Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

Chapter Six

Into Strange Kingdoms

G aunt, shivering, Bragi and Haaken paused at the crest of the last high pass.

"Already spring down there," Bragi observed. He extended an arm to support his brother. "That green must be a hardwood forest."

"How long?" Haaken croaked.

"Three days? Five? Not long."

"Hah!"

There had been days when they had not made a mile. Like yesterday. After burying Soren in the hard earth, they had fought the snowy mountain till exhaustion had forced a halt.

Sigurd had passed almost a month ago. The crossing had taken two months.

"Can't make it," Haaken gasped. "Go on without me."

He had suggested it before. "We've got it whipped now, Haaken. All downhill from here."

"Tired, Bragi. Got to rest. Make it while you can. I'll catch up."

"Come on. Step. Step. Step."

The foothills were hot compared to the high range. The boys camped there a week, regaining their strength. Game was scarce.

They had begun to encounter signs of the foothill tribes. Once they passed the ruin of a small log fortress. It had been burned within the month.

"We should be near Itaskia's Duchy Greyfells," Bragi said around a rabbit's leg. "This trail should run into the highway Father called the North Road. That's a straight run to Itaskia the City."

Itaskia the kingdom and its capital bore the same name. This was the case with several states. Each had grown round a strong city-survivor of the Fall.

"Wish you'd stop being so damned optimistic," Haaken grumbled. He attacked the rabbit like a starved bear. "We can't even speak the language. And we're Trolledyngjans. If bandits don't get us, the Itaskians will."

"You should ease up on the pessimism. Damned if I don't think all you'd see is a hernia if we found a pot of gold."

"Can't go through life expecting everything to work out. You expect the worst, you're ready for anything."

"What do you want to do?"

"I stopped making plans when Father died."

Bragi had no plan either, beyond following his father's sketchy suggestions. What happened after they found this Yalmar?

"Haaken, all I know is what Father said."

"Then we just have to keep on till something happens."

It happened next morning.

Haaken paused to urinate. Bragi ambled on ahead and was alone when the hillmen leapt out of the brush.

Their stone-tipped spears turned on his mail shirt, which his father had told him to wear whenever he traveled. They pulled him down and drew knives.

Haaken arrived, axe whining. He slew two before the others realized he was there.

Bragi scrambled away, regained his feet, finally used his sword.

A survivor tried to flee. Sword and axe stopped him.

"What the hell?" Haaken gasped.

"Meant to rob me, I guess," Bragi wheezed, shaking. "That was too close."

"I warned you."

"Let's ditch them and get out of here."

"Listen!"

Hoofbeats. Approaching.'

"Into the brush," Bragi said.

"Up a tree," Haaken countered. "Ragnar said people never look up."

Within a minute they were high in an old oak. Their packs seemed weightless during the climb.

The dead still lay scattered on the trail.

Six horsemen appeared. An officer, four soldiers and one civilian.

"Itaskians," Bragi whispered.

"What the hell?" the officer demanded, reining in. The youths did not understand Itaskian, but guessed his meaning.

The soldiers drew swords. The civilian dismounted, examining the battleground.

"Majneric's men. They ambushed two travelers. Within the past few minutes. The travelers are in a black oak about thirty feet to your left."

"Who'd be out here when Majneric's loose?"

"You'll have to ask. Use bows. They shouldn't resist the invitation."

"Just so. Sergeant."

The soldiers sheathed their blades, readied bows. Bragi and Haaken exchanged looks.

"Nobody ever looks up, eh?" Bragi growled, looking down four shafts. The scout beckoned.

When Bragi reached the ground he found his foster brother with axe in hand, defiant.

"They're just pups," the sergeant observed.

"These were the two?" the officer asked.

"The same," said the civilian. "Look like Trolledyngjans. They teach them young up there." The woodsman held out his palms. "Let's talk in peace," he said in accented Trolledyngjan.

"What's going to happen?" Bragi asked. Shakes threatened to shame him.

"Depends on you. What happened here? What brings you south?"

Bragi told it all. The scout translated.

The Itaskians chattered briefly, then the interpreter said, "Sir Cleve is inclined to generosity. Because of those." He indicated the dead. "We've been after their band for weeks. We deliver their heads to the Duke, we'll get off patrol for a while. But he doesn't know about this Pretender. He wants to look in your packs."

Haaken growled softly.

"Easy, son. We won't rob you."

"Do what he says, Haaken."

A minute later, "Good. Now move back five paces."

The leader examined their things. Bragi's heirlooms generated questions.

"Our father gave them to us before he died. He told us to take them to a man in the City."

"What man?"

"Someone named Yalmar."

The officer asked, "You think they're telling the truth?"

"Too scared not to. This Yalmar probably fences for the coast raiders. Their father probably saw this succession crisis coming and made arrangements."

"What should we do with them?"

"We have no quarrel with them, sir. And they've done us a favor."

"They're Trolledyngjans," the sergeant observed. "Ought to hang them as a warning to the next bunch."

"A point," the officer agreed. "But I've no stomach for it. Not children."

"These children killed four men, sir."

"Majneric's men."

