The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (20 page)

Raef brushed her chin with his thumb and touched a finger to her earlobe, then brought his face close to hers. He paused, taking in every tiny feature of her face, the delicate scar above her eyebrow, the flecks of deep blue in her grey irises, the curve of her cheekbone, and it was Eira who brought her lips up to his. It seemed to Raef the kiss could heal him, mind and body, but it was all too fleeting for he had a prisoner to visit.

Raef rose, Eira’s hand slipping from his, and turned to the guards. “Take me to the boy,” he said.

Ergil was awake but listless when Raef entered the locked room in the stable Isolf had confined him to. His head was rolled to one side and his lips were parted and chapped. He had been crying, Raef could tell, sobbing even. His cheeks were dry but streaked with the remnants of tears and half-dried snot hung from his nose, out of reach of his bound hands. A welt had formed on his forehead and a cut blossomed under one eye, no doubt dispensed by Isolf. At Raef’s entrance, he stirred only a little, but when Raef squatted down and the boy caught sight of his visitor, he scrambled back as best he could, scratching through the straw, until his back was against the wall. The hatred flashed into his face at the same instant and Raef could see the night in the cell had done nothing to quell it.

“I am going to speak, and you are going to listen. If you do not, I will instruct my cousin to cut off your ears and then the tiny thing between your legs, which he will gladly feed to the pigs. Do you understand? You need only nod.”

Ergil shivered with anger but there was fear there, too, and he gave a reluctant nod.

“You have a grievance against me and I will not deny I am the cause of your grief and anger. We will deal with that in time. What we will deal with now is the reason for your father’s death. He died because he was protecting someone, someone who gave him an order that he carried out. That someone watched me kill your father. That someone stood by and did nothing while a man under his command was deprived of Valhalla. Yes, I wielded the blade, but surely some fault lies with this person who sacrificed your father to save his own skin?”

The boy looked suspicious but he was still listening and Raef continued.

“I seek this coward, Ergil, and I have made a solemn vow to find him, for he is responsible for the death of my father, too. Perhaps you can tell me who this man might be?”

Ergil shook his head, lips clenched tight.

“Your father was a warrior of Finngale, bound to the Hammerling, but the Hammerling is not the man I seek. Who were your father’s friends? Is your mother from Finngale, too?”

Ergil muttered something that Raef could not make out.

“Speak clearly, boy, or I will call for a knife.”

Ergil glared at Raef but repeated his words. “My father was not of Finngale, nor my mother.”

Raef frowned. “Tell me more.”

Ergil grimaced. “There is nothing to tell. They came to Finngale when I was born and my father pledged to the Hammerling.”

Raef’s heart began to beat faster but he kept his voice steady. “What did they call home before Finngale?”

“It was no home!” Ergil burst out, fresh tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “They were chased out by their own kin.”

Raef fought for patience. “Odin’s eye, answer my question!”

Ergil sniffed, the snot running anew and a bubble of spit forming in the corner of his mouth. “Ruderk. My father was born in Ruderk.”

NINETEEN

R
aef stared at
Ergil Thrainson, his heart in his ears.

“Say it again.”

Ergil’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “My father was born in Ruderk. As was my mother.”

“Your father was sworn to Hauk of Ruderk?”

Ergil nodded, then bit down on his bottom lip. “Until my mother’s family forced them to flee and seek a new home.”

Raef hardly heard so intent was he on Ergil’s revelation. It raced through him, a rock thrown into a still pool, ripples spreading unhindered. He bit back his thoughts and focused on Ergil.

“I meant what I said. Go home. Plant crops. Help your mother. Grow strong. And if, when you are older, you still find that vengeance burns as bright as it does this day, come to me and we will settle this score with blood. I swear it.” It was both a threat and an invitation, for Raef understood what surged in Ergil’s veins.

“You are not going to kill me?”

“No, not even keep you prisoner, my shame shut away from the world. I will not fight you. Not now. A man must live before he goes to his death and you have not lived. But neither will I deny you that which I seek for myself. Heed my words, Ergil Thrainson, and return to me some day if that is your wish.”

“What if you die before that day?”

Raef shrugged. “Then you will either accept that you will not have your vengeance, or not. The choice is yours and the fate that follows it will be of your creation, not mine.” Raef got to his feet and called for the guard outside the door. “Let him loose.”

“Are you mad?” It was not the guard who questioned Raef, but Isolf, who was rounding the corner. “The boy must die.”

“No, Isolf. Brother,” Raef added in a hard voice when he saw disobedience in Isolf’s face. “We have reached an understanding, and he is being allowed to return, unmolested, to Finngale. Save your breath. You will not convince me to do otherwise.”

Isolf frowned, but his protest died on his lips. “As you wish. I only seek to protect you.”

Raef softened and settled a hand on Isolf’s shoulder. “I know.” But his mind was already elsewhere for the ripples caused by Ergil had grown to a great wave and it was thrashing inside him, clamoring for release. Raef turned from his cousin and sought the winter sun. But it was Vakre he found.

