The Blood-Tainted Winter by T L Greylock Page B

thatched house. The dog at his side barked twice as Siv and Raef drew near. The boy dropped his feed and picked up an axe, staring at the strangers with a mixture of fear and anticipation.
    Raef raised a hand and stopped his horse while thirty paces still stretched between them. “We mean you no harm.” The boy kept his axe up, as Raef himself would have. “Is your father or mother at home?”
    The door to the house creaked open and a woman’s face appeared. “Arnolf, who is there?” Then she saw them and stepped from the doorway. “What do you want?” Hers was the voice of a woman long practiced at dealing with strangers. Here, in this lonely place, there was no help that could come quickly in times of trouble.
    “We are traveling north,” Raef called as he dismounted and walked toward her. “A member of our party is wounded and has fallen ill. He needs rest, care, and a warm bed to sleep in. I will pay you for these things.”
    The woman considered for a moment, then walked closer to Raef and asked the practical question. “How much?”
    Raef returned to the pack tied behind his saddle and withdrew a pouch. He tossed it to the woman, who felt the heft and opened it for a quick look. It seemed to satisfy her.
    “Will you return this way to collect him if he survives?”
    “I do not know,” Raef said, truthfully. “When he is well, he can go his own way.” She nodded and moved as though to return to the house. “Will you answer a question?” She turned back. “Whose lands are these?”
    “These are Forehald lands and Karlin is our lord.”
    “Has Karlin chosen a side?”
    She frowned. “A side?”
    “Which king will he support?”
    Her frown turned to a grim laugh. “I did not know there was more than one. What I know is that the wolves have grown fierce and bold and that snow is falling sooner than it should. If one of these kings can fight the cold, I will slay the others myself.” She bent down to scratch the dog’s chin. “This man of yours, does he have a name?”
    “Sigurr. We will bring him to you.”
    Sigurr was barely conscious as they lifted him down from his horse. Siv and Vakre helped the woman bring him into the house and emerged soon after, their faces grim.
    “I tried to tell him what was happening. I do not think he understood me,” Siv said.
    “He is beyond the voices of men,” Vakre said. “Only the gods can speak to him now.”

Eleven
    T he last leg of their journey to the Deepminded took them into the northern mountains. Here Raef had a better sense of the land, though he had never traveled there before. But it was common knowledge that the Deepminded could be found in Darfallow land.
    Raef risked a visit to Darfallow’s lord, Tormund, in the hopes of refreshing their supplies before tackling the mountains. Tormund was old and his sight was failing, but he could still choose to detain them for Fengar.
    Tormund’s fortress was a deteriorating, crumbling giant. Raef had heard of its former glory and current decay, but to stand close to the broken towers and collapsing walls that could still dwarf their brothers in other lands was something he had not imagined. Even in its shattered, half-empty state, it was still a mighty place, and the blanket of undisturbed snow surrounding it gave it an unearthly stillness.
    As Raef’s party approached one of the massive gates, it rumbled open and a single, unarmed man stepped out to meet them.
    “Your name, friend?”
    “I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim. I seek Tormund Ravenbane,” Raef said, wondering why warriors with gleaming axes were not there to meet them. There was not another man in sight as they passed through the gate. Towers rose around them, but Raef could not see any sign of spears or arrows.
    A large hall rose in front of them, but their guide passed it by and led them instead to a smaller building, one Raef would have overlooked amid the sprawl. Inside, a fire crackled merrily, warming the sole