The Wolf Hammer, page 17
part #1 of Odin's Bastard Series
He thought I would aid him. I had promised. But I had not gone to meet him.
He would expect me to.
I closed my eyes. They would kill us in the keep.
Unless.
Unless I used the hammer. Might have to.
He would get what was coming. Rage seemed to twitch in my belly.
I watched the High King, as the Graymoor’s own ship was mooring, the planks and ropes in place.
Beaten. Shamed? By Yggra? And under Tarl’s protection?
I would know all that night. I was sure of it.
Ajax was chuckling.
“Look at them. Who will marry him, who shalt it be?” Ajax murmured. “The great king, the murdering shit, needs murderous children, eh?”
“Aye,” Shian said.
“Vittar, pushing his petite daughters his way,” Ajax said. “Like slaves.”
Rikas, wearing a gown with chain and silks, red and black, was smiling. Her sister, pale but just as pretty, was by her side, and the High King was smiling at everyone.
“And Graymoor with his,” he chuckled. “Naera.”
He wanted an eastern wife. Possibly. It would make things easier. Naera.
“He is not a bad commander,” said Ajax, surprising us by praising the bastard, High King. “He did well in war with the south Verdant Lands. He led men adeptly, and wisely. He is remaking the land and the armies. They say there will be twenty kings, and each will provide a legion of at least five thousand men to the High Crown. It is not a small number. Some will provide ships and marines, like Aten, and others will provide horses, like Harrian, but most will wear the same armor. He is really preparing Midgard for war. Though, perhaps, against themselves.”
“There, Graymoor’s sons,” Shian said, leaning on the standard on the deck, watching the men on the harbor. “They are finally here.”
I grunted. The two blond men were strapping youths, with long faces like their father. I remembered them from the night father had gone to war. Then I saw the fork-bearded man himself from the east.
Graymoor had joined Reignhelm.
He had killed my family.
My father’s jarl, now King.
Kings and queens were springing up everywhere, and the High King sat over the lot, no longer a regent of Odin.
And Odin, he was watching.
I was still sure of it. Unable or willing to avenge my family, he was looking at me.
The High King spread his arms and spoke as Graymoor walked down from the ship. “By the grace of Odin, the One Eye, the All-Father, and by his power,” called out Reignhelm, as Graymoor stepped to the pier, “I welcome you, vassal.”
He was announcing his superiority over the great man to the people around the captured Harbor Town of White Towers.
The tall, dark man with a forked beard, firm and flexible arms and plate chest of black with golden flowers was nodding. He stopped to stand still on the pier, as the High King sat on a horse not far.
The man hesitated, unhappy with the fact he stood where the High King was seated above him, and the Exiles observed him with spite.
Graymoor’s son waved his hand.
Graymoor’s guard—red-plumed and powerful, the eastern king’s grim warriors—marched down from the ship. The newly built force was great enough to look richer than all others on the pier, even the wide helmeted men of the High King. Their gear was black plate and chain, golden trimmings and flowers, and long, wide-bladed axes with silvery hilts. They looked splendid with their braided beards.
Where he had found the gold to build this force, and the terribly strong navy that was in the harbor, was not a mystery.
He had found my, our family’s, coin and was extorting the other eastern jarls.
The sight caused most men to be silent, though Reignhelm, if it bothered him to see a force of men more splendid than his, didn’t show it.
Graymoor’s twin sons, Alar and Agon, were walking casually down the causeway too, eyeing Aten’s new king and the Vittar noble house, standing morosely nearby.
The war with the east might have stopped in Lorin’s flowery fields, but the hate was still there, and especially the elves made the eastern guards twitch with anger.
The hate would always remain, even if those men had betrayed my father as well.
Each man held a hand over a sword’s hilt as they eyed Naergoth.
The ships held at least four thousand men, ready for war, likely for going to war against the north, the land just across the Arrow Straits, if the siege was fast enough and winter was not too near. The High King was there to unite us all under the banner of the Eye, and he tried. He was the only man smiling on that field.
