Myth of the Ice Queen:
Blood and Ice Wolves
Chapter 4 - The Hunter's Band
Feyt lifted the torch higher so he could see better, and pushed the red door of his home open fully. He had appropriated a torch from the pile of them at the Council meeting, … not that it was really stealing. Not tonight. The door was still ajar from when he had carried the bodies of his mother and sister out. The neighbors had stared then, but several other huts around his had casualties of the wolves as well. No one offered to help until a wagon drawn by an ox came around. The men riding in it lifted the bodies of his mum and sister into the back and took them away.
Feyt just stared as the cart with their bodies rattled away down the trail. He stared for a good long while. Then he had gone down to the Lodgehouse to make his plea for revenge. A lot of good that did me!
Now, just returned from the Council meeting, he stared at the shambles the wolf had made of the family's one room hut. The table he'd had dinner on the night before was on its side, one leg broken and hanging. The chairs were scattered around the room. There were blankets and clothing everywhere. And blood. So much blood.
He walked around the room listlessly, feeling like he should pick things up, but not knowing where to put anything. As he passed the chests that kept their clothes, he saw that all the insides had been pulled out, and one chest, his, was flipped over and broken apart. It looked as if everything had been ransacked. Searched. By wolves?
What was it Mum said? The wolf was looking for something. How could a wolf be searching chests? And for what? She said it talked. He shivered. That scared him.
Then he remembered. His mother had told him what it wanted. Feyt stared at the fireplace. He walked over and squatted down. Setting the torch against the stone fire pit, Feyt tried to recall his mum's exact words about the fireplace. Taking out his short knife, he began to poke at the cracks between the soot-covered stones of the hearth. "In the middle, left side, at the bottom..." he murmured.
There! A stone shifted as he poked. Wedging the blade into the crack, Feyt pried it out. He looked into the hole, but it was too dark. Pushing the knife back into the hole, he felt around with it. When it was half way inside, he heard a tinny clink as it tapped something. Feyt leaned down and reached into the hole. His fingers just managed to catch the edges of it and he drew it out. It was a metal box, filthy with soot and dust. Feyt blew it off, causing a poof of ash. Coughing from the cloud of fine gray particles, Feyt waved his hand to dispel them. He grabbed a cloth on the floor and wiped the powdery ashes off the box.
It was a tarnished metal box with a clasp on one side. Flipping the latch, he opened the lid and held it closer to the torch. Inside, sitting on several pages of parchment, was a silver medallion and chain. Feyt lifted it up and examined it closely. Tarnished, it was clearly old, very old, but the flat surfaces of the medallion were just plain and bare of any markings. All he could make out was a fine pitting of the surface that kept the silver from shining. It looked dull and gray. He dropped it into his pocket.
He looked at the parchments, but left them in the box. Being from a poor family, Feyt had never learned to read. I can take them to the village scribe, Haran Ellisson, to read for me, but not until I get back. Thinking that, he closed the lid and secured its clasp, then slid the box back where it had been in the bricks. He replaced the cover stone, making sure it was tightly back into place.
Time to pack up. He began to rummage quickly through things, gathering what he would need on his trip. I am sure they will be leaving at first light. And I will be waiting for them.
After filling his pack, Feyt threaded his way through the huts to where he had snuck out over the low back wall only a few short hours before. This time, he had to take care to avoid the newly added sentries. Now that it is too late, there are plenty of sentries, he grumbled.
He made his way quietly around the walls outside the village to sit where he could watch the main gate the rest of the night. Too charged with adrenaline to sleep, Feyt watched the city, still ablaze with torches and activity, through the remaining few hours of darkness. Watching in the dark, he suddenly shivered as a thought occurred. I wonder if Carnall is lit up because they are all busy, or if its lit up because they are afraid the wolves will return. That thought left him unsettled and nervous. What if they do return? With me here outside the wall? Feyt shifted his long-knife and rested his hand on the hilt. Let them come, he growled. Still the thought left him nervous.
The lightening sky found Feyt nodding, fighting sleep, outside the village gates. He was off to the side of the road in the snow freckled bushes, where he could observe undetected. His parka was pulled close against a chilly breeze from the north.
The Ice is coming, he thought. It is always coming. Even Senchar, the priest, said it last night.
Just past dawn, one of the village's double gates swung open. Rousing himself, Feyt realized he had dozed. Out of the gate walked Muroc with his band. Several guards followed them out, loudly wishing them luck in their hunt. Muroc wasted no time chatting at the gate however, but struck out at a quick pace with his hunters strung out behind him. Feyt recognized the black-skinned man from the council meeting, but this morning he was dressed like the rest, in practical clothing that blended with the surroundings. They all wore white and gray parkas with large worn and dirty white packs on their backs. He watched them march out of sight, before he stood, shouldered his own pack and started after them.
Feyt had no trouble following their tracks in the snow. It was not far before he saw where they had left the road and headed north. Soon there were wolf tracks among the men's. They had cut the trail of the ice wolves. He felt a thrill, Now we begin the chase. I can see from the tracks, the hunters have quickened their pace to a jog. From here on, they will be moving quicker as they try to close the gap between them and the wolves. Well, there is no way they will lose me.
