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  And there were his markings. They did not dance as they did in the dream. They were still, the ink was under his skin, but they were the same. No. I told myself. I was only conflating this man with the one in my dream, merging the real and imaginary. Yet, there his face was, tickling my mind as a face does when you know you should recognize it.

  And I did.

  “Little cub,” growled the man, “where’d you go?” His words drew me back to reality.

  The other two men rode up behind us, their sword and spear in hand. We were outnumbered, but not out-horsed. These men had none, and ours were warbeasts. Still, it would not do to die, and I had to know who that man was.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am Ulfvaldr, son of Ulfi.”

  “I am Prince Varghoss, and you are on King Fundinn’s land.”

  “So on your father’s land.”

  “No, he’s not my father.”

  He looked up at my eyes, “No, that weasel wouldn’t be.”

  I almost laughed, but if I let one traitorous thought out of my mouth, I’d be in the dungeon for the rest of my days. No question.

  “My blood or no, you must state your business, or else leave.”

  “We’ll be on our way, for now, prince. We have trade to make with one of your villages yonder and we’ll be back to our place.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Now, prince, I’m not in the habit of telling men who point swords at me in the day where to find me sleeping in the night.”

  The man extended his right arm. They had not made any moves of aggression, but I had the sense he was lying.

  “And what do you trade?” I asked.

  The man gestured behind him to two men who upended sacks onto the ground. Furs fell onto the forest floor.

  I nodded and sheathed my sword. We clasped wrists. My fingers tingled with the touch of his skin. It seemed hotter than skin normally felt. Feverish. His eyes hooked into mine. For a second there was a flash. They reflected the light of the sun like an animal’s. I let go. Our hands hung in the air for a moment.

  “Have you seen wolves in your travels here?” I asked.

  “Heard some a moment ago,” said one of Ulfvaldr’s men, “but they sounded like they went back up north. A lot of humans in the wood today.”

  “If that is all, prince, we will be going.”

  He turned. His men filed into the wood behind him.

  “The path’s back there,” Finli called.

  “We know this wood well enough,” said a man with narrow eyes.

  He hurried after the other twelve. Their footfalls were soft, and soon, they moved out of sight.

  “What do you make of ‘em?” Finli muttered.

  “Barbarian traders,” I said, “but we’ll elevate patrol for a fortnight. We have the men. No sense in risking it.”

  “They carried few trade goods with them for so many,” said Skaroi, rubbing the jagged mark on his face.

  “Aye and where are the wolves?” Asked Taf, whose eyes darted around the wood, seeking danger.

  “Wolves wouldn’t stay where there’s near a score of men,” snapped Finli.

  “Aye,” I agreed.

  Something in the way Finli’s brows furrowed told me that he was as uncertain as I.

  “We continue patrol. Finli, with me. We’ll finish the wood, and circle round the castle by evening. I want Taf and Skaroi to ride out to the villages nearby as a pair. Ask after travelers. Report back at sundown.”

  “Understood,” said Skaroi.

  I rode along the wood with Finli in silence. That man’s face burned in my mind, like a brand. Stranger still, was that he called me a cub. I listened for wolves and heard none. The sun rose in the sky, and by the time we stopped to rest, with storm clouds swirling overhead, threatening and making the hair on my arms stand on end, the dreams of my night, for once, were not chased away by the day.

  Chapter 2

  Varghoss

  They reported to my chambers, where it was quiet enough. Down below, the nightly revelry of my stepfather’s men threatened to shake the pigeons out of the rafters with their noise. Of course, nothing truly ever gets rid of pigeons.

  The sun had set, and a servant girl had set out our meat and bread. The venison was still warm from the meal below. The bread was hard, though. I gave it a knock. This was left from yesterday, better suited to soup. I waved the servant girl, who stood in the corner, over. She filled my horn cup with beer.

  The door opened. It was Finli. He gave me a nod that was friendly. If it weren’t for his very public conquests with women, I would have entertained a pining for him, based on his kindness alone. But I was not so stupid as to court false hopes.

  The serving girl had his cup filled by the time he sat and he had it drained before she could set the pitcher back on the table. She refilled it. He grabbed a hunk of bread and began to dunk it in his beer, eating the sopping pieces. I tried to ignore how awful that looked, and remembered the other reason I had never entertained feelings for Finli - he ate like a hog.

  The door banged open. Skaroi and Taf entered. They sat at the table with us. Skaroi took some meat and Taf held up his cup to the girl, giving her a sly grin. I looked at her. She was pretty.

  “Taf,” I said.

  His head snapped back to me and the hand that was reaching up toward the girl’s hip, came back down to the wood of the table.

  “No one heard anything about any band of thirteen trading men,” said Taf.

  I frowned, “Skaroi?”

  “There’re been problems with wolves taking the goats in Valkhom to the east.”

  I drew out my map of our surrounding land. A village, Valkhom, lay to the east. It was excellent grazing land and they kept a great deal of livestock there. At the base of the castle was Ulfhom, village of artisans, those who produced goods for the castle. Farms extended out for a ways, until our last village, to the west, which sat on a stream that sprang from the base of Mount Orr.

