Unchained and unfettered, the tall heir of Rheged was to recover swiftly. In half a week he had regained some of the strength and vigour, for which he had been so renowned. Second he had always been in strength of arms, and courage, second only to his much beloved elder brother Swiehun.

  It was Swiehun who had always won the hearts and minds of the people of Rheged and Argoed with his valour of spirit and goodness of heart. By the time that a week had passed since his liberation from the cells below the dungeon of Rheged, Hallbj?rn had rallied all the men of Castle-Rheged to his cause.

  “I was imprisoned by the phantom that has taken possession of my father, on behalf of Sivrard,” He had proclaimed in the courtyard after he had gathered the guards and servants of his father. “My dear sister and mother shall vouch for my good name, as might any who truly know me; therefore I urge all those who have doubts to speak now or to leave to join my father.” When none made to leave he looked upon them all with visible approbation mixed with sorrow. “If none will turn upon me, I must have a messenger sent to my lands to gather troops and another to those of my brother, for we must gather the full might of Rheged if we are to hope to defeat Sivrard!”

  This last exclamation drew many startled glances from all those assembled around him, for none of them had predicted that a call to arms was what the son of their lord had in mind. He had spent the majority of the week exercising, training and regaining his strength.

  Imposing and fierce, he appeared so gallant to them, his eyes markedly more weary and haunted than before. Few questioned him, and many agreed to his proposal, for they had long since grown wearied of the domination by the eastern earldom.

  The men of Rheged were a proud breed, one that still remembered a time when it was they who were the greatest power in the north and not upstart Jorvik. Yet since the age of ?thelwulf the realm of Jorvik had risen as a hawk in flight, to dominate the whole of the north of Brittia. Rheged had watched with growing consternation as the greedy lords of Jorvik, first the sons of Helgi then his nephews, and their lines had seized control of Jorvik and slowly grown her power and wealth at the expense of her neighbours. A kingdom within a kingdom, Jorvik was a formidable place, one where the Old Norse ways still ruled and where the Arns had interwoven their warrior ways with those of the native Brittians.

  While Rheged and Norlam had sought peace with the northern kingdom of Caledonia, Norlion and Jorvik had become greedy for what lay to the north. Norlam had sought to mediate between the two realms only to be conquered by Sivrard, who had silenced his opponents there. As to Norlion it had submitted to him with joy, the Ealdorman there was named Ceolmund. He was Sivrard’s good-brother, and his clan had for centuries desired the lands of Caledonia, and had been denied them.

  It was thus that the peace-loving people of Rheged looked upon the future of their earldom with sickly hearts. They had worried over Uhtric’s policy of appeasement since Swiehun’s death, with a great many of them enraged to think that Sivrard had arranged for Uhtric’s near possession by the Queenwraith, and the framing of Hallbj?rn for the said murder.

  As one they clamoured for the eastwards march, raising their voices with a great shout. Banners were soon stitched, armour and arms loudly forged and men assembled for the war. It was with great cries of resolution that they threw themselves into preparation for what was to come.

  During the time it took for the prince of Rheged as some called Hallbj?rn, Trygve had been hard at work also. Sword-swings, spear throws and shield-bashes were the order of the day. Trygve thus found himself counted amongst the young men drawn into sudden military service.

  “Raise your arm more, and straighten your arm as you swing and remember side-to-side or from up to down. If you must swing in an upwards manner it shall leave you mostly open, and thus the strength must come from your gut.” Hallbj?rn was often heard to tell him, with earnest worry, “Therefore you must fight as though you were more piggish than you truly are.”

  “If I am a pig,” Trygve would often counter, finding delight in the witticisms of his newfound friend, “Then you must be a boar! For you are indeed a terrible one.”

  These sorts of exchanges were common between them. They were the regular speech of the closest of men. It happened that just as Leofgye enjoyed the exchange of jests and tall-tales so too did her brother.

  And he had never met one who had tales half as grand as those of the Caled, whom he found just as fascinating as she. Able to speak in the Caled tongue, with all the fluency of a Leofgye, Hallbj?rn had learnt it from their elder brother just as she did.

  Though he was a passionately fervent follower of the god Khnum, Hallbj?rn asked Trygve often of the nature of his passion for the love-goddess. One of the questions he asked shortly after his liberation was, “How is it that a people who admire the thistle, and who are renowned for being so obstinate could possibly give rise, to one such as yourself?”

  “By that do you mean one as brave, handsome and wondrous as myself?” Trygve queried with a laugh, as he swung his sword exactly as demonstrated by his newest friend.

  “I mean that you favour the love-goddess according to my sister, and yet are a Caled. My father used to tell me that Caleds were incapable of worshipping her,” Hallbj?rn replied with a booming chortle of his own.

  “Plenty of Caleds worship Turan,” Trygve countered feeling a little peevish; he was to admit, “I always thought much the same of you Brittians.”

  Hallbj?rn paused as he blocked his blow with his shield, a pensive look on his long blonde-bearded face. He signalled for the other man to lower his blade, to pursue the discussion in earnest, “Do your people despise my own?”

  There was a rare look of softness in his eyes, with Trygve unsure of how to respond. He soon admitted, “Where I come from we rarely if ever think of you.” This visibly relieved the other man, he continued without thinking. “Though, when we do aye we do fear you.”

  “Why is that?” Hallbj?rn asked him gently.

  “Because…” Now Trygve searched for words, not ordinarily at a loss for them, he struggled to put his words into context. Not as familiar or as keen upon history as his friends were, he admitted after a moment of deep-thought, “Because we have never been allies or friends with you. We are always enemies, save for during the reign of R?dwald.”

  Hallbj?rn was distressed by this notion, though he did not say so at that moment it was painted into the fabric of his face. He was later to admit it in private to Oswine and Trygve, the following day after breakfast and his own morning prayers to the god Khnum. He was pious by nature, and was never to renounce from praying to his god in the morn’, for he knew that it was only with their aid that victory could be achieved.

  “?thelwulf may have sewn the six kingdoms of Brittia together, but it was R?dwald who founded our nation, and united our spirit.” Hallbj?rn said at this time proud of the man who had usurped the throne of the royal family of Gewisse for himself.

  Talk of R?dwald made Trygve a little curious but he did not ask immediately after the old king, thinking it hardly the time, and that it was more important to ask about the old king’s bond with Caledonia. “Why did he seek peace with us?”

  “Some say it is because his father was a Caled, but I do not believe this especially with talk lately that his father was really the holy Neustrian monarch Léon.” Hallbj?rn admitted with a shrug of his shoulders, “R?dwald simply liked the Caleds I think, he waged many wars with your people and it was said that during his days as a bandit before he became king, he lived amongst the northern people. That it was there that he came to know the Caled tongue.”

  “Did you ever meet him?” Trygve asked next as he was made to practice his next sword-swing, encouraged to do so by Oswine.

  “Try once more,” Oswine commanded him from where he stood to one side, disapproving of his momentary lapse in attention to what they were supposed, to be doing in the courtyard.

  Trygve grimaced at him, annoyed by his sternness that he could not help but feel was some sort of act to impress the likes of Hallbj?rn, or the man’s half-sister. Hallbj?rn was hardly fooled by either of them, friend to both he knew what lay within each of their hearts. A smile graced his bearded lips.