“The great East, and great West,” called out Reignhelm, “will fight on one side for once, and for all. Hail Jarl…King Graymoor!”
The mistake had been deliberate.
I was sure of it.
The twins of Graymoor twitched with anger. You could see it. A tiny woman hopped out of the ship, smiling like a child with a sugary treat, and walked to stand near Graymoor. Naera.
I watched her.
His daughter.
Graymoor watched her very fondly for a moment.
“He loves them greatly,” Borin said gruffly.
“He does,” Shian said nervously.
“Certainly, more than he loved the East,” I said gruffly.
I looked at the city itself. The harbor had held the White Tower safe, and even my father had avoided it on the march for Malignborg.
“I do wonder if he is required to kiss the High King’s cock,” Borin rumbled. “The man has no spine.”
“The East is not happy,” said Shian. “And the men are silent.”
If Graymoor saw the dark mass of mercenaries, the condemned Hardhands, he didn’t show it. We were on our galleys and ships, resting after the taking of the harbor in a foggy battle, and soon, we would have to take the city itself.
But not if I had a thing or two to say about it.
“Great king,” called out Graymoor, omitting all other titles, including ‘high.’
It also was not lost on the onlookers.
“We have arrived,” said Graymoor, “to serve and to work for Odin’s glory. We have, after weeks of hard work, pacified the east. No more wounds remain between us.”
Vittar looked furious at that. The wound that was bleeding was Aeginhamn, and the war which had left his city a burned husk, his people scattered and dead, was still fresh.
The butchery.
I couldn’t remember it. Just glimpses. Memories of almost faraway times...
Graymoor, his sons, and his daughter went to their knees, though the king only on one. “And we are here to make sure no such war ever plagues our lands again.”
It made men smile.
They were there to make war and then to do the same to the north.
I watched a hundred alert guards, the best men of Graymoor, look at the Exiles with worry. Many had javelins.
The High King smiled widely. “War, my friend, and weddings later.”
Vittar’s face went tight for a moment.
He had been promised a marriage.
I was sure of it.
The High King’s eyes went to Naera, and I was sure it was she who had been chosen. Gilad was looking down, her face enraged. Rikas, too, was catching on.
Graymoor was silent as he bowed his head, but I could feel him thinking hard. Naergoth was smiling kindly at Graymoor.
Had Graymoor betrayed my family, lied about my mother?
“Have you picked men for us?” I asked Ajax.
“We have them, a murderous lot,” he said. “They are happy to help. We still have a hundred Swans left, and we take half.”
We saw Graymoor and his sons walk to the High King. He spoke kindly to the High King, and he was bowing. It made every Hardhand stiffen with indignation. Hatred of the men below, their bitter anger almost palatable.
They spoke softly. Graymoor kissed the man’s ring. He had a similar but smaller one, a boon from Reignhelm.
A lot of the High King’s soldiers cheered, wide-helmeted warriors in chain and plate, except for us. The guards and the kings mingled. Then I felt Shian pulling at me and pointing. I saw a man walking down the pier, and looking beyond him, I saw a smaller, gray-hulled boat at the end of the dock.
“He is from the north,” said Shian. “From Dagnar. They will parlay.”
I saw the King of Vittar, his daughters, and Eglin walking for the man. I traversed the gangplank to stand near them. I saw Yggra, speaking with the pilot, and Borin was not far, his eyes and ears on the discussion. Yggra, suddenly agitated, pulled the pilot away and along, and I smiled.
Borin walked back, and Tarl Vittar passed us with his men.
Borin spat, sauntering to us as we wandered down to the pier. “Eglin’s properly fucked. He’ll be in a shitter if this fails.”
“You would be right,” I told him simply. “Though, so are we, right next to him in the shit, our heads on spikes.”
