CHAPTER ONE VARG

CHAPTER ONE

VARG

"A ch," Varg hissed as R?kia pierced a flap of skin hanging from his cheek with a fishhook, then stabbed into the flesh of his face and drew a line of thread through it. He felt fresh blood trickle down into his beard. "Ach," he grunted again.

"Stop complaining," R?kia muttered as she began stitching his cheek back together.

"I'm not, but it hurts," Varg said.

"Pain is an enemy. Defeat it," R?kia muttered.

Varg sighed.

A face loomed in front of him: Svik, handsome, braided beard and oiled red hair. Not looking at all like he had fought a vicious battle the day before. Svik frowned at him.

"First your ear, now your cheek. If you keep allowing people to carve pieces from your body soon there will be nothing left of you," he said.

"I didn't allow it," Varg scowled, causing R?kia's stitching to pull. He winced. She is better at stabbing than stitching.

R?kia sat back and threw her hands in the air. "This is ridiculous," she said.

"First R?kia saves your life, and now she stitches you back together. What would you do without her?" Svik continued, ignoring R?kia.

"I am in her debt," Varg agreed. Although I gained this wound because I climbed the fortress wall and leaped into a score of enemies to save R?kia. But it turned out that it was she who saved me.

"Your mail needs cleaning," Svik observed, pointing at bloodstains. "The blood will rust it."

Varg looked down at it, saw dark patches where blood had crusted. Even his silver arm ring given to him by Glornir was caked with blood.

"I've told him that," R?kia said.

"You should listen to R?kia," Svik said with a smile.

"I do." Varg said. "I will. Clean the mail, I mean."

"Do you want me to continue stitching your face back together, or is the pain too great for you?" R?kia asked mockingly.

Svik laughed.

Varg sucked in a deep breath. "Please, continue," he said.

R?kia grunted and went back to her stitching.

They were seated on a bench in the courtyard of Valdai, Prince Jaromir's fortress in Iskidan, a cloudless sky and searing sun overhead, carrion birds circling. The courtyard was stained with patches of blood, corpses piled in a heap to one side of the shattered gates. A tangle of arms, legs, faces, pale in death. Black crusted wounds like open mouths. Jaromir's druzhina , all stripped of their weapons and mail, boots and breeks, anything worth taking. Buzzards perched on limbs, their beaks red. Beyond the mound of the dead lay a line of freshly piled stone barrows running along one wall, fifteen of the Bloodsworn fallen in battle yesterday. Varg had helped dig those graves, had shed tears as stones had been piled over his comrades-in-arms. Edel still stood there, looking down at the graves. She had buried one of her hounds with the fallen, her surviving hound lying across the stones. The old huntress was weeping. Varg looked away, his gaze coming to rest upon the largest of the barrows, where Ingmar Ice had been laid. Killed by the blade of Jaromir.

"I only knew him a short while," Varg murmured to himself. "It feels … longer." Like family. Until now the only family I've ever known is my sister. His hand strayed to the pouch at his belt, where he kept a lock of Fr?ya's hair.

"When you stand in the shield wall together the bonds of kinship grow strong," Svik said, resting a hand on Varg's shoulder.

"The more you talk, the worse your scar will be," R?kia murmured, focused on her handiwork.

"Scars make you handsome," Svik said. "And irresistible to women."

R?kia snorted her contempt, making Svik grin.

Members of the Bloodsworn were sitting around the courtyard, most of them tending to wounds or to damaged kit, either repairing rents in their flesh or rents in their coats of mail, sewing, stitching, darning, greasing. Some stood on the walls and towers, standing watch.

Glornir and Vol stepped out of the doors of the feast hall, Glornir's long-axe balanced across one shoulder, his other hand protectively on the Seier-witch's arm, supporting her as she walked. Though, after having seen what she'd done to Jaromir with her powers, Varg suspected she was fully able to look after herself.

Sulich walked with them, head freshly shaved, dressed in the coat of lamellar plate that Varg had given to him, a bow case and quiver hanging from his belt. Behind him followed more than a score of people, men and women, a mixture of pale and dark-skinned. The prisoners that had been discovered in the rooms behind the feast hall.

"Are they really all Tainted children of the Great Khagan?" Varg asked.

"That is what Sulich said, and he would know, as he is one of them," Svik said.