"What's going on?" Bragi asked nervously.

The scout chuckled. "Sergeant Weatherkind wants to hang you. Sir Cleve, on the other hand, is willing to let you go. Provided you let him have these bodies."

"That's fine by us."

"Watch that sergeant," said Haaken. "He'll get us killed yet." The soldier was arguing something with his commander.

"He wants Sir Cleve to confiscate your packs."

"Friendly sort."

"He's from West Wapentake, where the raiders strike first every spring."

"Look out!" Haaken dove into Bragi's legs.

But the sergeant's arrow was not meant for his brother. It brought a howl from down the trail.

Twenty hillmen charged from the forest.

The youths and scout braced for the charge. And Bragi marveled at the way it melted before the Itaskians' arrows.

It was a lesson he would not forget.

A few of those hillmen bore stolen weapons, mail and shields. The first to reach Bragi was one such, and skilled with his blade. Haaken's axe, screaming across after slashing a spearman, saved Bragi.

While Sir Cleve and his soldiers sorted themselves out, the youths and woodsman dropped three more hillmen.

The remainder scattered before the horsemen, who harried them into the forest. "Finish the wounded before they escape," Sir Cleve called back.

"This is some day's work," the scout observed once the grisly business ended. "A quarter of Majneric's men dead within an hour. Makes a week spent chasing them worthwhile."

"Why?" Bragi asked.

"What? Ah. Hard times in the hills. Majneric brought his bucks down to raid. Can't really hate them for it. They're trying to take care of their families. At the expense of ours. We caught them near Mendalayas, killed a dozen. They scattered. We started hunting them down. Have to make this raiding too expensive for them."

The soldiers returned. They had corpses across their saddles and prisoners on tethers. Sir Cleve spoke.

"He says thanks for the help. Some of us would've been killed if you hadn't been in their way."

Even the sergeant seemed well disposed.

"Now's the time to make any requests. He's happy. He'll be in good odor when the Duke hears about this."

"Could he give us some kind of traveling pass? To get us to the City?"

"Good thinking, lad. I'll see."

They were ready to travel when the knight finished writing.

Later, after his lips stopped quivering, Bragi started whistling. But his brother never stopped looking back.

Haaken was still watching for a change of heart when they reached the capital.

The Red Hart Inn was a slum tavern. It was large, rambling, boisterous and appeared on the verge of collapse. Evening shadows masked its more disreputable features.

The clientele fell silent at their advent. Fifty pairs of eyes stared. Some were curious, some wary, some challenging, none friendly.

"I don't think we belong here," Haaken whispered.

"Easy," Bragi cautioned, concealing his own nervousness. "Yalmar?"

No response.

He tried again. "Is there a man named Yalmar here? I come from Ragnar of Draukenbring."

The Itaskians muttered amongst themselves.

"Come here." A man beckoned from shadows at the rear.

The murmur picked up. Bragi avoided hard eyes. These were men Haaken and he had best not offend.

"In here."

The speaker was lean, stooped, ginger-haired, about thirty-five. He limped, but looked as tough as the others.

"I'm Yalmar. You named Ragnar of Draukenbring. Would that be the Wolf?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"He sent us."

"Why?"

"How do we know you're Yalmar?"

"How do I know you're from Ragnar?"

"He sent proof."

"A map? A dagger, and an amulet of Ilkazar?"

"Yes."

Yalmar's grin revealed surprisingly perfect teeth. "So. How is the crazy bastard? We swung some profitable deals, us two. I picked the ships. He took them. I fenced the goods."

Haaken grunted sullenly.

"What's with him?"

"Ragnar's dead. He was our father."

"The infamous Bragi and Haaken. You've got no idea how he bored me silly bragging you up. Passed over, eh? I'm sorry. And not just for the loss of a profitable partnership. He was my friend."

Neither youth responded. Bragi studied the man. This was an honest innkeeper? How far could he be trusted?

Their silence unsettled Yalmar. "So. What do you want? Or are you just going to sit there like a couple of clams?"

"I don't know," Bragi said. "Father was dying. He said to go to you, you owed him. We're here."

"I noticed. Better begin at the beginning, then. Maybe give me an idea what he was thinking."

Bragi told the story. It did not hurt as much now.

"I see," Yalmar said when he finished. He pinched his nose, tugged his golden chin whiskers, frowned. "You got any skills? Carpentry? Masonry? Smithery?"

Bragi shook his head.

"Thought not. All you people do is fight. Not your safest way to make a living. And it don't leave you many openings here. Been at peace for fifteen years. And nobody in my business would use you. Too visible. And bodyguarding is out. Not enough experience. Tell you what. Give me a couple days. I'll put you up meantime. Upstairs. Try to stay out of sight. I'll put the word out that you're protected, but that won't keep the drunks from cutting you up. Or the police from breaking in to find out why I'm keeping Trolledyngjans."

With no better option available, Bragi and Haaken agreed.

They spent a week at the Red Hart. Yalmar told them things about Ragnar they had never heard at home. The Itaskian proved likable, despite an overpowering tyranny when he made them study his language.

