Extract:
Hawkeye remembered little of the rest of the ride. He retained only a confused impression of trees flashing past, the stench and crackle of the fire, and his companions crashing through the dry undergrowth beside him. By some miracle of providence not a man came to grief. As they neared their goal the air became filled with flakes of ash floating gently down like a black snowstorm, until at long last the trees parted to reveal the clearing of Forest Lodge.
It was an inferno. Through a sheet of flame the lodge could be glimpsed as a blackened shell, above which a plume of smoke spiralled into the sky two hundred feet and more. Before them lay evidence of the carnage wrought by the invaders – a crippled horse trying vainly to rise, the bodies of a couple of Roslindis’ guard, and that of a violated woman lying obscenely in a pool of blood.
Hawkeye’s mount reared in panic. After that he must have suffered some kind of brainstorm. Later he had a vague memory of running blindly round the clearing, screaming for his wife and child, whilst Bragi and Starlight tried to calm him. Eventually he must have fainted. When he came to it was to see Bragi’s tough old warrior’s face looking down at him compassionately.
‘What happened?’
He tried to rise, but the captain restrained him. ‘Steady, my lord, steady. I could wrap it up for you, but there is naught to be done. We have tried to douse the fire, but an army could not do it. Luckily the breeze is from the south-west, towards the lake. That should quench the flame.’
Hawkeye staggered to his feet. ‘After them!’ he screamed. ‘Butchers! Murderers!’
‘Futile, my lord. There are no tracks; it seems they must have made their way east. With luck they may have fallen prey to their own evil. In this wind and weather the fire will travel fast as a galloping horse.’
Dardo grabbed his other arm. ‘He’s right, my lord. No sense in pursuit. Even were we to brave the fire, the horses would not. We shall have to wait. And I fear the damage is done.’
Hawkeye knelt and hammered the ground in impotent fury, cursing the gods in his grief. ‘Roslindis!’ he sobbed. ‘And Weostan, my son!’
Dardo and Bragi exchanged glances. The older warrior spoke. ‘It is not certain, my lord, but as yet the bodies … That is, you should hold out no false hopes, but … They have not been found …’
Starlight was beside him now, holding his hand as if he were a small child. ‘What happened?’ he asked again, as sanity returned.
‘Would that I knew, my lord. I rose first thing this morning, and went for a ride with little Morgana, accompanied by Tilda, one of my ladies. We must have been a couple of miles hence when it happened. Hearing the sound of conflict we rode back full tilt, only to find things as they are now.’
‘You spoke of bandits,’ said Dardo. ‘Did you see them?’
She nodded. ‘They had just finished firing the lodge building. I counted seven of them, no more. Tilda and I watched, I know not how long. All were dead by then. We could have done nothing.’
‘Where is Tilda?’ asked Bragi.
‘She lost her head, and charged amongst the bandits, screaming curses like a mad thing. They cut her down, of course. Fortunately she died at once, and was spared the worst. I remained in hiding with Morgana. Once the lodge was well afire, they rode off toward the lake.’
Hawkeye must have been unconscious longer than he had thought, for the flames around the lodge were dying down, to leave a gaunt charred skeleton with blackened beams for bones. Darkness was closing in. Surely it could not already be night.
Then came the rain, in big isolated spots at first, soon gathering into the mightiest of storms. ‘Thanks be to you, Lord Thor!’ cried Bragi, as he and his men fell to their knees in gratitude to their mightiest friend in Asgard. In response a thunderbolt split the sky, bathing the clearing in light. The ear-splitting explosion followed almost at once.
The gods were kind to the Goths that day. It rained but half an hour, yet in that time fell over twice as much rain as usually fell in the whole Month of the Golden Star. Finally Hawkeye’s men, soaked to the skin, were paddling ankle-deep in ashy mud amidst the split and blackened beams of the lodge. To the east the fire was dead save for wisps of smoke rising from the charred stumps which had been trees. Whilst to the north-west, region of the unknown, the rainbow bridge shone brightly from the darkened sky. Bifrost still stood. The Sons of Muspelheim were not to ride that day.
