow the rest of the way through the wound in his left arm. As he pulled, he had to tear downward to get the angle. Blood gushed from a bloody hole on both sides of his arm.
Then he had the arrow in his right hand. He glanced down at it, amazed something so thin could have caused him so much pain. Its iron tip was not barbed. It was an arrow designed to pierce armor. The shaft was white birch, and it was fletched with three goose feathers, two white and one gray.
Wulf reached toward the fallen man. The man looked at Wulf.
Eyes. Light brown. Staring at him in consternation.
At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to put those eyes
out.
“Die!”
Wulf jumped onto the man’s chest. The other tried to throw Wulf off, but couldn’t.
Wulf stabbed down as hard as he could with the arrow.
Instead of hitting an eye, the arrow sank through the bridge of the man’s nose into the center of his face.
Squelching.
The man slumped backward, and Wulf kept his weight on the arrow.
Thud. Thud.
It was the man’s feet kicking against the ground behind Wulf.
“Die, die, die!”
When he finally looked up, the clearing was filled with armed men. Finn lay dead. His still body bristled with arrows. Even the nearby bald eagle had arrows through it.
The armed men wore tabards of blue and black vertical stripes with a badge representing a gray goose in flight stitched on the center. Sandhaven.
He gazed around frantically, found his dagger lying in a muddy hoofprint, and picked it up and shoved it into its scabbard.
His father—
Wulf stumbled back to where the duke lay. His eyes were closed. Wulf bent down, put his ear to his father’s mouth. Shallow breathing.
Still alive.
Putting everything he could into it, he tried to lift up his father’s body. Straining, breaking into a sweat, he raised him on his own shoulder. Fresh bleeding broke out from where the arrow penetrated the duke’s body.
There was no way. No way.
Then a blur of motion as something—someone—charged out of the woods toward them. Wulf turned, drawing his dagger, figuring he might have just drawn his last breath.
It was Grim. The faun sprinted up to Wulf and, without a word, took Duke Otto’s body from his shoulder. Grim was huffing and puffing from his charge down the mountain, but he seemed to hold the duke without great effort.
“We run, m’lord,” Grim said in his rough tenor voice.
“But—”
Thunk. Something hit his left shoulder. Pain shot through his wounded arm. He was about to stab at whatever was causing it, but there was a flutter of feathers and a faint hoot.
The owl. Nagel.
She
spoke
into his ear.
“Listen to the goat-man,” she said. “Into the woods, stupid boy.”
“What?”
“Run!”
Her voice sounded like a human female. He’d never heard of owl Tier. And she looked
exactly
like a screech owl.
“Follow me, Grim.” He turned and plunged between two trees.
Then fell in a sprawl. Dirt in his mouth. Smell of forest floor leaves.
Something tripped me, he thought. Never mind. Get up!
He tried. His right arm collapsed and he fell again, slamming his shoulder against the ground.
Up!
A second time, this time he pushed with only his left arm. Got to his feet, stumbled forward, then got his balance.
Keep going. Got to—
No!
Behind, branches and leaves crackled. Men shouted. Mad voices. Terrified voices.
Then there was the clanging and banging of iron and steel.
Wulf stopped. He hesitated. He put his hand over the hole in the back of his arm.
Not spurting.
Sandhaven raiders. I should be there, fighting for Shenandoah. Defending—
“Father,” Wulf sobbed.
The owl dug its claws deep into Wulf’s shoulder. Needles into nerves. He’d thought the arrow going through his arm hurt. This was a
lot
more painful.
“Blood and bones!”
The owl took Wulf’s ear in its beak and
bit through it.
Agony. It let him go. “Too many of them. Run!”
Nagel eased her talons out of Wulf’s skin. Wulf’s head was clear now. He wanted revenge. And if he was going to get that, he was going to have to survive.
The owl flew away. Wulf ran deeper into the forest. He glanced back to be sure Grim was following with his father. He was. His father was draped over the faun’s shoulder like a bag of grain, the arrow still sticking from his father’s back. A leafy stem hung on one of Grim’s horns. It must have caught there during the run.
Wulf turned back and moved forward. Branches slashed against his face. His breath was coming in big sucking heaves.
Suddenly, he burst into a small clearing. There was a meadow with a creek running through it. And drinking from the creek were—
Buffalo. At the sound of Wulf’s approach, they started and looked around.
From ahead of Wulf came a booming voice. “Best stop there, man of the town.” Three of the buffalo Tier stepped out from the shadows of the trees. Like the fauns, they walked on two legs. The only part of their upper body that looked human was their arms, which were dark brown and hairy, except for their hands. They had the faces of small buffalos. These three carried spears with iron tips. “Them buffalo ain’t like cows,” the buffalo man continued. “If ye scare them bad, they’ll trample ye.”
Wulf stood still. He put his hands on his knees, and his chest heaved until he could get a good breath.
Grim burst into the clearing carrying the duke.
“Grim, stop,” Wulf gasped. “Careful of the buffalo.”
Grim obeyed immediately. He stood beside Wulf, eyeing the buffalo Tier warily.
“Tell us, man, where ye have come from in such a hasty hurry,” one of the buffalo Tier said. “We might be of help to ye. Or might not.”
“I’m Wulfgang von Dunstig,” Wulf managed to get out, even though he was still gasping. “We were attacked. By Sandhaveners.”
“
Sandhaven
, ye say?”
“That’s right.”
“Be strange. Sandhaveners are cheats and chiselers, but not enemies of the mark.”
Wulf put a hand on his father’s dangling arm. The skin was still warm. Then he realized that what he was feeling was a patch of blood soaking the sleeve of the duke’s tunic.
“This is my father, your duke,” Wulf said. “Those men attacked him. And they’re right behind me. So if you don’t believe me, you might be able to ask them yourselves.”