Chapter Forty-One Guthnyr
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Guthnyr
“You’re sure this is it?” Guthnyr turned from the barely visible track winding through woodland that was even more dense and rich in low-hanging branches than the constricted trails of the Green Run.
“Mam called it the Shadow Track for a reason, it seems,” Deyna replied. From the apprehension on her brow, he deduced she had no more appetite for following this route than he did.
To get here, they had spent days following one of Velkar’s wolves through a maze of marsh and boulders.
The beast was perhaps the smallest member of the Teyrak elder’s pack, her pelt of dark grey flecked in golden brown making her sometimes hard to spot amid the perennial gloom.
She was also the friendliest, allowing Guthnyr to run a hand through her fur when she came to one of her infrequent halts.
Guthnyr had asked Velkar the wolf’s name only to receive a disparaging squint in reply.
Wolves, it seemed, had no need for such human affectations.
Nevertheless, Guthnyr had taken to calling her Golden on account of the flecks in her coat.
The Tielvik’s menda had been forced to keep moving through the marshlands without benefit of proper camps or fires.
The trail was too constricted and barren of dry timber to allow for either.
Three solid days of persistent bugs and poor rest had done little to enhance morale, but at least there had been no more desertions.
Guthnyr ascribed this to the fact that stepping from the wolf’s path most likely meant a slow death drowning in fetid water or quicksand.
Now, confronted with the track Deyna’s long-dead mother claimed would provide swift and easy egress from the marshes to the farmland west of the Citadel, Guthnyr wondered if hooking around to the south might have been a better idea.
He took some comfort from the behaviour of their guide.
Golden trotted into the shaded archway of overlapping branches without demur, coming to a halt after a dozen paces to turn and regard them with her head cocked at a curious angle.
“How long?” he asked Deyna.
“A day.” Her uncertain tone brought a frown to his face and a shrug to her shoulders. “It has been years since I heard the story from her lips. And—” she offered a bland smile “—where else are we to go?”
Biting down on a sigh, Guthnyr turned to Sygurn. “Pass the word to follow close. One day’s march and we’ll be in the open. Then the Citadel and victory awaits.”
He had organised the marching order of his elongated army into distinct cohorts.
To his immediate rear were Halvor and the outlaws from the Wehrtrova.
Behind them came the Vehlkasa, now commanded by Iyaka who had reluctantly taken on the mantle of Vakil-tuhk, or War Chief.
The occasionally unruly column of Travka and freed slaves from Sehlumvek followed with the as yet uncounted mass of newly arrived Morvek warriors forming the rearguard.
Guthnyr had ordered things this way in hopes of quelling discord.
Also, any faint-hearts among the Travka would be less likely to flee if they were forced to make their way through a host of distrustful Morvek.
Upon starting along the Shadow Track, he found the air beneath the close-packed trees musty with damp and tinged with an undercurrent of rot.
The scent didn’t appear to trouble Golden who continued to trot serenely along the heavily rutted track without apparent concern.
They had begun this trek at mid-morning, but Guthnyr found it hard to gauge the passage of time with the sky almost entirely obscured.
By the time he noticed the first tendrils of fog seeping through the trees, he reckoned several hours had passed.
The advancing mist heralded an abrupt change in Golden’s demeanour.
Coming to a halt, the wolf lowered her head, Guthnyr seeing hackles rise along her spine.
Within moments, the sound of many paws upon the sod echoed through the trees and four more of Velkar’s wolves sprinted past to take up position alongside Golden.
They kept together in a tight arc, mimicking their sister’s posture.
It wasn’t long before Velkar arrived, panting from the run.
“They smell an ill humour upon the wind,” she said, eyes narrowing at the fog now obscuring trees barely thirty paces off. “This should not be. It has been…” She paused, struggling to find the right Ascarlian term.
“Conjured?” Deyna suggested. At Velkar’s nod, Deyna gave a rueful grimace. “The work of a Ventra,” she said. “We have to assume they seek to conceal something. An approaching army, perhaps.”
“We can’t be caught in here,” Guthnyr told Velkar. “Do you have any notion of how close we are to open country?”
Velkar spent a moment in silent communion with her wolves. “We’re close,” she reported. “They smell grass only a short run away.”
