CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX VARG

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

VARG

V arg stood on the walkway over the bridge gate and looked out at Lik-Rifa tearing trees from the Iron Wood like so much kindling. Varg had seen her appear, wings beating, raising her up above the forest canopy, and then she was plunging down again, disappearing, wood splitting and cracking. The sight of her had filled him with awe and fear, and the wolf in his blood snapped and snarled, hackles raised.

The dragon roared, setting the world to shaking, but Varg could also hear other sounds, people shouting, screaming, and other, ethereal, inhuman voices, shrieking in horror and rage, in pain and terror.

"She is killing the Froa," Vol said, a tremor in her voice.

"We must stop her," Iva hissed.

"How? We cannot go out there."

"Poor trees," Taras murmured.

The roaring and tree-splitting continued for a while, all on the gate and embankments staring on in silence, and finally, slowly, the sounds of destruction faded, and Varg heard the rhythmic chopping of wood resume, began to see movement within the trees, shadowed forms.

Out of habit he checked his weapons. His shield and spear were leaning against the wall in front of him, his spectacle helm buckled and hanging at his belt. He half drew his seax in its scabbard, brushed the poll of his hand-axe, and felt for the hilt of his cleaver.

"Soon, No-Sense," R?kia said beside him.

He felt the tension in the air, felt the fear and thrill that came with the threat of violence, with the promise of battle, as he had felt it many times before. But this day was different. This day he was free. He looked at the Bloodsworn around him, R?kia and Svik either side of him, at Sulich and his archers spread along the wall, at Glornir beside Vol, Orka with Breca, the tennúr Vesli perched on the battlements. As he looked at them he saw Vesli wrap her slim arms around Breca and hug him tight, kiss his cheek. Orka's own small crew were about them, Gunnar, Halja, Lif and S?unn. Elvar stood with Grend at her side, broad and solid as a cliff in his mail, axe at his belt. A handful of Berserkir spread around her, all without their iron collars.

All of us Tainted, all of us, free. It felt incredible, breathtaking, surreal.

Elvar, you have changed the world.

He looked at the horde mustering beyond the river.

Though perhaps only for a day. You have given us something to fight for, something other than revenge.

There was movement on the far bank, people emerging from the treeline. Groups of warriors carrying wide rafts bound with knotted rope between them, taking them down to the river's edge. Others emerging from the trees with rough-hewn ladders tied with twine. Hundreds of people, clothed in mail, shields on their backs, spears in their fists, steel hanging from their weapons belts. Varg saw many sigils on shields. The dragon of Lik-Rifa's cultists, a black raven on a grey field marking Ilska the Cruel's Raven-Feeders, a clenched fist, an open sail, crossed axes, and then Varg saw a shield he recognised, a golden scrollwork eye upon it.

He hissed and nudged Svik, pointed.

"Ah, the arselings Leif Kolskeggson and Sterkur death-in-the-eye," Svik said.

"So, the nieings got away from Ulaz, then," R?kia said.

"I am glad," Svik said. "I owe Sterkur a red death."

"And I owe Leif," Varg growled.

The far embankment was seething with movement now, Varg seeing shapes that were obviously not human among the various warbands of warriors. Great clusters of skraeling with their long-limbed, thick-muscled gaits, rusted mail and crude iron weapons, the bulk of trolls lurking in the shadowed eaves of the forest. Things with many legs scuttled through branches, and tennúr flitted in swirling flocks in and out of the treeline. More people and creatures than Varg had ever seen gathered in one place. The sight of the frost-spiders made his skin crawl. He heard Svik chuckling beside him.

"What is so funny," Varg asked him.

"Look how happy she is," Svik said, nodding at R?kia, and he was right: R?kia had a smile on her face. "Never has she had so many enemies to kill."

"It will be a red day," R?kia said.

Voices and footsteps behind them and Varg looked back behind the gates. Half of the Bloodsworn were down there, Einar with them, along with many other warbands, all of them held in reserve for the wall. A group of warriors were passing through them, heading for one of the stairwells at the gate tower. The sides of their heads were shaven, the long hair on top braided. Varg had seen them before, though this was the first time without their collars of iron. Helka's úlfhéenar , passed on to Estrid at Helka's death. A warrior Varg recognised led them up the stairwell, Frek, the man who had sailed with the Bloodsworn to Liga as Prince Hakon's guard. He called out to Elvar, and she turned, greeted him and all those behind him.

"We would swear our oaths to you, Jarl Elvar," Frek said.

"You are úlfhéenar , would you not feel better swearing your oath to your wolf-god?" she said. "You are free to do so."

" You set us free, not Ulfrir," Frek said.

Elvar nodded at that. "I will gladly receive your oaths," she said.

"And we would tell you something of import," Frek said. "Estrid and Skalk have been meeting with messengers of Lik-Rifa, sending them information. They were part of the plot against you, with Broeir and Runa Red-Axe. Hjalmar Peacemaker was with them."