By the end of the second day out, the wolf-sign was almost as fresh as the man-sign. It was getting close to sundown, but Feyt was sure the hunters had almost caught up. He hurried his own pace to close in with the hunting party. If they caught the wolves, he wanted to be there. As Feyt rushed along the edge of one small ravine to climb the next ridgeline, he was tackled.
Caught by surprise he went down hard and tumbled down the slope. Feyt got up swinging and drew his long-knife. His attacker backed off, but drew a much larger sword. Feyt swallowed hard, but doggedly held his woefully short long-knife up, ready to parry any swing. He could see by the man's loose shoulder length brown hair that he was not a Northman. Well, Freebrier or not, no outlaw is going to take me easily.
Feeling something tickle his ear, he swiped at it with his free hand. What is a bug doing out in this cold? His fingers brushed metal. Startled, he dared a quick glance away from the man in front of him. He found himself looking at a shiny sword-point about four inches from his face.
"Put it down," he heard from the other end of the sword. "Right now!"
"Okay! Okay." Feyt scowled angrily and dropped his long-knife, raising his hands up with the palms out. The man in front of him snatched it up. He was disgusted with himself for letting them catch him unawares.
Looking at the other end of the sword in his face, he recognized who held it. It was the black-skinned man from Muroc’s band. He had a fur cap on now and rougher clothes, but with that black skin, it was surely the same man. Relieved, but still cautious, Feyt looked around and saw that there were actually three men surrounding him. The third was standing back with a taut crossbow at ready. At least the archer has the proper yellow braid of a Northman.
"Ha ha. He don't look so dangerous up close now, does he, Gairet?" The man with the crossbow chortled.
"Well, how was I to tell from a distance?" Feyt's tackler shot back. "Besides, with that pig sticker he has there, I wouldn't want him prowling around my sleeping mat at night. Would you?" He walked over to where Feyt's pack had fallen and lifted it by one strap. "He's travelling pretty light. Nothing much in this."
The black man holding the sword spoke up, "Now that we have him, what do we do with him?"
"Muroc will want to see him, Aterius. He'll decide." Gairet slid his blade back into its scabbard. "Let's get moving. Muroc's already annoyed at having to stop early and take care of our follower here. He'll want us back." With that, he turned and began to walk away.
"Alright, boy." Aterius grabbed his shoulder and turned him to follow Gairet. Then he shoved Feyt forwards. "That way. Don't give me any trouble or I'll stick this blade in both your arms before we leave you for wolf bait." He looked deadly serious to Feyt.
"Where are we going?" Feyt asked.
"Top of the ravine here and over the next rise," the man named Aterius said. "Then down into the draw. We're staying down there tonight." As they started off, Aterius peered at him, suddenly appearing interested. "Hey! Aren't you the youth at the council meeting? Yeah, you are. The one whose mother and sister were killed."
"What?" Gairet whipped around suddenly and stared intensely at Feyt for long moments, then he nodded slowly. "You're right. It is him. I guess that means he is not a Freebrier. Less to worry about if they're not tailing us." He turned and resumed walking.
"Let's keep moving," Aterius nudged Feyt forward. He started marching again following Gairet. After a bit, Aterius offered from behind him, "I'm sorry about your mother and sister."
When Feyt did not answer him, Aterius went on, "What's your name? We need to call you something."
"I'm called Feyt."
"So, Feyt," Aterius smiled. "Why are you following us?"
"I told you all at the council meeting that I was going to go after the ice wolves with you. I have the right to revenge."
"Muroc's not going to like this," the man with the crossbow complained. "We're pushing hard to catch up. He won't want to waste any time taking a boy back to Caernall."
"I'm not going back!" Feyt lashed back.
"Not for you to decide," Gairet threw the words back over his shoulder at Feyt flippantly.
"Muroc still hates wasting time," came the bowman's nasal whine.
Gairet waved an arm dismissively at the man with the bow, "Don't worry Tauras, Muroc will probably send him back alone."
"I'm not going back!" Feyt repeated. "Not till I kill the wolf that murdered my mum and sis." Gairet raised his eyebrows and looked at Aterius, who only shrugged.
"Just keep moving," Aterius ordered.
Feyt and his captors continued up the ridge further than Feyt had expected, until finally just at dusk, they slid down the steep sides of a draw and found themselves facing two more tall men in heavy white furred parkas. The big men were spitting images of each other. Tall, blond, mid-twenties maybe, Feyt guessed, from their smooth cheeks. Neither have any real beard to speak of. A little fuzz maybe. Feyt was glad to see more Northmen in the group. Beyond them, several packs were stacked against the side of the gully. This must be camp.
From behind him came a roar. "Caught our follower did you? Is he Freebrier?" Turning Feyt saw Muroc stalking up to him with an angry scowl. The braids in his grey hair and beard were swinging violently about in his agitation.
"Actually, he's the youngling from the council meeting," Aterius drawled.
