Shardfall Page 11

CHAPTER 11 – RUNEMASTER

  It took some time for Hraab returned, time the others spent dozing, while Birthe fed Búi and Muus sat staring at a spot on the wall where water leaked inside. Drip, drip, drip. The rhythm was blue in his head: water-blue, sky-blue. The skyshard filled his head, his being. A sea of blue; he only had to jump in and all would be well. The sea rose, over the jetty in the harbor, over the stone quay, into the streets. It drowned the houses, the people, and the soldiers; crashed down the doors of the dungeon and gently brought him out, free. Free on board the waiting ship, free to go south, to Falrom, to... No. Not that way. Too many people would die, innocent people, friends. The skyshard burned on his chest. Images of tornadoes whirled past, bringing destruction, hail, fire, creating cover for them to escape. No. Not like that either. A hand shook his arm.

  ‘Wake up. We’re getting visitors. Put the stone away.’ Muus opened his eyes and the warmth of the skyshard disappeared as he looked at Hraab.

  ‘You’re back.’ Hastily he returned the skyshard to its pouch.

  The boy grinned. ‘’Course I am. But wake up, there are people coming.’

  ‘What kind of people? Soldiers?’

  ‘Those, too. They’re with someone important and two others. I don’t know them, but they move with stealth. Quick, there they are.’

  Outside the cell, keys jingled and then the door swing open. An older man stepped in. His hair was gray; his face lined and full of sorrow. He stopped in the middle of the cell and looked them over. What he saw seemed to reassure him, for he relaxed and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Which one of you is the Theynling of Eidungruve?’

  Kjelle brought his hand to his heart. ‘I am, Kjelle Almansen.’

  The stranger nodded. ‘Welcome to Nidros. What was your business here at court?’

  ‘I had a message to my jarl, Dettrich of Dalland.’

  ‘You walked up to the main gate and boldly asked for Dettrich, knowing he had committed regicide and fled like a coward. Why?’

  ‘I didn’t know anything about the king’s death,’ Kjelle said. ‘We had just arrived over sea and went directly to the castle.’

  The stranger pulled his lip. ‘You came over sea. What ship?’

  ‘The Madgund.’

  ‘Yes, I saw her arrive. She’s a familiar sight in Nidros. What is your message?’

  Kjelle hesitated. ‘It was meant for my jarl’s ear.’

  The man raised his brows. ‘Would you keep it a secret from the king?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Kjelle said. ‘But the king is dead.’

  ‘I am Logmar, king’s lendmann and councilor. I speak with his voice.’

  ‘Tell him,’ Muus said and he saw the lendmann turning his gaze upon him.

  Kjelle sighed. Once more, he told everything, passing over the skyshard. He stressed the importance of the arrow feathers, emphasizing the part Rannar of Westhal played. While he spoke, Logmar’s face became even more strained.

  ‘This is bad,’ he said when Kjelle had finished. ‘Eidungruve’s mine taken, Asgisla dead, Herigel’s colors misused. Now the king lies murdered and Rannar is on his way hither.’

  ‘To take the crown,’ Birthe said.

  The councilor looked at her in surprise. ‘You think he would be brazen enough to supplant Prince Ottil? I’d suppose he wanted the regency and become the power behind the throne.’

  ‘He sent one of his men to my Lady Asgisla, wanting to know his chance of success in supplanting Vidmer. I was there when the question was asked.’

  Logmar eyed her doubtfully. ‘You were there? Who are you then, my girl?’

  Birthe took the wand from her belt. ‘I was Asgisla’s pupil, Birthe of the völur.’

  ‘You name yourself völva? That’s quite a claim for one so young.’

  ‘Asgisla named me so, after I had passed all her tests.’

  ‘Then I must accept what you say. Damn that Rannar for a vile scoundrel!’ He turned to Kjelle. ‘You have gathered a remarkable company, theynling. A völva, two Bryts, a bear warrior.’

  Muus felt the skyshard move and before he knew it, he had taken it out. Blue light filled the cell and the lendmann gaped.

  ‘Even stranger than you think, Lendmann Logmar. I am Muus of Owwich, the Shardheld.’

  ‘Gods.’ Logmar paled. ‘A new shard has come?’ Again, he looked at Kjelle. ‘I’ll escort you and your people to your ship. I ask one favor, that you take two others with you. They, too, have urgent need to escape from Nidros.’

  Kjelle nodded. ‘Agreed.’

  The lendmann clapped his hand to the small sword at his side. ‘Follow me.’

