Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (35 page)

‘Perhaps. It’s a damned mad idea boy,’ he said. ‘Damned mad. Can’t be sure you get anywhere near, fire or not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘But why not? We’re all dead men anyway.’

W
e stood by the beach. Ceadda was wearing his war-glory, and Njord and the others had new shields and spears, and sturdy clubs. They had sold the fox-furs in the afternoon, and fetched a hoard of fine weapons and precious iron ingots in return, and it had been a trade to make any man rich. The Hraban’s Kiln was busy as ever, while most of the village had settled into sleep. Dogs were barking in the lands around the town, their howls heralding deaths that night.

There had been no sign of Hrolf yet, and Njord had ran up and down the hill to check the hall of the Boat-Lord, and claimed they were feasting up there. A great many old chiefs were seated next to the master of the land. Hrolf was the guest of honor, poets were reciting stories of heroism, and so they would take a while yet to get down.

‘Do it,’ Ceadda growled.

I gazed at Njord, wishing him luck. He paled, nodded and he and two Saxons walked after him for the great mead-hall. They went in, I saw Njord turn right, the other two left at the door, and gods knew if they might succeed, but if someone could, it would be Njord.

‘There’s a storage room to the right. A large one,’ Ceadda said. ‘It’s going to be lit with fires, because they make the food and fetch the drink there. Yes, there will be fire burning in there. Njord will do well.’ He sounded dubious. ‘His slippery tongue wags, and they will be so confused they’ll do anything to be rid of him. Yea, he’ll succeed, unless he forgets his mission and finds free mead.’

‘The two men make trouble, and he slips in to the storerooms?’ I asked, though I knew that was the plan.

He grunted, as nervous as I was.

Some minutes later, we were rewarded by the sounds of a fight. There was a crash, and men roaring. Someone yelled in pain, a victim of Saxon malice. Then there was a huge uproar, guttural shouts, slapping sounds as men ran. I saw someone was at the doorway, clinging hard to the frame, then more men beyond him, and a punch threw the man from the doorway and he fell to the mud outside. It was one of the Saxons, grinning happily with a bloodied nose. A thick man followed, and he was howling and holding his jaw and a crowd came soon after, pummeling another Saxon who looked a bit torn, but he was calling the Goths nasty names, laughing while he did, protecting his face. There was no sign of Njord. I nodded as Ceadda, who tightened his belt, roared orders and cursed and walked to settle the fight with the remaining Saxon at his side.

I turned and took to the other end of the hall, where there would be rooms and a doorway.

I made my way there, found a drunken man in a doorway, and gingerly stepped over him. I had a long, furry cloak, similar to what Hughnot had given me and I also wore the hood, and made it into the better end of the hall, where men guarded their lord’s rooms. One would be Hrolf’s perhaps, but I didn’t care about that, only the chest. However, one of the men inside cared about me. ‘Hey, what are you about?’ he called as he took a step towards me. He was a tall, well-built warrior, armed with a short spear and clad in leathers. I hesitated, raised a hand towards him apologetically, and turned to the drunk. ‘Just getting my friend here,’ I said and bent to revive the drunk.

The warrior stood there, uncertain. ‘Be swift, then. All the rooms are taken by Hrolf the Ax, the lord’s relative. No vagrants allowed.’

‘Perhaps you should lock the door, then?’ I retorted and kept pulling at the comatose man, wondering if I’d have to risk killing the guard, who was taking angry steps towards me. There were other men behind him in the corridor and I cursed my luck.

Then there was a booming noise.

While fires often begin stealthily, whatever Njord did in the end of the hall was anything but. There was a wave of air that staggered us, a sound of something wooden breaking, and the walls were shaking and groaning, and then there was a cloud dust billowing down from the rafters. The tavern keeper was yelling hysterically and it took only a moment for smoke to start billowing across the roof. I grasped the drunk, the guard spun on his heel and ran to the main room, and coughs and shouts of terror echoed from there. I unceremoniously dropped the man in a pool of mud outside, and rushed back in and across the room after the guard, all the way to the end of corridor, nearly to the main hall.

There were flames smiting the main hall from the end of the room, where the kitchens had once served the customers and the drink had been stored. The wall at the end of the hall, the one separating the storage area from the main hall was a wreck, the roof was tilted, smoldering, and flames licked the ceiling. Men were throwing water on flames, some were rushing out, others back in, and calls for more water could be heard when the flames began to lick the pillars and the benches, driving men away from their attempts to save the place. The tavern keeper and his lot were desperate, and begging for the warriors to help.