Vol looked around the courtyard and saw Varg sitting with R?kia and Svik. She said something to Glornir, and they made their way towards them.

"Finished," R?kia said, sitting back and examining her handiwork with narrowed eyes. She tied off the gut thread and cut it with her seax. Varg gently touched the wound, the skin feeling swollen and lumpy.

"My thanks," he said .

"Huh," R?kia grunted.

Glornir nodded a greeting, his bulk casting Varg in shade.

"Chief," the three of them said.

"Vol," Svik said, "it is good to have you back."

Vol was thin, her face bruised, the Seier-tattoos on her neck blending and almost hidden by the bruising. There were red pinprick-wounds around her mouth where her lips had been stitched together. But strength emanated from her dark eyes.

"It is good to be back, Svik, good to see you, and all my brothers and sisters," she said through swollen lips, then looked to Varg. "Glornir tells me you have grown. That you are truly one of us now. I have not forgotten that I made you a promise, back in the caves of Rotta's chamber. I owe you an akáll."

"Are you strong enough?" Glornir asked.

"Tsk, I managed to eviscerate Jaromir, did I not?" Vol said.

"Aye, you did," Glornir said, a hint of pride in his voice, a rare smile twitching his lips.

Vol reached out and touched Varg's shoulder. "Is it still something you wish for? To view an akáll is no small thing. It may reveal things that are best left … unseen."

Varg's breath caught in his chest. To find out how his sister had died. It had been all that had driven him for so long. I will see Fr?ya's last moments. He had longed for this, but as he thought on it he felt a seed of dread bloom in his stomach. It was one thing to know someone was dead, another thing entirely to watch it happen, even if it was a glimpse of the past.

She is my sister. The only person I ever loved, or who ever loved me. I owe it to her.

"I must know," he said. "But only when you are healed."

Vol nodded, smiled. "I am well enough. Tonight, then."

"Tonight," Varg echoed.

"Your mail needs scouring," Glornir grunted at Varg, frowning at the bloodstained patches. "Else it will rust."

"We've told him," Sulich said.

"I will do it soon," Varg promised.

Vol reached down and put her hand to a blackened iron ring hanging at her belt, two keys hanging from it.

"Where are they?"

"In the tower," Glornir said, waving a hand to one of the gate towers. Two of the Bloodsworn stood before the tower door.

Vol began walking to the tower, Glornir a step behind her.

"Come on," Svik said as he set off after them. R?kia shared a look with Varg, shrugged and they both followed them.

"Chief," the guards said, Glornir nodding, and they opened the door for him. He paused a moment, looking back at Vol.

"You are sure about this?" Glornir said to her.

"Yes," Vol said. "They were thralled to Jaromir, compelled by him. I travelled with them; they were not his willing servants, they are not our enemy." She stroked his cheek. "Trust me."

Glornir entered the tower, Vol behind, and Svik a few paces behind her. Varg quickened his pace to slip in through the door before other Bloodsworn crowded it.

A shaft of daylight from a high window pierced the room, and Varg blinked, allowed the wolf in his blood to filter through him, sight and senses abruptly sharper. The air reeked of blood and sweat.

They were in a square chamber, a staircase at one end leading up to the walkway on the wall. More Bloodsworn sat on chairs, playing a game of knucklebone. Two figures sat inside a pen in the middle of the room, a shaven-haired woman lying on a bed of straw, and a black-skinned, hulking man sitting close to her, frowning at Vol and Glornir. Both were bound with rope, thrall-collars about their necks.

"Leave Iva alone," the bull-man said, his voice a rumble like distant thunder. Blood-caked bandages wrapped his neck and head, from where Ingmar Ice had stabbed and clubbed him with a broken spear shaft. It had taken the combined effort of Ingmar, R?kia, Svik and him to knock the Tainted thrall out. Varg had never seen a strength like it.

"Taras," Vol said gently, stepping forwards, "I have come to help Iva." She paused. "And you, too, if you will allow me."

"Help?" Taras frowned. "Help Iva, not hurt her?" He looked worriedly at the woman lying on the straw. Her head was shaved to stubble, her tunic removed, bandages wrapped around her back and chest. Tattoos curled and writhed across her arms, her torso and up her neck, along her jawline. She was pale, a sheen of sweat covering her, red blooms on the bandages where she had been pierced by Sulich's arrows. Taras laid a thick-muscled arm protectively across her and squeezed her hand.

