36. The Night Before

“I have spent several days trying to get Agrak to respond or to communicate, but he simply stares unceasingly forward with a hollow gaze. If he is not propped against a wall, he merely flops forward like a corpse.

My initial elation upon seeing him has soon withered to bitter regret. Long had I envied and resented The Small King. Then I had missed him dearly and wished for his return. Yet now I wish I had never found him.

I keep pondering on our last conversation before the dwarven feast. He had told me that in his whining piping voice that he thinks that this will go poorly. I asked for which side and he merely shrugged.

I had always found The Small King’s voice to be close to insufferable. And never quite reckoned how he managed to effectively threaten so many goblins in such a whining tone. But each night I think how sweet it would be for him to speak again. To hear his words be they melancholy or caustic.

And each night, amid those thoughts, I fear he will never speak again.

That Magar is right. There is no way to help Agrak now.

My time crushed beneath the earth nearly broke my mind. And The Small King has been trapped in a lightless box for a far longer and far more terrible length of time."

Gudmund lay in the shadowed room provided. Long, sparsely furnished, his modest bed nestled against the far wall. He slept on his left side, having view of his door, while keeping his brother’s sword under the furs behind him.

When his concentration lapsed, he entertained fleeting thoughts of returning home, only to remember that the past had turned to ash.

“Can’t wait to see my sons again,” he bitterly thought. “Can’t wait to go home. But, no, I won’t. I can’t. All gone and you’re all that’s left. You’ve got your daughter, but she hates you. I should send her to safety, end Thrand, and be done with it.”

Cold marble. Embers resting in the darkness of a mantled hearth. Worn chests and old garments of a life past. His history stuffed into wood. Folded, dusty, and moth eaten.

Gudmund slept now in the clothes that an enemy had made for him, white and blue discordant with the deep red of his hair and beard.

“The son of great old Geirolf. In line to become the Jarl of Weskin. Well, not at first—but chopping Grim to pieces soon fixed that. Brolli and Gudmund working together like midnight butchers. The first time, but not the last. Though at least Grim had deserved it. Had Gahr’rul? He’d wanted an honest duel, after all. Three to one.” If Gudmund had only known what he really was then he’d have gladly accepted. He’d always feared he was a goblin stronger than Ragadin, bigger than Dalpho, swifter than Lazoor the Black. “But surely there’s no way that the Chief of Chiefs could have won. Not against all three of us at our strongest.”

“Maybe he should’ve,” Gudmund whispered aloud. “Might have done more with his life,” he bitterly thought. But then a great weight of guilt swept over him at the thought of his son’s being denied their lives. All too short, but at least they had known love. “I was a grandfather,” he realized, now the misery deepened and he could feel all the sorrow he’d long fought to bury reaching up to grab him by the throat. “What did I ever do to you, Muradoon?” he demanded in his mind, thoughts turning restless and violent.

“Why have you been out to get me from the moment I was born? Not one family, but two. Not sons, but grandsons! I was a good… I was not… I’m not evil. I don’t—I can’t have deserved this… could I? No—No! And my sons sure as shadows didn’t deserve it, you wretched one-eyed fuck! When all this is done I’m going to tear down your temple stone by stone. Send every useless Muradooner into the Lady’s Shadow, and then I’ll come for you too. Tomlok took your eye, but I’ll hack off your ugly head. And when I’m done I’ll burn every page in every parchment that ever mentioned your name. Until you’re forgotten. First Thrand and then you, Spirit Talker. See how well you can see the dead when I set your head on fire and your one good eye pops in the heat—”

The door’s handle rattled.

Gudmund paused, cheeks red with anger, heart pounding.

Hinges creaked now the door opened and closed. He reached for his sword. Then armour rattled as a small guard strode into the ruby gloom of the cold room.

Anna waited in stillness and silence. “Are you awake?”

Gudmund opened his eyes as answer. He sighed, remembering that all their lives were balanced on a knife’s edge. “Is she…?”

