CHAPTER TEN VARG

CHAPTER TEN

VARG

V arg ran, sweat dripping into his eyes as he splashed across a shallow stream. A sandy road wound ahead of him, mountains rearing either side, dotted with scrub and twisted hawthorn. The sky above was blue and cloudless, the sun a hammer beating down upon him, his coat of mail heavy upon his shoulders. He did not care, was hardly even aware. In his head he was in a cold land, snow all about him, watching as his sister was nailed to a tree. He saw her killer's face, weathered and sharp-featured, grinning as he hammered the nails in, grinning as he gutted her.

I will kill you, Brák , he thought, his teeth grinding and lips pulling back in a snarl.

"Slower, brother," a voice said behind him.

"Huh?" Varg grunted and looked around. Svik was riding upon a fine roan mare.

"Slow down," Svik said, "the horses cannot keep up."

A shout behind them and Varg saw Sulich raise an arm, pulling his horse from a trot to a walk, and then stopping. A line of riders slowed behind him, all of them gathering along the stream that Varg had just crossed.

"Thank the dead gods, I'm starving," Svik said, clicking his tongue and guiding his horse around, riding back towards the stream. "Come on, brother," he said, looking back at Varg, who had slowed and paused. "Let's go fill our water bottles and eat some cheese."

"R?kia?" Varg said, looking ahead again, to where the road twisted around an outcrop of rock and disappeared.

"She'll be back soon," Svik said. "Come on."

Varg grunted and broke into a slow jog back towards Sulich and the stream, where riders were dismounting, letting their mounts drink and squatting to splash water into their faces and refill water bottles tied to belts and saddle horns.

Varg reached the stream and untied his own water bottle, unstoppered it and raised it to his lips. Realised it was empty.

When did that happen?

Svik dismounted and led his horse to the stream, letting it drink while he rummaged in a saddle bag, pulling out a wedge of cheese wrapped in linen. He grinned at Varg.

They sat in silence beside the stream, Varg filling his water bottle and sipping at it, Svik contentedly slicing slivers of cheese and chewing. He offered some to Varg but he shook his head.

"Starving yourself to death is not going to help you put Brák Trolls-Turd in the ground," Svik said with a frown, shaking a slice of cheese at Varg. He scowled but took the cheese and chewed. His stomach growled. He had not realised how hungry he was.

Footsteps and Sulich joined them, squatting in his lamellar plate and drinking deeply from his water bottle.

"We should reach Ulaz soon," Sulich said.

"Aye," Svik agreed. He looked at the people milling at the stream, all of Sulich's Tainted kin that they had found in Jaromir's prison. They were clothed in kit taken from Jaromir's druzhina , lamellar plate, horse-hair plumed helms, curved swords and bows in cases at their hips. "Are you sure about this? Are they sure about this?"

"There is nothing for them here," Sulich shrugged. "Nothing good, anyway. If they stayed, they would be hunted down, put to the question about Jaromir's death, then killed or returned to the life of a thrall. This way they have a chance, at freedom, at life."

"Fighting a dragon?" Svik said with a raised eyebrow.

"A chance, I said," Sulich muttered. "And dying free is better than a lifetime on your knees." He scrubbed a hand across his shaved head and tugged on his long braid. "Besides, it is their choice, and that is worth more than gold to them."

"Aye," Varg grunted. He had been a thrall all his life. It was less than a year since he had slain his owner, Kolskegg the farmer, and fled his farm, and yet the memories were dimming, superseded by the bright light of the Bloodsworn. Life with them had changed everything. If only Fr?ya had been given the same chance.

"Can they fight?" Svik asked Sulich.

"Of course they can fight," Sulich said. "We are all children of Kirill, Tainted or not. Riding and bow-work began for us before we could walk."

Svik nodded. "And they will fight for Glornir? For us Bloodsworn?"

"We have just given them the gift of freedom, as Glornir gave to me," Sulich said. "They will be loyal unto death, as will I."

Svik reached out and took Sulich's wrist.

"I do not doubt it, brother."

Varg heard footsteps and looked up, realised that Svik and Sulich had not heard anything. It was his wolf-ears. He stared back up the pass and saw R?kia appear around a curve in the road. She covered the ground quickly and splashed across the stream. She was not breathing heavily, just a trickle of sweat running down her forehead and cheek giving any indication that she had been running since dawn.