Hawkeye had recovered himself, his madness now replaced by a sick feeling in the throat and pressure at the nape of the neck. Together with Bragi and Dardo he set about the necessary task of numbering and identifying the dead. Three of the women were unrecognizable, but none was Roslindis. There was no sign of the gold drop earrings she always wore through pierced ears. And the wedding-ring had been tight upon her smooth plump hand. No thief could have removed it without severing the finger. But that was not all. He would have known her.
The dreadful task was finally complete. Eight Gothic warriors, mostly identified from their weapons, had died sword in hand. Eleven corpses, including six females, were unarmed. Yet despite the advantage of numbers and surprise, the enemy had not escaped unscathed. Seven armoured strangers also lay dead, a couple bearing the White Hart of the Dan upon their blistered shields.
‘Six-and-twenty,’ announced Hawkeye in a harsh matter-of-fact tone, as he finished inspection of the three rows of bodies laid out before them. ‘That’s all.’
‘Seven-and-twenty, my lord,’ corrected one of Dardo’s men, returning from a foray to the surrounding forest. ‘Another of the Dannish scum lay yonder. His leg was broke. Must have been thrown from his horse as they fled, and fried to a crisp.’
‘Seven-and-twenty then,’ said Dardo. ‘It’s a puzzle, my lord, but there’s no doubt about it. Your lady and the child are not here.’
‘Otherwise all are accounted for,’ said Bragi. ‘Is that not so, Starlight?’
‘It is. Eight guardsmen, six women and five servants.’
‘Our men fought well,’ said Bragi. ‘Surprised and outnumbered, yet killed as many as they lost.’
Hawkeye nodded. Of a certainty they would be received into Falhal, and sup tonight with the High One. He gestured to the enemy dead. ‘Hang these filth-eaters in the dead trees, that neither the heavens nor earth shall claim them. Nor even the wolves, for they are fit for neither man nor beast, but only for the carrion birds of prey to pluck out their eyes. Our countrymen shall be buried here, beside the building they fought so valiantly to defend.’
Dardo nodded impassively. ‘Northmen lie where they fall. That is the custom.’
‘These slaves,’ said Hawkeye, jerking his head at the enemy corpses. ‘Do you recognize any?’
‘I know him,’ said Dardo, indicating one of the less badly burnt. He pointed to another. ‘And him. They were amongst the gamblers at the Seven Stars last night. Difficult to tell with most the rest. But if there were fifteen or so, as my information has it, there are now but seven or thereabouts.’
Starlight nodded confirmation. ‘Seven is all. As I say, I counted them.’
‘What of their leader?’ Hawkeye asked him. ‘He who called himself Herward of the Dan?’
Dardo grinned, and jerked his head at one of the corpses. The long fair hair was tangled and matted with blood, beneath which a sword-wound had almost cleft the skull in two. ‘He’s here all right. Recognized him straight away. But the other leaders are not, which fits with what we learnt of their movements from Cynara.’
‘Describe them, Dardo,’ said Starlight quietly.
‘Pock-face called himself Barragon. Little runt of a fellow with one eye. I say pock-face, but pox-face would be nearer the mark. A bad attack of Freya’s disease, if I mistake not.’
Despite his distress, Hawkeye was a little shocked by such blunt language in mixed company. He had momentarily forgotten that as a former trickster and entertainer Starlight was used to such things. She gave a wry smile, but shook her head.
‘I know him not. What of the others?’
‘A man called Regan Tanlesh. Nothing unusual about his appearance, really, but he was the only one I spoke to who didn’t put on a bogus Dannish accent. From his voice I’d have said he came from Targon, or somewhere near.’
Again Starlight shook her head.
‘Then there was Herward’s lieutenant. Called himself Rolf, which wasn’t his name, because I knew the real one. Tallish, very fair, moustache and spade-shaped beard. Not much more than five-and-twenty. A good-looking young fellow, I suppose you might say. Tell you who he looked like,’ said Dardo suddenly. ‘Eugen of Brabanne. Could have been his twin, apart from being fifteen years too young, and fair instead of dark. Otherwise a dead ringer.’
Starlight’s face had changed. ‘It is as I thought,’ she said, nodding slowly.
‘Do you know the man?’
‘I know him. These men were not Dannish – but of course you know that. Their man calling himself Rolf, and he must have been their leader whatever you were told, is a Son of Muspelheim, one of those who will ride over Bifrost on the Last Day. And his name in this life is Ragnar, Count of Torre.’