CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE GUÐVARR

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

GUDVARR

"W hat is that?" Guevarr said to his aunt, Jarl Sigrún.

"That is the Jarnvidr, the Iron Wood," Sigrún said.

They were sitting on their mounts before a wide wooden bridge, the River Sl?gen white-spuming below them, but Guevarr's eyes were fixed upon the far bank, where a wall of trees stared sullenly back at him, the road they were following disappearing into what looked unsettlingly like a wide-open mouth. For as far as his eyes could see trees reared, north, south and west, a tangled knot of murk and gloom. The forest stood silent and brooding as a cliff, Guevarr getting the distinct feeling that things hidden within the darkness were staring at him. Just looking at it made his skin crawl. The woodland rolled away to the north, just at the edge of his vision Guevarr seeing a cluster of hills rearing out of the green-black canopy like the backs of breaching whales.

"I do not like the look of it, do not think we should go in there," he muttered.

" Like has nothing to do with it," Sigrún said grimly. "That is where our prey has gone, and we must follow."

Guevarr frowned.

"Why don't we let Krúsa lead us. Best she and her skraeling go first, in case there is an ambush."

"If there is an ambush, it will come from all sides, not just the front," Sigrún said. "We would be no safer at the rear, or anywhere else in this column. By appearing to lead we win whatever fair-fame is to be had."

If we are still alive to enjoy it.

Guevarr twisted in his saddle and looked back over his shoulder, saw Skapti sitting upon a horse, looking as relaxed as if he were out for a gentle ride, on his way to a noonday meal, despite the fact that Krúsa and her skraeling stood around him, tennúr whirring above him, and frost-spiders were clustered in the boughs and shadows behind him.

"I do not think we should trust him," Guevarr said, absently wiping a drop of moisture from his nose.

"Of course we should not trust him," Sigrún said, heaving a sigh. "That word does not exist for the likes of us, people who would be a power in this world. I have not trusted anyone since …" she frowned. "I have never trusted anyone. But if he is speaking the truth, then this is an opportunity for us. We will use this to climb higher in Lik-Rifa's graces. That is our goal, to be of value to Lik-Rifa, or to Ilska the Cruel. That is how we will survive this war, and how we shall flourish in the new world that Lik-Rifa will rule."

Aye, that is all well and good, so long as in the climbing we are not pushed from the ladder and fall to our deaths.

"But is Skapti speaking the truth?" he said.

Sigrún smiled, though there was little humour in it. "There is only one way to find out," she said, "and if he is not, we will have a fight on our hands. We have been in them before and will be in them again. This is Vigrie, after all." She shrugged, then clicked her horse on.

That is what I am worried about , Guevarr thought. He hesitated a few moments, then touched his knees to his horse's ribs and followed her. Hooves clattered on wood as they crossed the bridge, the thud of tramping feet and more hooves behind them as Sigrún's drengrs followed, then Krúsa led her skraeling across, Skapti with them.

Guevarr left the bridge and his horse carried him into the gaping mouth of the forest. Boughs wrapped above the hard- packed road, a murky shadow-light engulfing him, the sound of the river fading behind them. He twisted to look back and saw a dark stream of frost-spiders scuttling across the bridge. As the creatures entered the forest, they slipped into the foliage to left and right of the road, climbing trees and spreading through the boughs up above.

His one consolation about his travelling companions now was that, surely, they'd be a match for any other monstrous creature hidden in this forest?

The trees were thick-trunked and far taller than they had seemed from the far bank, looming over Guevarr, the canopy appearing as a night-vaulted sky far above. From the far bank of the river the forest had appeared silent but, once inside, that could not be further from the truth. There was noise everywhere. Crows squawked, the whirr of insects was all about him, foliage crackled as deer moved through the undergrowth ? or at least, he hoped it was deer ? foxes barked and shrieked. In the distance he heard wolves howl, and behind it all the wind soughed through branches, leaves rustling and branches creaking and scratching overhead, filling the forest with a swirling fluctuation of sound.