"What?" Iva muttered, her eyes opening. She lifted her head, looked up at Vol and Glornir.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice a rattling whisper.

"A fight," Taras said.

"I have worked that out for myself," Iva grimaced. She tried to sit up and winced.

"We lost," Taras said morosely.

"I have guessed that, as well."

"Jaromir is dead, with all his druzhina ," Vol said. "Valdai is ours now."

"Jaromir dead?" Taras rumbled. Slowly a smile spread across his face.

"You should leave," Iva said. "Before Rurik arrives."

"Rurik?" Varg whispered to Svik.

"Jaromir's brother. By all accounts another arseling," Svik whispered back.

"I found these on Jaromir's corpse," Vol said, and held up the iron ring with two keys. "The keys to your collars." She crouched down and put one of them into the lock of Iva's thrall-collar, turned it and pulled the collar away. Then she did the same for Taras. She nodded to the ropes binding them and Glornir drew his seax and gave it to Vol. Taras tensed.

"Trust me," Vol said.

"That is no easy task," Iva breathed, but she laid a hand on Taras' arm, and he nodded.

Vol leaned over and sliced their bonds, then stood.

"You are both free now."

"Free?" Taras said slowly, the word rolling from his tongue as if he was tasting unknown food. He frowned. "What do we do, Iva?" he asked the Seier-witch.

"I … don't know," Iva said. "I have never been free, before."

"You should stay here and recover, until you are able to travel," Vol said. "There is food and water. Once you are well, go where you wish. I only ask one thing: that you never stand against us again."

"You have my word on that," Iva said, a hand going to her wounds.

"No more fight you. Taras promise," the bull-man said.

"Good," Vol said.

"We will bring you food and drink. But Iva, Taras, know that you do not have to stay in here. You are not our prisoners."

"Taras stay with Iva," Taras said.

"I would like to see the sun and feel the air," Iva said.

Taras effortlessly scooped Iva up in his arms as Vol turned and left the tower, Glornir and the other Bloodsworn following her.

They stepped out into the sun, Taras following with Iva in his arms. She squinted up at the sky and smiled.

"Free," she breathed. Then she focused on something high above them, a frown creasing her face.

"Ware the skies," one of the guards on the wall called out and they all looked up.

Varg saw two shapes in the sky, circling high above and growing larger as they descended. From this distance they seemed small, but then Varg saw the silhouettes of the circling buzzards in the sky and realised that something was wrong. These birds were bigger. Much bigger.

Sulich pulled his bow from his bow case and deftly strung it, nocked an arrow and drew.

"Hold," Glornir growled.

The two birds swept lower, the closer they came the more apparent it was that they were far from normal birds. Varg realised they were two giant ravens, squawking loudly. Dust stirred from the turbulence of their wings.

Varg became aware that there were recognisable words amidst their squawking.

"Bloodsworn," the crows squawked. "We seek the Bloodsworn."

Glornir cupped his hands to his mouth.

"We are the Bloodsworn," he called out.

The two giant ravens swept lower, clouds of dust swirling, Varg and the others stepping hurriedly out of the way, and then the birds were alighting in the courtyard. One squawked and began preening its feathers.

"Glornir," the other raven croaked.

Glornir stepped forwards.

"I am Glornir," he said.

A tennúr jumped from the back of the raven, its wings snapping open to break its fall, alighting weightlessly on the ground. A bag hung from a belt at its waist and Varg recognised the creature. From the Grimholt, Orka's companion.

"I am Vesli," the creature said. "I have travelled long time to find you. I bring a message from mistress Orka."

Glornir waited and a silence fell. "We have searched very far for you. Vesli is cold, tired and …" The tennúr seemed distracted by the pile of corpses. She licked her lips. "… hungry."

Varg winced.

"Well, what is Orka's message?" Glornir said into the silence.

"Oh, ah, yes," the tennúr said tearing her eyes away from the bodies. "Mistress Orka says Elvar Fire-Fist of the Battle-Grim wishes to hire the Bloodsworn."

"What for?" Svik called out.

The tennúr gave a sharp-toothed grin.

"To slay a dragon."