Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) Page 14

  I nodded and smiled. “One Ingrid.”

  “I am that Ingrid,” she said happily, and I instantly liked her. “I was Sigilind’s slave when I was a child, and Hulderic told me she still misses me. They told me I’d be welcomed in his hall one day, if I keep my eyes open for the Goth.” She looked ashamed, and then swiped her hair back. “As long as I’m not hurting Balderich, I’m happy, and so I’m here to help you. I’ll take messages to Teutorigos and his men in the town, and I’ll advise you. Iodocus is nearby.”

  “Iodocus?” I asked.

  “A thin, great warrior,” she answered. “Probably saw him with Teutorigos. Be sure to tell me before you put yourself into any danger. They’ll keep an eye on you. Bero and Iodocus both.”

  I smiled. “Great! Can you tell me where I might find Hulderic’s sword, and that other thing? Can you advise me how to kick Bero into having a war or two? Why did he—”

  She chuckled as she pulled at my filthy tunic. “I know. But you figured it out already. He is afraid of Bero and Leuthard, he still wants to lead the tribe wisely, but has lost the reins. And he trusts Hulderic, and if Hulderic trust you enough to set you on a mad mission, he wanted to see if you might help him as well. Do your best. He might not hang you if you fail, after all.”

  “If I fail,” I chortled. “Not when.”

  “We got you a new set of clothes. Here.” She showed me a gray, woolen tunic.

  “Gods, thank you,” I breathed. She threw it to me, blushing as I pulled off my bloody, dirty tunic and dropped it on a bench.

  “Gods be thanked, indeed,” she smiled.

  “I’m not that pretty that you need to thank the gods for this sight,” I murmured. “But I’m grateful for the clothes.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “I’ve seen prettier boys.”

  “Oh?” I said, feeling I had made a fool of myself.

  “Some,” she allowed, smiling mischievously. “We can afford to waste some finery on a rogue Chatti thief. Take these as well.” She showed me a set of pants, new shoes with fine leather, and a rope to serve as a belt.

  “I’m no thief…” I began, but of course I was and went quiet.

  “I’m no expert, but most warriors steal for living,” she grinned. “Didn’t they take me from my family in the lands of the Matticati when I was herding the cows? I was only eight,” she added. I kicked away my broken shoes, and pulled down my pants.

  “You aren’t squeamish, are you, Adalwulf?” she said a bit breathlessly as she averted her eyes. “I haven’t seen that before,” she murmured, her cheeks flushed.

  I hesitated, and shrugged. I had never been shy, nor cared to be. Most men and women were very moral and chaste east of the great river, and while Gisil had seemed very carefree, even more than I was, Ingrid was more like the Chatti, as she looked away, still blushing and murmuring something. I chuckled as I struggled with the pants. “Germain, my uncle, told me once I used to run stark naked across the house when his guests arrived, especially their daughters. Says he gave up, told everyone I was a lecherous wood spirit, and should be ignored.”

  She giggled and nodded enthusiastically, as I pulled the rope belt around my waist, while sneaking peeks at me. “You have grown up, I think.”

  “I hope so,” I told her with a smile, though Gisil’s face flitted in my mind, and I looked away from her, because Ingrid was pretty as a flower, and what I felt for Gisil confused me.

  She slapped her hands together, rousing herself to the business at hand. “Start thinking about the dilemma. In the meantime, I have errands to run in the town. You should rest a bit. Your back isn’t horrible, seen worse, but it might very well go angry red, raw, fill with puss, and then you’ll die. I’ll take a boy with me, and we’ll get you something from the market. You have no wealth? That belt makes you look like a peasant, not a warrior.”

  I nodded. “Only my horse. It’s at the stables. It’s old, but it’s a good one.”

  She smiled as she heard the love dripping in my voice, and perhaps there was a brief scowl of jealousy. I noticed a small boy of perhaps thirteen, runty and thin-necked, peeking at her from behind a curtain. She left and pulled him after her, babbling and speaking, but the boy’s eyes held mine briefly, full of suspicion. He was in love with Ingrid.

  I went to lie down to my alcove, closed my eyes, and let the blissful exhaustion chase away the tasks I had been given. When I woke up, it was very late.