“She’s gone to bed,” Anna whispered. “Thrand scared her out of the library.” She paused. “This is an odd plan, Gudmund. It’s not too late to change your mind.”

Gudmund closed his eyes. “Thrand means to poison me at my wedding. I think it’s a little late—”

“You have coin to live in peace. You don’t—”

“Do you know why I lost I my lands?” Gudmund cut in. “Why I conquered Southwestern Tymir?”

“I can guess that you’re going to tell me.” Anna stepped forward. “Roll aside before you begin. You’re the loudest whisperer in the world.”

Gudmund frowned at that but did as she asked. He waited till the armoured woman laid down on the bed.

“Well…?”

“Well,” Gudmund whispered, “I thought Brolli had been murdered by my neighbors. And I was not in my right mind… so I started to raid towns and villages. I killed a lot of folk,” he admitted with regret. “For vengeance, of course,” he mocked. “But some people seemed to think that I had the right idea and so they swore loyalty to me. Soon enough, I was almost in control of a third of the High Lands. I then receive a letter from Jarl Thrand asking me… well, it hardly matters. I travelled to Timilir. Then the wolves descend when I’m gone. They kill all my people, and my friends… and my wife… and my child.”

“I’m…” Anna wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t know that.”

“No use telling you if you did,” said Gudmund, gruffly, as if he felt no grief at all. “So there’s that, and some other things.” He shrugged. “Thrand helped the goblins that attacked Southwestern Tymir, as well. He asked them to capture my sons. All bad things. He’s—” Gudmund worked his tongue against his teeth. “You told me I don’t need to do this… but I do. There is no peace for me while that bastard walks in the waking life. I can’t buy the hatred out of my veins. I almost want to… but I don’t, and I won’t.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“I’d say that’s a kind way of putting it.” Gudmund stared up at the shadowed marble ceiling. “I once spent a night screaming at shadows and demanding answers from the gods. But I’m starting to think that I’m the one who’s really owing answers… for all those that died in my care, for all those I killed with my own hands. Even the goblins, that one called Lazarus, believed in the honour of his cause. But I’m still here, living and breathing, while he’s ash on the wind. I’m not righteous. I’m not better then he was. Or any of the other goblins. I might not even be better than Thrand.”

Anna lay still beside him. She opened her mouth but spoke no words.

“‘The gods are always listening…’,” Gudmund bitterly repeated. “That’s what I said in my hall when I refused to answer the questions of my own people. And I can still see all their scared faces looking up at me when I told them they’d survive.” He swallowed. “Before that, I told Grettir he hadn’t done enough because he hadn’t died for my sons, And then he went out and died for my daughter… for me… for all of us. He didn’t mind proving a man wrong. I don’t think that’s something I’ll ever manage.”

“There weren’t many folk in Horvorr thought you could keep your town.”

“And now they’re dead and I’m still living,” Gudmund remarked, his words flattened by sadness. “That wasn’t what I wanted. I leapt out a window to die a hero’s death and now I… I don’t really know. I invoked my sons’ deaths when I set goblins loose in Horvorr. I did the same at the trial… to paint Hjorvarth as a violent fool, and then he told me the truth that noone would. Sixty six men on that field and I wasn’t one of them. I was hiding from the world. Sleeping in a boat when Agnar and Geirmund died.”

The words lingered in the cold night air.

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Gudmund closed his eyes tight, finding it an effort just to keep his breathing steady. He’d accused his little brother of hating himself once, but he’d readily agreed. “Is this how he felt?” Gudmund thought. “Every day of his hard life. Reviled and feared. Shunned by his own brother. The only person in the whole cruel world who could understand him.”

“Should have gone for a swim,” Anna eventually whispered. “Would have saved us all some trouble.”

“It would have. But it was Brolli that took that tact, wasn’t it?” Gudmund asked, his words coming out unwieldy and trembling.

He bit down on his emotions, and scowled into the darkness.