Strange, hard men visited Yalmar late at night, though he steadfastly denied their existence. It finally dawned on Bragi that Yalmar did not trust them completely either.

One night he asked, "About the amulet, map and dagger... "

Yalmar laid a finger across his lips. He checked the windows and doors. "They're why I owe your father. If I have to run, I can go knowing he provided means elsewhere. Now forget about it. The Brothers would be displeased. There's honor on the Inside. There's fear or friendship. Your father and I were friends."

Later, he told them, "I'm sorry. There's nothing for you here. I'd say go south. Try to catch on with the Mercenary's Guild. High Crag is taking on recruits."

Next afternoon, Haaken grumped, "This loafing is getting old, Bragi. What're we going to do?"

Bragi touched his mother's locket. "There's Hellin Daimiel. I'll talk to Yalmar."

The day following Yalmar announced, "I've gotten you guard jobs with a caravan leaving tomorrow. There's a job you can do for me while you're at it. A man named Magnolo will be traveling with the caravan. He'll be carrying something for me. I don't trust him. Watch him." He added some details. "If he takes the package to anyone but Stavros, kill him." Grimly, Bragi nodded.

"Bragi?" Haaken asked.

"Yeah?" Bragi poked the coals of their campfire, watched them glow briefly brighter.

"I kind of wish we didn't kill that guy Magnolo."

The man Yalmar had set them to watch had delivered the Itaskian's package to a house in the fanciest quarter in Hellin Daimiel. In their enthusiasm to fulfill their charge the youths had not only killed Magnolo, they had injured the gentleman he had visited and had killed one of the bodyguards. Aghast, panicky, they had fled the city.

"I'm hungry," Haaken complained.

"Don't seem to be much game in these parts, does there?"

They had made camp on a rocky hill eight miles northeast of Hellin Daimiel, in the only uncultivated area they could find. Hellin Daimiel was an old city. Its environs had been tamed for ages. Small game, especially agricultural pests, had been eradicated. The youths had eaten nothing but fish for three days, and those were treasures hard-won from irrigation canals.

"What're we going to do?"

Haaken sounded a little frightened.

Bragi did not mention it. He was scared too. They were on their own in a foreign, indifferent land.

"I don't know. I really don't."

"We don't have too many choices."

"I know."

"We can't just stay here. Not only will we starve, we're Trolledyngjan. Somebody's going to jump us for that."

"Yeah. I know." They had had their run-ins already. Trolledyngjans were not popular anywhere near the sea.

"We could go ahead and try the Mercenary's Guild."

"I just don't like the sound of that. All that marching around and saying ‘Yes sir, no sir, by your leave, sir.' I don't think I could take it. I'd pop somebody in the snot box and get myself hung."

"It doesn't sound so bad to me. We could try it. They say you don't have to stay if you don't like it. It isn't like joining a regular army."

"Maybe. Okay? I've been thinking about something else." Bragi rose and moved to a large boulder. He leaned against it and peered out across the plain surrounding Hellin Daimiel.

Even by night the view reflected the studious planning characteristic of these peculiar people. The lights of the planned villages where the farm laborers lived made points on the interstices of a grid. The grid was more clearly discernible by day, in the form of carefully maintained roads and irrigation canals. The city itself was a galaxy in the background.

A whippoorwill struck up its repetitive commentary somewhere downslope. Another vocalized agreement from a distance. A gentle breeze climbed the slope, bringing with it scents of crops still a few weeks short of being stealably ripe.

The lights died away till Bragi was alone with the darkness and stars. They formed an immense silver girdle overhead. He stared at them till one broke free and streaked down the sky. It raced toward Hellin Daimiel.

He shrugged. An omen was an omen. He went and sat across the coals from his brother, who seemed to be asleep sitting up. Softly, he said, "I wonder where mother is now."

Haaken shook all over, and for a moment Bragi was scared something had happened. Haaken was the sort who could become deathly ill without saying a word.

His concern was short-lived. There was enough light in the fire to betray the tears on Haaken's cheeks.

Bragi said nothing. He was homesick too.

After a time, he remarked, "She gave me this locket." He waited till he had Haaken's attention. "She told me we should take it to some people in Hellin Daimiel. To the House of Bastanos."

"That's not people. That's what they call a bank. Where rich men go to borrow money."

"Oh?" He had to think about that. After a few seconds, "People run it, don't they? Maybe that's what she meant. Anyway, we could find out about it before we tried the Guild."

"No. It's too hot down there. They'll hang us. Besides, I don't think Mother wanted us to go there. Not really. Not unless there was nowhere else we could go."

"The excitement should have died down."

"You're fooling yourself, Bragi. I say try the Guild."

"You scared of Hellin Daimiel?" Bragi was. The city was too huge, too foreign, too dangerous.

"Yes. I don't mind admitting it. It's too different to just jump into. Too easy for us to get into something we can't handle because we don't know better. That's why I say go with the Guild."

Bragi saw Haaken's reasoning. The Guild would provide a base of safety while they learned southern ways.

He fingered his mother's gift, battled homesickness and temporized. "In the morning. We'll decide after we've slept on it."

He did not sleep well.