They won out of the compound, away from the wolfheall, but it was already in flames behind them, and then they were fighting in the village, men-at-arms and village boys and women beside them, or screaming and being dragged, being burned, being killed. He saw Grimolfr, great Skald with him, the length of the high street away, and then shouting men, shouting wolves, a great black shape he recognized as Vikingr. More trolls, from the other direction, from Othinnsaesc, and wolves and men in pursuit of them, among them, shouting and slaying.
Isolfr knew what must have happened, then. Trolls from the northâfresh trolls, come to relieve besieged Othinnsaescâand the Othinnsaesc trolls themselves had burrowed out beneath the encamped men and flanked them, to come down on Franangford from two directions at once. They must have devastated the sentries and destroyed the patrols. There had been no warning, though the men at Othinnsaesc had pursued.
The scent of char and the scorched metal of blood scratched his throat. He saw it all, saw Grimolfr and Ulfsvith Iron-Tongue among wolfless men and wolfcarls fighting side by side, holding the street. Holding a route for their escape, his own little band of villagers and wolfcarls and wolves. Signy leapt forward as silent as plague, brought a troll to the ground, tore its throat and kept moving into the band of enemies between them and the men from Othinnsaesc. Viradechtis, a moment later, covered her flank, and Isolfr followed, the center of the leading part of a wedge. He shouted. He slew. He never felt the blow that
left his shield-arm hanging numb and useless by his side, but he had no shield, so it did not distress him. He saw Vigdis come up to fight at Signy's side, Kothran running beside her. He saw Hroi emerge from among the trolls so black with blood that he looked like Mar, grinning through blood, shaking blood from his ruff and jaws, ready to lead them home. He saw trolls die, pebbled hides split open, gaping black like rotted fruit. He saw Grimolfr's torn lip and bruised cheek as the wolfjarl grabbed his arm and almost threw him into his father's embrace, saw Gunnarr put himself between Isolfr and Ulfgeirrâwho limped on a leg gashed so badly that Isolfr could have put his fist in the woundâand the trolls.
He did not see Hrolleif fall.
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hey came to Bravoll in tatters and shreds, a wolfcarl carrying his wolf across his shoulders, two wolfless men leaning on each other, Vigdis and Skald, one on each side of Grimolfr, keeping him upright.
Hrolleif was dead. There was no need to ask; Isolfr felt it all through the pack-sense, saw the memories of the wolves who had borne witness. Vigdis was keening, back in her throat; Grimolfr kept rubbing his eyes, as if he had not realized they were blurring because of the tears running down his cheeks.
Isolfr and Frithulf, Viradechtis and Kothran, formed the center of a loose knot of survivors: Ulfgeirr leaning on Nagli, Hroi limping on three paws and Sokkolfr, his hair matted to his back with blood, patiently encouraging him, refusing to let him fall behind. Kari and Hrafn were with them, too, and two young Ketillhill wolfcarls whose names Isolfr could not remember. One of them had lost his wolf, and they were both blank-faced with grief and shock. Littermates, Isolfr picked out of the pack-sense, like Viradechtis and Kothran, and did not wonder at the shield-mates' shared grief.
Tindr was dead, his spine broken and his body half-severed by the blow of a trellish axe. Ulfbjorn walked beside Sokkolfr and Hroi, his face blank behind soot and blood, and those of the Nithogsfjoll wolves who could make the effort would come up to him, nudging gently at thigh or hand, and Isolfr felt their love, their concern. Ulfbjorn was part of their pack, and they wished him to know it.
Sometime in that terrible march, Eyjolfrâwho with Leitholfr carried the rough sling in which Signy lay, both her left legs brokenâsent Glaedir to stay by Ulfbjorn, and Glaedir faithfully herded Ulfbjorn the rest of the way to Bravoll, so like a sheepdog that it would have been funny if it had not made Isolfr's eyes burn with tears.
The defenders of Bravoll were at least ready for them, the konigenwolf coming gravely to greet them, despite the protesting squeaks of her new litter. She and Vigdis and Viradechtis touched noses, and the strong thought of
mother
in the pack-sense allowed Isolfr to let go, just slightly. Vigdis and Viradechtis would give way; dominance at Bravoll belonged to its queen.