"Hmmph," Muroc grunted and squinted at him with his one good eye. "What the blazes do you think you are doing out here?" he demanded loudly.
"I came to kill wolves with you," Feyt said back just as loud. "It's my right!"
"You? Hah! You're practically a child."
"Am not! I am sixteen! I'm a man!"
Muroc snorted. "Does your mother know you're out running loose?" he snarled nastily. Feyt was so shocked at the question about his mum, and so angry, he could not speak.
"His mother is dead. One of the wolves killed her. Remember?" Aterius, again, had spoken up.
It was Muroc's turn to be flustered. "Arrrgh." He waved Aterius away. "That doesn't matter to me. I ought to haul your skinny behind back to Caernall and tie you to the gate so you stay home." Muroc took a step away, then whirled angrily and roared, "Didn't you hear me say 'No' at the meeting?"
"You're not my father. And I won't go back." Feyt was yelling back now, so angry he balled his fists.
"Relax," Aterius half-whispered from behind him. "Like Tauras said before, Muroc won't waste the time. You'd do better to convince him you won't be a problem."
Feyt looked doubtfully at the black man. Why would he suddenly be on my side? Facing back to Muroc, he struggled to stay a bit calmer, "I won't be a problem. I am the best hunter, and tracker, of all my friends. I fed my family better than most men did theirs. And, I am used to being out away from the village. I have all my gear, and I'm not afraid of the wolves. They're why I'm here. "
"He has followed us the past two days on his own," Gairet rubbed the back of his head. "It's pretty clear he tracked us."
"So you're going to take up for this kid, too? And you!" Muroc whirled to glare at Aterius. "Don't coach him. I may not be willing to take the time to drag him back, but I can slit his throat and use him for wolf-bait."
"Live bait is better," Aterius grinned widely, not the least bit intimidated.
Muroc snorted. Then he laughed. He shook his head, "It is better at that." Suddenly gruff again, he faced Feyt, saying, "How do you like that, kid? Want to be bait for us?"
"A kid is a baby goat. I’m not a baby goat!” He replied fiercely. “But if it helps me kill wolves... Yes! I’ll be your bait!" Feyt responded.
Muroc stared at him for what seemed forever, then he shrugged and said, "Okay, confound you. But the rules are simple. You make no trouble. You do what you are told. And I don't want to hear any sniveling from you. Got it?" Feyt nodded rapidly. "If I do... I will beat you to within an inch of your life and leave you out here to die. We aren't nursemaids!" He roared the last.
Feyt swallowed. "I won't be any trouble. You will see. I just want to help kill wolves."
Muroc nodded slowly. "Gairet! Give him back his pack. Find yourself a place to sleep. We're leaving before dawn." With that, he stomped away.
Gairet handed him the pack. "You got some nerve, kid. You'll make fine bait." He winked and grinned, his cut brown hair falling across his face. Feyt noticed he was missing one of his front teeth and the ones next to it were crooked. "Welcome to the hunt."
Aterius smacked him on the back and laughed. "Yes, my young friend. Welcome to a most dangerous hunt."
Feyt staggered a little at the unexpected blow, but wasn't about to act cowed. "I’m not a kid. My name is Feyt. Can I have my long-knife back now?"
Aterius laughed again. "Most certainly. Here." As Feyt took the proffered hilt, Aterius went on, "You met Gairet and Tauras. Those other two over there are Dokara and Seelus. They're twins if you haven't noticed. You may have heard of them. I understand they've already made a name for themselves killing ice bears."
"Ice bears?" Feyt was awed. He swallowed. I have heard of them. I thought they would be a lot older.
"Where do you think they got those nice white parkas? Dokara! Seelus! Meet Feyt, our new bait."
The two had approached during Muroc's ranting and now seemed even younger as they jovially came up to greet him. The differences between the two towering blonds were subtle. Both wore their long hair free of the customary braid. Dokara's slightly longer and straighter hair, and his more solemn countenance were all that Feyt could discern at this first meeting. The white fur coats had made them look much stockier from a distance, Feyt realized. Close up, they looked lean and trail hardened, like the wolves they were hunting.
"Feyt-bait! Great name!" Seelus laughed, his face animated.
"Ignore him. My brother always thinks he is funny." Dokara interjected. "Welcome to the hunt."
"I'm just self-entertaining. Doka here is three minutes older than me, and stale in his old age." He made a face and winked at Feyt.
"Ha! Those are the most maturing three minutes ever, I'll bet." Dokara said dryly.
As the two began to jibe each other, Aterius said, "You'll have fun, if you live through this. Hot water and caribou jerky are on the menu. They are over by the fire. Make soup or choke it down however you please."
By now, the dusk had become an inky dark. Feyt hurried forward to the tiny fire with his pack on his shoulder. Gairet and the one they had called Tauras were sitting at the fire eating already.
Gairet tossed him a thick strip of jerky. "Here, eat something."
"Thanks," Feyt caught the meat in the air one-handed and set down his pack.
"Don't mind, Muroc. Once he settles down, he'll be fine. As long as you hold up your end," he finished ominously.
