CHAPTER TWENTY GUÐVARR

CHAPTER TWENTY

GUDVARR

A m I a … coward? Guevarr thought to himself. He was thinking of how he had fled from the Froa-spirit in the glade, of how he had fled from Orka at the Grimholt, of how he had fled from Skapti and Hrolf at The Dead Drengr , and a voice in his thought-cage that refused to stay silent was telling him that he was a nieing coward.

But think what I have been through. Tricked and used by Skalk the deceiver. I hate that man. Memories of being strapped to a table in Skalk's Galdur tower floated up, of the terror he had felt as the hyrndur alighted upon his forearm, of the pain he had felt as it began to gnaw its way into his flesh. And because of him I had to go in search of a dragon and seek a way to bargain with her. He shivered, remembering the cold of the north, of the frost-spiders' venom, of their webs wrapped around him. Of Lik-Rifa bursting through the doors of Nastrandir in all her bowel-churning, terror-inducing glory.

And yet I have survived. I am here, I have faced my enemies and outwitted them. Many are dead now, while I still draw breath. Queen Helka, Prince Hakon the nieing …

He felt a smile stretch across his face at the thought of Hakon, and the expression on the prince's face when he'd realised that Guevarr had tricked him, had got the better of him.

No, I am no nieing coward. On the contrary, I am clever and brave.

A branch snapped overhead and he jumped and flinched in his saddle, looked up to see a frost-spider staring down at him with many eyes. He urged his horse on a little faster. Shifted his backside in his saddle, trying to ease the aching in his arse.

I hate travelling, I wish we could just catch up with Estrid and have this over and done with.

They were still travelling through dense woodland, every now and then passing through a clearing and glimpsing the River Sl?gen growing ever closer. Up ahead Krúsa splashed through a stream that crossed their path. She slowed, stopped, raised a hand and called out something unintelligible, no doubt in her own disgusting tongue. The skraeling slowed and stopped, and Jarl Sigrún looked at Guevarr.

"Time to make camp," she said.

"Why is she leading this crew," Guevarr said. "I'm not inclined to take orders from vaesen."

"It's a new world," Sigrún shrugged. "We are here, we are being useful to the future ruler of all Vigrie. There are worse paths we could have walked down."

"True enough," Guevarr muttered, remembering Skalk and the hyrndur he had set to burrowing into Guevarr's chest.

They stopped and dismounted, led the horses to the stream and let them drink while they unbuckled girths and removed saddles. Hobbled the horses, scratched out fire pits in the earth, fetched kindling and wood for burning, water for pots. It was dark as pitch pine when Guevarr sat down around a fire pit with Sigrún and a handful of her drengrs .

"Why did Estrid not get on a longship and sail away from Darl?" he asked his aunt. "It would have been much quicker, if they were heading for Snakavik they could have been there in seven or eight days."

"True enough," Sigrún said, nodding thoughtfully. "Perhaps they remembered Lik-Rifa descending upon Darl from the sky. Once you are on a ship there is no cover; you are open to attack from above. The path they have taken, they have travelled through woodland wherever possible, used every patch of cover the land has to offer, that rivers and the sea do not."

Guevarr nodded at that, liking the way his aunt could answer his questions. He took a slurp from a bowl of beef and turnip stew and Krúsa shambled up, pushed her way between Guevarr and Sigrún, squatted on her haunches and held her hands up to the fire.

"I like fire," the skraeling grunted.

Guevarr wasn't sure what to make of that, but he found something unsettling about the way she said it.

"We are close to catching our prey," Krúsa said, rubbing her hands together.

"How do you know?" Guevarr asked.

"Munni has spotted them."

"Munni?" Sigrún asked.

A whirring of wings and a tennúr alighted upon Krúsa's shoulder.

"Munni," the skraeling said. "Tell them what you told me."

"Munni see group of filthy Maeur , and wolf-bloods with collars of iron," the tennúr said. "That way." It pointed into the darkness, vaguely west, Guevarr thought, and the tennúr smiled, its mouth far too large for its face, revealing two rows of teeth, the first small and needle-sharp, the second row wide and flat, like grindstones.

" Maeur? What are Maeur ?" Sigrún asked.

"Humans, people, like you," Krúsa said.

Guevarr scowled at that.

This vaesen dares call us filthy! he thought, feeling insulted. He wiped at his nose, his hand coming away wet.

"How far ahead?" Sigrún asked the tennúr.

"A day, maybe less," Munni said. "Should catch them before big river."

"The Sl?gen," Sigrún said.

"Aye," Krúsa nodded. "Good Munni," she said. She took something from a pouch at her belt that looked suspiciously like a tooth, threw it into the air and Munni caught it and popped it into his mouth. Crunched down hard, the sound of something cracking. Then sat there contentedly grinding and crunching at whatever was between his teeth.

"How many of them?" Guevarr asked Munni.

The vaesen frowned, then held up both hands, fingers splayed. Guevarr saw it had five long fingers and one stunted thumb, all with nasty looking claws for nails. It closed and opened its hands three times.

"Thirty-six, then," Guevarr said.

Thirty-six! Including úlfhéenar , a Galdurman and drengrs .

He looked at the company he was in.

And I have to rely on vaesen!

He tried not to let the worry show on his face.

I wish we could just travel forever, and not actually catch up with them. Travelling isn't so bad.

"Maybe," Munni shrugged. "Maybe more, maybe less. Munni not good with numbers."

"Maybe more," Guevarr echoed.

Wonderful .

"Munni did good," Krúsa said and fished out another tooth, tossed it in the air and Munni caught it with a long-fingered hand. "We will catch them soon, maybe tomorrow," Krúsa said to Sigrún, then stood and walked away, the tennúr still sitting on her shoulder.