All Hrolf’s men were there, either helping, or trying to get out or in.

Save for the guard.

The diligent, nasty bastard came to sight, pulling at the chest. He was dragging it across the floor, towards the corridor, hoping to save it, and I swiftly sneaked back, all the way to Hrolf’s room. I was cursing the man, and taking deep breaths, trying not to cough. I heard the man’s grunts and curses as he dragged the thing across the uneven floor. I waited, nervous to the bone. I had hoped there would be no fight, but of course, it hadn’t been likely. I thumbed the ring of branches on my finger, Saxa’s ring, preparing.

I pulled Hel’s Delight, kissed the blade, and waited.

I heard the scraping sound coming closer. I heard the puffs, the curses. Then the man’s ass appeared, he was pulling the trunk mightily, then the face and the eyes turned my way. He had expected an empty room, and instead found a deadly blade coming for him. I moved fast as a wraith and punched the weapon to his chest. It impaled him, he screamed briefly, and I pushed it all the way through him, embracing him desperately, twisting and pulling at the blade. I looked to the main hall, and nobody could see us. I had succeeded and I laughed wildly, and then disaster struck.

The man didn’t die. He was impossibly tough, and pushed back with a maniac’s strength and we fell into Hrolf’s room. I struck him across his face, breaking his nose, but that didn’t matter to the dying man, who raised an arm.

He held a seax.

It came for my throat, and I twisted my blade in panic. That made him scream with pain, and instead of impaling me, the blade struck my side and I howled, as the chain mail split. The wound was deep, though perhaps not lethal, but it weakened me immediately, and I felt blood flowing. I grasped him to me, kept a hold on Hel’s Delight and we stayed thus, in a deadly embrace. When he finally stopped moving, I pushed him aside. I was seeing dark spots, and while fighting nausea, I pushed and kicked the man to a dark corner and threw a blanket of cheap furs on him.

I staggered out. The smoke billowed thickly across the hallway, and I heard men yelling. I kneeled next to the fine chest, ripped it open, and did my evil deed as fast as I could. Then I retreated to the room, as I saw shadows, coughing specters of warriors rushing nearby. I hid behind the wall, praying they’d not save anything of Hrolf’s from the room, but they stumbled on the chest, took it out swiftly and finally, after coughing terribly, I dragged myself out of the hall that was soon a sea of flames.

Later, we looked on as Hraban’s Kiln burnt. People were dousing fires in the nearby houses and it felt somewhat appropriate to end Hughnot’s schemes like they had started. I grasped Ceadda, and wondered at Njord whose beard had burnt, his clothes had blackened, and who had a terrified, huge-eyed look on his face. He waved towards the flames. ‘There was a tub of liquid. A lot of it. I just dropped a burning log into it to douse it after I had used it to start a fire in a stack of kindling,’ he whispered.

‘Why,’ Ceadda asked thinly, ‘would you bother dousing a log you just used to start a fire with?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just did. I like the sound when fire goes out. But it didn’t go out, oh no. It went
boom
. I was thrown through the wall.’

‘Ignore him,’ Ceadda said desperately. He was looking at Hrolf, who had rushed down from the top with the Boat-Lord’s guards, and they were organizing the chaos. The precious chest was carried to the side, and there was a great deal of commotion as they counted men and found some missing and then, after half an hour he ordered the chest to be picked up, and they started up the hill.

‘Wait for me,’ I said weakly and walked after the Goths.

‘We’ll wait for you,’ he said and turned to make our boat ready.

It was time to see a murderous lord fall.

T
he Silver Anvil of Boat-Lord was eerily like the Bone-Hall. Friednot, having no imagination, had tried to emulate their father’s house, but had succeeded only partly. Where the Bone-Hall was a ghastly, smoky affair, the walls of Boat-Lord were painted white. It was an oddly clean hall, the slaves well dressed and healthy, and the only contrast to all of this finery was the man sitting on the wide throne at the end of the hall, under the most gigantic antlers I had ever seen, stretching left and right across the wall in all its bone-white glory.

The man was ancient.

His hair was gone, and only stubble remained. His belly was round and large, while his chest looked fragile, and his face was lean, but there was an ample amount of extra skin under his chin, suggesting he had once been corpulent, but was sick and old now, holding a weak hand across his stomach.

And that, of course, was why Hughnot had wanted to ally with him
, I thought.