Wordlessly, Feyt took a bite of the jerky and chewed.
Tauras sat rubbing his bow with a wet looking cloth. When he saw Feyt watching, he frowned and said, "Oiling the wood keeps it strong and the moisture out."
The nasal sound of his voice must be natural for him, Feyt thought as he nodded to show he understood. He held his free hand out to feel what little heat the fire offered. He saw Aterius spread an oilskin onto the icy ground and then spread out his sleeping-pouch on it.
"What d'you think of our black man, kid?" Turning, Feyt saw Gairet's snaggle-toothed grin directed at him. Feyt realized he had been staring at Aterius.
"I... I've never seen a black man before. Does the color go all the way through him?"
"Naw. If he is cut, he bleeds the same color as the rest of us. He's from the far south; where it's so warm people go about mostly naked."
Naked? Feeling a little scandalized, Feyt tried to decide if Gairet was teasing him. "Hmmph. I doubt there is a place that hot this side of the old god's ‘Hell’. He wears awfully fine clothes for someone who used to go about naked."
Gairet laughed. "That's because he's a prince. Youngest son of the King of Sudia."
A prince! Now, I am sure he's making yarns. Still… Feyt stole another glance back at Aterius as he asked, "What's a prince doing up here?"
"Too many older brothers for him to stay home. Some places, they only let one heir live. Sudia, however, is too civilized for that."
Feyt gaped, then shook his head, "You're teasing me, right?"
"Why don't you ask Aterius yourself."
"Ask me what?" Feyt jumped, turning in surprise. Aterius was standing right behind him. He looked back at Gairet who was grinning widely in amusement at his discomfiture.
Turning hesitantly back to Aterius, Feyt mumbled, "Uh... Gairet, says you're a prince."
"And you believe him?" His black face looked ominously grim in the flickering firelight.
Darn Gairet. Am I in trouble with Aterius? "Uh... No... I mean,... I don't know what to believe."
Sighing loudly, Aterius sat down by the fire. He scowled at Gairet, "Gairet feels he has to tell everyone he meets about me."
Giving an exaggerated shrug to his shoulders, Gairet said, "Not everyone has a black friend to show off up here, Aterius. Especially not one who is a prince." His grin was undaunted by the black man's ill humor.
"What lies has he told you about me?"
"Just that you're a prince, who bleeds red like everyone else." Feyt added the extra to be honest.
"Bleeds like everyone else." Aterius paused, thoughtful, "I guess I do bleed like everyone else. As a prince of Sudia, it took me years to realize that I was, in fact, just like everyone else. I fear I had a rather pampered childhood compared to yours, Feyt."
"I was the fifth son of the king of Sudia. My oldest three brothers were all groomed to be generals, or statesmen. One of them was going to be the one to inherit the kingship someday. The two youngest of us brothers were taught science and history, to keep us from aspirations of the throne, I believe. I suppose that worked. My parents expected me to become a learned academic like my other brother and stay in the Academy of History. But having learned to chase women and ale, I was in no mind to continue my studies as I grew older.
"I hung out with some equally spoiled children of my father's nobles. We drank and planned adventures together. Until one day, I ran away with them to form a mercenary band and plunder the Steppes of Palasin. Unfortunately, the Sheik of Palasin was very good at breaking up armed insurgents. I barely got away with my skin in one piece. My friends did not fare so well."
Aterius was silent for a while staring into the flames remembering.
"How did you get to be up here with Muroc and his hunters?" Feyt's curiosity made him ask.
Rousing himself, Aterius rubbed his hands together. "After my friends’ demise, I fled from the Steppes. The Sheik is known to be particularly unforgiving and pays a large bounty for fleeing criminals. So I ran a good long way, I assure you, and it was some time before I stopped. I was quite a distance north of my home by then. Once I did finally stop though, I joined first one band after another. Finally, I was in Capistain running out of funds when I met Gairet, here." Aterius gestured at Gairet."He was so taken by my stunning visage..."
"You were black, Aterius," Gairet cut in. "I'd never seen a black man before then."
"As I was saying, he was so taken by my stunning visage..." Gairet threw up his arms in mock exasperation, "... that he talked me into a trip into the exotic far north."
"What do you think of our land?" Feyt ventured.
"It's cold.” Aterius gave an exaggerated shiver. “Very cold. Speaking of which, my sleeping pouch is going to be warmer than out here." He stood up and dusted off the snow from his pants.
"Uh, Aterius. Can I ask you why you took up for me with Muroc?"
"I am sympathetic with your story, and sorry for the loss of your mother. I remember being young and impetuous, and driven to deeds wiser heads would have avoided. You remind me of myself."
"Um...Thank you. I won't let any of you down."
"I'm sure you won't. Now, Muroc will wake us early. Time to sleep." Aterius turned away. Gairet shrugged, grinned and mouthed, "I told you so." Then followed him off in the direction of the sleeping mats.
Feyt reached into his pack and pulled his own sleeping pouch out. Oiled sealskin, it would be fine right on the snow without a mat. As he crawled into it, he thought, I will show them. I won’t be any trouble at all.