  Once outside, Muus saw it was already dark. Moon had hidden himself behind the clouds and the wind was cold. Surrounded by the soldiers they hurried through the narrow streets of the town, until they came to the jetty. In the distance, they saw the port light of the Madgund winking. As their feet touched the wooden floor of the jetty, six shadows stepped forward from the dark.

  ‘Halt. This place is out of bounds.’

  ‘Not for me, hirdman,’ Logmar said.

  ‘I’m afraid even for you, Lendmann. Orders of the Landesregent.’

  ‘Brundal can’t order me, hirdman.’ Logmar gave a curt command to his soldiers, who formed a barrier across the jetty. Then he turned to Kjelle. ‘Run to the ship and get out of here. Fast. These are the two I spoke of, they’ll join you.’ Two persons, cloaked and unrecognizable, stepped from amidst the soldiers. One was tall as Kjelle, the other small as Hraab. ‘Now run.’

  ‘My bowmen will have to shoot them, Lendmann.’

  ‘Hirdman, I’ll see you dead first.’

  Without a word, Kjelle ran, Muus on his heels and Birthe with little Búi bouncing on her back. Ajkell followed with the taller of the two strangers. The small cloak and Hraab after a few steps seemed interested in making a race of it and they darted forward.

  From behind them came sounds of fighting. For a moment, the taller cloak stumbled, but then they ran on, with an arrow protruding from the stranger’s left arm. The jetty was long, over two hundred feet at least, Muus thought, and empty of ships but the Madgund and the red-sailed longboat. Then he stopped thinking and just ran. As they neared the Madgund, he heard captain Gunthram’s voice shouting commands. Horny hands hoisted the main sail, the gangway ran out and they dashed on board, Hraab first, and the small cloak a close second.

  ‘Cast off,’ Hraab sang as he waved at the captain, ‘cast off for the open sea.’

  The captain didn’t need any encouragement. ‘Slip the lines.’

  The Madgund, catching the wind, gathered speed and they were off.

  ‘We have made it.’ Kjelle’s face was flushed with relief.

  ‘We’re not free yet.’ The captain scanned the top of the escarpments on both sides. ‘There.’ He pointed to the left and the still panting fugitives saw a mounted figure galloping. ‘The messenger’s going to alert the artillery at the mouth.’ He watched the hurrying horse for a moment. Then he sniffed the wind and shook his head. ‘We’re not going fast enough.’

  ‘Captain.’ The voice of the sailor sounded strained and they all turned towards him. Behind them, Moon stared through a rent in the clouds and in his light, they saw two sleek galleys coming round the bend in the fjord.

  ‘Out oars’ the Captain cried over the ship. ‘Every bit of speed counts. They’re king’s vessels. You really got them stirred up. What did you do to the king?’

  ‘The king is dead,’ Kjelle said. ‘He was murdered three days ago. Rannar’s puppets are in charge now.’

  Gunthram cursed. ‘So it’s happened. Rebellion. Well, we can discuss all this later. If there is a later.’

  Slowly, the horseman on the escarpment drew ahead of the ship and just as slowly the two longboats gained. Time and again the captain sent his men to trim the sail or shift some cargo to coax all the speed out the Madgund.

  Finally, the mouth of the fjord came into view. The King’s Bite
had seemed small when they entered but appeared no more than a mouse hole now. Without warning, a fountain of salt water rose alongside the ship and drenched the hurrying sailors.

  ‘That was close,’ the captain said. ‘Let’s hope it was luck.’

  Behind them, the longboats were near and arrows bit into the deck. A sailor screamed, and pitched forward, a long shaft protruding from his back.

  ‘Surrender.’ a voice cried from the dark. ‘Return the prince unharmed, or by Thor, we’ll sink you.’

  ‘The prince?’ the captain roared. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He’s talking about me,’ a boy’s voice said and the small newcomer shrugged off his cloak. ‘I’m Prince Ottil Vidmersen. They don’t want me back, they want to kill me.’

  ‘By the gods.’ Before the captain could say more, a second flight of arrows made holes in his sail.

  Muus felt his hands tingle and the skyshard on his breast grew warm. He stared at the prince, a sturdy lad about Hraab’s age, with long hair and a promise of great strength in him.

  The boy’s eyes glittered and the lines in his young face pronounced not fear but a terrible anger. ‘I need to go to my mother, Captain. You are to take me there.’

  Gunthram wiped his sweaty brow; the fear was on his face now. ‘What a dirty trick.’ He turned to Kjelle. ‘Did you know? Having him on board is a death warrant for all of us.’

