Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(72)

“Our friend here may tell us,” said Eyvind from beside the fifth body.

The most recent runes were scratched rather than chiseled; where the others were neat, clean cuts in the stone, these were a mess of shallow scrapes made by a knife or spear tip.

It took Onund a moment to decipher. “Thurse above, that part is clear, but the next…” He pursed his lips. “Burn root, vines wither. That is all there is.”

Thurse above. Aelfhild’s skin prickled at the thought. Even wyrms paled in comparison to the Giants’ Bane.

“I thought they were just a story,” she whispered.

It was the constant refrain of nursemaids to misbehaving children, “Behave, or the Thurse will come for you.” There were a dozen other geists and ghouls that could be substituted in for the Thurse, and none of them real. That was one story that Aelfhild hoped did not bear a seed of truth.

“No,” said Onund. “They drove our people from these lands. Sigurd gave himself to drive them back. They are real enough.”

“Like your trolls, though,” Eyvind broke in, “they are gone. They have been gone for an age.”

Onund sucked at his whiskers. He did not reply.

“They starved down here,” Kolbrun sounded queasy, and Aelfhild had to agree that the image was not a pleasant one.

“Leave the dead to rest,” Jarngrim said from behind. “We should not linger.”

They followed him back into the sun.

“What do the other words mean? Burn root, vines wither?” Aelfhild pondered aloud.

Eyvind shrugged. “Imagine how the mind must play tricks on a starving man. Sounds like madness to me.”





39

Their camp was peaceful that night, with the stream babbling away nearby and the distant rhythm of waves against the cliffs. Aelfhild stared into the fire.

Onund was telling the others what they had found in the crypt. “For some reason, they stayed behind. Maybe they were too old or sick. Most of the folk left out of these parts when Aettirheim fell to the Thurse and went east with Sigurd and the rest.”

“Tell us of the Thurse,” said Aelfhild.

The Thrym grumbled.

“Ill luck,” she heard Vidar say.

Ceolwen shushed them. “I would hear it, too,” she said.

“You know that human and Jotunn made war on one another, yes?” Onund asked.

The Earnfoldings nodded.

“It begins there. Jotnir were too few to last against our kind. So they took the arts taught to them by Ivar the Smith, upon whose Anvil all are shaped, and twisted them. Those are the Thurse, cursed spawn of Giants. And the Thurse were fierce and drove us from Mannaheim, but the victory of the Jotnir was brief.”

“The creatures turned on their makers and hunted them to the end. They drove our people out into the world, and all the tribes scattered. Some wandered to Aettirheim and made a city there—our ancestors.”

“But the Thurse found them. And the Aettir defended their lands and cities for long years, but the tide was not to be stemmed.”

“Sigurd rose to gather the people, and they fled east. It was in the passes of the Grimbergs that they had their last battle. Sigurd fell, but the Thurse were broken. And the surviving sons of Sigurd, Vignir and Orn, went on to settle lands of their own—our lands.”

The Skjoldung spat as he concluded. “A foul tale!”

Silence hung over the camp.

“Cheer us up, old man,” Geir tossed a pebble toward Onund. “Give us something joyful!”

“What?”

“Tell us about Thane Arinbjorn.”

“I am not so old that I knew him, you wag.”

The tension had broken and the others joined in.

Jarngrim shouted, “Make it up, like you always do!”

Aelfhild could already see Arinbjorn in her mind. She said, “I picture him with a great belly and a long black beard. He smiles and laughs easily.”

“Like Eorl Cuthbert,” said Bercthun. “I like it.”

“A thane would have chainmail. Does he fight with a sword?” asked Jarngrim.

“No, a spear,” Eyvind replied. “He is humble, not vain.”

Onund stood before the crackling embers and let his blue cloak swirl around him. He raised his voice to the stars. “And so with flashing spear and shining mail Thane Arinbjorn of Skelborg strode out to meet his foes. Battle was joined atop the Grand Stair, and one by one he cast his enemies down to their ruin. They parted like breaking waves around his tower-shield and fled before his flaming gaze.”

The old man mimed the spear strokes and counterblows.

“He needs a monster to fight!” cried Bercthun.

Vidar rubbed his hands together. “More gold and silver!”

“Beautiful women!” was Geir’s suggestion.

Kolbrun kicked the man in his protruding gut. “What would you know of beautiful women?”

Onund continued. “And then came the troll, the rock eater spewed from the vile depths of the earth. Arinbjorn held the line! His men quailed from the beast’s foul breath, but the Thane stood tall. He matched blow for blow, until his spear broke on the obsidian hide and shield shattered beneath the leaden club.”

The audience held their collective breaths.

“All was lost! But as the troll reached to devour Thane Arinbjorn in its reeking maw, the Gods sent him one final burst of strength. He seized his broken spear point and skewered the creature through the mouth, up into its pebbly brain!”