The son of Loki had a doe slung over one shoulder, his bow in his free hand, and he and Eira spoke in quiet voices near the stables. For a moment, when their eyes met, there was a flicker of unease, a remnant of their last meeting. Raef felt it in himself and saw it in Vakre’s eyes. Vakre let the doe fall to the ground.

“I heard what happened,” Vakre said. “The boy got close.”

“If that is the price for what he just revealed to me, I would gladly pay it a thousand times again.”

Vakre’s eyes narrowed and Eira looked to Raef with sudden interest, asking, “What do you mean?”

“We thought Jarl Thrainson a warrior of Finngale and he was, but not always. He was born elsewhere and loyal to a lord other than the Hammerling. By unhappy chance, he was forced to flee his home and start a new life, but I think in his heart he remained true to his first master. Perhaps the promised price for my father’s death was triumph over Jarl’s old enemies, so that he might return home and regain his honor.” Raef felt a tremor in his chest as he said the words aloud. “I know who ordered my father’s murder. I know the name of the scheming, treacherous, false friend who extended his hand to my father while plotting his death.”

“Who?”

“Hauk of Ruderk.”

Vakre’s expression remained calm. “You are certain?”

“Can it be other than the truth?” Raef heard his voice rise and Vakre raised his hand.

“I do not know, Raef,” Vakre said, his own voice steady, “but what tie do you have between Jarl and Hauk other than this shared past?”

“Is it not enough?”

“This is not the first time you believed you knew who was responsible for your father’s death. Remember the Hammerling, Raef, remember what your hasty wrath wrought.”

“What would you have me do? Live out my days waiting for a confession? The sword-age is coming, Vakre. The storm is upon us and the world of men trembles beneath us. I will not sit back and wait for all to crumble, not when I know the truth in my heart of hearts, and not while my father’s blood still runs in my veins.” Spinning on his heel, Raef turned his back on Vakre and Eira, jaw clenched against the sudden knot of agony in his knee. Ignoring all in his path, Raef readied his horse, mounted, and left the hall behind.

Outside the gates, Raef gave the horse to the wind, letting her run. They skimmed along the edge of the fjord, weaving through the trees, until the way grew rocky and unsafe to take at high speed. Settling to a walk, the horse carried Raef deep into the pines and bare-branched trees of summer, through narrow glens running between hills. At last, Raef brought her to a halt and dismounted. Fractured sunlight, fallen to the snowy earth, split the world into shadow and light. Rabbits had passed this way since the last snowfall, and a deer had stripped bark from a lone birch. His mind was clear, as unblemished as the untouched snow around him, all questions and doubts fled and gone. There, deep in his beloved forest, Raef dropped to his knees, raised his face to the sky, and made a new vow.

“Odin. Allfather. Hear my words. I am the serpent-breath, I am the wolf-song, and I bring you a promise of death. I name Hauk of Ruderk murderer and he will die by my hand. His is the blood I seek and I will stain the snow red with it. This I swear, in sight of all the gods.”

His oath faded into the air, witnessed only by silent trees, but Raef felt as though he had branded the words into his skin, never to be forgotten. Yet the turmoil had passed, leaving behind only resolve, and Raef turned the horse toward home.

Vakre was right, he knew. There was no guarantee that Hauk had conspired with Jarl Thrainson. Their shared birthplace could mean nothing, but to Raef it was the key to all. He thought back on Hauk Orleson’s actions in the days since the gathering, his gesture of alliance with Einarr, his place beside the Hammerling, the words that had passed between them now imbued with more meaning. It was the answer he had been looking for and his every thought was bent on how he would enact his revenge.

Upon returning to the hall, he tolerated Isolf’s objections to his wandering off and promised not to do it again. Finnolf and Yorkell had returned with their warriors, and Raef heard their reports. Yorkell had observed a small party of men, no larger than his own group of twenty, taking a path through the northern hills. He had seen little else. Finnolf had been more fortunate and was certain that Thoken was holed up near the border with Silfravall with eighty spears at his side. The young captain was eager to return, but Raef had no ready order for him. As he sat in his father’s chair, the faces around him earnest and proud, he searched in vain for the faces he most wished to see. Eira had slipped from the hall not long after Finnolf and Yorkell had arrived and of Vakre and Siv, there was no sign, not that evening, or the next. Once he thought he caught sight of Siv’s red-gold braid in the crowd, but the face it belonged to was not hers. Raef did not ask after them, did not look for them. Instead, he told himself he did not need them and he drank mead with Isolf, telling his cousin of Hauk of Ruderk’s treachery.

“Let us secure Vannheim, first, brother,” Isolf said. His face and orange beard were lit with candlelight as they shared a skin of mead in Raef’s chamber. “Once Red-beard and Thoken are brought to heel and punished, we can turn to Orleson and bring justice to your father.”

“I do not wish to wait any longer,” Raef said. “I have failed my father for long enough. It is time I acted.”

