1.3

At Winter's End pt.3

Harald awoke on the brink of a memorable dream. It lingered just out of reach, too far for him to bring to the front of his mind.

It hadn’t been a nightmare; of that much, he could be sure – those usually ended with a pool of sweat seeping into the matted fur of his blanket. This one had been different. He didn’t wake up annoyed that it had ended, nor was he happy to have been pulled free from it.

Harald pulled himself from his blanket, then wiped its outside, attempting to clear away the non-existent snow – a lingering habit of winter. At his side, Grimvald sat atop a fallen trunk. He was fully armoured, sword in its sheath.

“Did you not sleep?” Harald asked, then yawned mightily.

“I did, my lord, but I woke before you.”

Harald knew not to ask further, even if he knew the old man was lying. “You should get some more, anyway. There is still time before the light of day is fully upon us. I can keep watch.”

“I know you can,” the old man scoffed, “but I am fine.”

“Oh,” Harald’s heart sunk, “as you wish.” He pushed himself up off the ground, hands placed carefully so as not to plunge into wet mud, so that his knees were in a squat. “What happened to the fire?”

A scattered pile of ash and black charcoal lined the ground where there had been a tower of wood.

“I allowed it to burn until you slept, then put it out. Fires are too easy to find in the dark.”

Even I know that much, Harald thought, feeling that the old man was babying him again, but what need was there for getting rid of the fire if we weren’t being followed? It’s cold.

Again, Harald knew not to argue.

“Where to today, then?” Harald asked as he stood upright.

“I am thinking, perhaps, that it would be worth waiting for another night’s passing before heading north again,” Grimvald replied, “we don’t know the situation of Halfden or his people.”

Harald couldn’t help but agree; Grimvald was probably right. They had no way of knowing what had happened, where they were and, even if he didn’t want to think about it, whether his father’s most loyal friend was dead.

Even so, Harald’s people were there amongst Halfden Urdinsan’s men. Sammi Sigeric, Marlin – Grimvald’s squire – and, even if he hated to admit it, Yiri, Halfden’s daughter.

“Or,” Harald was thinking out loud, “they won the battle already and await our return. Or they have sent out a search party. What then?”

“If they had sent a search part for us, they would surely have found us already.” Grimvald gestured to their surroundings. “We are scarcely hidden.”

Harald hadn’t seen it in the darkness of the night, but they were within obvious view of the nearest gravel road.

“Perhaps you are right. But what if you are wrong?”

Grimvald sighed. Harald assumed that his father must have ensured the old man would consider his words, if nothing else. “Let’s pack our things, at least. Whatever happens, we shouldn’t camp in the same place twice.”

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It was well into the morning when they finally set off. Harald had convinced the old man that they should at least begin their journey northward, even if it meant moving at a slowed pace. Each step was taken more carefully than the last as they plodded forward. Grimvald had chosen to lead the horse on foot, while Harald had regained his sole position on the saddle.

The path was just wide enough for man and horse to pass side by side. The ground was fresh, untrodden since the snow had melted, and the bushes that flanked either side seemed untouched. That was encouraging, at least, Harald thought, since it meant that there were no enemies close ahead.

Grimvald was the first to break their silence: “Are you looking forward to being back home, my lord?”

Harald, shocked that the old man would initiate conversation – it truly must be weary times – had to think for a moment. It had seemed a lifetime since he left the Keep in Nyrback. He had been such a boy when he left, even more so than Grimvald might think he was now.

There were things he missed, things he looked forward to ­­– the warmth of the fire, the great hall, the food, the chambermaids – but there were also things he didn’t.

“I guess so,” he said, “but that’s only if we make it home.”

“There’s no need for talk like that!” The old man blurted before quickly hushing his tone. “I’ll have you home, no matter what it takes, my lord. On my honour!”

On his honour? Though it was true that Grimvald had been a great and honourable fighter once, that had been so long ago, in the early years of his father’s tenure. Sure, the old man still knew how to fight, he had shown as much in the past year, but for how long could he keep that up?

Still, old man Grimvald was as good a chance as any that Harald had for making it home.

“What about you?” Harald asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you looking forward to returning home?”

“Ah, that. Yes.” A strangely gentle look took over the old man’s face for a brief moment before he quickly resumed his usual solemn appearance.

Nothing more? Harald wondered. In their year together, he really hadn’t learned much about Grimvald; nothing more than he already knew, at least.

Seemingly noticing Harald’s intrigue and knowing that he would be dealing with such a look their entire journey if he did not answer, the old man loosened up a little. “I look forward to seeing how my son has grown in his position,” he managed. “I wonder how my lovely wife fares, too. I imagine they have both thinned terribly through winter, as we have.” He pulled a hand up and scratched at the whiskers of grey hair that fell from patches atop his head. “But I trust my son. I trust that he has kept things in order in my stead. He is capable, that boy.”

Capable. Harald might kill to hear those words from his own father’s mouth.

“Your son is amongst my father’s council, is he not?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you remembered,” Grimvald said, “you weren’t one for court life, were you?”

He was right. Harald hadn’t involved himself in the goings-on of his father’s court, not as his elder brothers did.

“Am I unfit to aid my father?” Harald asked.

“In what way?”

“It just never seemed like he needed me, not like he needed the others. Why else would he send me away as he did?” Harald had never said such things out loud, and it almost sounded silly now he did.

“No, my lord. We both know you weren’t sent away because he dislikes you,” Grimvald pondered for a moment, struggling to find the correct wording, “you were sent away for your… immaturity. Had you asked me as we left Nyrback a year ago, I would have seen you no differently.” He turned to Harald and smiled. “You are a different person than when you left,” he said before turning to face forward once more.

Harald was shocked silent. Who had stolen Grimvald and who was this that had replaced him? Never had the old man spoken to him with such kind words.

Harald looked toward the man for some sign of jest or sarcasm and saw nothing. The old man had simply returned to his usual silence, leading the horse by its reigns, ducking beneath an outstretched branch. It was almost as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

That silence lasted as the warmish rays of the sun passed from their east, over the tall trees, and headed for the west. There was a long way to go before they made it back from where they had fled. At such a snail’s pace, Harald found himself nodding off into sleep on multiple occasions.

It was only when Grimvald shook him awake that Harald realised they had come to a complete stop, frozen in the near darkness of late evening.

“What is it, Grimvald?”

The old man brought a finger to his lips. “I smell smoke.”