  It was some time ere Hallbj?rn answered his question, waiting until he had wearied himself over the course of several hours, “Nay, Trygve I did not meet R?dwald though my grandfather did. It was R?dwald who slew his older brother, and he who introduced my grandmother to her spouse.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Because she was the lady Wulfrun, who was his good-sister, it was she who tempered his wroth when he wished to lay low my grandfather, who was an impetuous man.” Hallbj?rn admitted bemused, studying his young friend he changed the subject, “Your swordsmanship has improved, you have good reason to be proud.”

  Trygve felt pleased by this praise, though he was hardly enthusiastic about the notion of warring with any person, it was his hope to be of use to Hallbj?rn and Wulfnoth, and to improve himself. He only prayed though he knew it was cowardly that he be left behind, in the lands nearest to Castle-Rheged rather than being brought to Suthelm.

  *****

  “You have truly taken to Hallbj?rn,” Wulfnoth was to later remark, when he joined him in breaking his fast early the next day, the druid having invited him to his chambers to do just that the day prior. “I sense that he shall play an important role in the days to come.”

  “How so?” Trygve questioned, pleased by these words, as he felt such faith in his newfound friend that he often boasted that it was he who had foreseen this very fact ere others had.

  “I foresee a time when men shall look to him, shall say ‘this here is the heir of Uhtric, only he may save us now from Sivrard and his Dark Laird’.” Wulfnoth prophesized eyes distant, running his thumb and left index finger over his moustache. “This is why I think you ought to be prepared to leave soon.”

  Trygve could feel his stomach sink at those words, his sly words died upon his lips, as he asked considerably more meekly than he had hoped to sound, “You do not think that I shall have to do battle do you?”

  Wulfnoth regarded him with such incredulity that the Caled at once knew this to be a ridiculous question. Regardless of the futility of the hope that he might stay away from the violence of war, he knew this to be of the utmost folly.

  “Trygve,” Wulfnoth said, for the first time since he had known him his tone was gentle when he addressed him, his eyes staring sadly at him. “You shan’t avoid it. It has come about that Hallbj?rn has need as do we all, of all able-bodied men.”

  Trygve felt tears prickle his heart, and his vision cloud with shame as his lower lip quivered. “I had hoped,” He whispered at last when he had mastered his voice, “That I might have been able to avoid this, to avoid war.”

  “As do all who live in such times, and must endure such terrible sorrows,” the druid murmured to him not unkindly, gripping his shoulder with the edge of his fat fingers.

  They remained there like that, neither one of them speaking. They both knew that this could well be the last time they were to speak in this manner, for the future looked bleak.

  The situation felt all the bleaker, when Wulfnoth left that day with to rally the temples of Ziu and to act as Hallbj?rn’s herald in the east of Rheged.

  *****

  At his departure, he wished each person well though he did take his time to pat Trygve upon the shoulder. It was a gruff, clumsy gesture one that the youth appreciated because he could see the grief in the old man’s eyes at this parting.

  It was evident that though he was not as fond of him, as he was say Daegan or Cormac, he had no wish to see the end of the youngest of Freygils’ sons. Such partings it has been said are always a sorrow, with Trygve pondering that this adage was very true at that moment.

  “May the gods protect you Wulfnoth, and the Saviour guide,” Said Leofgye tenderly, in the absence of her stepmother who had preferred to remain confined to her bedchambers. Whether it was from grief at Wulfoth’s departure or because she had at last, given way to the last vestiges of sorrow at what had befallen her family, was impossible to say.

  “And may he and those same gods watch over you, fair Leofgye,” the druid whispered with good cheer when the time came for him to leave.

  He left as swiftly as he had arrived, and there was only absence to be felt along with resignation at what was to come Trygve mused tartly. Still a quiet determined part one that he had never known in himself told him that he would not perish. He would learn to while he still could fight better.

  It was in this spirit that he attended his sword and spear-lessons with greater resolve. Such was the vigour of his sword strokes after this time, the accuracy of his javelin throws and the musculature of his physique in the after-days of Wulfnoth’s leave-taking that he impressed all. Leofgye declared him still a scrawny youth, teasing him and taunting him as she might a younger sibling, claiming that mayhaps he should still wear the dresses in place of her. In return Trygve teased her about having a beard, which grossly offended her and made her swat at his shoulder.

  Oswine and Hallbj?rn praised him each in their own way, with Oswine still declaring him to have much to learn where the other man merely slapped him upon his back.

  *****

  It came about on the fourth day after Wulfnoth had left ahead of them that Hallbj?rn received a messenger from his father, scolding him and demanding to know why he was assembling an army. The messenger who arrived was a man who spoke with a distinctive accent that identified him as having come from Jorvik.

  Arriving just as Hallbj?rn was busy with examining the newest of the helms that he had requested from the local blacksmiths. Though not trained as a smith, Trygve who always stood near to his side could discern that few if any of the helms were of the same standard as those crafted by Corin.

  “Your father orders you to hurry to his side, in Wyngarde and to join him upon his tour of the south-eastern lands of Rheged, and in his negotiations with Argoed.” The messenger commanded Hallbj?rn coldly.

  The sole surviving son of Uhtric raised a brow, amused by this icy comportment on the part of his father’s newest herald.

  “I will return once I have seen to the putting into order of my father’s house,” Hallbj?rn promised, his smile so sincere, and figure so valiant to all who looked upon him even the hostile messenger that none could keep from taking him at his word.

  The once contemptuous messenger was to bow, for he knew at that moment that his master had nary any good intentions towards this most princely of lords that this man was truly worthy of the title of lord. It was through noble comportment and a warm mien that Hallbj?rn oft won over the friendship, and good esteem of those around him.

  He was offered food and drink and a fresh horse, which the lord fetched for him, himself saying to him as he did so. “I am grateful that you supplied me with news of my father, but I would ask one last favour of you; what news do you have of my beloved wife, children and the kin of my half-brother? Fro they have long troubled me and been in my thoughts and prayers.”

  Seeing the sorrow and worry that was etched into his face, the messenger softened all the more. Mounted upon the horse which he patted the mane of, the well-rested man who had only been in Castle-Rheged for but a day assured him. “It happens that your father has banished from his presence your lady wife, to her father’s keep. Your children and those of your brother are kept near to him and well-cared for. As to your brother’s wife, she looks after both yours and his children and seeks always to temper your father’s tempers.”

  “Thank you! You are a good and true servant of my father, go now with my gratitude,” Hallbj?rn encouraged him, with the other man hardly able to meet his gaze for the shame that had entered his heart at those words.

  Thus, did the man leave with a greater opinion of the son than the father, and that when the time came to report to Uhtric he counselled him to make peace with him.

  After his departure though, Oswine approached the princely lord to say to him, “You know he came to undermine you, and might well do so once he has rejoined your father.”

  “I do not think so, Oswine,” Hallbj?rn replied firmly, “If he does so it shall be too little too late by that time, for we will have already seen to what my father ought to have.”