Feyt lifted the torch higher so he could see better, and pushed the red door of his home open fully. He had appropriated a torch from the pile of them at the Council meeting, … not that it was really stealing. Not tonight. The door was still ajar from when he had carried the bodies of his mother and sister out. The neighbors had stared then, but several other huts around his had casualties of the wolves as well. No one offered to help until a wagon drawn by an ox came around. The men riding in it lifted the bodies of his mum and sister into the back and took them away.
Feyt just stared as the cart with their bodies rattled away down the trail. He stared for a good long while. Then he had gone down to the Lodgehouse to make his plea for revenge. A lot of good that did me!
Now, just returned from the Council meeting, he stared at the shambles the wolf had made of the family's one room hut. The table he'd had dinner on the night before was on its side, one leg broken and hanging. The chairs were scattered around the room. There were blankets and clothing everywhere. And blood. So much blood.
He walked around the room listlessly, feeling like he should pick things up, but not knowing where to put anything. As he passed the chests that kept their clothes, he saw that all the insides had been pulled out, and one chest, his, was flipped over and broken apart. It looked as if everything had been ransacked. Searched. By wolves?
What was it Mum said? The wolf was looking for something. How could a wolf be searching chests? And for what? She said it talked. He shivered. That scared him.
Then he remembered. His mother had told him what it wanted. Feyt stared at the fireplace. He walked over and squatted down. Setting the torch against the stone fire pit, Feyt tried to recall his mum's exact words about the fireplace. Taking out his short knife, he began to poke at the cracks between the soot-covered stones of the hearth. "In the middle, left side, at the bottom..." he murmured.
There! A stone shifted as he poked. Wedging the blade into the crack, Feyt pried it out. He looked into the hole, but it was too dark. Pushing the knife back into the hole, he felt around with it. When it was half way inside, he heard a tinny clink as it tapped something. Feyt leaned down and reached into the hole. His fingers just managed to catch the edges of it and he drew it out. It was a metal box, filthy with soot and dust. Feyt blew it off, causing a poof of ash. Coughing from the cloud of fine gray particles, Feyt waved his hand to dispel them. He grabbed a cloth on the floor and wiped the powdery ashes off the box.
It was a tarnished metal box with a clasp on one side. Flipping the latch, he opened the lid and held it closer to the torch. Inside, sitting on several pages of parchment, was a silver medallion and chain. Feyt lifted it up and examined it closely. Tarnished, it was clearly old, very old, but the flat surfaces of the medallion were just plain and bare of any markings. All he could make out was a fine pitting of the surface that kept the silver from shining. It looked dull and gray. He dropped it into his pocket.
He looked at the parchments, but left them in the box. Being from a poor family, Feyt had never learned to read. I can take them to the village scribe, Haran Ellisson, to read for me, but not until I get back. Thinking that, he closed the lid and secured its clasp, then slid the box back where it had been in the bricks. He replaced the cover stone, making sure it was tightly back into place.
Time to pack up. He began to rummage quickly through things, gathering what he would need on his trip. I am sure they will be leaving at first light. And I will be waiting for them.
After filling his pack, Feyt threaded his way through the huts to where he had snuck out over the low back wall only a few short hours before. This time, he had to take care to avoid the newly added sentries. Now that it is too late, there are plenty of sentries, he grumbled.
He made his way quietly around the walls outside the village to sit where he could watch the main gate the rest of the night. Too charged with adrenaline to sleep, Feyt watched the city, still ablaze with torches and activity, through the remaining few hours of darkness. Watching in the dark, he suddenly shivered as a thought occurred. I wonder if Carnall is lit up because they are all busy, or if its lit up because they are afraid the wolves will return. That thought left him unsettled and nervous. What if they do return? With me here outside the wall? Feyt shifted his long-knife and rested his hand on the hilt. Let them come, he growled. Still the thought left him nervous.
The lightening sky found Feyt nodding, fighting sleep, outside the village gates. He was off to the side of the road in the snow freckled bushes, where he could observe undetected. His parka was pulled close against a chilly breeze from the north.
The Ice is coming, he thought. It is always coming. Even Senchar, the priest, said it last night.
Just past dawn, one of the village's double gates swung open. Rousing himself, Feyt realized he had dozed. Out of the gate walked Muroc with his band. Several guards followed them out, loudly wishing them luck in their hunt. Muroc wasted no time chatting at the gate however, but struck out at a quick pace with his hunters strung out behind him. Feyt recognized the black-skinned man from the council meeting, but this morning he was dressed like the rest, in practical clothing that blended with the surroundings. They all wore white and gray parkas with large worn and dirty white packs on their backs. He watched them march out of sight, before he stood, shouldered his own pack and started after them.
Feyt had no trouble following their tracks in the snow. It was not far before he saw where they had left the road and headed north. Soon there were wolf tracks among the men's. They had cut the trail of the ice wolves. He felt a thrill, Now we begin the chase. I can see from the tracks, the hunters have quickened their pace to a jog. From here on, they will be moving quicker as they try to close the gap between them and the wolves. Well, there is no way they will lose me.
