Child Of Storms (Volume 1) (8 page)

Brundig glanced at him. His name was Grimwald. He was a tall man, with dark blue eyes, a long black beard, and a deep voice. A massive, two-handed axe was slung over his back.

“Men from the bay will be coming,” Grimwald said.

             
Brundig nodded, turning and looking back at the towering pines.

             
“We’ll withdraw deeper into the hills,” he said. “We can hide there.”

             
“Hide?” Grimwald said, scowling.

             
“For a day or two,” Brundig said. “Then we move north. We’ll travel by night and hole-up during the day.”

“What? You can’t mean to catch up to the dwarf.”

              “No,” Brundig said. “But we still might be able to redeem ourselves in Faxon’s eyes. That stinkin’ dwarf is going to get to Falneth before our assassins. He’s going to find Einar’s cousin, and then he’ll be coming back down the road with the little bastard in tow. And we’ll be waiting for him when he does.”

Four

             
The assembled warriors glared at one another from across the ice of the narrow river, regarding the men standing opposite themselves with silent hostility.

Thane Llud stood by the icy water’s edge, surrounded by a dozen of his fighters. A large man with a wild red beard and a face covered in bright blue war paint stood bare-chested to his left, brandishing a gigantic battle axe.

An equal number of warriors stood upon the opposite bank of the frozen river glaring back at them. Yet no one moved an inch. None would dare shed blood upon the ground on which they stood.

             
To the right of Llud rose a massive boulder straddling the edge of a small waterfall. It jutted out from the ground at least twenty feet, tall and pointed like a giant spearhead straining upwards towards the winter sky. The gigantic rock sat perched on a trio of smaller rocks, balancing precariously upon its stony tripod. It was as if some god had reached down from the heavens and placed the boulder gently down atop the smaller rocks next to the river. 

A pair of young men, both aged barely twenty summers by the looks of them, appeared on the far side of the river from Llud. The two youths worked their way down the winding trail to the meeting place at the river’s edge. They paused and took in the scene for a moment.

              “So there’s the old dog,” Jorn said, shaking his head and smirking. “Arrived to beg for his life, I hope.”

Jorn was the taller of the two, easily the height of any man in the service of either Thane Orbadrin or Thane Llud. With his long unkempt hair, clean shaven chin, and blazing blue eyes, he looked as young as he was.

Despite his age, however, he already had the solid frame of a man years older, with broad shoulders and strongly-formed limbs. He wore a shirt of chain mail, a thick cloak of elkskin. A two-handed sword was strapped to his back and he looked every inch the barbarian swashbuckler. He reveled in it, striding about with a conscious swagger.

             
“Let’s wait and see, brother,” the other youth said.

Thulgin was a year older than Jorn, not quite as tall but broader across the shoulders. He had dark gray eyes and wore a serious expression on his face. 

“He is full of pride,” Thulgin went on. “He may have some fight in him still.”

             
“Good,” Jorn said, smirking “We’ll have him finished in a week, and then we’ll add his lands to our own.”

             
“Remember father’s instructions,” Thulgin cautioned. “We are better off with him as a buffer against the trolls to the west, if for nothing else. Take care not to insult him without need.”

             
“Politics,” Jorn mumbled, snorting derisively. “Let’s just finish him off.”

             
“You just follow my lead,” Thulgin said firmly.  “And don’t fuck it all up.”

             
“I promise nothing.”

             
Thulgin shot him a serious glance as they reached the bottom of the slope and stood at the river’s edge.

             
Llud was the first to speak up. His voice bore a tone of arrogant contempt.

             
“What is this?” he asked with a sneer. “Where is Orbadrin?”

             
Thulgin and Jorn stepped out onto one of the broad, flat boulders in the river.

             
“Thane Llud,” Thulgin said. He spoke clearly and firmly. “Our father is ill, as you well know. We speak for him and come with the full power to make peace or to make war, as you would choose.”

             
“What?” Llud said. “We are met here at the sacred throne of Wönda the River-Spirit to discuss terms, and Orbadrin sends his two whelps!”