He looked at the trees suspiciously.

"They are not ash trees, are they?" he asked Sigrún.

"No. Birch and alder, mostly," Sigrún said.

Good.

Nevertheless, he watched the trees carefully as they rode deeper into the Jarnvidr.

Sigrún called out, held her hand up and the column rippled to a halt. They were standing before a fork in the road, one path leading straight on, the other curling away to the north, though within fifty paces both paths were engulfed by shadow and gloom.

"Krúsa, bring Skapti up," Sigrún called back down the line.

Her drengrs parted to let Krúsa walk through them, the skraeling's long arms dangling, Skapti following behind her. Munni the tennúr flickered in the air above him.

"Which path?" Sigrún asked Skapti.

"That one, straight on," he said without hesitation.

Sigrún looked at him, then back in the direction Skapti had pointed. She nodded.

"Ride with me," she said as she led her horse on, and Skapti drew up alongside her.

They rode in silence awhile, Guevarr peering into the darkness either side of them.

There could be anything out there, no more than ten paces away , he thought, one hand resting permanently upon the hilt of his sword.

"Guevarr tells me you were captain of the Grimholt once," Sigrún said, breaking the silence.

"I was," Skapti said.

"And that you were Prince Hakon's man."

"Aye, for a time," Skapti grunted.

"Guevarr also tells me that Skalk the Galdurman threw you in a cell in his tower."

"Aye, that he did," Skapti said.

"But now you are Skalk's messenger. You are his man now." Sigrún shifted to look at Skapti.

"I am," Skapti said, meeting her gaze and the question in her eyes. "Times change," he shrugged. "I have learned to change with them."

"Why would Skalk trust you?" Guevarr snapped. He did not like Skapti. Seeing him had reminded him of when Skapti had walked through the door of The Dead Drengr in Darl, just as Guevarr had been winning Prince Hakon's trust over a fine cooked breakfast. A stone of fear had dropped in his belly at the sight of the white-haired warrior, and he had barely evaded a painful death then and there.

"Trust me?" He shook his head. "Skalk does not trust me. I do not think he trusts anyone."

Sigrún glanced at Guevarr.

"But this was a task that needed doing, and he picked me to do it."

"Why you, then?" Guevarr said.

"I did not ask him to explain his reasoning to me," Skapti said with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps because I am expendable." He shrugged. "Perhaps because he knows I am capable. Perhaps he understands that if I want to rise in his estimations then I must perform some tasks with risks. Dangerous tasks, such as this." He glanced down at Krúsa, who walked alongside them, his gaze moving into the trees, where frost-spiders lurked.

"Huh," Guevarr grunted. "If it is so dangerous, then why did you agree to this task?"

"Because with the likes of Skalk, and most of the powers in this land, you either make yourself useful to them and obey, or you end up with your throat cut, or body broken and stuffed in a barrel."

"Huh," grunted Guevarr again.

He sounds believable, mostly because he reminds me of how I felt about Skalk, every waking hour. And what we're having to do with Lik-Rifa now.

"Why so far, then?" Guevarr asked sullenly, determined to catch Skapti out in some lie or other. "Why must we journey so far along this road?"

"You seem to think that I am the chief of their band, to know the answers to these questions," Skapti said. "I am not, that is Skalk and Estrid. Though to meet you on this side of the river is safer than meeting you back on the other side, it seems to me. You have crossed into Jarl St?rr's land, so you have no friends here."

"Well, we are on this side of the river now, so where are they?" Guevarr asked. He wanted this business done, wanted to be out of this forest and see the sky again.

Skapti looked at him and sighed. "I am thinking you are not understanding the words coming out of my mouth," he said. "I do not know where they are, or when they plan to meet you. All I know is what they told me. Follow the road into the forest. Do not stray from the road, and you will find us." He raised his hands.