  Oswine did not appear altogether wholly convinced, nor did many of the rest of the men who surrounded them. Trygve was of a more cynical persuasion himself than the princely lord. This was his first insight into the optimistic side of the prince with whom, he had as they say thrown his lot in with.

  The lordly man was to demonstrate this side twice more, during their sojourn in Castle-Rheged. The immediate following incident would be when he laughed away his losing some coin at a game of chance that very night. He encouraged Trygve to join in the game of dice the men had enjoyed in a squat brown coloured house at the edge of the city. It was with another chortle that he observed the younger man win even more coin from him than their host had, as Freygils’ youngest son demonstrated a greater talent for dice than him.

  The second great incident involved Hallbj?rn falling to one knee upon their departure the following morn’, before his mother and half-sister. Saying to the former, “Forgive me mother if I have ever given you reason to doubt my fidelity, or failed you.”

  Eadburg could hardly bring forth any words to bear, her eyes full of tears she at last murmured him, “Nay, forgive me, my son, for failing you.”

  “There is naught to forgive mother,” He replied ere he turned to his sister to ask of her, “What say you sister? Do I deserve forgiveness for all the years, we spent full of envy and anger against one another?”

  The playfulness in his voice belied the uncertainty in his eyes as he knelt before his blue-skirted sister who smiled as benevolently as the golden goddess might well have. She was so beautiful that all the assembled men would gladly have given their lives for her. In spite of not being in love with her, Trygve was to later heartily swear by all the gods including his favourite Turan that he gladly would have died for her also.

  “Half-brother in flesh, you are my full-brother in heart just as you were one to our precious eldest brother.” Leofgye swore to him taking his face into her hands so as to kiss his forehead, her eyes shone with tears when she pulled her face away from his.

  More than a few women wept then, just as the servants and children did at the sight of this most beautiful of separations. Hallbj?rn smiled, his eyes shining brightly with warmth sniffling a little as he climbed up to his feet, he embraced his sister with genuine affection.

  “Swear to me that you shall return safely baby-brother,” She urged him fearful for him.

  “But of course,” He replied at once, his voice hoarse and throat tight with emotion, ere he lowered her back to the ground.

  Turning from her, he mounted his smoke-black stallion that was named Thunorhof. This steed was renowned as the finest charger in all of the north of Brittia. Once the horse of Swiehun, it had been gifted to the little-brother by Leofgye upon the former’s death. It was thus, with a heavy heart that Hallbj?rn had accepted this gift that he claimed he would hold in trust until his nephew Wilfred came of age.

  Swift as the wind, bold as a flame and as indomitable as a mountain, Thunorhof was a charger worthy of the knights of Gallia or Norléans. Renowned as far away as Volkholant as the third swiftest of all war-steeds with four foals to its name that Swiehun had intended to bring up to be worthy heirs of their sire. It bore its rider with dignity, so that it almost surpassed the kingly air about him, much to his embarrassment and Trygve’s amusement.

  “We ride now,” Hallbj?rn roared in mind and spirit, his father’s son and proud Swiehun’s brother, as he called out to the finest of all the men of Castle-Rheged. “Men of Rheged, we ride now to Suthelm. We shall not slow our pace for any man, nor shall we need to for we are men of Rheged! The mightiest of all the men of Brittia therefore remember thy ancestors as we venture now to war!”

  Each of the men cheered as lions might, and bound whether upon foot or horse forth from the high-gates of Castle-Rheged. Silver-blue steel shone as bright in the light of the suns as the ocean so very often did, as each man wore the upright left-facing gold lion with the dual-pointed tail on the scarlet background with pride. Their steel-raiment glittered also with no less brilliance than their arms and no less majesty than the fluttering banners of Rheged. The twelve standards borne aloft were solely that of the ruling house of Rheged,

  Along the road they were to gather as they journeyed south-east seemingly to answer the call of Uhtric a vast number of banners and warriors. The most notable to have answered the call were those of Eadwig of Stithirin, Uilliam of Norvarran, Eadberht of Valgard, and Wigmund of Wealhwulf. There were many others, dozens of them but these were the most notable of names. Wigmund was an old friend of Hallbj?rn’s brother, and had once been a suitor for his sister. Since then he had wed, and had fathered a dozen children, a cheerful man whose father was called ‘nuncle’ by Hallbj?rn, and who shared an equally close-knit bond with Uhtric. Wigmund’s coat was that of a wolf rearing upon its hind-legs facing left and like the coat of the family of Uhtric had a leonine double-tail. Gold upon a crimson standard, it was such a strange image Trygve could hardly keep from sniggering at it. A reaction that amused Wigmund far more than the lad himself, as his blue eyes twinkled with merriment, being well-aware of the ridiculousness of his family’s symbol.

  Norvarran’s coat was that of a blue tower quartered with a green-flowing river on a white background, while the tower dominated a crimson one. Valgard involved an eight-pointed crimson star on a dusky standard, and the symbol of Stithirin was that of a dark-weasel with blood-red fangs, on a still darker background. This last one was Trygve’s least favourite symbol, though the heir of Rheged hardly noticed. He was too busy mediating between Wigmund and Eadwig who despised one another. With the two in the days that they were both present in Rheged coming to blows almost every day at times thrice a day. Wigmund was soon despatched east, along with half the forces, with many of the barons keen to follow his leadership, as he was a well-recognised hero. As to Eadwig, between his father’s friendship with Uhtric and his son, and that of the thirty-eight year old man with the princely heir, there was little Wigmund could do to dissuade Hallbj?rn from his friendship with the honey-haired and bearded stout warrior, who had eyes like a crow.

  These followers of Hallbj?rn were the greatest assembly of heroes in the history of Rheged since the reign of R?dwald. Never before had the land seen a greater assemblage of arms and warriors, nor had any of the peasants, nobles or beasts of the land seen their likeness. Men took heart as they ventured past, cheering them on or joining their long train of fighters. Lads cheered, most especially when their valorous fathers were seen joining or supplying food to the three thousand men who had sworn their lives to Hallbj?rn and Rheged’s cause. Women swooned and lasses stared with round eyes, just as elders beamed and sang praise, proud of the young men who dared to at last see to the defence of their homeland.

  Only the monks in the many monasteries and abbeys they crossed showed some semblance of reticence. They knew better than any others what war meant and sorrowfully many wrote in their journals and archives of the great cloud of gloom that was soon to envelope the earldom. Others cheered as the peasant did, and proudly jotted down into the records of how Hallbj?rn had at last broken free of his imprisonment and that he had surged forth from Rheged as a lion from its grotto.

  “Truly, this is a proud day for our earldom,” One monk said to another as they passed, the abbot of a small abbey dedicated to Meret the goddess of music he added. “Years from now, men and women shall sing of the courage of our Ealdorman’s son!”

  The hope inspired once again in the broken people of Rheged brought out a smile to the lips of Hallbj?rn, who was teased by Oswine for this development.

  “One might almost think you Herakles come again, or the latter-day hero Renaldo the Magnificent.” Oswine remarked as he observed the songs sung and the rapturous response from all they saw on their journey through the countryside.

  Journeying through the forest of Sceadwid with its wealth of sycamore, alder, red and ash trees that each bore a far more welcoming air and mien to the last time Trygve and he had trotted past them. The forest was on the whole far more beauteous to behold, than they had previously thought it capable of being.