By the end of the second day out, the wolf-sign was almost as fresh as the man-sign. It was getting close to sundown, but Feyt was sure the hunters had almost caught up. He hurried his own pace to close in with the hunting party. If they caught the wolves, he wanted to be there. As Feyt rushed along the edge of one small ravine to climb the next ridgeline, he was tackled.
Caught by surprise he went down hard and tumbled down the slope. Feyt got up swinging and drew his long-knife. His attacker backed off, but drew a much larger sword. Feyt swallowed hard, but doggedly held his woefully short long-knife up, ready to parry any swing. He could see by the man's loose shoulder length brown hair that he was not a Northman. Well, Freebrier or not, no outlaw is going to take me easily.
Feeling something tickle his ear, he swiped at it with his free hand. What is a bug doing out in this cold? His fingers brushed metal. Startled, he dared a quick glance away from the man in front of him. He found himself looking at a shiny sword-point about four inches from his face.
"Put it down," he heard from the other end of the sword. "Right now!"
"Okay! Okay." Feyt scowled angrily and dropped his long-knife, raising his hands up with the palms out. The man in front of him snatched it up. He was disgusted with himself for letting them catch him unawares.
Looking at the other end of the sword in his face, he recognized who held it. It was the black-skinned man from Muroc’s band. He had a fur cap on now and rougher clothes, but with that black skin, it was surely the same man. Relieved, but still cautious, Feyt looked around and saw that there were actually three men surrounding him. The third was standing back with a taut crossbow at ready. At least the archer has the proper yellow braid of a Northman.
"Ha ha. He don't look so dangerous up close now, does he, Gairet?" The man with the crossbow chortled.
"Well, how was I to tell from a distance?" Feyt's tackler shot back. "Besides, with that pig sticker he has there, I wouldn't want him prowling around my sleeping mat at night. Would you?" He walked over to where Feyt's pack had fallen and lifted it by one strap. "He's travelling pretty light. Nothing much in this."
The black man holding the sword spoke up, "Now that we have him, what do we do with him?"
"Muroc will want to see him, Aterius. He'll decide." Gairet slid his blade back into its scabbard. "Let's get moving. Muroc's already annoyed at having to stop early and take care of our follower here. He'll want us back." With that, he turned and began to walk away.
"Alright, boy." Aterius grabbed his shoulder and turned him to follow Gairet. Then he shoved Feyt forwards. "That way. Don't give me any trouble or I'll stick this blade in both your arms before we leave you for wolf bait." He looked deadly serious to Feyt.
"Where are we going?" Feyt asked.
"Top of the ravine here and over the next rise," the man named Aterius said. "Then down into the draw. We're staying down there tonight." As they started off, Aterius peered at him, suddenly appearing interested. "Hey! Aren't you the youth at the council meeting? Yeah, you are. The one whose mother and sister were killed."
"What?" Gairet whipped around suddenly and stared intensely at Feyt for long moments, then he nodded slowly. "You're right. It is him. I guess that means he is not a Freebrier. Less to worry about if they're not tailing us." He turned and resumed walking.
"Let's keep moving," Aterius nudged Feyt forward. He started marching again following Gairet. After a bit, Aterius offered from behind him, "I'm sorry about your mother and sister."
When Feyt did not answer him, Aterius went on, "What's your name? We need to call you something."
"I'm called Feyt."
"So, Feyt," Aterius smiled. "Why are you following us?"
"I told you all at the council meeting that I was going to go after the ice wolves with you. I have the right to revenge."
"Muroc's not going to like this," the man with the crossbow complained. "We're pushing hard to catch up. He won't want to waste any time taking a boy back to Caernall."
"I'm not going back!" Feyt lashed back.
"Not for you to decide," Gairet threw the words back over his shoulder at Feyt flippantly.
"Muroc still hates wasting time," came the bowman's nasal whine.
Gairet waved an arm dismissively at the man with the bow, "Don't worry Tauras, Muroc will probably send him back alone."
"I'm not going back!" Feyt repeated. "Not till I kill the wolf that murdered my mum and sis." Gairet raised his eyebrows and looked at Aterius, who only shrugged.
"Just keep moving," Aterius ordered.
Feyt and his captors continued up the ridge further than Feyt had expected, until finally just at dusk, they slid down the steep sides of a draw and found themselves facing two more tall men in heavy white furred parkas. The big men were spitting images of each other. Tall, blond, mid-twenties maybe, Feyt guessed, from their smooth cheeks. Neither have any real beard to speak of. A little fuzz maybe. Feyt was glad to see more Northmen in the group. Beyond them, several packs were stacked against the side of the gully. This must be camp.
From behind him came a roar. "Caught our follower did you? Is he Freebrier?" Turning Feyt saw Muroc stalking up to him with an angry scowl. The braids in his grey hair and beard were swinging violently about in his agitation.
"Actually, he's the youngling from the council meeting," Aterius drawled.