  Our kingdom was small compared to others, or so I had heard, but we held some of the most fertile land, and the mining that was done in Orrholm, our western village, sustained us in trade, even if we had hardly tapped what Belron, our advisor of trade, told us was its potential. The sea lay to the north, but we had neither ships nor harbor. For some reason, Fundinn discouraged it. A few villagers would sometimes fish from the shore or on small rafts.

  “Wolves to the east. And no word of anything unusual to the west?”

  “Well, yer highness,” Skaroi rubbed the back of his bald head, “there was a witch in Orrholm ‘at said she wanted to talk to ye. Wouldn’t tell us what it was. I don’t think it’s anythin’, yer highness, just a rambling old woman.”

  “I’ll go tonight,” I said, “if she’s seen something amiss, I’m not going to have ignored it.”

  He nodded. I took meat and asked for reports of unrest and smaller crimes. The wolves dominated the conversation, and the old woman stayed on my mind.

  “Is that all?” I asked after the talk lulled.

  “Aye,” said Finli.

  “Send three patrols out, to be relieved at midnight, and at the points of dawn, noon, sunset, and midnight hereafter that until I say otherwise. I’m riding out tonight.”

  The men stood and inclined their heads before slipping out the door, and into the rest of the castle, where my orders were carried out, so long as no one could claim loyalty to me. I dismissed the serving girl. She slipped out into the night. She was, no doubt, grateful that I was not my stepfather, who had a habit of keeping the girls with him after talks.

  I rubbed the soreness from my thighs and arms and went to the pitcher. Should I have let those men go? Something wasn’t right, but I could not just go around taking captives. We are a small kingdom, I remind myself, and having as little blood shed between neighbors as possible is key to survival.

  I poured out a bowl of water and splashed my face, rubbing the water through my short beard. I dug the dirt ou
t from under my fingernails and decided to bathe as a whole. I stripped down and washed my body with a cloth, drying it with another. I shivered. The night air was already leaching into my quarters, despite the heavy tapestries on the walls and the crackling fire.

  I dressed in fresh clothes and threw a fur cloak over my light leather armor. I took my helmet and my sword and left the fire to warm an empty room.

  “My horse, lad,” I called to a stable boy sweeping hay onto the yard.

  He dropped his broom and ran into the stalls. He emerged with Setnar, who looked tired. I stroked his face while the boy saddled him. The moon was bright and high in the sky, shining white streaks down upon the grounds. The blue of the night and the faint sounds of the feasting in the castle served as a reminder of my solitude. I was not a part of them. Even that servant girl would return to a drove of other women, to talk and comfort. This boy had a keeper, and other boys, and someday, perhaps girls who would keep his company.

  No matter the risk of riding out at night with strange men on the fringe, I needed to meet this old woman. Visions of what she could tell me, visions of my mother, my father, swam behind my eyes. I wanted to know what the old witch had to say, rubbish or no. I’d heard enough rumors about my proclivities to know there was always truth in lies. I may not be taking scullery boys into my bed, but if the sight of shirtless adult men stirred desire in me, then they weren’t far off in their suspicions.

  I clicked my heels against the horse. The moon was near full in the sky. It had come out from behind the clouds that had threatened but not rained. Setnar walked forward, the moon glinting in his mane. We could not go too fast, or the horse risked tripping. It gave me time to think.

  I thought of his face. His face. Ulfvaldr. The man in my dream had a name, and form and flesh.

  “Gods,” I whispered to myself, “if I could but see him.”

  The wood was quiet. A small animal stirred somewhere. The wind hissed against the drying leaves. There were no men in those trees tonight. Least none that made noise like natural men.

  The village I sought emerged in profile against the starlit horizon at the base of Mount Orr. Its steep pinnacle twisted up toward the sky. It looked like it could prick the moon and make it bleed. The winter constellations were rising in the purple black sky around the mountain. The maiden, the wolf, the warrior and his spear, could be seen just near the edge of the sky where no clouds lay. They would rise and fall higher in the sky as the season wore on. It would disappear before I reached the village.

  The road grew smoother, and I urged the horse forward. My nose and ears were chilled after the hour’s ride, and the horse, no doubt, his sleep interrupted, would be tired. I patted Setnar’s head. He huffed. Plumes of mist curled out of his nostrils.

  The village grew yet larger. Something flashed in the trees that lay to the left of me. Eyes glinted in the dark. A chill ran from my boots to my helmet. I kicked my legs into the gelding, spurring him forward.

  Something rustled in the trees, rattling the branches. We galloped forward, the safety of the village just ahead of me. I approached the gates, and the wood fell away to open land.

  “Hail!”

  “Who goes?”

  “Your Prince, damn it. Open the gates!”

  The woven sticks and sharpened barbs rolled out of the way.

  “Is there something amiss, your highness?”

  I straightened my shoulders and looked down at the little man who was manning the gate. His armor was tarnished and looked like it had been forged generations ago.

  “No, man. I’ve come to see a grandmother, here. She had words for me. Do you know her?”

  “Aye that can only be Mavi,” he said and took the horse’s reigns.

  “Mavi…” I slid down the side of the horse.