  I awoke with a startle. I grasped my hammer, and I saw the roof, and then realized I had not woken up naturally. I saw the boy there, looking at me nervously. I shot up, stopping myself from shouting out with the surprise. I took some breaths, waited for him to say something, and then lost my patience. “What is it?” I asked him with a growl.

  “I heard you,” he whispered.

  “Huh?”

  He waved his hand. “When you spoke. There’s something you should know. But first, here.” He put a leather belt of good quality on the bed, and there was a fine buckle with metal rings and hooks. “Ingrid’s gift,” he said seedily. “Better than most. Better than what Balderich gave you. Much better.”

  “Oh!” I said, frowned and took it, looking at it reverently. “It must have been costly.”

  “She likes you,” he said resentfully. “She has no man, you see, and Balderich is looking to find one for her, but the lord told her she could look around as well, and she likes you a lot.” He sounded like he had a rotten bit of meat in his mouth.

  I stuttered and fumbled with the belt, as I pulled it around me, while tugging at the rope one. “You are very forthright about it.”

  “She is a fool, I think. You look trouble,” he said unhappily.

  “You’re probably right,” I told him with a chuckle as I admired the belt around me. “What did you mean when you said you heard me?”

  “It’s about your horse,” he stated. “You were speaking about your nag. There’s an issue you don’t know about. Trouble.” He sounded almost happy about it.

  I stared at him, willing him to speak, feeling something terrible was about to unfold. His eyes glinted maliciously, but he looked away, ashamed, and shrugged. I poked him. “Go on. My horse is in the stables. It’s right there in the other end of the hall.”

  He shook his head. “While you were speaking with Ingrid, Leuthard took your horse. Or rather, his man did. I saw it. Many did, in fact, but few question him.”

  My blood froze, and then boiled. I clutched the hammer with savagery.

  “Where, exactly, did he take my horse? Where does he live?”

  “It’s not in his own stables,” the boy said nervously. “We all know where he takes his animals. He holds horses, stolen like this one, in a stable further in the woods, down the hill. It’s a village near the river.”

  I stood there for a moment, I knew I should be cautious, but I wasn’t in the mood. Snake-Bite? Oh, no. He’s mine. I pulled my hammer, and leaned down on the boy. “You will take me there.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I didn’t ask. I told you to do it,” I said threateningly. “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have one,” he said with a scared voice. “They call me Bait.”

  I laughed, and pushed him out as fast and stealthily I could. I’d get Snake-Bite back, no matter the cost. I pulled him out from the side door, and ignored Ingrid’s voice calling for me. I was in a hurry.

  ***

  The trip down the dark hill felt foolish. I should wait until the morning, I thought. I should have told Ingrid, I decided, but it was too late. That horse was mine. We went past lazy Marcomanni sitting outside their homes, drinking ale and mead, enjoying warm summer evening, which was quite dark since there was a bank of clouds travelling the velvet sky. We walked for quite a while, down tracks and even better roads, passing many practical houses of the craftsmen, larger stables, cowsheds, and even a rare pigsty, where the plump animals stuck their snouts from cracks in the wall to greet us. A grouse was startled to flight as we p
ushed into thick undergrowth. Soon we were no longer on the hill, but hiking through ferns, wet branches, and Bait was cursing and shaking with cold.

  Or fear, I realized.

  “Bait,” I said, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scared out of his mind. He hugged himself, his eyes huge. “Are there guards there?”

  “Probably,” he murmured. “Of course. But they might be asleep? It’s never been robbed.”

  “I’m not robbing it. Just taking back what’s mine. Lead on then. Is it far?” I asked, and he was nodding and shaking his head both.

  “It’s called Bramble, a village a short walk away, but, in the dark, a bit more,” he said, and pushed on.

  I followed him, hoping he knew what he was doing. In the end, it took thirty wet and confused minutes, and we nearly fell into the dark Rhenus River, which was conspicuously quiet for such a great body of water. Bait collected himself, and finally found a well-trodden trail. In the end, we found Bramble.

  It was deserted.