  Trygve his private terror of trees due to the prologue to his present adventures was to abate at the sight of these sunlit, covered trees. The emerald and snow-like sheen to these trees that stood as giants and as welcoming as the finest of mothers to these heroes that the forest could not but regard as its own. Or so one might well have thought, given the sense of joy the men felt to be there, so that even the cowards thought themselves akin to triumphing Romalian legionnaires.

  “I am glad I appear so mighty to your eyes old friend, though I shan’t help but think you and they exaggerate,” Hallbj?rn replied with red cheeks, avoiding the gaze of his friend. “If Swiehun were here, none would sing or even notice my own humble presence or meagre person. He was always the hero, and the one everyone adored, and I but the second son.”

  “Why do you speak so? Milord,” Said P?ga one of the older huscarls who had arrived from further south to join them, a man sworn to the lord of Nihtfort, one of Uhtric’s oldest friends. By virtue of his own standing in the esteem of the lord’s father he rode by his side, just as Trygve and Oswine did. His grey hair and beard, along with his dark eyes and tall, muscular stature had marked him from the beginning as a man to be respected. The emblem carved into his hauberk and that decorated his livery and dark woollen cloak was that of the dark snake entwined about a gold sword. “You are here at hand, and Swiehun is not. Whether he would appear more impressive, or might better rally the men of Rheged is hardly important, and were he present he would say as much himself.”

  These words were gruffly spoken by the elderly warrior, whom at once won for himself Trygve’s respect. These were the words he had wished to say, yet had found himself too busy searching for them at that exact moment, so that he could only offer up a simple ‘he is right’. This remark made him sound rather boyish, when he wished to appear manly, as Oswine, Hallbj?rn and many of the other men that surrounded him did at that moment.

  There was more he might have wished to say, in support of his friend, were it not for the men bursting into sudden song. As one they raised their voices in cheer of the great quest they were upon, singing now of Ziu, of his gift of courage to men which in the eyes of the war-god was the greatest of gift ever given to men.

  “Suns rise high,

  Greater than the stars in the sky,

  Aye we may well die,

  But who amongst the gods up-high,

  Can truly deny,

  Mead and song which we have bellowed

  Louder than they in the sky?

  Therefore come out all ye lads,

  Fill thy chests with joys,

  For on this day ye cease to be lads!

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  Forward and onward do all true men charge!

  As though upon a heaven-ward barge!

  Let not the burning skies and the dusky steel before ye

  Slow thy beastly charge!”

  Not a warrior by nature or by temperament, Trygve raised his voice and joined in the song, carried along by the mood of his peers. Hallbj?rn he noticed also joined in the song, and though he did not sound altogether beautiful when he sang. In this way, Trygve was at last introduced to an art which the heir of Rheged could not perform flawlessly. It should not have pleased him so inordinately; it nonetheless made him feel all the closer to his newest friend so that he joined the other Arnish and Brittians in laughing at the noble.

  “You sing as poorly as my wife,” P?ga teased with a loud laugh, “The old crone can hardly croak better than a crow!”

  “Aye, and listen to our Caled-friend, he is almost as bad,” another man teased this one having come from the north-east of Castle-Rheged; he looked akin to a bear with his thick black mane and beard.

  “Aye, though his voice was no more terrible than the dog-like barks and nail-tearing sounds our lord made.” Oswine remarked to the great ribaldry of all the men, Hallbj?rn included.

  “Please, mercy men,” He jested with each of them, eyes bright with merriment.

  “Never!” most of them shouted every bit as playful at that moment as lads.

  The jests from there moved away from the Arnish language they had spoken in, up to that moment so that Trygve only understood a few words here and there. His pleasure at the sense of camaraderie such that he forgot then all fear, he felt of Brittia. Strangely, it was at that moment that he began to love the nation that had always been the rival of his forbears.

  *****

  Suthelm-Keep that had menaced and raged against Oswine and Trygve upon their previous visit, and that had been filled with a dark air of desperation. Her prisoners who had seemed grey-skinned and pitiful had lent to the feel of doom that hung over the prison-fortress that guarded the frontiers of Rheged. This aura of despair, of hopeless cruelty gave way now to a shuddering cowardice that made the keep appear as though it were shrinking from the army that marched upon it.

  Unprepared for what was to come, the guards sworn to Sivrard who had paid nary a mind to the movements and activities of the people of Rheged regarded the approach of the enemy army with shock. They neither thought to save themselves, nor did they consider alerting the rest of the fort, which went about its business lazing about in the noontide suns.

  The men of the keep had had some excitement in the past month or so, what with the breaking-out of the prisoners they had held and loved to neglect. They had since then recaptured the greater number of them, and thrown them back into their cells. Of these men, who had been cruelly deprived of their freedom and were kept away from the light of day, only a few survived the succeeding days. So great was their despair, and sparse their lunches that they soon thinned from existence. Others were whipped into submission, in some cases until they collapsed into the next world.

  Not only were the men of Sivrard thus evil, in the greatest extreme that such men could be, they were to prove themselves terribly incompetent. It took less than an hour for Hallbj?rn to seize the fort, capture each of the men, the captain of the fort included and to free the eleven or so prisoners still alive.

  “Mercy, please do show us mercy!” Sang the men who had once ruled over the fortress of Suthelm, seized by mortal terror of the very lord they had once boasted they would beat into submission were he only to appear before them. Now that the shoe was upon the other foot as they say, they were prepared to beg.

  “Where are the other prisoners?” Hallbj?rn asked of these men who were confined to the south-eastern corner of the castle courtyard.

  The head of the keep was to answer hurriedly, with such eagerness that his men hung their heads in shame and their captors shook their heads in disgust at his cowardice. “But of course there were others, I assure you we did all we could for the others.”

  This was a bald lie, with the local castle’s chaplain to be brought hither from the castle to report that he and not the prisoners had not been well-treated. “They are buried,” He said anxious not to displease Hallbj?rn himself, “Near here in the castle cemetery of course. But ere their passing, they were treated so poorly as to turn my stomach. Such was my shame and regret, for how these men comported themselves, that I could not bear to come out, to see the light of day.”

  A young man, the druid’s eyes became wet as he spoke, and his beard itched so that he scratched it tirelessly, a nervous gesture that drew suspicion from Uhtric’s heir. Several of the prisoners were to reluctantly affirm that yes, he had done as he claimed.

  Hearing this, the lord Hallbj?rn became relieved, for he had no great desire to punish a man of the faith. The druid was asked to note down a message for them; one to Vesgarde where the eastern forces had gathered.

  “I wish for those under the command of my brother’s good friend, Wigmund to advance as far as castle Wealhwulf, wherefore they will take the castle, the inhabitants’ prisoner. Lord Wigmund shall have full permission to trade the lord Wemba of Wealhwulf in exchange for a hefty ransom. The likes of which my brother might well have liked, and paid for his own wife and children.” He said with his eyes narrowed in the direction of the prisoners he had at hand before him. There was little love in his dark-glinting gaze for he bore little love, for these black-hearted men of Jorvik.

