The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (27 page)

Tulkis did not look away from Raef. “They love their grandmother very much.”

That Tulkis lied, Raef was sure, but tramping across Greyshield land in an attempt to find the sons would be useless. He gave a nod to Finnolf, who shouted for the warriors to fall in line. Raef waited until the column had filed past, and took up the rear with Siv and Vakre.

“I do not trust him,” Vakre said, bringing his horse alongside Raef.

“Nor I, but what can I do? I cannot leave him here, untouched. I cannot kill him, for he has done nothing wrong, violated no oath, and killing him would only turn the minds of other men against me. Bringing him to my hall is what he wants, but I see no other way.”

They returned to the Vestrhall by a shorter, more direct route, avoiding the winding coast in favor of the inland hills and valleys. A rear guard stayed alert to the possibility of retribution at the hands of Tulkis’ sons and a watch was set that night, but the land around them was peaceful and a farmer was glad to shelter as many of Raef’s men from the cold as he could. The family had little to offer, for the winter had claimed half their sheep and an early frost had shrunken their last autumn crop, but Raef’s men had more than enough to share. Tulkis and his companions were allowed to join them, for Raef had no cause to punish them, but the five men kept to themselves, spooning their broth in silence.

The farmer’s children, a flock of faces ranging from wide-eyed twins who could barely walk to a lean boy of eleven who could not take his eyes off the sword at Raef’s side, filled the small house with eager voices as ale was poured and bread passed.

The men were fed in shifts, then sent back out to claim whatever corner of the barn and storehouse they desired. At length, Raef sent Tulkis away, entrusting him to the care of his captain, Yorkell. When the last of the men trickled into the night, leaving Raef, Vakre, Uhtred, and Siv behind, Raef leaned back in his chair, his toes stretched toward the hearth, and allowed himself to relax.

With the men gone, the family settled into its nightly routine. The oldest boy dumped food scraps into a bucket for the pigs while the farmer scolded a younger boy for poking one of the twins until he cried. The mother comforted the red-faced child and spoke to Siv, who was helping the two girls comb their hair.

Raef watched Siv’s deft hands untangle the long, loose locks and wondered if this home reminded her of the one she had lost. Siv glanced his way and smiled, a quick flash gone all too soon as she returned to the task at hand.

When the other twin started crying, the mother handed the first off to Vakre, who took the child with surprising ease, finding just the spot to tickle him and turn his tears into fits of laughter. For a moment, Raef could only marvel at how the house could contain the son of Loki and an orphaned, battle-hardened shieldmaiden and still be so full of laughter.

“I would ask you what you think of my daughter, Skallagrim, but I think your thoughts are elsewhere.” Uhtred had pulled his chair close to Raef’s and leaned in to speak quietly in his ear.

“Your daughter is beautiful,” Raef said. But Uhtred was not looking at him. Raef followed the older man’s gaze and saw it led to Siv.

“She is. You are not the first man to say this,” Uhtred said, looking at Raef now.

“I would be a lucky man if she were my wife. But I have not yet made my decision.” Raef’s gaze slid back to Siv and her red-gold hair.

“Oh, I think you have.” Uhtred’s voice was quiet and hinted at a smile. Raef looked back and found himself caught in the blue depths of Uhtred’s eyes. He felt heat flush his cheeks. “There is no shame in following your heart, Raef,” Uhtred said, speaking now as a father to a son, rather than a lord to a king. “I made no demand, my warriors are yours, marriage or no marriage. If Aelinvor is not the woman you wish to share your life with, I ask only one thing of you.”

“Name it.”

“That you tell her this the moment we return to the Vestrhall. I would not have her thoughts linger on what has slipped beyond her reach.”

“I will.” Raef hesitated. “Thank you.”

Uhtred smiled and got to his feet, letting out a belch that sent the younger children into peals of laughter. Uhtred pounded his chest with one fist. “Even Thor is no match for me in matters of wind-making,” he boasted. More laughter. “But if you will excuse me, good hosts, I think I will retire and refrain from challenging the god of thunder just yet.” The farmer tried to insist that Uhtred remain, but the lord of Garhold overruled him, and swept out into the winter night, leaving grinning faces in his wake.