"Hmmph," Muroc grunted and squinted at him with his one good eye. "What the blazes do you think you are doing out here?" he demanded loudly.
"I came to kill wolves with you," Feyt said back just as loud. "It's my right!"
"You? Hah! You're practically a child."
"Am not! I am sixteen! I'm a man!"
Muroc snorted. "Does your mother know you're out running loose?" he snarled nastily. Feyt was so shocked at the question about his mum, and so angry, he could not speak.
"His mother is dead. One of the wolves killed her. Remember?" Aterius, again, had spoken up.
It was Muroc's turn to be flustered. "Arrrgh." He waved Aterius away. "That doesn't matter to me. I ought to haul your skinny behind back to Caernall and tie you to the gate so you stay home." Muroc took a step away, then whirled angrily and roared, "Didn't you hear me say 'No' at the meeting?"
"You're not my father. And I won't go back." Feyt was yelling back now, so angry he balled his fists.
"Relax," Aterius half-whispered from behind him. "Like Tauras said before, Muroc won't waste the time. You'd do better to convince him you won't be a problem."
Feyt looked doubtfully at the black man. Why would he suddenly be on my side? Facing back to Muroc, he struggled to stay a bit calmer, "I won't be a problem. I am the best hunter, and tracker, of all my friends. I fed my family better than most men did theirs. And, I am used to being out away from the village. I have all my gear, and I'm not afraid of the wolves. They're why I'm here. "
"He has followed us the past two days on his own," Gairet rubbed the back of his head. "It's pretty clear he tracked us."
"So you're going to take up for this kid, too? And you!" Muroc whirled to glare at Aterius. "Don't coach him. I may not be willing to take the time to drag him back, but I can slit his throat and use him for wolf-bait."
"Live bait is better," Aterius grinned widely, not the least bit intimidated.
Muroc snorted. Then he laughed. He shook his head, "It is better at that." Suddenly gruff again, he faced Feyt, saying, "How do you like that, kid? Want to be bait for us?"
"A kid is a baby goat. I’m not a baby goat!” He replied fiercely. “But if it helps me kill wolves... Yes! I’ll be your bait!" Feyt responded.
Muroc stared at him for what seemed forever, then he shrugged and said, "Okay, confound you. But the rules are simple. You make no trouble. You do what you are told. And I don't want to hear any sniveling from you. Got it?" Feyt nodded rapidly. "If I do... I will beat you to within an inch of your life and leave you out here to die. We aren't nursemaids!" He roared the last.
Feyt swallowed. "I won't be any trouble. You will see. I just want to help kill wolves."
Muroc nodded slowly. "Gairet! Give him back his pack. Find yourself a place to sleep. We're leaving before dawn." With that, he stomped away.
Gairet handed him the pack. "You got some nerve, kid. You'll make fine bait." He winked and grinned, his cut brown hair falling across his face. Feyt noticed he was missing one of his front teeth and the ones next to it were crooked. "Welcome to the hunt."
Aterius smacked him on the back and laughed. "Yes, my young friend. Welcome to a most dangerous hunt."
Feyt staggered a little at the unexpected blow, but wasn't about to act cowed. "I’m not a kid. My name is Feyt. Can I have my long-knife back now?"
Aterius laughed again. "Most certainly. Here." As Feyt took the proffered hilt, Aterius went on, "You met Gairet and Tauras. Those other two over there are Dokara and Seelus. They're twins if you haven't noticed. You may have heard of them. I understand they've already made a name for themselves killing ice bears."
"Ice bears?" Feyt was awed. He swallowed. I have heard of them. I thought they would be a lot older.
"Where do you think they got those nice white parkas? Dokara! Seelus! Meet Feyt, our new bait."
The two had approached during Muroc's ranting and now seemed even younger as they jovially came up to greet him. The differences between the two towering blonds were subtle. Both wore their long hair free of the customary braid. Dokara's slightly longer and straighter hair, and his more solemn countenance were all that Feyt could discern at this first meeting. The white fur coats had made them look much stockier from a distance, Feyt realized. Close up, they looked lean and trail hardened, like the wolves they were hunting.
"Feyt-bait! Great name!" Seelus laughed, his face animated.
"Ignore him. My brother always thinks he is funny." Dokara interjected. "Welcome to the hunt."
"I'm just self-entertaining. Doka here is three minutes older than me, and stale in his old age." He made a face and winked at Feyt.
"Ha! Those are the most maturing three minutes ever, I'll bet." Dokara said dryly.
As the two began to jibe each other, Aterius said, "You'll have fun, if you live through this. Hot water and caribou jerky are on the menu. They are over by the fire. Make soup or choke it down however you please."
By now, the dusk had become an inky dark. Feyt hurried forward to the tiny fire with his pack on his shoulder. Gairet and the one they had called Tauras were sitting at the fire eating already.
Gairet tossed him a thick strip of jerky. "Here, eat something."
"Thanks," Feyt caught the meat in the air one-handed and set down his pack.
"Don't mind, Muroc. Once he settles down, he'll be fine. As long as you hold up your end," he finished ominously.
Wordlessly, Feyt took a bite of the jerky and chewed.