  *****

  Observing these proceedings with keen interest from where he stood to one side, by the southern gates, Trygve was left to stand watch with two other guards. Paying more attention this time, he was soon called away by Hallbj?rn to attend him as he headed into the mead-hall of Suthelm.

  Arranging for a small feast, after the former guards had been herded off into the prison with near to a full-score of Rhegedian guards to supervise them, Hallbj?rn was to make Trygve his cup-bearer.

  “Trygve, I was just thinking that I owed you an apology, as I forgot to ask of you if you had a message of some sort of Wulfnoth.” Hallbj?rn said to him genuinely contrite.

  Having by this time drunk his fill, of some of the local mead alongside some of the other men he helped to fill the drinking-horns of those seated at the tables, Trygve waved an airy hand from where he stood next to Oswine. “I am not all that concerned.”

  “And why is that?” Oswine queried from where he sat farther down the table, with a half-drunken laugh of his own.

  “Wulfnoth would likely complain about, whatever it is that I might say to him,” Trygve retorted with a shrug that shook half his body, so that he very near fell over so tipsy was he.

  It happened that some of the men stared at him, befuddled by this spiteful remark. Some even went so far as to scowl at him.

  Oswine was the sole person who chuckled, doing so until he was elbowed in the gut by the man next to him. This prompted him to adopt a more serious mien.

  Hallbj?rn frowned at this remark, disapproving of his complaint about Wulfnoth. It was to be the heir of Uhtric who scolded him for this flippant disrespect towards the druid. “Wulfnoth is a great man, and he holds you in high regard Trygve, therefore I do think some respect is in order.”

  Trygve nearly answered but as he had another drinking horn thrust into his hands, for him to drink from. Once again he was left with a great deal to ponder about, especially the next day after he had sobered up.

  *****

  The news that Wigmund had advanced against Sivrard reached Hallbj?rn the following day, who greeted the news with grim satisfaction. This reaction was one that mystified his friends and supporters, who felt the news to be worthy of celebration. Of much the same opinion as these warriors, who cheered at the news Trygve assumed as did many others that Hallbj?rn was simply sore about the other man claiming a greater part of the early-glory.

  It was to be P?ga who reported shortly thereafter that the men were ready to advance, against Jorvik. This was agreed to by Hallbj?rn who agreed with his suggestion that they advance upon Dalkrynn castle. Brought along, as Hallbj?rn’s groom, Trygve was to find that though afraid of the battle that was to come, he was in the days to come that his friend once again was everywhere to be seen. Reassuring all the men, racing back to secure the food-train and hurrying back to the front of the vanguard to encourage them once more, he was as the goddess Tempestas upon her ship Védrabatèl (which meant ‘storm-ship’).

  Each of the men smitten by his bravery and entreaties were to cheer at the sight of him, with each of the men singing once more of the glories they were certain to achieve. Many of them convinced that the coming battle was to be a decisive victory.

  The only man who appeared uncertain was Oswine, who spoke but in private to Trygve, “I am not so certain this attack near Dalkrynn is wise.”

  “Why ever not?” He asked of his friend as they sat eating before a fire late that night, with mutton brought along on the military-venture well cooked over the fire.

  “It is just that Sivrard has never been defeated in the past,” Oswine replied grimly adding melancholically, “Not even Wulfric has succeeded in cowing him.”

  This worried Trygve, but the next time he met with Hallbj?rn, the blonde warrior refused to be daunted. “We have no other choice, Sivrard is the arm of the Dark Laird hereupon the Lordly-Isle. If we do not fight him now, he will push forward with the aims of the enemy.”

  “Is there no way to lure him, away from his alliance with the Dark Laird?” Godric lord of Wembkyn was to ask worriedly, a young man with dark hair and an even darker beard, he was almost as muscular as Oswine and had ebony coloured eyes.

  “Nay, I do not think that is the case,” Hallbj?rn retorted firmly.

  “Why is he at all attached to some king from another island?” P?ga inquired confused by the words of his lord.

  Hallbj?rn’s gaze became distant, as they trod past another monastery there was a great number of them in Jorvik from the last sixty years. “Only Sivrard may know that answer…” He paused for a time, with a number of his men growing restless.

  It was Trygve who commented with unfeigned indifference to the other man’s reasons for why he was doing what he was doing. “I imagine Sivrard’s motivation is hardly that complex. If I were to hazard a guess, his reasons must be linked to greed, a desire to carve his name as a glorious one in history or to simply conquer for its own sake.”

  “Why do you think that?” Oswine questioned intrigued by his words, staring at the youth who shrugged his shoulders in response.

  “I do not know I just assume that this is always the motivation of powerful men when they misbehave.” He admitted not wanting to admit at that moment that, he had once thought such of all Brittians.

  To one side, Hallbj?rn considered him with newfound respect. Visibly impressed, by the wisdom that lay behind his words, he studied his friend closely. Trygve, was not to know it but this was the moment that Hallbj?rn began to sense the exact reasons Arduinna had determined to bring him south with him.

  All that the youth from Glasvhail saw of his friend was the near-golden hauberk with the lion of Rheged decorated upon it and the man’s long crimson-cloak. A cloak that beat in the wind behind the heir of Rheged, as majestic in manner as the high-standards of the great families of the earldom did.

  *****

  Dalkrynn was a castle that lay strangely at the foot of a large mountain. Legend had it that the mountain was once the resting place of a great dragon, one by the name of Dalkrynn. It gave its name to the fortress after it fell to a heroic knight from Gallia three centuries ago, who went on to marry a local milk-maid. In more recent times, the youngest of Helgi’s sister Brynja’s sons, a youth by the name of Brynjarr had arrived near this fort two centuries before to discover the castle under threat by a phantom it was said. Such was the mystery of the murders that had haunted the locality ere Brynjarr’s arrival that they had looked, to the Arn not as an invader but as a liberator.

  The castle was in the end burnt by the Arnish warrior, and was later to be rebuilt using stones in the reign of Eadgar II who had it built using the local red sandstones that were so commonly found in the nearby area. It had two towers and six meter high walls, with the keep itself but a little taller than these walls and a dungeon eighty meters long and wide. The courtyard was but thirty meters wide, with a large chunk of it open to the small mountain that loomed over the castle.

  Looking upon it with a troubled gaze, Hallbj?rn was to remark, “Dalkrynn fort, and the castle that my family has for centuries longed to take.”

  “A castle that looks to me to be an eyesore,” Oswine grumbled having no regard for the keep that was surrounded by a nearby forest. There was but a little farmland near it, so that the castle and the village that surrounded it were but a few hundred. “How has your family never taken this place?”

  Hallbj?rn shrugged helplessly.

  Trygve could not but share his friend’s opinion, given the disrepair that the castle was in. He felt a wave of pity for the local people, who were sure to feel troubled and agitated to have an army occupy their keep.

  Hardening his heart, he trotted with those who surrounded him a prayer to Ziu for aid and courage. He had a feeling that he would soon be in dire need, of the war-god’s assistance, far more than the local people of Dalkrynn did.

