Chapter Sixteen Guthnyr #2
“You should just let them fight.” Turning, he found Deyna emerging from the woods carrying Ryma on her back.
Since Aleida’s time was spent mostly at the forge these days, the burden of caring for the child had fallen to the Tuhlvyr, not that she seemed to mind.
“It’s how things are settled among the Travka. ”
Ryma extended her arms to Guthnyr and he lifted her from Deyna’s back, perching the girl on his shoulders. “We are not so rich in fighters that we can afford to lose any in petty disputes,” he said.
“Petty disputes are one of the few things they can call their own,” Deyna returned. “We’re fortunate they’re so afraid of you. Although, don’t expect it to last forever.”
“If it lasts long enough to bring them to their first battle, I’ll consider myself happy. Battle is the forge of armies.”
Deyna arched an eyebrow as they made their way through the camp. “Another pearl of your great-grandfather’s wisdom? Clearly, he was a man with a great deal to say.”
“That he was, but it’s not one of his.” Guthnyr winced as Ryma set about pulling his hair, one of her favourite games. “My brother heard it from some Ishtan general who heard it from the Saluhtan himself. He also knew well the value of discipline, as long as you don’t pull the leash too tight.”
They came to the shelter he had built for himself, an elk-hide lean-to secured to the low-hanging branches of an ancient, gnarled oak.
Guthnyr had chosen the site as it sat upon a promontory offering clear views of the valley below while also maintaining a decent remove from the Travka.
The Vehlkasa occupied the slope below and had made it clear they were uninterested in visitors, a sentiment their neighbours were happy to honour.
However fearful they were of Guthnyr, they feared the Morvek more.
He set Ryma down whereupon she immediately climbed into Deyna’s lap. “Fix,” the child said, patting her disordered braids.
“No,” Deyna said, tweaking her nose. “I think I’ll shave your head instead. How about that?”
“No, no, no!” Ryma giggled and squirmed until Deyna consented to attend to her hair.
“This one’s going to grow up vain,” she sighed, undoing the leather tie holding the topmost plait in place.
“At least she’s talking more,” Guthnyr observed.
He crouched at his firepit and started arranging sticks and kindling.
“Couldn’t get a word out of her when we first found her.
” He struck sparks from his flint and added sticks as the blaze grew.
“I told your uncle we’ll be ready to march in a week,” he said, sitting back on his haunches to survey the camp.
“I think I may have been overly hopeful.”
“Don’t underestimate the Travka.” Deyna grimaced as she plucked a burr from Ryma’s tresses. “They learn how to fight or they don’t last long in these mountains. Also, many years as the Vortigurn’s victims creates a deep and useful well of anger.”
“True enough. I just wish they weren’t so intent on visiting it on each other…”
He trailed off at sound of a voice calling from the lower slope. “Kirah-Var!” Guthnyr got to his feet, recognising Tirohk’s voice. Kirah-Var was the name the Morvek had afforded to Guthnyr during the march from the Sahlrak. It meant “Bright Blade” and he felt they could have chosen something worse.
“Kirah-Var!” The Vehlkasa war chief called again, scrambling up the slope with his bow in hand.
The Morvek kept the camp well supplied with game despite the persistent frost, though they were obliged to venture ever further in search of it.
“Rulchakin!” Tirohk gasped upon cresting the rise, chest heaving from what Guthnyr assumed to have been a lengthy run.
“Many Rulchakin,” he went on after pausing for breath.
He pointed to the southern end of the valley.
“Warriors all. Not three days’ march away. ”
Guthnyr didn’t ask for numbers, knowing the Morvek disdain for such things. “More than we have here?” he asked instead, swallowing a curse when Tirohk replied with a grim nod.
“Have they reached the big river yet?” Deyna asked. “The one that runs west then south?”
Tirohk shook his head. “But they will soon. These move faster than yours did.”
Deyna conceded the point with a rueful grimace before turning to Guthnyr. “We need to talk to my uncle.”
“How could they have known?!” Sygurn raged, thumping a fist to Torfyn’s workbench and fixing the outlaw chief with an accusatory glower. “To come against us so quickly they must have received word the moment we arrived in this shite heap.”
They had gathered in the outlaw chief’s personal forge to relate the news of the Nihlvarian host. Torfyn absorbed it with a curious calmness, his response to Sygurn surprisingly mild: “The Travka have a saying: ‘Nothing hides from the Vortigurn’s eye.’ He has his ways, and his spies.
Also, the Wehrtrova is not a prison. Folk come and go as they please.
Although…” he paused to run a hand through his beard, concern creasing his brow “… I’ll grant that they moved against us far sooner than I expected. ”
“You knew this would happen?” Guthnyr asked.
“Of course I did. There was never a revolt in Nihlvar that didn’t invite a swift response.
Most are crushed before they’ve even started.
This was always the deadliest of gambles, Blue-face.
” He turned a narrow gaze upon Deyna. “Regardless of what comforting nonsense my niece whispers into your ear every night.”
She’s never comforting, Guthnyr thought. “However they found out is a question for later,” he said. “For now, we need to plan our response.”
“We’re not ready,” Torfyn stated. “Not faced with so many.” He cast a forlorn glance around his forge, beard fluttering as he let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll have to abandon the Wehrtrova. March east, gather strength from the other settlements like my son said—”
“No,” Deyna cut in. Her voice and bearing were once again that of a Tuhlvyr, harsh and unwavering. “This is not a setback, but an opportunity.” Turning to Guthnyr, she instructed, “Hit me.”
“What?”
“Hit me. And hard. It has to look real.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I will go the Vortigurn’s host, tell them I was captured in the mountains and have only now escaped your clutches.
I will tell them you wait in ambush along the forest track to the Wehrtrova.
Instead, I’ll lead them to the frozen river crossing at the bend to the east. There the banks are steep and the forest thick. ”
“Are you so sure they’ll believe you?” Torfyn asked.
Deyna raised her chin to an imperious angle.
“I am a Tuhlvyr, Uncle.” Turning back to Guthnyr, she went on, “I can guess who the Vortigurn has appointed to command this force and he will not credit the notion that I suffered no injury at your hands. Nor will he doubt my resourcefulness in contriving an escape, but it has to be convincing. So, hit me.”
Guthnyr’s refusal died on his lips when Aleida stepped forward to deliver two full-force punches to the side of Deyna’s face. The Tuhlvyr staggered but didn’t fall. “That should do it,” she sputtered, spotting the floor with blood and raising a hand when Aleida drew back her fist for a third blow.
“Wait,” Aleida said. Looking around the forge, she went to a rack of chains on the far wall and retrieved a circle of thin iron links.
“Here.” She tossed the chain to Deyna. “Wear this around your neck. You’ll tell them I am the Aerling’s daughter who was stolen away when the ingrate slaves rebelled in Turihmvek.
It was thanks to me you escaped. I’ll be at your side for every moment.
One hint of betrayal and I’ll tighten this chain enough to choke the life from you in a heartbeat. ”
“Seems fair surety to me,” Sygurn commented.
“This risks too much,” Guthnyr said. “Without either of you—”
“The risk is ours to claim,” Deyna interrupted, pausing to spit more blood before affording him a red-toothed smile. “And all you need do, oh mighty Tielvik general, is claim the victory I shall generously ordain for you.”