Not long after, Raef excused himself to take a piss. The night was clear and cold, but calm. Not a breath of wind stirred Raef’s hair as he rounded the corner of the house to empty his bladder. After checking on the horses, the watch, and Tulkis, Raef returned to the farmhouse to find Vakre out beneath the stars as well.

“These are good people,” Raef said. “I will send them wool and food and new sheep when we return to the Vestrhall.”

Vakre nodded but was quiet.

“You are troubled?”

“I look at them, that family, poor in wealth but rich in happiness, and I wonder that will become of them when the final battle comes. When flaming Surt stirs from his blazing throne in Muspelheim and marches on Asgard, when Jörmungand raises the oceans and Fenrir breaks free, leading the nine realms into chaos. They are ignorant of the destruction that is at hand, of the numbered days before them, but they deserve a better fate.”

“They do.”

Vakre looked up at the stars as though he expected to see them fall and go dark at any moment. “Sometimes I think of sharing what I know, what we know. Of warning people.” His gaze returned to earth and he shook his head. “But it would not matter in the end, and it would only strike terror into hearts that should be glad.”

They were quiet for a moment, neither quite ready to return to the warmth of the farmhouse. “What becomes of the son of Loki when the seas rise and the giants go to war with the gods?”

Vakre shrugged. “The same will befall me as any other man, I think.” He met Raef’s look. “Except you, son of Einarr. You will not fight beside us at the last battle.”

“No. My fate remains in the shadows. And yet I can only think of one thing that I would wish for. That I could stand beside you and Siv, that we might draw our swords together and sing the song of battle one last time.”

TWENTY-FIVE

T
he
Vestrhall was
no longer empty when Raef and his warriors returned. Isolf, his face bright with a wide smile, rode out of the gates to greet them.

“I rejoice at your return, brother. Has Greyshield bent to your will, or is he food for crows?” Isolf’s horse pranced in new fallen snow as Raef’s company came to a halt.

“Greetings, brother,” Raef said. He gestured to Tulkis, whose horse was tethered to Uhtred’s. “He comes to give his oath in the Vestrhall, before gods and men.”

“Then today is a good day, for I have a gift for you as well.”

“I trust the raiders from Silfravall have known my brother’s wrath?” Raef urged his horse forward and Isolf fell in beside him to cover the remaining distance to the walls.

“They have, but rather than fall to our swords and spears, they have parted ways with their lord, Harbjorn. I have brought you thirty warriors to join your shield wall.” Isolf could not hide the pleasure he took in his accomplishment.

Raef was surprised. “They will renounce their oaths to Harbjorn and make one to me and then fight against their brothers in Silfravall?”

“If it comes to that, yes, they will fight against Silfravall. But they do not think Harbjorn will risk open war for the loss of thirty men.”

“Open war will be upon Harbjorn soon enough. The kings will demand his spears or take them by force.”

Isolf shrugged. “They wish to be men of Vannheim, now. They wish to follow you. They await you.”

Raef’s hands clenched on the reins. “In the Vestrhall? You have brought them into my home?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to shout his irritation in front of the warriors.

Isolf frowned. “They have left their weapons at the gate.”

“Even so, the Vestrhall is my home, Isolf.” Raef urged his horse forward, separating himself from the column. The gates swung open for him and he raced up the hill, jumping to the ground at the base of the stone steps. He heard horses behind him but did not wait for Vakre and Siv to catch up before throwing open the doors of the hall.

Men sat at the long tables. A pig roasted over the open fire pit. Ten armed men of Vannheim were present, standing aloof from the strangers. All conversation and movement ceased at Raef’s entrance, and all eyes went to him. A stool scraped against the floor as one man stood, and then all the benches were pushed back and the warriors of Silfravall got to their feet. One by one, they took a knee, just as Vakre and Siv came up behind Raef, Isolf at their heels.

“You see? They swear themselves to you,” Isolf said.

Only then did Raef see Aelinvor at the far end of the hall, seated alone at the high table. She came to her feet slowly, her gown a whisper against the floor.

Raef did not trust himself to speak but the hall waited for his word. “You are welcome to Vannheim.”