They had to take it in turns to doctor each other, Frithulf assessing Isolfr's armânot broken, he could move his fingers again, but horrendously bruised, black and purple and blood red, and it was a fortnight before he could raise itâas Isolfr stitched shut Ulfgeirr's thigh. Isolfr and Leitholfr setting Signy's legs while Ulfgeirr coaxed Hroi to let him tend his wounds. It was heavy between the wolfsprechends that Signy's chances were poor; if she had not been konigenwolf, she would already be dead. But Aslaug had died at Franangford, troll blood dripping from her muzzle, and they did not have enough konigenwolves that they could give up on Signy.
“I've always said she's the most stubborn bitch in the Wolfmaegth,” Leitholfr said, touching her ears gently. “Perhaps that may work in our favor this time.”
And Grimolfr grieved, although he never spoke of it, and he worked with Ulfsvith Iron-Tongue, Gunnarr and
the other jarls and wolfjarls on Bravoll's defense. Vigdis and Skald did not leave his side, and all the Nithogsfjollthreat grieved with him, but Isolfr knew none of them except perhaps the wolves truly understood the depth of Grimolfr's hurt. Hrolleif had been shieldmate, werthreatbrother, lover, wolfsprechend: there were not words, he thought, for what Grimolfr and Hrolleif had meant to each other, and he found himself wishing that Skjaldwulf were there, for if anyone could find a way to speak Grimolfr's grief, it would be he.
Isolfr thought his own grief for Hrolleif small and bittersweet beside that, and could not bring himself to speak of it either, even to Frithulf and Sokkolfr. Especially to Ulfbjorn, who moved like a man in a dream.
There was one small joy in the midst of the horror. Hrolfmarr, who had been Kolli's brother, and wolfless since, was chosen by one of the Bravoll konigenwolf's cubs, who clambered over tithe-boys and anyone else who might come between them to get to him.
Ironically, in the issue of Grimolfr's sorrowâin this one small thing as in no otherâIsolfr's wishes were met. Skjaldwulf appeared at Bravoll three weeks later, at the head of a band of men and wolves that was larger than it should have been, to leave the remaining keeps and wolfheallan protected. Isolfr thought he understood the logic well enough. Mar's shoulder had healed to proud flesh and scar tissue, and though Skjaldwulf's arm was still splinted, he moved the shoulder freely. If he let Ulfgeirr and Isolfr keep his ribs wrapped tight, it caused him no pain that he would admit, and his presenceâand his voiceâbrought a certain grim determination to sell themselves dearly to the wolfcarls and the wolfless men both.
It was plainspoken Kari who said it, one night as they sat by the fire. Winter was coming. And there was nothing between Franangford and Bravoll to stop the trolls.
Isolfr felt his oath to the svartalfar like a stone in his throat. He knew why; he knew why the trolls came. He knew what they were fleeing. If he had thought that information
would help Grimolfr and Ulfsvith plan a defense, he could not be certain he would have held his tongue, all honor and his sworn word aside. Would he make himself an oathbreaker, lower than a kin-slaughterer, to save his brothers?
Although he knew it was wrong, he also knew that he would. If it would have made a difference.
But it wouldn't, and so he held his honor and his tongue.
Viradechtis came into season before the equinox.
Too soon,
Isolfr thought, although Hrolleif had warned him it might be so. And he could feel it himself, what Viradechtis felt, that with Aslaug dead, Signy nearly, and Vigdis without a wolfsprechend and showing no inclination to choose one, the Wolfmaegth had an emptiness at its heart, and it was an emptiness that Viradechtis could no more ignore than she could stop breathing.
The mating was different this time, as Hrolleif had also said it would be. When it was clear, to wolves and men, that Viradechtis' heat was coming, a meeting was called, a wolfmoot of every threat that had a presence in Bravoll. Isolfr sat beside Grimolfr, feeling as conspicuous as a spring garland on an ice giant, while threat by threat the wolfcarls were given the chance to announce their desire to enter contention, to stand up for Viradechtis and her brother.
Othwulf did not stand, as he had promised. Eyjolfr did, and Skjaldwulf, and a number of the wolfcarls who had courted Isolfr at the Wolfmaegthing a year and a half ago, including Vethulf of Arakensberg and his odd-eyed brother. Isolfr was surprised when Kari stood up, but grateful besides. He thought he could deal very well with Kari as his wolfjarl.
