The Long War 02 - The Dark Blood (13 page)

The laughter died down quickly as Rexel took up the shouting and moved among the men, kicking them awake and querying the condition of axes, hammers and armour. Each man was responsible for keeping his equipment sharp, clean and well maintained, and Rexel took this duty very seriously indeed, chiding any man who neglected his weaponry.

‘You can’t kill a man with a dull axe, you useless troll cunt,’ he roared at a sleepy-looking man of Tiergarten.

‘Young Falling Cloud seems to have been blessed with the voice of the Ice Giants,’ said Wulfrick, as he stood up and stretched his enormous frame. ‘He scares the shit out of me with that roar of his.’

Halla looked to the sky again. ‘Looks like we may stay dry... for today at least. And hopefully a warm bed isn’t too far over the horizon.’ If Falling Cloud’s estimate of their location was accurate, she thought they should sight habitable land within a few hours.

The Deep Cross marked the traditional boundary between Fjorlan and the southern lands of the Free Companies, though the snowy plateaus of Hammerfall and Ursa were almost as rugged as the high mountain passes. The battle-brothers of Fjorlan were a maritime people, preferring to travel by sea or river, but their encounter in the Kraken Sea had robbed Halla’s company of ships and men, rendering their journey a long and dangerous one across difficult land.

‘Rexel,’ Halla shouted through the press of bodies, ‘when you’re done, get your arse over here.’

The man of Hammerfall turned from his morning tasks and strode through the men to approach where Halla and Wulfrick stood. ‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Nice day for it.’

‘Better than yesterday,’ replied Wulfrick, as he retrieved his troll-hide armour and began to strap it on. ‘Now, where the fuck are we, Falling Cloud?’

Halla raised an eyebrow at the axe-master and interjected, ‘I’d settle for a rough direction of travel.’

Falling Cloud grinned at Wulfrick. ‘She’s a much better commander than you, big man... and that armour stinks.’

‘And you’re ugly, Rexel,’ responded the axe-master.

‘You can both shut up.’ Halla’s tone was sharp and she held her hand up to emphasize that she was serious. ‘We can’t keep trudging north. We need to have some idea of where we’re going,’ she went on more conversationally. ‘And before you say anything, Master Wulfrick, I know we need to find Alahan Teardrop, but we’re a long way from Fredericksand.’

Falling Cloud nodded and, shielding his eyes from the glare, peered north along the snow-covered gullies. ‘The edge of the Wolf Wood can’t be more than a few hours away and there are villages around there. We’ll at least be able to get our bearings.’

Rexel knew Hammerfall better than any of Halla’s company and had acted as their guide since they entered the low lands. His estimates had not always been accurate and they had stumbled into more than one encounter with trapdoor Gorlan, the large, unpleasant ice-spiders that were almost impossible to detect, but delicious to eat.

‘Are we going to meet any trolls or spiders in these gullies?’ asked Halla.

Falling Cloud considered the question, screwing up his bearded face. ‘I’d say
no
, but I’ve been wrong before... the damn beasties don’t stay still, you see.’

‘To be absolutely fair,’ said Wulfrick, ‘if Rexel’s directions had been any better, we wouldn’t have so much salted Gorlan meat in our packs.’

Though he was joking, the point was a fair one. Supplies had been getting thin until they had begun to snare the ice-spiders and preserve them. The meat was tough and stringy, but surprisingly tasty after being cooked for several hours. Added to the roots and grain they had taken from Wraith Company, Halla’s company had not had to starve during their tough march. With hunger defeated, they had only the cold to dampen their spirits, but these men were used to the cold.

‘If you weren’t so funny, Wulfrick, you’d be fucking useless,’ replied Falling Cloud with a grin on his face.

‘Yeah, yeah, just no more surprise Gorlan, okay?’ said the axe-master of Fredericksand. ‘Though I suppose Heinrich needs the practice with that bow of his.’

‘Wulfrick, you’re making me weary,’ said Halla. ‘Please shut up.’

* * *

The men were roused quickly and, after sharing a hastily assembled breakfast, they began to make their way further north. The journey was slow and the company was in relaxed mood now that the terrain was level and the sky clear.

From the north, where the eastern edge of the Wolf Wood met the plateaus of Ursa, Halla could see smoke. It was not the smoke of chimney or hearth but the slowly rolling smog of destruction. It rose in several black plumes and the acrid smell carried across the tundra. She raised her hand and signalled the company to stop, followed by a cacophony of shouts from Oleff as he relayed the order.