“Then we push on,” Guthnyr decided. “As fast as we can. Sygurn, pass the word for shields to be readied and weapons drawn. Every warrior is to set a hand upon the shoulder of the one to their front and not remove it until battle is joined.”
Despite the urgency of their predicament, he forced himself to wait long enough for the command to reach the distant tail of his menda.
Unable to form them into any kind of battle line, it was imperative they at least be aware they were walking into danger.
Finally, drawing Kohrvayl, he nodded to Velkar.
Her wolves started forward at a steady walk, maintaining the same compact arc.
Guthnyr followed with Deyna’s hand upon his shoulder.
Behind them, Aleida and Sygurn did the same.
Velkar, of course, didn’t require the reassurance of touch and moved at Guthnyr’s side, guided by her wolves.
The abnormal nature of the fog became more obvious with each step.
It was more like smoke than vapour, clinging to the trees and lying so thick that Guthnyr soon lost sight of the wolves.
“Here,” Velkar murmured, taking hold of his sword arm.
As they proceeded, she nudged and pulled to keep them on the correct path.
To the rear, he heard an increasing chorus of curses as warriors stumbled in the miasma.
He had to combat the urge to stop and try to ensure the column hadn’t lost order, but with the enemy so close, any delay might be disastrous.
So he plodded at Velkar’s side, feeling like a blind child subject to a parent’s whim.
When the elder came to a sudden halt, Guthnyr blinked at her in surprise. It felt like they had covered only a few hundred yards but her voice held a confident note when she said, “We are clear of the trees.”
Looking down, he saw grass beneath his boots for the first time in days.
Not the clustered reeds of the marshes or the sparse, stunted shoots of a shadowed forest floor, but true, lush, green grass.
Also, the fog was now thinned by the absence of trees.
Their surroundings were still scarcely visible, but he could make out the dim outline of a low hill ahead.
Stifling a relieved laugh, Guthnyr turned, intending to convey an order to Sygurn to bring on the rest of the column at the run, then stopped when a man appeared out of the fog barely ten feet away.
He moved with a wary step, eyes bright in the haze, a tuneless humming coming from his lips in what Guthnyr assumed to be an attempt to banish his fear.
More salient were the spear he carried over his shoulder and the breastplate and bundled belongings dangling from it.
He also bore a web of scarlet tattoos upon his face.
Upon catching sight of Guthnyr and Velkar, the man came to an abrupt halt, the melodious hum dwindling to silence at they matched stares.
Seeing the fellow’s gaze track over the blue ink upon his own features, Guthnyr summoned a reassuring smile, stepped forward with a hand proffered in friendship.
Clearly no veteran, or just a gullible fool, the Nihlvarian dithered for a fatal second, allowing Guthnyr to slash Kohrvayl across his throat before he could call out an alarm.
The reprieve was short-lived. Hearing a shout to his rear, Guthnyr whirled to make out a cluster of dim silhouettes in a state of agitation. Weapons and armour clattered as they tried to ready themselves for combat, casting a chorus of warnings into the fog.
“Velkar!” Guthnyr hissed, but her wolves were already loping into the mist. Screams soon began to echo across the shrouded field, accompanied by a gratifyingly loud babble of panic.
“Halvor!” Guthnyr shouted, repeating the cry until the young outlaw came to his side, his band of cut-throats close at his back.
“We’ve blundered into their column,” Guthnyr told him.
“Take your folk left and kill as many as you can find. Shout loudly as you do so. We need them to think there’s more of us than there are. Whatever happens, stay together.”
Nodding, Halvor drew his sword and sprinted away, crying out for his comrades to follow.
Next, as the cacophony of wolf-borne havoc continued to rage to his right, he called Aleida and Deyna to his side.
“Wait at the edge of the Shadow Track. Aleida, tell the Vehlkasa to attack to the left and try to join with Halvor’s people.
Deyna, tell the Travka to find me on the right.
When the rest of the Morvek arrive, try to split them evenly between both flanks. ”
“How will they do that in this?” she asked, gesturing to the fog.
“They’ll make for the sound of killing,” he told her before turning away. “Sygurn, with me. And stay close.”