Guevarr was silent a while, listening to Krúsa's footsteps fade. He leaned close to his aunt.

"What's our plan?" he whispered. He doubted that Krúsa could hear him, but he was not sure how good a skraeling's hearing was, so wanted to be careful.

"Catch Estrid and Skalk," Sigrún shrugged. "But, more importantly, stay alive."

"That's the bit I'm worried about," Guevarr whispered. "These aren't just any old people we are chasing. There is at least one Galdurman, possibly more if Sturla or any of Skalk's apprentices fled with him. Estrid is a nasty bitch who knows how to use a sword, I can tell you." I can vouch for that; she nearly carved a hole in me. "And they have quite a few úlfhéenar with them. I've seen them at work, and one is bad enough." He thought of the carnage Orka had wreaked at the Grimholt, remembered the screams, the piles of the dead. He shook his head.

"It's not pretty," he muttered, trying to suppress a sensation in his chest and throat that felt suspiciously like a sob trying to escape.

"We have my thirty drengrs , another forty or so skraeling, and I don't know how many frost-spiders and tennúr," Sigrún said. "We will outnumber them."

"But we are not Tainted, do not have the power of gods in our veins. And I do not like relying on vaesen when my life is at stake."

"I agree," Sigrún said, leaning close to Guevarr.

"But, if Krúsa wants to be in charge, she can be. She can lead us into this, be the first to take the brunt of their Galdur-power and Tainted half-people. If anything goes wrong, then she will be the one that suffers. We can hang back and let her and her kind do the hard work."

"I like it," Guevarr nodded, a slow smile stretching across his face.

"You should lead us, today," Krúsa said to Jarl Sigrún as Guevarr tightened and buckled the girth on his saddle.

"What did you say!" he squeaked as he stood straight.

"You lead us today," Krúsa said. "Krúsa know you have much to prove to my Mother-Maker, that you want to return to her with glory." The skraeling shrugged. "Krúsa not care about glory. You lead." She smiled at them, as if she were giving them the greatest gift.

"No," Guevarr said, desperately. "You have led us to here, you can carry on leading."

"Ah, Maeur -boy kind," Krúsa said, and patted Guevarr's cheek. "But no. Krúsa has made decision. You lead," and she turned and walked away, Guevarr's mouth moving but nothing coming out. He just stared at his aunt. She shrugged.

"We will lead," she said, walking towards her horse. He hurried after her.

"What shall we do?" he asked her.

"Be careful and sharpen our blades."

Guevarr sat on his horse, his head twitching left and right at every sound. They had passed through the woodland onto open heaths, the land undulating and wind-blasted, but despite the cold wind gnawing at his bones he had been pleased, because there was no sign of Galdurmen or úlfhéenar , and so no chance of battle and death, and the open heath meant no chance of nasty surprises, like ambushes, or Froa-spirits. But then they had seen the bright smear of the River Sl?gen in the distance and Guevarr had remembered his aunt's words, that if Estrid crossed the river then she would be in Jarl St?rr's land, and they would have to follow her there, with enemies all around. Before the river stood another thick swathe of woodland, far denser than the open woodland they had passed through earlier. And now they were riding along a narrow path, trees and bushes tight on either side, everything bathed in a half-light. Jarl Sigrún rode ahead of him, the path only wide enough for one horse at a time. Above him he could hear the scuttling legs of frost-spiders, but it did not reassure him.

The perfect place for an ambush , Guevarr thought.

Crows squawked and he jumped in his saddle.

"Nephew," Jarl Sigrún looked back over her saddle and said to him, frowning.

"Aye, aunt," he muttered.

"You must master your fear. You are spooking the horses."

"Fear? I feel no fear!" he snapped, though his voice came out higher in pitch than he would have liked.

Jarl Sigrún just looked at him, then looked ahead.

Master my fear, master my fear , he repeated to himself. I am Guevarr, drengr , survivor, cunning and brave.

Well, I'm alive, which is saying a lot considering what I've been through. And now I am on a task set by a god. I must have some qualities to have brought me this far.

He thought on that a while, and slowly began to feel a little better for it.

We have had to slow down so much to get through this snarl of forest, Estrid, Skalk and their band of murderers must be far from here by now. Confusingly, that thought made him feel both relieved and also worried.

The path ahead opened into a glade, wide enough for three or four horses abreast, and Guevarr felt a worm of fear squirm in his belly. He looked suspiciously around, searching for an ash tree, and blew out a long sigh of relief when all he saw was a pile of boulders at the glade's far end. He drew abreast with Sigrún as her drengrs spilled into the glade behind them.

"I am worried that Estrid and the others are bound to have reached the river by now," he said to her. "Do you think we should speed up."

A figure stepped out from behind the boulders at the far end of the glade. Guevarr dragged on his reins and reached for his sword, half drew it from its scabbard. Then he frowned, eyes narrowing.

The man who had stepped from behind the boulder was dressed in mail, an axe at his belt and a shield slung across his back. He had thinning hair, a white beard and a scar running through a bulbous nose. And Guevarr recognised him.

"Skapti," he said with a scowl, urging his horse closer to the man.

"Guevarr," Skapti nodded amicably. "Still alive, I see."

Sigrún and her drengrs spread in a line and approached Skapti, weapons held ready. Sigrún barked an order and warriors moved to the edge of the glade, searching the treeline.

"I'm alone," Skapti said.

Krúsa and her skraeling entered the glade, and frost-spiders crept through the foliage at the glade's edge.

"What are you doing here?" Guevarr said, riding slowly up to Skapti and levelling his sword at the old warrior.

"I have a proposition for you," Skapti said, "and an offer."

"What could you possibly have that we would want?" Guevarr said.

"Information," Skapti said and shrugged. "Knowledge is power."