“He hated Thrand, you know,” Gudmund added. “He’d ask me what it was going to take to make me rise up against him. ‘You’ve turned soft. You’ve turned into a coward. A lazy coward, the worst kind of coward.’ He said that a lot,” he realized with a slight smirk. “Didn’t matter what kind of coward he was calling you, it was always the worst kind.” Then Gudmund shook his head and he smiled with rage. “‘I’ll come back when the man’s killed your sons, because that’s how this ends.’”

Anna looked over at him. Through her helmet’s visor, she could see his troubled eyes glistening in the darkness. She had always suspected that the Chief of Horvorr kept most of his thoughts and feelings well hidden, but she never thought he’d want to unburden himself to her. She realized Gudmund had always been more of an idea, or a figurehead, to her. An unlikable hero in a saga. But now he seemed like a man. Broken and wounded. Or even a lost and fearful boy. “Maybe Brolli should have been a Salt Sage,” she joked.

Gudmund laughed a quiet, bitter laugh. “He made that over claim ten winters ago. Do you think that he’s coming back…?”

“No.”

“No,” Gudmund echoed. “I suppose not.” He swallowed. “I used to have another brother, you know. By the name of Grim, and he was just that. A big bastard—only a little smaller than Hjorvarth. Two years my elder, but he always reminded me of a man grown. Even when he was young. Brolli was… my little brother.” He nodded at his own choice of words. “And he was quick, and he didn’t give up. So when it came to fighting swords, it was me—middling in all respects—against strength and speed. I didn’t really care. I just liked fighting. But Grim… he didn’t ever want to lose. I’d let him win even when I’d fought for minutes for an advantage. But Brolli only ever wanted to win as well.”

Embers crackled in the fire and hissed out a spray of dying sparks. Cold encroached on all sides from the stone and the darkness until the only heat left was between them.

“Grim’s dead?” Anna reasoned.

“Grim’s dead. Murdered in the night by his young brothers.”

“Is that one of your many regrets?”

Gudmund chuckled. “Brolli’s best friend, his only friend, was the daughter of a neighboring lord. She was always around, always with Brolli. So she was there after Brolli beat Grim. There while our father told Grim he was a disgrace for losing to his younger brother. She was in Brolli’s room when Grim came with his friends and raped the both of them. The both of them,” he whispered in disgusted disbelief. “She didn’t visit after that. Next I heard she was with child. Then not long after that she herself from a high window. Landed onto some hard stones. I saw Brolli stalking the halls a few days later with two sharp knives. Followed him. To stop him, I thought, but…”

“You helped him instead?”

Gudmund met the words with an assenting murmur. “Not sure why I’m telling you all this,” he then added. “I’m sure you really don’t care about—”

“I killed Engli’s blood father,” Anna quietly whispered. “He raped me,” she added more firmly, both feeling unburdened and nauseated by admitting the secret. She had never told Linden, for fear he would want revenge, and for fear he would look at Engli and be ever reminded of how he came to be. “I bit through his throat.”

“Oh,” murmured Gudmund. “Well, that’s a little unsettling.”

“And murdering your brother as he sleeps is normal, is it?” she hissed.

“I had meant that as a joke,” Gudmund answered, his words unusually awkward. “Besides, Grim wasn’t sleeping for the most part. Too busy with all the screaming. ”

“You’re not funny.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“First time…?”

“That’s what you said when we first met.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You were watching Engli play on the lake,” said Gudmund. “It was winter and frozen over. You walked over to me and asked about my children and I said that I didn’t have any children. That I was just waiting to see if anyone fell in the water.”

“That wasn’t funny. Good people have died in exactly that way.”

“I know. But I had the thought that the next question out of your mouth would have been asking about my wife. Asking why I’m the only man of working age stood about with the mothers and old people.” Gudmund sniffed. “I was honestly waiting to see if someone fell in as well. I thought I’d have the best chance at saving them.”

“You’re not so good at that though, are you?” Anna asked.

“Waiting?”

“Saving people. Or waiting. Or honesty.”

“Funny,” Gudmund muttered. “Why didn’t you kill Brolli?”