‘What is it?’ asked Wulfrick.

‘Smoke,’ was the axe-maiden’s simple response.

The axe-master moved up to join her and peered north towards the smoke. Soon Falling Cloud had joined them, leaving Heinrich and Oleff to quiet the company of Fjorlanders.

‘Rexel, what does that look like to you?’ she asked the man of Hammerfall.

‘That’s no simple cook-fire,’ he replied with concern. ‘Looks like one of the villages of the Vale to me – farmers that serve the lords of Hammerfall.’

Falling Cloud’s thain and many cloud-men of Hammerfall had died in the Kraken Sea, and as one of the few remaining lords he was now responsible for most of the common people of the area.

Wulfrick gripped the hilt of his battleaxe. ‘Farmers? Not battle-brothers?’

Rexel shook his head. ‘A lot of the toughest cloud-men were with the dragon fleet. Maybe there are a few left in the halls of the Wolf Wood, but that’s a long way west of here.’

Halla stepped to the front and considered the possibilities. Behind her, Falling Cloud and Wulfrick considered the dishonour in burning the homes of common men and exchanged oaths of vengeance. She tried to tune out their swearing as she peered northwards to assess the situation. The nearest large town was Jarvik, the seat of Rulag the Betrayer, but that was a good way north and it was unlikely that the men of Ursa would come this far south just to burn a farm. Bandits were another possibility, but the cloud-men of the Vale had little of value.

‘Rexel,’ she ordered, silencing the two men behind her, ‘take twenty men and see what’s causing those fires.’

‘My lady?’ he queried.

‘Did you misunderstand, Master Falling Cloud? Are you or are you not an axe-master of Hammerfall?’

‘And proud to be so.’ He stood taller and thrust his chest out. ‘It will be as you say, Halla.’

Rexel turned sharply and pointed to the nearest squad of men, standing idly in the snow. ‘You useless bastards have just volunteered to come with me. Light arms and armour, leave everything else with the column.’

They didn’t hesitate before beginning to remove their chain mail and throwing their travelling packs on the floor. The men unslung their axes and moved into rough formation behind Falling Cloud.

‘Right, there’s smoke over there and Lady Summer Wolf wants to know what’s causing it.’ He paused and let silence return for a moment before roaring, ‘With me,’ at the top of his voice.

Halla and Wulfrick both jumped at the ferocity of the axe-master’s shout, before exchanging a smile. As Rexel and his men broke into a dead run and moved swiftly towards the edge of the wood, Wulfrick asked, ‘What do you think, Halla... bandits?’

She shook her head. ‘Unlikely,’ she said, still focusing on the north. ‘Get the men ready. I have a bad feeling.’

Wulfrick stepped forward and she felt the wind drop as his enormous frame acted as a windbreak. ‘I’ve had a bad feeling since Algenon died,’ he responded. ‘And I imagine I’ll continue to have one until I find Alahan.’

‘I gave you an order, Master Wulfrick.’ Halla didn’t yet feel totally comfortable giving orders to the fearsome axe-master of Fredericksand, but she tried to disguise her unease whenever she had to appear commanding.

‘Yes, you did,’ he said with a smile. ‘You know, you’re getting quite good at this, one-eye.’

She glared at him. ‘I’ve castrated men for calling me that... and Rexel’s right, that armour stinks.’

‘So do I... we belong together.’ His smile was now very broad.

‘Wulfrick,’ she said, in a disapproving tone of voice.

‘I know, I know – get the men ready.’

He strode back a few ranks until he was standing within the company of Fjorlanders. Oleff Hard Head came to join him and a few words were exchanged between the two before Halla’s orders were carried out. Almost in unison, the company began to heft axes and hammers and to fan out across the snowy ground. They had emerged from the rocky gullies a few hours previously and the ground was now level enough for them to form up properly. Oleff, Wulfrick and Heinrich Blood emerged through the line of battle-brothers and took their places next to Halla.

‘What needs killin’?’ asked Oleff, with a violent look in his eye.

‘Not sure yet,’ replied Halla. ‘Let’s hope, nothing.’

She turned to Heinrich. The young novice of Rowanoco was holding a fur-wrapped short bow and, at Wulfrick’s urging, had stopped attempting to use his axe. ‘Will you stand, Master Blood?’ she asked.

‘At your shoulder every step of the way, my lady,’ he replied. The words were spoken with conviction, though the young man’s hands shook as he nocked an arrow to his bowstring. ‘Though I wish old Father Crowe were here.’