  *****

  The forest he discovered was a place with a thick collection of underbrush and trees that were every bit as old as some of those that Trygve had passed when crossing the land to that of Arduinna. It was a place of quiet with the silence interrupted solely by the chirping of birds. This served only to put the youth further on edge, as he glanced all about in search of enemies, as he recalled the various tales Corin used to tell of war. In the past, he had rarely if ever paid attention to those stories, Trygve was to now remember each of those tales with a vengeance, notably those that involved ambushes. Ambushes he remembered had been amongst Daegan’s favourite tactics in those same stories if only due to how she regarded them as a fair-strategy. It was in his opinion, proof of her Gallian heritage as much as it was her Caled one.

  “Why so nervous?” P?ga demanded of him, growing tired and agitated by his continuously swivelling head.

  “The greater question is if all Caleds are so easily frightened?” Another man, this one a large bulky one half the height of Cormac joshed.

  Bristling at their smug tones and scornful words, Trygve scowled at them as he snapped back, “Nay, we are the most valorous of Scota’s children! It is just that… I shan’t help but feel as though we are in the midst of wandering into a trap.”

  This news drew a particularly worried look from P?ga, just as it did from Hallbj?rn. The former was a surprise as he was rarely one to worry about such consequences.

  It was the latter though, who put all the men on guard, “I fear that Trygve may in fact speak true. I do not much like this forest much more than him.”

  “Are you certain that this is wise, milord?” P?ga asked almost pleadingly, apprehensive for reasons that escaped his friends.

  “Aye, especially if you are sweating so old friend,” Hallbj?rn retorted at once with a slight teasing note as he sought to put his friend at ease.

  There was something in his nervousness that caught and held Trygve’s attention. He could not quite understand why, only that he could not repress the feeling that there was something there that was out of place.

  Tearing his mind away from the thought of the other man and his strange reaction to focus his attention, upon the space between the trees, Trygve once again felt as though they were being watched.

  The feeling only heightened the more they ventured forward, with the feeling at its peak when they emerged a short distance from the castle.

  The keep stood at a short distance as stated it was dominated by the mountain it appeared welded to, with the vast farmlands that separated the forest stretching from forest to fort for a whole league. It appeared to almost slope upwards he noticed absently, as it spread upwards in the direction of the castle. At the same time it appeared as though the farmlands stretched east and southwards for leagues. A reminder of the great vitality of Brittia, a nation as in its infancy as Caledonia herself was.

  Eyeing it with suspicion, the youth was to advise that they approach it carefully.

  It was now though that Hallbj?rn refused to heed his counsel.

  “I understand you feeling that caution might be wiser, Trygve but we have the castle now at our mercy!” Hallbj?rn called out to his friend, his own confidence rising so that he encouraged all of his supporters to take up position nearer to the enemy keep.

  He kept enough of his head to keep from charging within the gates and was of wise enough mind, to foresee the need to keep his people from charging too swiftly. Their impulsive nature one that he was not blind to, or that his captains took for granted themselves.

  Even with all of their cries for everyone to restrain themselves, and to remember to maintain the line they very near kept from breaking at the sight of some of the local farmers. Each of the huscarls wishing to seize someone out of mistrust of each person of Jorvik, and the strong desire to disable the earldom’s ability to resist Rheged.

  The local people were to welcome them with great cries of terror, whereupon they fled to the castle where they closed the gates to them.

  This availed them little, as the forces of the west were to slip into the courtyard by the north walls after some heated combat.

  Kept near the rear-guard which had for a duty to primarily guard the supply train and to maintain an eye out for any reinforcements, Trygve was to be both pleased and humiliated by this turn of events. Pleased that he was kept far away from the bloodshed, and shamed by the fact that he had not the chance to prove himself before Hallbj?rn.

  It was Hallbj?rn himself who was responsible for having dashed around the walls while a great number of his forces distracted the enemy near the southern-gates, to take the keep. His courage had awed his enemies and inspired his friends, and captains. Though he very near suffered an arrow-wound, was it not for P?ga who was to parry the attack from one of the high-towers with his shoulder. This gesture left the old man’s arm numb, though he gave it nary a second thought, so concerned was he for his liege’s son.

  For this act of heroism, the lord’s son thanked him most heartily when the time came. Such was the weight and sincerity of Hallbj?rn’s words that, they left the old man flushed with pleasure. Hardly popular amongst those he typically lived with and fought alongside, P?ga was to earn for himself more than his share of back-slaps.

  Only Trygve continued to keep himself at a distance from the old man. He did not much like him, and did not share in the jests and gratitude that overran the warriors.

  These sorts of masculine displays of warmth though were shared solely after the archers upon the walls of the keep, had been either slain or seized. The battle one that by that time, was in the words of Oswine; ‘already won’, much to the joy of all those from Rheged.

  Given the task of waiting for the prince’s horn, Trygve did not have to wait for very long, after the messenger who had brought them news of the attack on Hallbj?rn. Once he heard the war-horn he did as he had been taught to do, as the man’s herald; he blew into his war-horn with all that he had. It was a simple horn, one that was hardly a match in beauty and in majesty for that given to Cormac; however Trygve was quite proud of it. It may have been simply wrought from red-hood, and with a single Norse rune decorated namely with the tiwaz futhark, but it was his.

  The great blast he let loose inspired those all about him, who knew this to be the signal that they were to charge the walls. Forbidden from charging the gates and walls, Trygve was to restlessly watch as men he had eaten and went to sleep next to, for weeks charged, fought, slew. All in the name of Hallbj?rn and Rheged, so that he felt left behind and as though he had accomplished naught.

  *****

  It was however after this battle that the forces of the western province of Brittia were to imprison the local forces of Dalkrynn in the local prison-cells attached to the dungeon. When they ran out of space there though, they were forced to resort to using the dog-kennels of the castle to also imprison them. This humiliation was one that caused considerable rage amongst the men of Jorvik. Men who were unarmed and who received little in the way of assistance or protest by those they had once all but enslaved beneath them.

  As to the farmers and their families, as Hallbj?rn had neither the inclination nor the belief that they should do them wrong they were all released. This proved a foolish gesture, as you will soon see later in the tale.

  It was as they prepared to divide their forces in two; one to stay and hold the fort. The other was to advance north to join with part of the army of Wigmund to assault the keep of Wealhwulf which was one of the most important in Jorvik. Near to the mountain Wulfbeorg it lay to the heartland of the earldom.

  Ere they could depart for the north, news came that the army of Wigmund had already been pushed back. This news was brought to them by Wigmund’s own son, a youth a little younger than Trygve himself, at twelve years of age.

  Arriving on a horse, which he had climbed atop with little assistance from his father, as he was almost the size of a full-grown man in spite of his still being a child, he called out to Hallbj?rn. “Ho! Milord, news from Wulfbeorg! Milord Hallbj?rn!”

  Bursting through the gates, with his straight vivid blond hair, bright blue eyes and speaking fluently in the Arnish tongue his Brittian had a thick Norse accent to it. It was evident that this youth who was dressed in an Arnish tunic, with their style of trousers and had silver-headed belt with the head shaped as a bear was of Arnish descent.