Anna frowned. “Why would I want to kill Brolli?”

“He…” Gudmund trailed off. “He attacked you. In the Ritual House, when he—”

“I know when you mean… but, no, he didn’t. It was a close thing… and the men with him weren’t exactly pleased. But he thought it would be best for us both if I pretended that he did. He seemed to almost think that it was funny. I told Linden, of course. But I thought that it would be pretty obvious to you that it hadn’t happened.”

Gudmund stomach turned hearing her words.“Why would it be obvious?”

“Because.”

“Because…?”

“He wouldn’t exactly have an easy time of it, would he?”

“Brolli was the best fighter I’d ever seen. In what way would he have a hard time?”

“Are you pretending?” she confusedly asked. “Or do you really not know?”

“He tried to rape Hilda,” Gudmund growled. “That’s what I know.”

“He tried to rape Hilda?” Anna echoed in frustration. “He doesn’t have any balls, Gudmund. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, when I didn’t even want to. He told me he had never had sex with a woman.”

Gudmund pushed up onto his side, scowling as he shook his head. “No.”

“No…? I swear it by Broknar… which isn’t worth much because I swore I’d never tell anyone his secret,” she realized. “By the gods, you should have known. Why wouldn’t you know that about your own brother?”

“He told me. She was barely dressed. Hilda told me. Brolli—”

“Stop saying their names,” Anna hissed. “You’re going—”

“Lady below,” Gudmund cursed, remembering his young wife laughing with a hawkish ginger man. Heat rose to his rigid cheeks. “Isleif the Ghost was bedding my wife. He sat at my table. He watched his friend suffer for the lie. I risked war with Timilir for his sake. I defended him. I protected him. I—”

“You need to calm down, Gudmund,” Anna quietly urged. “All the men you’re mad with are dead.”

“Dead,” Gudmund repeated. “My brother died knowing I hated him for something he didn’t even do. I blamed him for her death. I spat in his face. He wanted me to kill him but I did worse than kill him.” His laugh was almost a cry. “Why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

“He must have wanted to protect Isleif.”

“No.” Gudmund knew that wasn’t it. “He didn’t think I deserved the truth. Why should he have to tell me what I should already know? ‘Not my job to cure the ignorance of others. If it was, I’d be a busier man, and I’d be even more hated.’”

Anna rolled atop him and blocked his mouth before he started to shout. “You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. You can’t change it.” She held his feral gaze. “You can’t change it. We can’t change anything. We can only choose what happens next. I lost my husband. You lost your brother and your sons. He made his choice. He convinced you.”

Gudmund shook his head. He grasped her wrists now tears trickled down his cheeks.

Anna lifted her hands to let him speak. “You have more important—”

“Important?” Gudmund asked in a fretful whisper. “You just told me that my brother could never have children of his own… and I barred him from seeing his nephews and niece for no reason at all. That I despised him for something he never even—”

Anna kissed him for a long moment, stopping when he started to scowl.

“What are you doing?” he gruffly whispered.

“Look at you,” Anna answered. “You’re crying like a little girl. You look heart broken. How am I supposed to entrust you with my life and my son’s, if I’m worried you’re about to jump out of a window?” She shook her head. “Do you want to have sex or not?”

Gudmund considered the question for a long while. “You’re married.”

“I’m a widow.”

“You’re covered in armour.”

“I don’t have to take it all off.”

“Why would I want to do this right now… with you, with anyone?”

“I assumed you’re remembering the first thing I told you meant that you were attracted to me. I can’t answer the last question, but as to the first I’d offer the simple fact that we might both die tomorrow.”

“I can’t even see your face.”

“Is that you asking me to take off my helmet or just another excuse?”

“I’m married.”

“So it’s been nearly twenty winters?” Anna lifted off her helmet, her tangled blond hair colourless in the night. “That’s bad. That’s almost as bad as Brolli.”

Gudmund glared. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s sad, really. I can’t let you walk to your death with that as a fact.” Anna brushed matted locks away from her face. “So are you ready… or do I need to force you?”