The Silfravall warrior who had stood first rose from the floor and approached, then took a knee again in front of Raef, his disheveled blonde hair hanging over half his face. “I am Lingorm and I speak for these men. We pledge ourselves to Vannheim, lord, and name you our king. We are but thirty in number, but what we lack in numbers we make up for with loyalty.”

Isolf thrust a cup of ale into Raef’s hand, and gave another to Lingorm. Raef raised his in Lingorm’s direction and took a sip. The warrior of Silfravall did the same and his men gave a shout. The formalities done, the Silfravall warriors relaxed. Raef set his barely touched ale on a table and strode the length of the hall, past Aelinvor, and left.

Isolf was on him, but the moment the door closed, Raef rounded on his cousin, his hand shaking as he fought the urge to seize Isolf’s shoulder. “You had no right to bring them into my home, into my father’s hall. Blood you may be, but lord you are not.”

Isolf’s face was red with anger. “I did what I judged to be right. Should I have turned them away, sent them back to Harbjorn with resentment festering in their hearts? You wish to win your neighbors to your side, and I have done so.”

“Thirty men,” Raef shouted. “Thirty men do not make an alliance. And they were raiding my land, Isolf, burning farms, raping women. What loyalty can they bring me, they who change lords so easily? I never intended to ally with Harbjorn and his raiders.”

Isolf was quiet for a moment. “Had you but shared your plans,” he began.

“But I did not and you acted beyond your right.”

The anger drained from Isolf’s face. “Then I ask you to forgive me, brother, and know that I only did so with you in mind, with Vannheim in mind.”

Raef stared into Isolf’s eyes, still trembling. “I understand,” he managed to say. He could understand, but he could not remain in Isolf’s presence a moment longer and took refuge in the solitude of his chamber.

It was Aelinvor who sought him out as the day turned into twilight. She stood just outside the doorframe, as though she hoped to draw him out. “My father wants to know if you intend to feast the men of Silfravall and if Greyshield should join.”

“Let Isolf do the honors of the feast. I have no stomach for it.” Raef returned to his seat by the window. The eastern horizon had faded into purple and grey. “No, no.” Raef sighed. “I will do it. I will not insult them because Isolf has displeased me. Tell your father to begin preparations. And that Tulkis must be included. He will give me his oath this night.” Aelinvor nodded and turned to go but Raef remembered his promise to Uhtred. “Wait.” Her dress swished against her legs as she halted and looked back. Raef beckoned her closer. “Come here.”

Raef rose to his feet and reached out to take her hand as she approached, then thought better of it. Her blue eyes were dark, an ocean at dusk, and her face half in shadow. Her hair shone in the light of the single candle. He tried to find words that might suffice. “You are a lovely creature, Aelinvor, and any man should be honored to call you wife. But I am not that man. We are not going to be married.”

He could see the disappointment flicker into her face and in the way she lowered her gaze and then, with a swallow, raised it again to meet his eyes. Whatever else she felt, she hid it well, no child to pout and cry despite her youth. She smiled a little. “I am sorry you could not see our future together. I saw it laid before our feet as clearly as I see you now in front of me,” she said. “But a king does as he chooses.”

“Bold to the last, little night bird,” Raef said, almost smiling himself. She bowed her head and left him alone with his thoughts.

Raef started a fire in his hearth and called for a bath. He lounged in the iron tub until steam no longer rose from the water, relishing the chance to clean the grime of travel from his skin. Dripping, he stepped out and wrapped himself in a fur, then poured a cup of mead and drank while letting the air and heat of the fire dry him. His toes curled against the still cold stones of his chamber floor, but soon his lower legs were burning with the heat of the flames and Raef settled into a chair away from the fire to finish his mead before dressing.

The honeywine was soothing and began to melt away the raw edges of Raef’s anger toward Isolf. His cousin had acted rashly, but with good intent, and though he might have to consider carefully what future responsibilities he would trust Isolf with, there was no point in berating the man further. Better to move on and make the best of the situation Isolf had created.

The thrum of noise from the hall had grown loud as the warriors awaited his presence and Raef knew he could put it off no longer. Dressing quickly in fresh clothes, Raef tried to be glad of the night’s events, of thirty new warriors to add to his shield wall, of Tulkis Greyshield kneeling before him for all to see.