The mating, Grimolfr said, could not be held in Bravoll. Isolfr thought a moment, thought of the condition of the threat during and after a mating, thought of the wolfless men (thought, his belly going cold, of his father), and agreed wholeheartedly. “We must go, then.” And he managed a crooked smile. “As with her first heat, only ⦔
“Just so,” Grimolfr said, and met Isolfr's eyes for a moment before he looked away. “Bravoll has the same sort of arrangement we do, for their bitches' first heat. Apparently, it's the site of the old wolfheallââold' in this case meaning your grandfather's dayâso there should be plenty of room. The yearlings' brothers have agreed to lead the way and to take the part our tradition appoints.”
“They are very kind,” Isolfr said.
“Isolfr.” Grimolfr stopped. Skald nudged his broad muzzle under his brother's hand, and Grimolfr began rubbing along the wolf's jaw distractedly. “I know the first mating was hard for youâ”
“I will be fine, wolfjarl,” Isolfr said. “I will not run craven.”
“I didn't think you would,” Grimolfr said dryly. “But I know that Hrolleif would have had advice for you, and I wish that I could give you his words. It is not the same, a mating of this kind, but I am not brother to a konigenwolf. I do not know what to warn you of.”
“Thank you,” Isolfr said. “But I think ⦠I think Viradechtis has her plan. And where she leads, I follow.”
“'Tis ever the way of it,” Grimolfr agreed. “Tell one of Bravoll's yearlings he's to run back with news as soon as there's news to tell.”
“I will,” said Isolfr and went to find the things he would need.
A bedroll, a change of linen, Jorveig's invaluable salve: Sokkolfr found him in the storeroom packing those things and his roll of medical supplies into a bag, while Viradechtis sniffed interestedly at everything in reach of her nose.
“Isolfr, I'm sorry.”
Isolfr sat back on his heels. “For what?”
“For not ⦔ Sokkolfr's lips tightened; then, in the manner of wolves, he said simply, “I would stand up for you, if I thought Hroi could win.”
“Sokkolfr ⦔ But Isolfr did not know what to say. Hroi sat in the doorway behind them, and Isolfr could feel the
old wolf's aches, his tiredness. And he felt, too, that if Sokkolfr had wished it, Hroi would have entered the fray for Viradechtisâand for Isolfrâthough man and wolf both knew he would lose.
I do not deserve this,
he thought, as he had thought of Skjaldwulf's devotion. He managed, after a moment, to smile up at his friend. “You know I want you as housecarl anyway.”
Sokkolfr smiled back. “Ulfbjorn and Frithulf and I, we will wait for you.” And he extended his hand to bring Isolfr to his feet.
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ortunatelyâor so Isolfr thoughtâthe old Bravoll wolfheall was several miles east of the current wolfheall, rather than west toward Franangford. He walked beside Asvolfr, the leader of Bravoll's young men, who had volunteered to guide the mating party, and with some patienceâ
all that practice with Sokkolfr,
he thought and hid a smileâhe managed to coax the youth into talking to him; he learned that the wolfheall had been moved some fifty years ago, when the traditional distrust between heall and manor had been dissolved by the widow of the jarl taking the heall's wolfsprechend as her lover. Their children were all heall-bred, one of them becoming a wolfcarl himself, and the young jarl of Bravoll had observed that it was foolish and inefficient for the wolfheall to lie so far from the manor and village it was meant to protect. The previous jarlsâwho, like Isolfr's father, preferred not to admit that they relied on the wolfheallan for anythingâhad liked it that way. The young jarl had had the wolfheall moved and built the new stone one after the modern fashion, with rushed floors and chimneys and mortared walls warmed by tapestries.
The site of the old heall was thus perfect for the purpose of isolating a bitch in her first heatâor, in this case, having an open mating without disrupting the wolfheall's defenses. Everyone knew where it was; the path to it was easy and
broad, and the old heall-site itself was level and spacious and had a number of walls remaining, at least in part. “Plenty of shelter,” the boy said, and following his glance at the high gray clouds, Isolfr understood why that was a consideration.