“Hardhands to the death,” he said with a laugh. He sobered and nodded towards the approaching man. “That is Kiron of the Dagnar, an emissary of the north. They are here to see what can be done to prevent war. They say Ygrin and Falgrin are marching to serve with them, but they desire no wars.”
“The High King seeks to rule all,” I mused. “They don’t want peace.”
“The Golden City might be too hard for him to take,” Borin mused, speaking about the great trade city across the Bay of Whales to the northeast from Verdant Lands. “And the far west as well. But the middle of Midgard is what he will have.” He gave me an amused smile. “Perhaps he is preparing for Ragnarök.”
“In Ragnarök,” I said, “the armies of men come from Valholl.”
Borin grinned. “Indeed. It seems we are going to kill each other. Men say Odin is gathering warriors to Valholl indeed.” He went serious. “The High King is going to marry Naera. Did you see them?”
“Vittar won’t be happy,” I told him. “But after this night, we’ll know better, and none of them will marry anyone. They’ll all be dead, and I will have my answers. Finally.”
“Remember,” he said. “Your answers, and ours. We want that book.”
I grunted.
He looked unhappy.
“Graymoor is filthy rich,” he pondered.
“He is robbing the other jarldoms,” I suggested.
“Maybe,” he agreed.
I watched the High King’s Exiles turning, and I knew they were going to arrange for camps, and to plan for the assault at the little squat fort at the end of the wall.
We would ask Yggra where my wife was, and what had happened to my mother. Then I’d need no answers, but we could kill them all at will. We would be in the fort, guarding it, like wolves amid sleeping sheep.
Borin grunted as if he read my thoughts. “We’ll die.”
I laughed and clapped his back. “Aye. Come. Let’s go and prepare.”
We walked and saw an elf approaching Ajax and talking to him agitatedly.
“You think they are onto us?” he said. “I wonder. We have been lucky.”
I said nothing.
He grinned. “What if the boy is right? What if the High King had nothing to do with this? What if it was the elf?”
“You are suggesting,” I said, “that the High King didn’t slay my mother?”
He shrugged. “Only he would know. Or the elves. But that’s what we will be doing, eh? This very night. Maybe not kill the High King outright? Kill the others, but not him?”
I sighed. “You want to ransom him.”
“Only if he is innocent,” he rumbled. “I think you will kill him.”
I nodded. “We’ll leave him alive long enough to get out of here.”
His eyes brightened, and he smiled like a wolf. “I had not thought of that.”
“That’s why you have me, and Ajax,” I told him.
We would murder and torture Yggra beneath the city, and when he was done telling me what had happened to my family, we would attack the keep. We would murder them all, eventually.
And then I saw the elf was done speaking with Ajax and gesturing for Ajax to go. Ajax bowed and walked for us.
“This will be bad,” said Borin. “Some god is cursing us. I smell his piss on my back.”
“What are they doing?” I asked no-one in particular.
“The elf was giving Ajax orders,” he said. “Look. Ajax looks like he shat his pants. This was easy, as long at Tarl and Yggra were in charge. Something is going to go wrong.”
Ajax came to us.
He slapped his hands together. “Good news! We won’t have to kill the royals this night. We won’t be doing guard duty. Eglin has no saying in the matter. Instead, in the morning, we shall hike up that damned hill with ladders and take the White Tower,” he said, and winked, cursing and smiling. “Mercenaries. There will be the Oath Makers who are not out there ringing the mountain, Vittar’s own Red Swords, and the Grudge Breakers. All are going to go beneath the trail this night, in the dark, with ladders and prayers and no hope. The elf wants to see what’s up there in the morning. Our men have been assigned the gate, but they’ll die beneath.”
I watched the winding way up to the craggy hill, weaving so that our right flanks would be most exposed.
“Oh?” I murmured. “Shit.”
Borin cursed. “So, we call it off?”
I shook my head. “The pilot will serve us Yggra. Then, after, we shall decide. Eglin can still get us in, perhaps. He is in charge of the keep, no?”