Elvar looked at them, her face hard and cold. Grend beside her made to step past her.

"Where are you going?" Elvar asked him, putting a hand on his wrist.

"To find them," Grend grunted.

"We have already searched, they are gone," Frek said. "We meant to bring them to you, some small measure of thanks for the gift you have given us. But by the time we had discussed it and agreed," he raised his hands, "they had fled."

Elvar looked to Gytha. "Search all of Wolfdales, we do not want them hiding in some dark corner causing trouble."

"Yes, my jarl," Gytha said and called out orders, drengrs held in the reserve behind the gates turning and heading back towards the great hall.

"You are welcome to fight with us then," Elvar said to Frek. She gestured to the wall.

"Wait in the reserve, here at the wall or on either embankment, and go where you are needed."

"My jarl," Frek said, dipping his head to Elvar.

Horns blew from the other side of the river and Varg turned to see three figures emerging from the swell of bodies on the far embankment, walking along the road and onto the bridge. Varg heard Orka growl, a low tremor at the edge of hearing, and guessed that one of them was Drekr. A dark-haired man, tall and broad, mail-clad with a long-axe in his fist, a raven-feather tied in his hair and white scars like claw marks down one side of his face. He bore fresher, scabbed wounds as well. Beside him a man walked who was taller than Drekr, though slimmer. His brown hair was braided and pinned, a short beard oiled and gleaming, dark eyes bright with intelligence, face long and handsome. He wore a gilded brynja and had a seax at his belt. On his other side a woman strode, mail-clad, dark, grey-streaked hair braided and pinned at the nape, a raven-feather tied in it. Her face was all sharp lines, hard and cold as winter, a sword and seax at her weapons belt.

"Ilska," Varg heard Elvar snarl.

"Cold, isn't it," the tall man said conversationally when he came close to the wall. He stood and looked at the line of faces peering down at him and stamped his feet against the chill.

"Where is my brother, then?" he asked good-naturedly, the edges of a smile hovering on his lips.

"To know your brother, I must know who you are," Elvar said. "And as you appear wholly unmemorable, you will have to give me your name."

The tall man laughed at that, seemed genuinely amused.

"I am Rotta, cleverest and most handsome of the gods," he said, giving her a deep bow. "I am guessing you are Elvar, who leads this rabble." He peered more intently at her. "Yes, from Biórr's description you are definitely Elvar."

Varg saw Elvar blink at that, a flicker of emotion that rippled across her face and was gone.

"You see, I knew it," Rotta said, another smile.

"You are Lik-Rifa's messenger, then," Elvar said. "And where is she?"

"Lik-Rifa is as far above you as you are above an ant," Rotta said. "She does not converse with ants."

"But you do," Elvar said.

"I love all creatures that my father created," Rotta said, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. "Though sometimes I wonder why he bothered." His eyes flickered along the wall, and he saw Orka.

"Ah, so you found your way here, then. Good. It will save me having to hunt you down once this is done."

Orka just stared at him.

"I believe you have met Drekr, the man who slew your husband," Rotta said, really grinning now.

"I shall meet him one more time," Orka said, her voice hard as iron.

"Today I will kill you, and your son, too," Drekr growled at her.

"Hard words break no bones," Svik called down at him.

Rotta looked at Svik. "You appear to have made some friends, Orka. A shame that they shall all be dead before the day is done."

"Do you have anything of worth to say?" Elvar said. "Your words are starting to drone in my ears like the buzzing of a fly."

"I like you," Rotta said with another grin, "and I am feeling uncommonly kind-hearted today. I am here to offer you your lives, and your freedom."

"Generous of you," Elvar said. "Which is why you have marched a war-host to my door."

"Not your door," Rotta said, "my brother's. And, yes, it is a generous offer, one of my many failings." He shrugged. "Give me the wolf, and you may go free."

"Ulfrir is not mine to give," Elvar said.

"Ah, and I thought better of you," Rotta said. "This is no time for lies among friends. All Vigrie knows that you are the one who thralled the wolf-god."

"I did," Elvar said. "And now I have set him free."

Rotta's expression shifted, his smile wavering, just for a moment.

"Either you lie, or you are a fool. For your sake and all those who follow you I hope you are lying. You are familiar with the expression a wolf among sheep?"

"I have set Ulfrir free, and all the Tainted, too. This is a new world, and we shall rid it of gods who would rule us all."

"Oh no, you are a zealot," Rotta sighed. "You do not look like one, but looks can be deceiving." He shook his head. "Well, I can see that this is pointless, there is no getting through to zealots. But do not say I did not try to help you. Ilska, Drekr, come," he said and turned away. With one last glower at Orka, Drekr followed him, but Ilska stayed where she was, staring up at Orka.

"This is your last day," she said, looking up hard and cold at Orka. "Once this begins, I shall find you, and end you. For Myrk." Then she was turning and striding away. As they reached the embankment Rotta raised his arms and horns blew out, loud and strong. The war-host lurched into motion.