A sound rang out through the forest, off to Guevarr's left. A frantic rustling of foliage, followed by a high-piercing shriek, and all along the column warriors were stopping and turning, drawing weapons. Guevarr drew his sword, staring into the murk.

"Munni," Krúsa called out and the tennúr flitted in a circle above Krúsa's head and dropped lower to hover before the skraeling. Krúsa gave a twist of her hand and the tennúr was flying into the forest, disappearing in moments.

"Be ready," Krúsa said, drawing a thick-bladed weapon of dark iron from her belt, shaped like a cleaver but bigger, and with a long, two-handed hilt.

Branches rustled and shook out of sight, the sound of another scream, followed by a thud.

"What shall we do?" Guevarr hissed to his aunt.

"Wait," she said, "do not leave the road."

I have absolutely no intentions of leaving the road.

More rustling in the darkness, something moving, a deeper shadow within shadows, and then Munni was bursting out of the canopy and gloom.

"A prisoner, a prisoner," the tennúr squeaked.

The shadow in the woods grew denser and closer. Guevarr could see clustered eyes and jointed legs, a handful of frost-spiders scurrying through the foliage towards them. They burst onto the road where the half-light revealed that they were dragging something behind them, bound around the legs and ankles with blue-tinged web. They scuttled up to Krúsa and dropped their package at her feet.

A small figure, larger than a child, smaller than a man, slender as a sapling. Its hair was a tangle of leaves, skin dark and grained like wax-polished wood, fingers unnaturally long, hooked and curled at the ends like thorns. It glared up at Krúsa with small, dark eyes.

Guevarr recognised it, had seen something like it before, in Skalk's Galdur tower.

"A faunir," he said.

There were two blue-pulsing lumps on its chest, bite marks, and as Guevarr watched he could see the skin around the wound shift from wood-brown to ice-tinged blue.

"Why capture that?" Guevarr said. "Isn't it one of you?"

Krúsa frowned up at Guevarr.

"No, not one of us," Krúsa said. "Krúsa already told you, faunir made by Snaka, not Lik-Rifa." She crouched down to stare at the faunir as ice began to froth on its lips. " Faunir not nice," she muttered.

"A … a … a … arseling," the faunir stuttered at Krúsa, small eyes glaring. "G … g … get out of my f … f … forest."

"See," Krúsa said, looking up at Guevarr and Sigrún with a big-toothed grin. "Question is, what shall Krúsa do with it?"

"Let the frost-spiders have it for a meal," Guevarr suggested.

"No, faunir blood is like sap, taste bad, kills frost-spiders."

"Ah, well, just kill it, then," Guevarr said.

"No. Where there is one faunir, there are many," Krúsa said, scowling at the darkness. "Probably watching us now. If we kill this one, they will not like it. They would attack us." She looked at Guevarr. "That would not be good," she said.

I agree wholeheartedly with you , Guevarr thought, nervously looking back into the shadows.

"Keep it as a hostage," Jarl Sigrún suggested. "And release it when we leave the Iron Wood."

"That what Krúsa thinking," the skraeling said.

"Agreed, then," Sigrún said. She barked a command to her drengrs and one of them dismounted, pulled a hand-axe from his belt, and, stepping from the road, began chopping at a slim branch on a birch tree. It was not long before the faunir was tied to the new-fashioned pole and hanging suspended between two thick-muscled skraeling.

"On," Krúsa cried out and the column stuttered into movement again, Skapti riding between Guevarr and Sigrún, the two skraeling carrying the captive faunir marching just behind them.

Wonderful , Guevarr thought. We are marching through a forest to meet with a Galdurman who has already tried to kill me and would like nothing more than to see us all dead, while I am riding beside another man who has already tried to kill me, and behind me is a nasty little creature with a host of malicious friends who would no doubt like to kill me and could attack us at any moment.

He sucked in a deep breath and blew out a long, mournful sigh.

I wish I were back in Fellur village.