  ‘Even more reason to fight, Captain.’ Muus flexed his fingers as the itching grew.

  The captain took a deep breath and regained his color. ‘Your pardon, Prince. You’re my queen’s son and I’ll defend you with my life. Though what remains of it will be brief, I fear.’

  A second splash proved that the men with the catapult weren’t amateurs.

  ‘The next one will hole us,’ Gunthram said. An arrow hit the helmsman behind him and the ship swung. With an oath, the captain sprang to take his place. More arrows flashed past and another seaman died.

  On impulse, Muus took the lightning rune in his right hand and put his left over the skyshard on his breast. Blue light engulfed him as he, holding the rune high, called F’lach. The result was immediate. Lightning flashed down from the sky, exploded the catapult on the escarpment, sprang over to the two longboats, turning them into flaming horror, and sent a shower of sparks over the heeling Madgund. Fires started on board, smoke came from the sail, and Muus screamed in agony as he burned. Then, everything went black.

  From the deck of the red-sailed longboat, Tuuri had witnessed it all. He’d watched Logmar’s confrontation with the guards, he’d seen a group of persons running pell-mell to the big vessel moored ahead and as the merchantman took off, he heard a soldier on the jetty curse. ‘They got the prince!’ He turned to the captain. ‘After them.’

  Two large war galleys slid past them, drums beating and rowers trying to make their best speed. The galleys rounded the bend before Tuuri’s longship parted the jetty.

  ‘I’ll keep my distance from those boys,’ the skipper said. ‘They play rough and I’m not built for that.’

  With the maw of the fjord in sight, sudden holes appeared in the merchantman’s sails.

  Tuuri gaped and the skipper pointed to the top of the escarpment. ‘Artillery,’ he said. ‘This place is well defended.’

  The two war galleys shot a volley of arrows and from on high a new load of stone hit the merchantman.

  ‘They’ll sink her,’ Tuuri said. Then he froze. Lightning flashed down from the clear sky. It hit the top of the escarpment and the stone throwers exploded into splinters and pieces.

  ‘Down the sail!’ the skipper shouted. ‘Rowers back up, back up, dammit!’ Slowly the longship started to move in the opposite direction, while Tuuri stared at the display of lightning now hitting the war galleys. Sailors and archers on the two ships tumbled, smoking, and many jumped over board to douse their flaming clothes. The sails caught fire and crashed down into the wooden hulks. Then, without fuss, both boats disappeared into the deep waters.

  Tuuri stood looking after the merchantman, sailing on as if nothing had happened. ‘After them,’ he said finally.

  The skipper shook his head. ‘We’ve got to pick up the survivors first.’

  Tuuri nodded. He looked at the bobbing heads and waving arms. ‘How many men did they carry?’

  ‘Sixty each,’ the skipper said. ‘The best trained men of the fleet.’

  They picked up eight living sailors. Living in body, for most of them had lost their minds. The sudden counter-attack, just as they thought the chase completed, the merciless lightning against which there was no defense, had terrified even the hardest of them out of their wits. Many were terribly burned and the stink of scarred flesh filled the ship. Back in Nidros the soldiers who came to collect the survivors, whispered a tale Tuuri hadn’t heard before. ‘Shardheld,’ they muttered. ‘He said it himself, told Logmar he was runemaster and Shardheld. A blue light sprang from his body. What evil luck!’

  ‘We had more luck than you think,’ a hirdman said sharply. ‘He could’ve burned the town but he didn’t. He only killed those who tried to kill him.’

  ‘They called out that Prince Ottil was with them,’ a man from Tuuri’s ship said. ‘Why did we try to kill our prince? He’s a good lad.’

  The hirdman glanced at Tuuri and recognized him as Rannar’s man. ‘Shut up, you fool,’ he said to the sailor. ‘Bring that body ashore.’

  Tuuri turned away from the blackened man, who must have died on the way back. Kill the prince? Who ordered that? The master wants him alive and well. Damn, he should hurry north, before his whole plan goes to the dogs. And what is a Shardheld? ‘Can we sail now?’ he yelled to the captain. ‘I must report this whole shambles to Lord Rannar.’

  The captain whistled sharply and as the big sail rose in the mast, the last man on the quay took a spurt and jumped on deck. ‘We’re off, Messenger.’

  ‘Fast as you can,’ Tuuri snapped, angrier than he’d been for a long time. ‘Lord Rannar will flay us all if we tarry.’