“We won’t be inside to start with,” Ajax said. “They will see us coming and leaving the attack.”
“Then,” I snarled, “we will take the ladders and use them on another fort. That’s all there is to it.”
Borin looked down at his hands. “You intend to go forth anyway. You will storm the little fort. That is bad.”
“It will be night,” I said ferociously. “And Eglin could help from inside.”
“Might as well. An attack up that hill will be a butchery,” said Ajax. “The elf wants to bleed the uncertain element in the camp.”
I pulled Borin along. “Tell Shian to keep an eye out on Eglin and Yggra. The dice have been cast. If Yggra doesn’t come, tell Shian to send the pilot to us. Then we just go for the keep.”
Shian was shocked, for she was right there.
She was after more than me.
She wanted a throne.
I ignored her, though my heart ached.
There was something about her I couldn’t understand.
Something very familiar. Something I loved.
Ajax stopped me. “They expect us to be in the camp we make near the stairs, up there. They expect you to lead us. They’ll be sending orders to you. Shian can come and go, but not you.”
I smiled. “I have an invitation. Naergoth wanted to have a chat with me. Tell everyone that and get the men ready.”
CHAPTER 5
The city was quiet.
Borin and I ambled along the harbor town’s abandoned, smoky streets. Fog drifted across from the Bay of Whales to make it even harder to see what was ahead. We had left our camp briskly and made our way to the edge of the harbor, far from where our mercenaries were preparing for the morning’s butchery. The night was loud, for from the top, sounds of revelry echoed across the land. White Tower’s jarl was making merry, for a final time, or just to cheer up their people.
It almost sounded like a victory celebration.
I walked forth, and Borin stopped me.
He nodded at a street that led back to the harbor and ducked down it.
I saw other men walking the nearby alleys, left and right, streaming forth silently.
He kept gazing back.
“Well?” I asked.
He shrugged.
Then screams, muffled and brief, echoed in the night.
He grinned. They were by no means the only such screams, for the city was still being purged of the White Tower troops and population.
“If that elf set spies on us, and was following us,” he whispered, “they are no longer. We are now alone.”
He whistled, and two men ran from the darkness, grinning.
“Orag?” Borin asked. He winked at me, carrying a large bag. “A good lad, this one. Mean as a spurned woman.”
One, a handsome young man, clasped Borin’s shoulder. “Some men of the High King. Elven spies, no doubt. They are watching everyone, I hear. They are on their way to Helheim.”
“We must hurry;” Borin said. “Shian will let us know if things go wrong. Or not. She is taking too many risks.”
We got to the pier and groups of men were observing us, waiting for us to move. Borin pointed his sword at a stone pier at the end of the quay and into a dark stairway leading under one pier.
“There,” he hissed.
We made our way down the stairs and found a dark hole.
Borin grinned, and we went inside, followed by our men, sneaking like wolves in the darkness.
“All Swans,” whispered Borin. “The worst kind.” He struck sparks and lit an oil-drenched torch. “Up there,” he said. “Way up there. That’s where we go.”
***
We climbed up sewers, dirty water trickling down from above. We waded through debris and old crates, Borin’s torch lighting the way. He was muttering as he stumbled along, and soon, many roads were running left and right. Some looked old, with ancient pillars and remnants of buildings. Bricks and masonry were crumbling as we climbed up. Rats and odd, hideous things slithered and hopped in the darkness just beyond our sight.
“You sure this is the way?” I whispered.
“This is it,” he said, not whispering at all. “Up ahead, there’s a large chamber. Filled with things that have rotted and some that are rotting. Barrels by the thousands and old crates. At least fifty doorways leave it. But this way leads there. Don’t worry. Or do. We take a right and left.”
He turned right and then soon left.
“You sure you can remember…” I began, and he gave me a scathing look. “You have more than one torch?” I asked.
He strode on and ignored me, and the men behind crept up, shields and spears scraping at the stone.