"Ulaz is close," she said.

Varg ran to R?kia's left. They were well ahead of Svik and Sulich's column of Tainted riders. Varg could hear the rhythmic thud of their hooves but the sounds and scents of the seaport of Ulaz were filling his senses and overwhelming everything else. Brine, fish, rotting food, spices, the screeching of gulls and lapping of waves, and behind it all the thrum and stench of human habitation swept over him like a great wave on the whale road. And then they were turning a corner and Ulaz spread before them, Varg stuttering to a halt. They were higher than the port, the road they were on winding down through foothills to the port. Varg blinked at sunshine reflecting from countless whitewashed houses and red-tiled roofs built upon the east and west banks of a brown, sluggish river that spilled out into the sea, masts and sails bobbing on the swell and ebb of the bay. Here and there groves of green trees and pools sparkled, punctuating the endless lime-washed houses.

R?kia shifted her course and came to stand alongside him. They stood in silence awhile, Varg just staring at the immensity of Ulaz, almost overwhelmed by it. Despite the storm of sensations, though, Fr?ya returned to his head, her screams ringing through him as she was nailed to the tree.

"Grief," R?kia said, not meeting his eyes. "It gnaws at the soul."

Varg swallowed.

She turned to face him. "But it can be a weapon, too."

Varg looked at her. "You speak as if … you know?"

"Aye," R?kia nodded, her face like carved stone. "My mother, murdered before my eyes by my village, because she was Tainted." A muscle twitched in her jaw. "I ran. I can still hear her screams as I fled from them. From her."

"How old were you?" Varg asked her.

"Nine, perhaps? Maybe ten?" R?kia shrugged.

Varg reached out and touched her hand. She did not pull away.

"I used my grief, felt it turn into a white-hot rage in the forge of my soul. I hunted them all down eventually, some in groups, some one by one. Five years it took me." She sighed, her lips a thin line. "Killing them did not bring my mother back, nor did it ease the pain of her loss. But …" she leaned her head left, then right, her neck clicking. "It felt good." She looked at him. "Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"Aye," Varg nodded. "Revenge may not bring Fr?ya back – but seeing those nieings in the ground … that may bring me some peace."

Varg walked through the streets of Ulaz, the wolf in him overwhelmed by every sense. All around him was noise, street vendors shouting to sell their wares, people haggling, moneylenders sitting with their birch-bark tally sticks and strongmen behind them with clubs and dour faces. Everything that could be sold was here, and more besides. Pots of honey and mead, seal skins, walrus ivory, deer hides, beaver and fox pelts, salt in sacks, shark meat in barrels, troll tusks, trestle tables filled with jewellery carved from amber, jet and ivory, enamel pins, silver pendants, iron brooches. Weapons and armour of all description. All around him fires were burning in braziers, meat turning on iron spits, fat dripping and sizzling. And it was not just the goods for sale, it was the variations among the people. Here and there Varg saw others like him, clearly from Vigrie, looking familiar with their beards and braided hair, woollen tunics and breeches. One man with different coloured eyes and a shield slung over his back looked at Varg and looked away. But there were many others around him with shaven heads, thick braids and drooping moustaches, like Sulich, dressed in kaftans and baggy breeches, and others with clean-shaven faces, giving them the appearance of children, and others with oiled and gleaming hair and silver rings hanging from their beards, their clothes bright and dazzling. All shades of skin were swarming around him, from milk-pale to teak-dark.

They moved on, Sulich and his riders dismounting and leading their horses by the reins. The streets narrowed, the sound ebbing, the noise and scents rising to a new level as they stepped into another courtyard.

Blood. The wolf inside him growled.

People were gathered around huge pits carved into the ground, waving arms and shouting and screaming as if their village were being burned down. Varg changed his direction and elbowed through the crowd, coming to stand on the rim of one of the pits.

Two bull trolls were fighting within it, gripping each other with heads down, trying to gore one another with their tusks. They were standing almost entirely still, muscles bunched like cord, veins bulging and squirming. They were both naked apart from a woven rope tied around each one's waist, one red, one yellow.

One of the trolls managed to hook a tusk below the jawline of the other, gave a savage wrench of his neck and there was an explosion of blood, the other troll stumbling back and crashing into the pit's curved wall. The first troll raised its head and let out a deafening bellow, then ran at his injured foe.