             
“Whelps, he calls us!” Jorn growled, stepping forward. “Grang’s teeth! Either of these whelps can thrash any shit-smelling whoreson you care to send against us, Llud.”

             
“Foul boy,” Llud yelled back. “Battle is forbidden here in this sacred place of council, as well you know! To even suggest it is impious.”

             
“Then let’s go down stream a bit…out of Wönda’s view,” Jorn said, glancing at the great rock.

             
“This war goes bad for you Thane Llud,” Thulgin said. “It is one month since you began raiding the herds of Orbadrin and carrying away his cattle. It is one month since you made war upon us, and now you hang by a thread.”

Thulgin paused, letting his words sink-in.

“Do recall it was you called for this council,” he went on. “You can hurl insults across the river and we can go back to fighting. Or we can discuss terms.”

             
“There is plenty of fight still left in us,” Llud said.

             
“Unbelievable,” Jorn muttered loud enough for all to hear.

             
“We have a thousand men,” Thulgin said, casting an annoyed glare at Jorn. “Our ally to the North, Thane Halgaad, has a thousand more. You are down to two or three hundred starving men. You have proven your bravery, Thane Llud, but if you wish to keep fighting I don’t know why you would ask for this council. For my part I stand here ready to talk peace, or to make war. It matters not to me. Choose what it shall be and stop wasting our time. Now.”

             
Llud took a deep breath.

“State your terms,” he muttered.

              “You and your men go in peace,” Thulgin said. “And we take the seven hills from Elkhead to Fangun’s Mound to divide with Thane Halgaad as we see fit.”

             
“That’s your peace? To rob half my lands!”

             
“Grang’s teeth!” Jorn swore. “We offer the dog mercy and he snaps at us!”

             
“Always has our father been a friend to you,” Thulgin said. “When the blight struck down the best of your herds five winters past, he gave you steers from his own. When the trolls from the Mungin Fens raided your lands only last year, my brother and I led men to help you drive them back. Now it is we who are hard-pressed with enemies all about us. The blue-painted berserkers from the hills beyond the forest raid our frontiers and eat the flesh of the slain right on the battlefield. Trolls and gruks to the south appear in ever greater numbers. Our father is ill, even as these threats mount. And how did you act? Did you offer aid and assistance, as a friend ought? No, instead you attacked us. You thought you saw weakness and believed you would overwhelm us. You stand now, instead, on the brink of ruin. Yet you balk at our mercy?”

             
“Go ahead,” Jorn muttered. “Refuse.”

             
“The seven hills, from Elkhead to Fangun’s Mound,” Thulgin said firmly. “What is your answer?”

             
“You leave us little choice, Thulgin son of Orbadrin,” Llud growled. “We accept your terms.”

             
“Swear to it on the river spirit,” Thulgin said, pointing towards the towering rock.

             
“It is sworn,” Llud said without enthusiasm.

             
“Swear it correctly.”

             
“By Wönda, I swear.”

             
“The whole thing, Thane Llud,” Thulgin said. “Don’t test my patience.”

             
“I swear, by Wönda, I will honor the peace you offer.”

             
Thulgin nodded.

“That is well. Now go in peace,” he said. “Or risk Wönda’s curse. Your men will begin moving out of the hills tomorrow. You will not set the timber there ablaze or damage the land in any way or we will consider your oath broken. Do not venture into our lands again or there will be no peace council. We will not stop until you and all your kin are dead.”

Thulgin turned away from Llud and returned to the far bank. Jorn glared at Llud for a moment longer before following Thulgin. The two climbed the slope and disappeared among the tall pines.

“He’s not done,” Jorn said, reaching the top of the hill. “That rat will recover in a year or two and come at us again.”

“I know,” Thulgin said. “But it serves a purpose keeping him in power for now.”

Jorn shrugged.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But I’d just as soon see it through to the end. I’d like to be rid of him once and for all.”

“Grang knows we’re stretched thin as it is,” Thulgin said, pulling himself atop one of the horses waiting for them.

Jorn mounted his own horse.

“It
was
a good little war, wasn’t it?” he said. “All over in less than a month and we earned a good chunk of land.”