  The halls were home to owls, the mice they ate, and flowers. The roofs were gone, the doors ajar and broken, and a fire had ravaged some halls at some point. It all felt strange and I had a nasty suspicion that made my belly churn with anxiety. I pulled Bait around. He looked back at me, and said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his fear. “So,” I murmured. “Where is my horse, Bait?”

  He stammered and put his hands on his face. “It’s not here. It’s not alive, even.”

  “Not alive,” I said softly and pulled him around. “What do you mean? Where did you lead me? Trap? And why?”

  He sobbed, and I shook him and pushed him to a tree. “Why?” Bait breathed amidst his sobs. “They said they would kill her. Ingrid.”

  I was in trouble.

  I asked, though I knew the answer. “Who said that? Leuthard?”

  Bait opened his mouth, croaked, but turned his head to the darkness.

  I heard noises. There were horses whinnying nearby, and three mounted, man-sized shadows emerged from the dark. They spotted me, and a man rode before the others. He dug around his saddle, and tossed something our way.

  It rolled over the dark, wet ground, stopped by a boulder, right in front of us. Even in the night I could see it was a bloody horse-jaw, the teeth gleaming weakly, white and yellow.

  Snake-Bite.

  I let go of the boy, who hesitated, and got up, and sprinted into the darkness, dodging the horses that were again advancing steadily. Fear was cursing its way down my spine, but I stood my ground. I didn’t so much as budge, holding the hammer with shaking hands. The men were grizzly, tough veterans, their beards long. Two were obviously brothers, their beards and hair similarly knotted and braided, and they all wore leather armor. One was the scarred man who had nearly ridden down Danr’s girl. I heard rusting from the village as well.

  “My name’s Helm,” said one of the brothers, the man I recognized. He had a half an eyebrow, and a wound mangled the face around his eye. There was a mass of scars stretching over his forehead, and he looked evil as his long spear that was pointed my way.

  I took some steps back, but the river was there, below a bank of mud and sand, and I had no place to go. Gods curse me for being an idiot, I thought, and begged for a quick end. It was not likely.

  I looked around, and three men were advancing on me with hunting bows, clutching at bundles of arrows. As I had no shield, they would simply kill me or wound me before taking their time to send me to another world. “Why,” I asked, “would I care about your name? I’ve certainly not heard it before. But why should I, since they don’t sing songs of cowards who ambush men in the woods.”

  He didn’t care enough to show anger. Instead, he shrugged. “You’re not from these parts, Chatti. You’d know better otherwise. And a man should know the name of the one to slay him,” he chuckled. “It is likely they will ask for it in Valholl. Fight now, fight well, and go there. I hear everyone thinks you are a wonderful fighter, and so you’ll get to show us just how good you are.”

  “I take it Leuthard doesn’t want to give me a fighting chance, eh?” I asked. “Why don’t you fight me one-on-one, famous Helm, and if I win, I’ll walk free?”

  Helm shrugged, smiling. No, was the obvious answer.

  I lifted my hammer, and put my back against a tree. The horses moved closer, the spears were flashing, and the archers, trying to keep an eye on me in the shadowy ferns came forward.

  Helm winked at his brother, the brother whistled, the archers raised their bows, and Woden helped me enough to shrug off the fear. The god changed my desperation into anger, then rage. His savage voice sounded in my head, demanding deaths, and so I fought for my life. I rolled to the muddy ground, and heard warning shouts. Arrow slashed above me; one went past me to hit the river with a plodding sound, and another cut the ferns near me. I got up, knowing they would reload in an eye blink, and saw the horses milling nearby. I charged for them.

  Helm spat and moved his horse for me, the spear reaching for my chest, and I slapped the hammer across my vision with desperation, and hit the spear’s tip. Sparks flew, another horse tried to flank me. The arrows flew again, and a horseman screamed and clutched his leg, where an arrow jutted. The horse whinnied with fear as the man tried to jerk it around. I fidgeted in the middle of the beasts, pushed at Helm’s horse, making it bolt, and jumped at the man who was late coming to the fight, the man I thought was Helm’s brother.

  I reached up in the dark, took a heavy club strike on my shoulder, but got a hold of his beard. I held on as I jerked him down, but he tried to hold on to the horse, yelling with pain, and the horse fell. We rolled, fell down the bank to the river’s edge, and both lost our weapons, as we grappled. He was strong, probably stronger than I was, as he rolled on top, his fist coming down.