  Greeting the lad warmly, Hallbj?rn who had been in the midst of distributing orders for his men to move south to seize castle Gl?dstān and also to call for the reinforcements from the south of Rheged to join the forces that were to stay in Dalkrynn. Looked up and raced thither from the map-room of the castle at the sound of the youth’s cries.

  “What is it Sigeheard?” Hallbj?rn called out with Trygve and a number of the rest of the commanders and captains of the lord just on his heels. When the lad hesitated, tears in his eyes hardly able to speak he was pressed nonetheless to do so, by the eldest of Uhtric’s sons. “Speak! Speak, for love of your father Wigmund!”

  Pressed into remembering his filial duty, Sigeheard was to swallow his tears and admit as he was helped down from his charger by some of the huscarls of Castle-Rheged. “My father- the lord Wigmund has fallen! He was ambushed near Mt-Wulfbeorg, to the forces of Sivrard!”

  “What? How could such a thing come to pass?” P?ga bellowed from where he stood a short distance behind the heir of Rheged.

  Hallbj?rn did not hesitate before he ordered the lad to be taken back into the castle. Wherefore he turned next to Trygve with a pained look in his eyes.

  It was apparent to all present that Hallbj?rn was pained at the loss of Wigmund; he was later to say that he had almost considered the other man a brother.

  “He was the sworn-brother to my half-brother aye, but I always felt him to be as good as my own,” Hallbj?rn murmured when Trygve found him after dusk, as they walked through the castle. The two men were walking together, with the older man bowing his head a little in grief at the loss of the courageous Wigmund, so that Trygve regarded him with pity.

  “Do you wish to speak of him?” He asked of his friend.

  Hallbj?rn avoided his gaze, visibly affected by his recent losses, “Nay, I would appreciate it if you might do me the favour of fetching ink, a feather-pen and paper from brother Cenric’s chambers. I must write to Wigmund’s father, as it is the least I could do for him.”

  This Trygve did, yet upon his arrival at the other man’s chambers he was to find the princely lord asleep, seated before his desk.

  Once again his heart twisted with love and pity for the man who snored gently before him. Laying down the effects he had been sent to fetch, he pulled the wolf-fur drapery from the bed to lay it upon the son of Uhtric. Taking great care as he did so, he was to step outside the room to sleep in the hallway.

  When he awoke, it was to find one of the linen drapes from Hallbj?rn’s bed wrapped about his own shoulders.

  *****

  “Sigeheard you shall take a message to your grandfather, one that is of the utmost importance,” Hallbj?rn commanded the following day, standing once again in the courtyard surrounded by his commanders as he had been upon Sigeheard’s arrival.

  “But milord, I can fight-”

  “I do not expect you to do so lad, because your duty lies elsewhere,” Hallbj?rn interrupted impatiently, striking Sigeheard’s horse’s posterior with all his might yelling as he did so. “Our very lives depend upon you!”

  “What are we going to do to stop Sivrard?” Oswine asked of their liege, having been one of the guards who had been responsible for opening the western gates through which the youth had just left through.

  “We must of course, advance to avenge Wigmund!” P?ga roared sword unsheathed and held aloft in his right-hand.

  Trygve felt his doubts prickle beneath his skin; he could not imagine that this strategy would end well. “I do not think that wise.”

  Many of those around him stared harshly, with only his friends failing to do so and encouraging him to speak out.

  It was Oswine who was to ask him, “And what might you suggest Trygve? That we flee?”

  Cormac would not advise such a strategy, Trygve mused; the other lad would have likely suggested digging down into the fortress they currently found themselves in. Or he might have suggested hiding in the forest, as might Corin. Daegan would favour P?ga’s strategy, as might Indulf.

  Trygve conscious of all these differences between his various friends, unsure of himself hesitated. He could not but wish he could be as brave and flexible in mind and spirit, as Cormac at that moment. But he was a coward in all ways.

  It was as he bowed his head and lowered his gaze, “Flight is not always the worst action to perform.”

  “But it would be in this situation,” Hallbj?rn said harshly, a hint of disappointment in his voice. His reproving voice made Trygve wince and raise his gaze hesitantly, to meet the irritated one of his great-friend, who turned now to P?ga. “We shall march at dawn to combat with the approaching forces of Sivrard.”

  Trygve could not help but feel his heart plummet, at this announcement.

  *****

  The enemy neared them faster than expected. Sivrard was an experienced general with thirty years of experience. He had cut his teeth resisting the superior forces of Amuner by facing down Amuner’s conquering armies and those of his father before him. Afterwards, Sivrard had dedicated the rest of his life to the art of war. He was the finest general after Wulfric it was said, in all the realm of Brittia.

  The speed, with which he crossed the fields of Jorvik, was a testament to this fact. No sooner had Hallbj?rn deployed his men it seemed than they were set upon by the men of Jorvik. Ferocious men of Arnish and Brittian blood, these warriors that were arrayed against those of the west, in a large twelve hundred man shield-wall formation. They advanced as a tortoise with but three lines of men it appeared at first, their rounded shields seemingly a poor defence.

  The truth of the matter was that Hallbj?rn’s own eight hundred men had their backs to the mountain, so that they had the advantage of the high-ground. A division of two hundred had also been sent to flee to the nearby forest to then advance upon the enemy from behind.

  The hope was that though the enemy had more men than they, strategy and quick-thinking were sure to win the heroes of Rheged the day.

  The enemy shone with such light as the suns radiated down upon all that day. The heavens were clouded, none were to expect rain until well into the evening.

  “If they have cavalry, as they did in the battle near to Wulfbeorg, we should hope for rainfall,” Oswine muttered to himself all of a sudden uncomfortable with the battle also. “Mayhaps, we ought to have waited for a better day to combat with these knaves. Better that than, rely upon that knave Eadwig.”

  Eadwig was the lord of Stithirin, one of the several lords who had accompanied them, and good-cousin of Uhtric. A young man, of some prodigious skill in war, he was as bold as he was impulsive and for this reason, along with his many suits for the lands that neighboured his own hardly trusted by Oswine.

  Hallbj?rn pursed his lips in response.

  Positioned at the head of the shield-wall, he was to address his men sternly, as their fathers might well have had they been present. “Hold fast and hold steady men of Rheged! Remember the blade of our ancestors; the blades that sundered the land in twain that laid low all the men of Argoedas and Jorvik ere they were known as such! Remember, and sunder them anew!”

  Each of the men roared as might lions and tigers, high did their voices rise until the heavens quaked for fear of them. Their swords shook; fists pounded their shields as all the land trembled at what was sure to come.

  As a great wave though, the men descended from Helgi the Terrible and from Artuir in the north of Bretwealda advanced. They rolled forth as the sea, preparing at first in slow, small waves wherefore they struck and pounded the great promontory.

  The first blows echoed across the whole of the Lairdly-Isle, from the surfs in the north in the lands dominated by the Crow-Feeder, to the fens in the south ruled by the kingly Wulfric and his sons. The might of those blows shook arms, bled men to death and sundered lives as the farmer’s scythe sifts through the wheat.

  Courage failed and was renewed, valour was tested and cowards were made known to all.