The hall came to life at his entrance. The warriors of Silfravall were clustered around the middle of the long tables, their unfamiliar faces turned toward him with cries for Vannheim. His own men filled the remainder of the benches and cheered as he approached the high table and accepted a cup of ale from Uhtred.

“Men of Vannheim, of Silfravall, and of Garhold,” Raef shouted, “remember this night, for this is the night we become a band of brothers. Soon all the world will tremble before our roaring cry of war.” He raised his cup high. “To victory.”

The very air seemed to shiver as the warriors echoed Raef, their voices sure to reach Asgard itself. From the side of the hall, Finnolf prodded Tulkis Greyshield forward. The hall quieted and all eyes watched Tulkis limp to the center of the hall. He took a knee before the high table, and Raef could see the action pained him. Tulkis fought back a grimace.

“See what I have already given you, lord?” Tulkis said, gesturing to his left leg. “A leg, ruined while fighting under your banner at the battle of the burning lake.”

“Yours was not the only wound sustained, Greyshield. Come, is this not what you wanted? To kneel before me in my hall and give me your oath? Speak your words.”

Tulkis looked to Finnolf, who handed him a small knife. His eyes fixed on Raef, Tulkis drew the blade across his palm and made a fist, letting three drops of blood fall to the floor before speaking. “I, Tulkis Greyshield, swear by the shaft of the Allfather’s spear, by the heart-wood of great Yggdrasil, and by the blood of my sons, to live and die in service of Skallagrim, king. May Thor strike me down a thousand times if I am disloyal.”

The oath rang out and Raef nodded in acceptance of it. Tulkis rose and the feast began in earnest. Of those sitting at the high table, only Uhtred was in good spirits. Aelinvor, seated next to her father, ate, drank, and smiled, giving every appearance of happiness, but Raef was not fooled. Her laughter was too bright and her eyes did not smile along with her mouth. Isolf, on Raef’s left, was quiet, and spent much of the meal refilling his cup. Raef could not be sure if his cousin was sulking, or merely trying to keep the attention away from himself. Raef wished for Vakre and Siv but their faces were not among those growing red with drink in the hall and he did not blame them for their absence.

Raef endured the feast for as long as he could and left once there was no danger of insulting anyone. A hearty rendition of an old fighting song had just broken out as he slipped away into the night. He was weary, but not ready for sleep, and his feet took him down the hill, winding through the village, until he reached the shore. The pair of men watching the ships and the water entrance nodded at his approach and Raef strode down the length of one of the docks until all that was before him was the dark fjord.

The night was dark and quiet, the gentle lapping of the water against the shore the only sound to reach Raef’s ears. One of Vannheim’s smaller ships had been brought over from its winter home down the fjord, ready to carry word to Garhold if necessary, and Raef climbed aboard, wishing for a moment that he was out at sea, a stiff breeze in his face and the fierce sun dazzling the waves, far from the reach of Tulkis Greyshield. He looked west, where the sun had disappeared, and saw the sea road stretch out before him, saw storms and wide open skies, saw gulls lead him to strange shores. The dream of such a journey, long buried, reared up, and Raef would have given much to feel an oar beneath his hands once more, to sweat and row and then at last catch the wind in the sail. But the sea road was not his fate.

Raef walked up to the prow of the ship, running his hand along the smooth wood as he went, then climbed up and perched beside the dragonhead, whose black eyes stared unblinking at the fjord, as if it, too, dreamed of the open water. Raef put his hand on the beast’s long neck, his fingers remembering the smooth skin of the dragon-kin in Alfheim, the way the wings unfolded just before flight. They were not much alike, he saw now, the wooden image and the full-blooded creature. If he ever had a chance to build a ship, he would give his dragonhead sunset eyes. The likelihood of that was slim, he knew, for winter was not the time for building ships and unyielding fate bore down on Midgard.

Raef stared out across the water, the blind wooden dragon his only companion, and before his eyes, the dark waters of the fjord began to glow, faint at first, a hint of green. Raef raised his eyes to the sky and watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the sky above Vannheim came alive with swirling blues and dancing greens.

It did not last long, and soon the sky was nothing but stars and darkness, but Raef could not doubt the beauty he had seen. What the aurora of Alfheim was doing in the Midgard sky, he could not say. He could only think of Finnoul, brave Finnoul, and her dream for the future.