If Hughnot, a lord as high as any in the land, would return to the fold, he would rule vast lands when the old man died. He would deal with the lords who had served the Boat-Lord since Friednot and Hughnot had left the island. He’d scheme, he’d have power, because he was the son of the Boat-Lord, no matter how errant. Perhaps his dreams of power across the seas had not been lies after all. He could have it all, even more if he ruled Hogholm. I stood near the gigantic door that was guarded by men both wide and vigilant. Rows of warriors stood to the sides. Lords—well-armed and nervous—looked at Hrolf, who stood tall as a young god in the midst of his men. The Black Goths had tried to rub the soot from their skin, but had failed. They were an impressive party, nonetheless, over thirty men with long spears and wide shields, many dressed in leather armor. I swooned with weakness as I stared at the hated murderer of Saxa. Hrolf was now walking forward to the unkind-looking host, my great grandfather, ancient as a moldy rock, and Hrolf was bowing his head, gesturing for the men to bring forth the chest. It too, was blackened in places.

My plan was suicidal. Mad, even.

I had not fully shared it with Ceadda, but I begged the gods would show him their favor, and he’d escape. I might not be able to. I’d probably die there. He knew it, I was sure.

I’d not leave before Hrolf stopped breathing, no matter what it took.

They’d be fine, I thought. Their job was to capture the chain and the fort from the sleepy guards, and there would be a rowboat for me, but it was not likely I’d use it.

I watched behind the guard’s backs as the hated enemy of mine walked forward. His men crowded after him and were stopped just shy of the throne, as our great grandfather gestured them to kneel. They put down the chest, and went to both knees, which must have irked the proud Goths terribly, but Hrolf went down also. And then he spoke. ‘This, Lord, is the beginning of a new start for our families. Let the wound mend, finally. My father erred in following Friednot, and freely admits it. Much harm has come out of it.’

The ancient man nodded, but could not resist a dry barb. His voice was like the grating of whetstone on a spear blade, and he waved his hand weakly. ‘I’ll want to hear it from his lips one day. For now, this will do. Allies again. So be it, though I lack the Svea woman hostage.’

‘I lack a wife, but Gislin is dead, and Tiw knows who rules them now. Yet, I know we shall win together.’

The Boat-Lord grunted. ‘Yes, we shall. But it shall be costly. This Saxa died in the battle, they say?’ the old man asked with a wry, evil smile.

Hrolf was not shaken by the question. He shrugged. ‘She drowned herself. Did so after hearing of the loss of her brother and father. She had a weak, cowardly heart. And I would agree to marry a woman of your choosing, great Lord, if you tell me whom,’ Hrolf said smoothly.

I had to stop myself from entering the hall.

‘Sad,’ the Boat-Lord uttered, not believing a word about Saxa. ‘She could have been useful, despite the loss of her father. If her bothersome brother died, she actually might have ruled them. With a good husband, it would have aided us all. Now many Goths will die, when we could have had the Svea take the losses when we take the coast.’

I felt tears fill my eyes, and pushed them away angrily. I clutched a weapon under my cloak and smiled at a guard who glanced at me, and turned back to the hall.

‘It is truly sad she did this to herself,’ Hrolf said with barely hidden satisfaction. ‘I failed to expect it,’ he added, but I could hear from his voice he relished the memory. He had enjoyed the pain he had inflicted me. He no doubt was thinking about it right then and there. 

I’d enjoy his pain in a moment, if things worked out like I hoped. I had been very lucky already.

The Boat-Lord grew impatient. ‘So, come and show me. I wish to hold what should never have left the islands. The ring and the sword. Let me have them.’

Hrolf nodded at two men who got up and lifted the chest. They walked forward, until the Boat-Lord’s guards took it from them and they carried it to their lord, who slowly climbed down from his throne. His face was flushed, spotted with excitement, and the joy for the ancient man could not have been greater. His hands were twitching, shaking, he indicated where the chest should be set, and they did, right before him. ‘Long, so long have I waited. Your men should be rewarded for saving them from fire.’ He fixed an accusatory eye on Hrolf. ‘And you should be whipped for allowing the treasures to be in danger.’

‘They were in no danger,’ Hrolf said smugly. ‘They are eternal and precious, and what you find in the chest, you have richly deserved, my Lord.’

I grimaced and held my breath, and so did every man and woman in the hall. The old man struggled with the lid, struck it with a thin roar of anger, and the guards rushed to yank it open.

They retreated with the lid.

The lord leaned in.

He stayed in that position for a long while. I half thought he had died there, looking at the treasures inside.

When he finally reached in, and took out Hel’s Delight, bloody and plain, and then the ring of branches Saxa had made me, his face could not have been more disbelieving. ‘Lord Hrolf?’ he asked so quietly I could only barely make it out.