Tauras sat rubbing his bow with a wet looking cloth. When he saw Feyt watching, he frowned and said, "Oiling the wood keeps it strong and the moisture out."
The nasal sound of his voice must be natural for him, Feyt thought as he nodded to show he understood. He held his free hand out to feel what little heat the fire offered. He saw Aterius spread an oilskin onto the icy ground and then spread out his sleeping-pouch on it.
"What d'you think of our black man, kid?" Turning, Feyt saw Gairet's snaggle-toothed grin directed at him. Feyt realized he had been staring at Aterius.
"I... I've never seen a black man before. Does the color go all the way through him?"
"Naw. If he is cut, he bleeds the same color as the rest of us. He's from the far south; where it's so warm people go about mostly naked."
Naked? Feeling a little scandalized, Feyt tried to decide if Gairet was teasing him. "Hmmph. I doubt there is a place that hot this side of the old god's ‘Hell’. He wears awfully fine clothes for someone who used to go about naked."
Gairet laughed. "That's because he's a prince. Youngest son of the King of Sudia."
A prince! Now, I am sure he's making yarns. Still… Feyt stole another glance back at Aterius as he asked, "What's a prince doing up here?"
"Too many older brothers for him to stay home. Some places, they only let one heir live. Sudia, however, is too civilized for that."
Feyt gaped, then shook his head, "You're teasing me, right?"
"Why don't you ask Aterius yourself."
"Ask me what?" Feyt jumped, turning in surprise. Aterius was standing right behind him. He looked back at Gairet who was grinning widely in amusement at his discomfiture.
Turning hesitantly back to Aterius, Feyt mumbled, "Uh... Gairet, says you're a prince."
"And you believe him?" His black face looked ominously grim in the flickering firelight.
Darn Gairet. Am I in trouble with Aterius? "Uh... No... I mean,... I don't know what to believe."
Sighing loudly, Aterius sat down by the fire. He scowled at Gairet, "Gairet feels he has to tell everyone he meets about me."
Giving an exaggerated shrug to his shoulders, Gairet said, "Not everyone has a black friend to show off up here, Aterius. Especially not one who is a prince." His grin was undaunted by the black man's ill humor.
"What lies has he told you about me?"
"Just that you're a prince, who bleeds red like everyone else." Feyt added the extra to be honest.
"Bleeds like everyone else." Aterius paused, thoughtful, "I guess I do bleed like everyone else. As a prince of Sudia, it took me years to realize that I was, in fact, just like everyone else. I fear I had a rather pampered childhood compared to yours, Feyt."
"I was the fifth son of the king of Sudia. My oldest three brothers were all groomed to be generals, or statesmen. One of them was going to be the one to inherit the kingship someday. The two youngest of us brothers were taught science and history, to keep us from aspirations of the throne, I believe. I suppose that worked. My parents expected me to become a learned academic like my other brother and stay in the Academy of History. But having learned to chase women and ale, I was in no mind to continue my studies as I grew older.
"I hung out with some equally spoiled children of my father's nobles. We drank and planned adventures together. Until one day, I ran away with them to form a mercenary band and plunder the Steppes of Palasin. Unfortunately, the Sheik of Palasin was very good at breaking up armed insurgents. I barely got away with my skin in one piece. My friends did not fare so well."
Aterius was silent for a while staring into the flames remembering.
"How did you get to be up here with Muroc and his hunters?" Feyt's curiosity made him ask.
Rousing himself, Aterius rubbed his hands together. "After my friends’ demise, I fled from the Steppes. The Sheik is known to be particularly unforgiving and pays a large bounty for fleeing criminals. So I ran a good long way, I assure you, and it was some time before I stopped. I was quite a distance north of my home by then. Once I did finally stop though, I joined first one band after another. Finally, I was in Capistain running out of funds when I met Gairet, here." Aterius gestured at Gairet."He was so taken by my stunning visage..."
"You were black, Aterius," Gairet cut in. "I'd never seen a black man before then."
"As I was saying, he was so taken by my stunning visage..." Gairet threw up his arms in mock exasperation, "... that he talked me into a trip into the exotic far north."
"What do you think of our land?" Feyt ventured.
"It's cold.” Aterius gave an exaggerated shiver. “Very cold. Speaking of which, my sleeping pouch is going to be warmer than out here." He stood up and dusted off the snow from his pants.
"Uh, Aterius. Can I ask you why you took up for me with Muroc?"
"I am sympathetic with your story, and sorry for the loss of your mother. I remember being young and impetuous, and driven to deeds wiser heads would have avoided. You remind me of myself."
"Um...Thank you. I won't let any of you down."
"I'm sure you won't. Now, Muroc will wake us early. Time to sleep." Aterius turned away. Gairet shrugged, grinned and mouthed, "I told you so." Then followed him off in the direction of the sleeping mats.
Feyt reached into his pack and pulled his own sleeping pouch out. Oiled sealskin, it would be fine right on the snow without a mat. As he crawled into it, he thought, I will show them. I won’t be any trouble at all.