“It is not my place to challenge your will, only hear my counsel. War is upon us. Here, in the heart of Vannheim, and out there. And what is out there will soon spread here, for the Hammerling and Fengar will not tolerate another contender. Yes, they snap at each other’s throats and bleed each other, but one or both will ready to strike as soon as word of your naming as king reaches them. We must take care of your lands and we must reach out to allies, those who have not yet chosen a side and those who question their choices. Meet the Hammerling in battle, and bring Ruderk to his knees there, but only when Vannheim is safe.”

“Your words are wise, but I must follow my heart.”

“And what will your people think when their king abandons them, slips into the wild to fulfill his private need?” Isolf voice rose and his face was stiff with anger. “Red-beard will cut a path to your hall, lining it with the bodies of your people, and Thoken will spill their blood, bit by precious bit, until they collide, head-on, here in this very hall, their destruction complete. Is this what you want?”

“I will leave Vannheim in your care and I will trust you to keep my people safe.” Even as Raef said it he knew the folly in his words.

“If this is your decision, I will do all in my power to protect Vannheim, but I am not the king, Raef, I am not the one your people have chosen. It is you who must keep them safe, keep their lands unburnt, their children alive.”

Raef was silent. In his heart he was already riding, swift-footed, across the distance between him and Hauk of Ruderk, or, faster yet, hurtling through the sky on the back of a strong-winged dragon-kin, but his mind could not ignore the truth behind Isolf’s words. Vannheim needed him.

“What would your father want you to do?”

Raef closed his eyes, silently asking his father for yet more patience. “My duty as Vannheim’s lord.” He emptied the mead skin and got to his feet. “It is time we showed the vultures what it means to defy a Skallagrim. Find Finnolf. And Dvalarr. We must make plans. I wish to ride tomorrow.”

The pre-dawn fog was thick and damp, turning blazing torchlight into murky glowing orbs and muffling the sound of horses. Two columns of warriors snaked away from the hall and village, one to the south and one to the north, fifty in each. A small portion of Vannheim’s strength, meant to move and attack with speed and without the encumbrance of larger numbers. In their wake, Raef steadied his horse, which danced away from shadowy figures moving through the nearly deserted camp, and relayed his final instructions to Finnolf, who would lead the southern-bound group.

“There will be no burning or looting or raping, Finnolf. This is our land, our people, and I will not bring destruction to those who are innocent, no matter how close their ties to Thoken and Red-beard.”

“And those who are not innocent?” Finnolf’s face was masked by the fog but Raef could see enough to know the young captain was eager to carry out his charge.

“I have no mercy for them.”

“Shall I take Thoken’s head myself?”

“You or any other man. I make no claim to it.”

“It will be done, lord.” Finnolf wheeled his horse and disappeared into the fog, riding to reach the head of his column.

Raef looked next to Isolf. “The Vestrhall is yours in my absence, brother.”

“You need not fear.” Isolf gestured to the camp of warriors around them. Another fifty warriors remained behind, and Isolf’s own men, too. “We are too well protected and the enemy too few in number. They will not dare to attack.”

Raef turned his horse but then looked back over his shoulder. “Keep an eye out for Tulkis Greyshield. Red-beard and Thoken are warriors, hard like steel and strong, but not clever. With them it will be battle and little else. When Greyshield rears his head, and he will, that will be a different matter.”

Isolf nodded and raised a hand in farewell. “May Thor guide your sword and keep your shields strong.”

Again, Raef made to depart but a voice calling through the fog held him back. Hoyvik the smith burst into the torchlight, panting and bearing something wrapped in linen. Gudrik followed the smith, limping forward on his crutch.

“As promised, lord.” The smith handed his bundle up to Raef, who unwrapped the linen with care to reveal a simple leather scabbard, undecorated but for a single silver tree inlaid near the hilt. Yggdrasil. Raef ran his finger over the metal, curled his hand around the familiar hilt, and then drew the sword from its sheath.

The blade was beautiful death and felt as though it had been an extension of Raef’s arm since the forging of the nine realms. The length, the balance, the weight, all tuned precisely to Raef, an instrument to sing the song of battle. It was the finest sword Raef had ever held.

“This will rival the famous blade of Torrulf Palesword. My thanks, Hoyvik. You have outdone yourself.” The smith smiled and Raef knew he did not need to be told of the virtues of the sword. Raef exchanged it with the sword borrowed from the armory and strapped the new one to his belt. The smith withdrew, leaving Gudrik alone to look up at Raef.

The poet opened his mouth to speak but his words failed him and Raef knew what was on his tongue.

“I cannot take you with me, Gudrik.”

It was the truth and Raef could see that Gudrik knew it. But he could also see the hope die in his friend’s eyes. “I know.”

Raef leaned down from the saddle and put a hand on Gudrik’s shoulder. “The gods know your strength.” The skald gazed up at Raef with empty eyes. Raef tightened his grip. “I know your strength. You do not need to prove it to me.”