  I didn’t care for the pain. I shrugged it off. Woden’s anger hammered inside my skull as I managed to put my hand on his face, then in his eyes, and he screamed in pain as I pressed them savagely. We rolled twice, and ended up in the freezing water. There, yelling with desperation, I pushed him under me, exerting all my strength, and pinned his snarling face under my knee, and pushed it below water. He flailed desperately, trying to beat me off. I saw Helm on his horse, heard him screaming at the archers, and they appeared. I cursed, wanting to take one man with me to Valholl.

  Woden helped me one more time.

  My hand landed on my hammer, and I picked it up. I lifted it lightning fast and slammed the shaft down at the face under the dark water, and the shaft broke the surface and the face. The man convulsed, his back arched, as I staggered up and away from him, as he slowly drifted away with the river, looking like some hideous water-spirit.

  “Ivarr!” Helm screamed, his horse prancing around, and then the archers lifted their weapons. I considered diving to the river, but I couldn’t swim, and didn’t want to die like that, ending up in Goddess Rán’s nets in her gray land of the drowned. I turned to face them. I closed my eyes.

  I was saved at the last moment.

  Spears and javelins flew in the air.

  One archer fell down the bank, his arrows breaking under him. Another turned in shock, holding his shoulder, where another javelin protruded, and the third released the arrow in haste, missing my face by hair’s breath. He ran into the darkness. There were eerie screams and yells, and the archer no doubt died there.

  Helm blanched, hesitated, looked at me with such malice I should have died. He pulled his horse away, as men were rushing near, and forced the horse into the darkness. His laughter and mocking curses could be heard as men chased after him, and I staggered up to the bank see a line of men in the shadows.

  It was Teutorigos and the thin Celt, Iodocus.

  The old Celt was kicking a moaning heap of a man, who went quiet, and he looked around, as if expecting someone else. “No Leuthard?”

  “No,” I said, breathless. “I think not. I cannot be sure.”

  “He would have showed his murderous snout, if he had been
around,“ Iodocus said calmly and then flashed me a huge smile. “But you survived. Ingrid rushed to tell me you left the hall.”

  I laughed, relieved. “I did.”

  Teutorigos was not smiling, though, but cursing, and he snorted. “So, I hope you have another plan.”

  “This was not my plan,” I said.

  “Not your plan?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  I shook my head, embarrassed. “No. It was their plan. I rushed into a trap like a fool. They had my horse.”

  Teutorigos shook his head. “And you are to lead this endeavor. Fool. I was visiting my men in the hill, saw Ingrid rush in, and thought you had done your bit very well indeed, and here I am, killing mere servants. Waste of time. I’ll return to my hall, but these men will be around, as you know.”

  “I know,” I growled.

  He shook his head. “Build a plan, idiot, and do not let them corral you. I take it they didn’t believe you? Ingrid told us you failed in that as well.”

  I nodded, angered by his abusive manner, and I was worried. Had Leuthard been there, would he still be alive, if Teutorigos got his hands around the man’s throat? He seemed desperate and impatient. Maybe desperate enough to forget Hulderic’s sword. “They didn’t believe me. But that was likely.”

  He laughed dryly. “How surprising it is they would not believe you!” He looked down to the waterline. “Two got away, but at least my hammer claims lives still. Keep at it.”

  “I will,” I said, not sure I could. I shivered in the aftermath of my near death, and climbed up the bank. I stopped to look around. All the archers were dead. Two of the horsemen escaped. I looked up at Teutorigos, and found a blank, brutal face looking down at the dead. I addressed him. “When, if, we catch him, you must keep him alive. For Hulderic. For a while, at least. Some of these men might have known something useful, as well.”

  He growled. “I know the plan. And as for these dogs, they know nothing. I took two such men yesterday in the woods, Bero’s servants, and they squealed for hours. They know nothing.”

  I shuddered at the thought of the torture, and wondered if the lord was spirit-taken in his hate. “I’ll get him. Then you’ll play with him. But he’ll die when we have the weapon.”