Wulfrick snorted with amusement. ‘Brindon would already be running at whatever’s up there, swinging his hammer and frothing at the mouth.’ A low murmur of amusement rippled through the men, most of whom either knew Brindon Crowe or had at least heard of the old priest of Tiergarten’s fearsome reputation.

‘Let’s concentrate on those men who
are
here,’ said Halla, silencing her men. ‘If we make it to Tiergarten, you can all tell Crowe how much you missed him. Until then, keep your mouths shut.’

They waited. Halla looked along the line of men – two hundred armed battle-brothers, each looking meaner and angrier than the next. Word of the situation had spread quickly and the few cloud-men of Hammerfall in the company were vibrating with anger at the plumes of smoke rising from the Vale. The rest stood with weapons drawn, waiting for the order to advance or for Falling Cloud to return with news. Rexel and his twenty men were now out of sight and had entered the tree line of the Wolf Wood.

‘Death comes to us all,’ muttered Heinrich, largely to himself. ‘But we need not fear. Rowanoco the Earth Shaker sits in his hall beyond the world to welcome his fallen warriors. We will drink with the Ice Giants before we feel fear.’

Halla and Wulfrick both looked at him and nodded with respect. ‘We will drink with the Ice Giants before we feel fear,’ they repeated together.

Then a sound reached the axe-maiden’s ears. It was distinctive and left little room for doubt. She heard a blade shearing steel, immediately followed by a death rattle, the unpleasant gurgle that signified the end of whoever had been struck. It was a distant sound, but it was all Halla needed.

‘Forward!’ she roared.

The company of Fjorlanders erupted into a sprint and, with Halla and her captains at the front, they approached the burning village. She kept her eye open and her wits about her, ready to assess the situation as it developed. As they reached the tree line, the source of the smoke became all too apparent and her men gasped. Strung up against hastily erected pyres were the charred remains of several hundred men, women and children. Around them, the buildings of their village had been all but destroyed, with the flickering remains of wood and thatch showing how recently the attack had taken place. No cattle or crops could be seen, leading Halla to think that whoever had assaulted the village had done so in order to take supplies. A clatter of armour came from nearby, but the sight of the burning Ranen pushed other thoughts from her mind.

‘The banner of Ursa,’ growled Wulfrick, pointing to a pennant hanging over the largest pyre.

Halla blinked and focused beyond the fires to take in the thick fabric banner. The heraldry consisted of a bear’s claw on a red background and indicated who had been behind the attack. Why the battle-brothers of Jarvik should have assaulted a village so far from their home was a mystery to Halla but, before she could puzzle it out in any detail, she saw Falling Cloud and his men. Several were already dead and the remainder were retreating quickly across the snowy ground. Behind them charged a sizeable force of Fjorlanders, wearing the same bear’s claw heraldry on their tabards.

‘Rexel,’ roared Wulfrick. ‘No need to run.’

Falling Cloud grinned at the presence of his friends and held up a hand to signal his men to stop retreating. The battle-brothers of Jarvik numbered around a hundred warriors and showed no signs of backing down at the sight of Halla’s company. A quick look at her men told the axe-maiden that they were equally prepared to fight.

‘This is the land of the high thain,’ shouted a man of Jarvik, ‘and we claim it in the name of Lord Rulag Ursa, Bear Tamer of Fjorlan and killer of Algenon Teardrop.’ The man’s voice carried far.

Wulfrick, whose massive stride had taken him to the front of the company, began to roar unintelligible sounds of anger and foam appeared at the corners of his mouth. The axe-master had been Algenon’s friend and his closest ally, and he had not yet forgiven himself for letting his thain die. Halla sped up alongside him and saw an unknowable, depthless rage in his eyes.

Then came a colossal roar as the battle frenzy of Rowanoco entered the axe-master. The ground seemed to shake as the rest of her men joined in, roaring and sending a shiver of pride down Halla’s spine.

‘You die for that,’ shouted Oleff.

‘And for the betrayal of your master,’ offered Heinrich in as loud a voice as Halla had ever heard from the young novice.

‘We fight for Fjorlan.’ The last words were roared by Halla just before the two forces clashed.

The battle-brothers of Jarvik were outnumbered and outmatched, though their ferocity showed they were no mere raiding party. Many carried glaives, long-handled weapons with serrated axe blades, the signature weapon of Jarvik.