  Chicken-hearted in days of yore, Trygve made his worth known now. Built as an ox might be, mightiest of his brothers after Indulf, as full of guile as his mother and steadfast as Solamh, he used his shield well. He parried a rainstorm of blows and slashed, stabbed and hewed down a multitude of men, saved and was saved in turn by those to his side such as Oswine. Positioned near the front of the center-wing, near to Hallbj?rn, he at last showed his valour.

  What can be said of the lordly Hallbj?rn himself? He fought as a tiger and a bear all at once, clawing, chewing and leaving none unmarred before him. His sword flashed in a surge of cerulean, as blue as the sea, silver as thunder and emerged from slash and hewing cut crimson as a tomato. His face reflected no joy no pleasure nor did it reflect fear as that of Trygve did. All that he showed was the steadfast courage of a true heir to the house of Rheged.

  Bold was he that the stars themselves might one day shine with reflected pride, of his glory. Never tiring, he and all those by his side never faltered.

  In this Trygve was different, for though he fought well. Better than any other youth his age could well have been expected to, he soon grew wearied. As weary as Arduinna herself was of life itself in her forest.

  The heavy din of battle, the cries of the dying and the cheers of the living and the shock of the cantankerously maddened blows upon his buckler, the continuous motion of his blade and constant movement of his feet wore upon him. It took time of course, after nine hours of continuous bucking, and hewing he could feel the battle-rage, the maddened desire to live and righteous rage at these traitors to Bretwealda wear thin.

  “Back! Back!” Oswine called out to him, clearing a path to him, as he had been somehow pulled forth from the steel-clad ranks of the men of Rheged.

  “Victory! Victory! Look there, from the west flies valiant Eadwig!” Someone bellowed out distracting if briefly so, the men of both armies.

  Oswine promptly pulled the lad next to him back, from the jaws of the enemy shield-wall that had hungered for him and lapped after Trygve as the tongue of some great leviathan might have.

  *****

  Full of hope at the realisation that the forces of Eadwig, lord of Stithtirin were en route to their rescue as the warriors in the service of Hallbj?rn had by this time grown tired. They had fought for the whole of the day, had nigh on broken the ranks of the enemy time and again, and come near to being broken themselves. Hope was swift to be discarded as despair spread its wicked tentacles throughout their ranks.

  Gaping, a great many in the rear lines, where Trygve had been moved were shocked to discover that the cavalry of Eadwig, did not strike north as he had been instructed. Greaves shimmering, hauberks gleaming and chargers panting and roaring as tigers they crossed the plains and farmlands to the west of Mt-Dalbeorn. The trap had been overturned upon the invaders, much to the triumph of Sivrard who could be heard crying out to his men to rally.

  “For everlasting glory!” He cried out sword high in the air, “Bring me the head of Hallbj?rn!”

  A strange transformation overtook the prince of Rheged. Before his eyes had tended to shine with the light of the suns, with the vigour of a thousand men, yet now they darkened with sorrow and resignation. He knew what was to come.

  He had been betrayed, there was naught he could do to reverse the tragedy that was to come.

  It was as his west-wing sustained the shock of the assault by Eadwig that he turned now to Trygve, pulling back from the vanguard to command him.

  “Take flight Trygve,” He commanded then as his men closed rank so that the hole he had left was covered.

  His face was covered in sweat, blood and dirt yet he had never appeared so noble, so kingly to the eyes of the youth.

  Inspired by this vision of the man he had come to love, as greatly as he did his own brothers, Trygve did something he had never done ere that moment; he knelt. “Please milord, do not send me away!” His plea astonished some of the men, in particular Oswine who had come to know, just how much he feared death. “I can fight as any man here may vouch. I am just as prepared as they to perish herewith you, this I swear just as I swore myself to your mighty father.”

  Hallbj?rn though regarded him sternly, anger came into his eyes then, “You dare profane yourself and besmirch my name so? No Caled has ever knelt before a man of Brittia, to do so is the chief-most insult to your people therefore, this shan’t be but the greatest of insults to I who loves your people, as surely as my own! For ‘twas your people who resisted Roma, when my own knelt, it was your people who turned back the tide of the tyranny of ?thelwulf. Your people who have ever acted as the last bastion of Brittia, as surely as it was my own who upon the great stones and rivers of Bretwealda built the kingliest of cities.”

  His stern words made Trygve weep, even as he accepted the truth behind them. Forced back upon his feet, he was made to look his liege in the eye. There was sorrow there and love too. No greater love had ever been felt before then, between a Brittian and Caled.

  Hallbj?rn touched his cheek with a rough, callused hand and tenderly, he placed thereupon the brow of the son of Freygils the most tender of kisses.

  It was the gaze and the love of this southron brother of his that persuaded Trygve of his duty. Mounting atop the very horse of his friend, he was soon given the man’s shield, helm and the ruby leopard-headed ring passed down by Uhtric’s grandfather down through the family. It had been Hallbj?rn’s prized possession since his half-brother had passed it to him, all those months ago.

  It was to Oswine that he next turned to, ordering him to go to Wulfnoth to inform him of the news of what had happened. This he protested also, but was dissuaded when the older man scolded him with equal fury as he had Trygve. “You are the joy of my beloved sister’s life, and to keep you here could only snuff that joy. This I would not do to her, as I have done to my own dear wife and sons. Thus, you must go! Go to Vesgarde to warn Wulfnoth of what is to come!”

  *****

  Both mounted men were to break-through with the assistance of Hallbj?rn who abandoned all pretence of fighting along his centre or right-wing, focusing all his forces upon the left one. His men were to throw themselves with the might of a thousand tigers, in spite of their vastly diminished numbers.

  It would later be said that for every man they lost, they inflicted thrice the pain and misery and losses, upon their enemies. Such was their vigour that the cavalry of Eadwig and the vanguard of Sivrard were greatly diminished ere the passing from evening to dusk.

  “Hold strong! Men of Rheged, stay strong!” Hallbj?rn yelled to his men as the enemy slowly pushed them back.

  Throwing himself into the midst of the enemy, with a large double-headed battle-axe that the Brittians were infamous for, he slashed at a nearby horse. The animal fell before him, along with its charging rider who was flung unto the swords of his enemy.

  Inspired by this act, Hallbj?rn’s men gathered about him as he slashed twelve further times, hewing apart as many men with each strike, never faltering and never backing away.

  Seeing this Trygve was to at last charge out after Oswine, the two of them taking advantage of the hole left in the enemy ranks by their friend.

  The last they were to see of the last of the sons of Uhtric was his last axe-stroke, when P?ga came upon him.

  It was the captain who sword in hand treacherously delivered the last sword stroke.

  His blade sundered through the air, with the black-hearted traitor striking through the big-hearted warrior who gasped, and falling looked up at the sneering face of the man sent to slay him. The weight of this betrayal weighed upon him as he lay dying, Hallbj?rn was to deliver with his last words his warning, “Celebrate not P?ga, for in victory lies your defeat… Death shall be the reward for thy betrayal.”

  *****

  Turning his gaze away, Trygve was not ashamed of the tears that blinded him as he journeyed west, nor was Oswine who broke from his side to flee north-west.

  The taste of defeat in their mouth, and the shame of having abandoned Hallbj?rn to be murdered weighed upon both of their spirits, never to wholly vanish.

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