  The man brushed a hand down her sweating flanks, “Wolves out there?”

  “Might have been. Something’s out there.”

  “I’d better close the gate. I’ll take care of your horse, your highness. Mavi lives in the hut at the northern end.”

  “The northernmost?”

  “Magic flows from the north.”

  I nodded toward the gate, and the man let my horse go for a moment to shut and lock it. He took his reins back and patted his face.

  “Go on, your highness. He’ll be all right with me. I’ll brush ‘im down and get ‘im some water an’ feed.”

  “Thank you.”

  I left him at that. The village was asleep. The homes were of the earthen kind, built and then covered with mounds of earth, sod and moss. Smoking chimneys stuck out of the top. Of those which had windows, they were shuttered.

  The village slept. The moon was high, and within the walls, all was quiet save for the steady trickle of water outside the walls. I walked up the path heading north. A blacksmithy emerged. The blue moonlight glinted off the metal hanging in its shop. The clanging of hammers would not begin for another few hours, yet. The items that hung around for repair looked like pieces of mining equipment.

  In a poor defensive strategy that I had been calling to rectify for years, the river lay outside of the walls. It kept waste from entering the water source, but should the villagers ever need to defend themselves from within their walls, they would have no source of fresh water. Women went each day to fetch water from the river. There weren’t any wells. It would lead to the village being quickly and easily taken if not thought out again. But my stepfather would say, we had not faced war for twenty-five years you dumb tick. I wished I would say, if in twenty-six years I could not gain an ounce of respect from him, then it was not a long time.

  A small hut leaned against the northern village wall. Its door lay open to the night. The yellow-orange of a fire glowed within. I moved toward it, feeling like the hut itself watched me. The light was like an animals eyes, staring me down. I took off my helmet and bent to enter.

  “Welcome, Prince Varghoss.”

  Her voice creaked like the wind blowing through rotten trees. It cut me to the bone. I knelt in her presence without realizing why. She was a shriveled old woman, wrapped in a shawl, and drinking from a horn. I looked down at my bent knee, and moved to sit, before she could see what I was doing. A smile crinkled its way across her old features. She knew.

  “I used to be a great beauty, you know,” she said.

  “You don’t say, grandmother,” I responded, smiling the way my nurse had taught me to smile at old women, with patience and respect.

  “But that was a hundred years ago. Hard to believe it now, I know. When you’re going to live as long as I have, and your beauty falls away like rusted metal, you need to find another way to make yourself useful. Luckily, we all carry many swords.”

  I nodded, not quite following.

  “Mead?” She waved a shaking hand at a pitcher.

  “Yes, thank you grandmother,” I knelt forward and poured the drink into a horn.

  She watched me put it to my lips. The sweet honey and herbed smell of the brew tickled my nostrils. Did the woman drink the drink of funerals and wedding nightly?

  “Every night is my funeral,” she said.

  I jolted, spilling the mead onto my chin. She grinned, toothless, “When you walk back and forth between the shadows of death and the light of day, you die and rise again, and come back with knowledge of the future,” she paused and took a long draught. I held my breath, waiting for her to continue.

  “But if people would just take care to remember the past, they would hardly need it. Did you know of your father?”

  “Yes, he...died in battle. He was a good king.”

  “And so shall you be.”

  I scoffed at that. I couldn’t help it. She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’d be taking me seriously, boy,” she ran her tongue along her gums, “your father was a great king, and he was so much more than just a man. For that, he was rewarded by being beheaded. Do you know of your mother?”

  “No. I know only that she married Fundinn. Died of
an illness when I was young.”

  “That is just as well. Her fate was terrible. Keep your ignorance, and you stand a small chance of being king, someday when your stepfather passes. If he does not kill you, the transition will be quiet.”

  “And what if I do not keep my ignorance?”

  She smiled, “Oh, I couldn’t tell you to do that, to seek out knowledge of your history, of your parentage, for to tell you so would be treason. The King Regent will die, and you will assume his throne in pain and glory. Your enemies will be shredded like carrion beneath the claws of predators, and your children will inherit a kingdom thrice the size of this.”

  “And why wouldn’t I want that?” I sipped my mead, letting the idea of my stepfather, dying; worm its way into my head. He never offered a kind word, never a moment of respect. The way he made my life a lonely passage through the dark, without a friend, without a companion had made put me on a cliff’s edge without my say. I could fall off at any moment. My thoughts returned to something that was bothering me. Children? But I had no interest in women. I looked at the old crone again.

  “And how would I have children, tell me this?”

  “Oh, they won’t be from a wife. You will never take one. I know that. You will have children, nevertheless. It will be unavoidable.”

  “Can you say more?”

  “I could, but it wouldn’t do you any good. I’ve committed enough treason tonight.”

  “Grandmother, you seem to offer me a choice that is no choice. The future where I seek my past, in it lies glory. The future where I do not, Fundinn is more likely to kill me than not? Is that true? How could I choose that?”

  “On the way to knowledge also lies blood, and lust, and agony. That way lies death and fear, horror and sorcery, and most of all, change that will disrupt this world. How much are you willing to sacrifice for your new kingdom?”

  I leaned back and stared down into my cup.