Hrolf looked like he had been ass-speared. His face sought answers from his men, who all looked as horrified as he did. His eyes were red, his cheeks puffed out and the veins in his neck stood out so hard it looked like he had worms crawling under his skin. ‘This is---’ he began.

‘A jest, a joke?’ the Boat-Lord asked, holding his chest. ‘A fine joke, a grand jest! Is this your idea? Hughnot’s?’

And so it was my time.

Before Hrolf could answer, I stepped forward and screamed, wincing from the pain in my side. ‘There is an army by the shore! Hughnot’s men! They aim to kill you, Lord! They’ll kill you all! Fight! Kill the traitors!’

And that was enough.

What followed was a savage battle. Hughnot’s Goths were bloodied, tested fighters, and while the wealth of the Boat-Lord’s men were evident, the thirty men of Hrolf made a heap of bodies in the hall. Warlords fell, men were terribly wounded. The Black Goths fought like maniacs, and died in the midst of the craziest melee, and the white walls were awash with crimson. Screams echoed, men rushed from the dark to the hall to aid their lords and I retreated, walked down the path to stand under the magnificent bear standard, and turned to look inside. The scene was rewarding, near magical, a dance of death of the men I hated.

The gods gave me one more favor, the one I had begged for. 

Hrolf, roaring in rage, pushed out of the ring of enemies. He howled as a club caught him in his face, and while spitting teeth, his ax hacked left and right, and few battered men pushed after him. They slaughtered a woman on their way, but his men fell behind as their enemies gave them chase, but the bastard lord charged the two remaining men in his path out of the door, and he fought so very well.

The guards were armored in leather, their tall spears reached out for him, and one pierced his shoulder. Despite the pain, and the fact he probably had nowhere to run, he fought and killed a man on the left with a savage hack to the neck, then slashed the blade at the man on the right, hitting his leg, toppling the fighter to the dust. Then Hrolf staggered to the door, chased by the frenzied shouts of the Boat-Lord, but his men still fought and Hrolf laughed, looking back, then across the town, seeking darkness where he might hide. His strong face was covered in blood, but the man’s grin and arrogance was unchanged, so like it had been the day Saxa had died.

He rushed forward, and I staggered to meet him and he saw my shadow.

He raised the ax, gathered determination for one more fight, and I flipped back the cowl. His eyes enlarged in horror, disbelief, and he understood what had happened in the hall. He wasn’t a coward, never had been, and though he saw his death in my eyes, he charged forward. ‘Join the whore, you draugr. She moaned, Maroboodus, when I—’

I whipped up Saxa’s ax and stepped forward.

His ax came in and struck my chainmail in the chest, but my ax swished in the air with a deadly, nearly hungry purpose and struck his temple with a bony crunch. I jerked the weapon off his skull, and was rewarded by an astonished, frightened look as his life fled, and then his corpse fell to my feet. I spat blood, having bitten my lip in pain, and I felt fire in my chest, where the wound by Ingulf had opened. My side bled profusely. I dropped the ax, pulled out the Head Taker, and struck the man’s throat. I struck again, like a butcher and the head rolled free. Then I grabbed his head and staggered weakly. I saw a shadow, cursed, yet happy because I had killed the murderer, but saw it was Ceadda. He grabbed me, looked over my shoulder, and pulled me as we rolled downhill to the darkness, as Boat-Lord’s men came rushing out.

He pulled me along as we made our way down to the harbor. ‘You fucking idiot,’ I said as I collapsed into the rowboat.

‘Yes, my friend, I am,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But I had to see it. It was a great use for a weapon. Best I ever saw.’ He nodded at the head. ‘And you didn’t lose the ring?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t,’ I said, as I thumbed Draupnir’s Spawn. It felt heavy, supposedly one of the first spawns from Draupnir, Woden’s magical ring that spat out nine such rings every eight days, but it also felt bitterly disappointing to hold it, and I knew I would never enjoy it without Saxa. It granted men power in the north, but what was a man without his woman?

Perhaps I’d find a new one
, I thought, and smiled.

Ceadda lifted my head, smiling. ‘I’m taking this to my kin in the lands of the Saxons. They hate it, and I’ll be famous for it.’ He thrust the great standard of the Boat-Lord in my lap, and laughed like a demented spirit as we roved to the chain, which had been lowered. Njord was busily loading the ten fox furs he had reclaimed from the greedy bastard in the small fortress, and we rowed out, short one man who had died taking the fort. I held on to Hrolf’s head, until it began to stink and in time, delirious with fever, we reached the Saxon coast.