Varg watched them come forwards. On the riverbanks rafts were dragged to the water, thirty, forty rafts, more of them emerging from the treeline, skraeling and dragon-cultists clambering onto them with crude-carved oars. On the road warriors holding ladders appeared, other warriors flanking around them, holding shields high. They reached the bridge, six wedges fitting onto the bridge, more forming up behind them, an endless procession filling the embankment, and on the riverbanks the rafts were pushing off, oars slapping into the water, skraeling spitting and snarling as they drew nearer to this side of the river, eyes fixed on warriors standing on the palisade walls.

"This is it, then," Svik said. Varg slipped his n?lbinding cap onto his head, then took his spectacle helm from his belt and buckled it on tight, shook the mail neck guard across his shoulders. He remembered J?kul and his ritual of taking a handful of earth and rubbing it between his hands, remembered Tjorvi and Vali Horse-Breath and Ingmar Ice and all the Bloodsworn who had fallen since he had joined them. And he remembered Fr?ya, his sister, stabbed and pinned to a tree by Brák Trolls-Bane.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him, and he was looking at R?kia, her helm buckled on, eyes wolf-touched and fierce.

"Stay alive, Varg No-Sense," she growled at him and gently butted her helm against his, soft as a kiss, then she was turning and hefting her shield and spear, and the warriors surging towards them were roaring.

"Nock," Sulich cried out and all along the gate-wall his druzhina warriors nocked arrows to their bows.

"Draw and loose," he yelled, and arrows were hissing and buzzing through the air. The splatter-ripple of arrows piercing shields, finding gaps and piercing flesh, punctuated by screams.

Along the far embankment voices cried out, Seier-words ringing, and runes crackled to life, blue and red flames and they were spinning slowly through the air, arcing high over the bridge and gathering speed, curling down towards Varg and those on the wall.

" Guesblóe, " Vol called out, runes sparking to life before her.

" Rúnakraftur, " Uspa yelled, more runes crackling into existence.

" Fornar háttur, " Iva chanted, and fresh runes flared.

" Verndar okkur nú. Eldur, logi og ís, verndar okkur núna, " they all cried in unison, and their runes merged, hissing and crackling, spreading high above and along the bridge, over the heads of Varg and all those standing upon the bridge palisade.

The enemy runes crashed into them, and both exploded in a fountain of red and blue, Varg feeling heat as they showered over him, melting into his mail. And then the ladders were at the gate. Taras let out a great roar, picking up a rock the size of a skull and hurling it over the wall, Varg seeing it shatter a shield, the warrior beneath stumbling, dropping to the ground. A spear was thrown through the gap and the warrior toppled with a scream. Arrows rained down, rattling like hail, more rocks were thrown, and spears were hurled.

Roars to the left and right and Varg caught a snatched glimpse of the rafts reaching the riverbank, of warriors and skraeling bellowing as they surged onto the bank and down into the ditch, clawing their way up the earthwork embankment. People were falling, pierced with arrows, spears. A ladder slammed onto the wall immediately in front of Varg, two, four, five more thudding along the top of the palisade, and he glimpsed more shield-guarded ladders being carried onto the bridge. And then it was spear-work as bodies climbed the ladders. Faces appeared, helmed and snarling, lashing out with axe or seax. Varg took an axe blow on his shield, stabbed his spear into a face and the man fell away, screaming, replaced by another. A seax stabbed at him and he batted it aside with his spear shaft, slammed the iron boss of his shield into this warrior's mouth, a spray of teeth and blood as the warrior reeled back, one hand still clinging to the ladder, Varg stabbing with his spear, raking it across the warrior's hand and severed fingers spun away, the warrior disappearing with a shriek, blood spurting from his ruined hand. Either side of him Svik and R?kia stabbed and hacked, mists of blood exploding, the whole world becoming a snarling, grunting, blood-soaked haze. Spears were hurled up at them from the bridge, some hissing overhead, some thumping into the linden-wood of shields, the wet-slap of others piercing flesh. Screams along the wall, the crash of bodies falling to the ground behind the gates. Another face reared from a ladder, a fair-haired woman hacking at Varg with a hand-axe. He took the blow on the boss of his shield, a clang that shivered up his arm, and he stabbed with his spear, the blade bursting through mail links and on, grating through ribs deep into the warrior's chest. She fell away and he tried to rip his spear free, felt it snag on bone and was dragged slamming into the wall with a grunt. He let go of his spear rather than be dragged over the wall, drew his hand-axe and hooked the beard of the blade around the ladder shaft, dragged it to his right, heaving at the weight of bodies climbing the ladder, and it toppled sideways, slowly building momentum until it crashed into the next ladder, splintering it and both of them fell away, the people climbing it shrieking, jumping clear.

"Good thinking for a man with no sense," Svik gasped at him, and then the next ladder was slamming against the wall.