             
“More than a good chunk,” Thulgin said. “Those hills are rich in elk and in timber. Of course, we’ll have to offer the northernmost hills to Thane Halgaad for his help.”

Thulgin paused, deep in thought.

“There is much to be done,” he said. “We’ll need to build a fort, and father will want settlers moving into the hills.”

             
“And I can at last approach Halgaad about Yrsa,” Jorn said. “I have proven myself in battle, more than once, and we have won lands for Halgaad as well as our own father. He’ll have to grant me her hand.”

_____

             
Yrsa was a few months younger than Jorn, the eldest daughter of Thane Halgaad.

Jorn was only dimly aware of her existence most of his life, Yrsa having been sent south to the king’s court at Vistinar when she was barely ten summers old. There she would learn not just her letters but how to behave with some grace and decorum. Halgaad ruled over a rough territory bordering vast wilderness to the north.  It was his hope that a few years in Vistinar would give his daughter some measure of civilization he could not provide for her in his own frozen hall clinging to the edge of the fens.

              Elkhead was the northernmost of the line of hills along the western edge of Orbadrin’s domains. North of Elkhead was a flat forest of tall pine and beech. Midway through the forest ran a stream that marked the beginning of Halgaad’s lands. It was Jorn’s favorite place to hunt. There were huge elks in abundance, not to mention fat wild boars and even the occasional bear. In the autumn, the air was pleasantly cool and Jorn loved wandering the forest, bow in hand, stalking the animals there.

The morning he happened upon Yrsa, the sky was clear, no cloud or blemish to be seen marring its blue magnificence. The air was crisp, invigorating. He rose early, stepping out of the tent he was sharing with Thulgin for the two weeks of hunting. A single soldier from their party was awake, a grizzled old veteran with a long gray beard sitting by the fire stirring a stew pot filled with turnips, onions, carrots, and chunks of hare.

              “I’d not expected to see you about so early,” the old man said. “You hit the ale hard last night.”

“I feel fine,” Jorn said. “I don’t know about Thulgin, though. If he ever wakes up, tell him I’ve gone out tracking that damned stag again.”

              The old man started to get up.

“I’ll go with ya,” he said.

              “No, stay here,” Jorn said. “I’m fine alone.”

             
Jorn left the hunting camp after a few bites of cold mutton for breakfast washed down with a few gulps of ale. Jorn and Thulgin had been hunting for ten days, their camp a tiny cluster of tents by the side of a swiftly flowing stream amid the vast forest. A dozen men, soldiers and servants in equal number, were with them. They’d enjoyed some success during the trip, but a particularly magnificent stag with antlers as large as any Jorn had ever seen had eluded them for the last three days in a row. It was the greatest stag Jorn had ever beheld, and the most elusive.

Jorn crossed the stream, stepping from stone to stone and then heading northwards into the vast forest around him. He happened upon a line of elk tracks a few miles away. Bending down, he studied them for a moment. They were from a large elk, definitely a stag. He followed them for a long time, eventually catching sight in the distance of the mighty beast that’d been eluding him for so long. The elk took off running, Jorn dashing forward after it as fast as he could manage. The stag was too quick, though, and Jorn soon lost sight of him again. He found its tracks, however, spotting them next to a muddy pool of water. He resumed the chase, tracking the elk for at least a mile deeper into the woods. It came into sight once more only to run off again as Jorn was notching an arrow and creeping closer. 

It went on like that for hours, Jorn crossing well into Halgaad’s lands as he wound his way slowly northeast. He paused. Halgaad had said the sons of Orbadrin were welcome to hunt on his lands, but only rarely had Jorn or Thulgin gone so far astray from their customary hunting camp by the bend in the river.

Jorn carried a horn around his neck which he could sound should he slay the elk, though. The soldiers and servants would come to help him skin and butcher the beast and carry the carcass back to camp. It would make an excellent feast that night. The head would go on the wall of Orbadrin’s great hall of Hrókur. Decades hence, men would point up at the trophy and say, “It was Jorn who slew that elk, when he was only in his seventeenth summer.”