"Stop gawping like a hooked fish," Svik said, grabbing Varg's arm, "we need to find Glornir."

They had descended quickly from the foothills beyond Ulaz and were now marching as straight a path as was possible through the maze of wide streets and open courtyards towards the docks, where they were to meet Glornir and the rest of the Bloodsworn upon the Sea-Wolf . The plan had been for Glornir to sail ahead of Sulich and his riders to have time to purchase a boat at Ulaz capable of taking horses across the whale road to Vigrie. In Jaromir's chambers at Valdai Svik had found three chests full of silver and gold, which Glornir said should be given to Sulich's Tainted kin, as some recompense for Jaromir's treatment of them. They had spoken among themselves, then found Glornir and told him they wished to travel with the Bloodsworn, if he would take their oath, to fight this dragon. They had tried to give the chests back, but Glornir had said he would use it to buy them a ship, which had made them stand taller with pride.

Svik steered Varg away from the pits and their crowds and they continued through the streets of Ulaz, the smell of brine and fish growing as they drew nearer the docks. R?kia led them to a street that followed the river and they passed a wide bridge that crossed over to the east bank. Druzhina stood guarding the bridge before a wooden gateway, allowing a heavily laden cart to cross over. Svik slowed and stared, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Varg asked him.

"There have never been gates and guards to the east bank before," Svik said quietly. "And look," he pointed at the docks on the east bank. They were bristling with hundreds of sleek-lined longships and wider-bellied transport ships.

R?kia and Sulich came to stand beside them.

"Well, they are not here for the food and good gambling at the fighting pits," R?kia said.

There was the clatter of hooves behind them and they turned to see a double column of druzhina riding down the street. A man rode at their head in gleaming lamellar plate, head shaved with a thick blond braid looped across his shoulder and a dangling blond moustache, his helm and sword hanging from his saddle.

"It is Rurik, Jaromir's brother," Sulich hissed.

"Go," Svik said, "keep your head down and get your Tainted to the docks."

"What are we going to do?" Varg asked as Sulich hurried away.

"Just watch," Svik said.

Rurik rode to the gates, and Varg saw a man riding at his side. Lean as a half-starved wolf, his head shaved, beardless, dark tattoos mapping his lower jaw, his eyes sunken in shadow. A thick iron collar bound his neck.

"Who is that?" Varg whispered.

"Rurik's rune-wielder," Svik answered. "As Jaromir had Iva. They wield Seier much like Vol." Svik nodded at the longships on the east bank. "Every longship will have its own rune-wielder, to protect them from Sjávarorm serpents and other dangers while they sail the whale road."

Varg nodded, looking back to Rurik. Druzhina rode behind him, gleaming in their coats of lamellar, curved swords and bows at their hips, spears held upright in saddle cups, the iron tips glinting like stars and the crowds in the street parted before them. Guards on the bridge shouted orders and the gates opened, Rurik and his druzhina riding onto the bridge and crossing over in a thunder of hooves.

Svik stood watching for a while as they crossed the bridge, waited until Rurik reached the far side and then he led his men north, along the bank of the river towards the eastern docks.

"Come on," Svik said eventually, and led Varg and R?kia back towards the street.

"What's going on?" Varg asked as they slipped into the crowds.

"The invasion of Vigrie seems to be much more advanced than Glornir thought," Svik said. "That fleet looks almost ready to sail."

"What shall we do?" Varg asked.

"Tell Glornir and let him worry about it," Svik answered with a smile, although it did not reach his eyes.

A man stepped through the crowd, a shield slung across his shoulder, Varg realising it was the man he had seen earlier, with the different coloured eyes. He stopped and looked at Varg and smiled, as if they were old friends.

"I've been looking for you," the man said.

Others stepped into view, drawing axes, levelling spears, some with shields in their fists, painted with a golden eye.

As the crowd in the street scattered R?kia and Svik took a step away from Varg, half turning and reaching for their weapons, then hands were grabbing Varg from behind, a bag dragged over his head. The wolf inside him howled and he felt its strength, began to struggle, ripping free from someone's grip. He heard R?kia snarl, heard a man scream.

A crunch and white lights exploded in his head, his knees buckled and he was falling.