Chapter 2

The surviving members of Tobsil's family spent that winter living in the new barn beside the livestock. That was not unusual in itself, on small farms a longhouse was built large enough for both the family and the animals, but in this case the new barn had not been built with people in mind. It was not insulated as well as their original longhouse, and the larger size made it difficult for the open fire to keep much of it warm. Luckily, the grain from the harvest and the hay from the summer cuttings had not been in the longhouse when it burned, and no meat was lost. But the winter did turn out to be colder than usual, and the family was miserable, if not in danger of freezing.

The next summer, Engruth, who had decided over the winter that an isolated incident by a small raiding party was not worth his time, led a hundred men into the southern region -- on order of the king. Tobsil had hoped that maybe Engruth would have his men help put up the new longhouse. They could have had it up in a day or two with so many men working on it, but that was not to be. Instead, the chief and his men drank every last drop of ale on the farm and demanded that two young bullocks and three pigs be slaughtered for their table.

Engruth also asked that two of Tobsil's sons go along as guides. Tobsil needed the older boys the most to help put up the new house, and he feared that his older boys, especially Fexrem, might try to do harm to Engruth, so he sent Ranis and Wilhan.

The three dugouts were still at their place along the Turtel River. Tobsil and his sons had discussed using them for making raids across the Aydren River into Nwevi territory. There were plenty of warriors in the neighborhood who would be willing to go, but Engruth thought that the dugouts would make a fine camp fire.

The party advanced down the Turtel River to its mouth at the mighty Aydren. There they found the remains of a castle. The Juxani, and most other tribes in the area, built stone ring forts, which served for defense but were mainly a show of how much manpower a chief had at his disposal. This castle was different. It had what was once a tall square-based stone keep that sat atop a mound of earth. Extending out from that mounded motte was a curtain wall with defensive towers -- a bailey -- that protected the castle's support buildings.

From the ruins, they traveled up the bank of the Aydren for two days until Engruth announced that there were no Nwevii in the area. He based his conclusion on the fact that the castle was in ruins, and on what he knew of the tribe from when he had last fought them some twenty years earlier. The expedition then turned back north, and from that point on the outing was light on military focus and heavy on hunting. Years later, Wilhan would find out that Engruth had reported to the king that the castle was found occupied, was attacked, and was then destroyed, as were three warships. Thus Engruth had removed the threat of Nwevi invasion.

On the way back, Wilhan was ordered to search for a hunting dog that had run off in rough country. Wilhan was wandering the woods looking and listening for the hound when he came to a limestone outcropping. The outcropping was at the western end of a geological formation that extended past the border of the tribe into the hill country and mountains to the east. There were a few small limestone caves in Juxan territory, but nothing like the cave systems in the Upper Aydren Valley to the east. This limestone outcropping had some chert associated with it that would be good for making fire strikers. Flint and steel was by far the easiest way to start a fire, but steel was expensive so many people still used fire drills; and you couldn't pick up flinty rocks off the ground just anywhere, so the discovery of chert had some value to it. Wilhan knew that he couldn't be more than a few days' travel from home and was exited about the find, minor in importance as it was.

He had followed along the on-again, off-again outcropping for several hundred yards when he spotted a deer. Not having any luck finding the hound, he decided to try stalking the deer, not really expecting to get within spear range. He followed the deer until he came to a sinkhole, which seemed interesting after the deer spooked. The sinkhole was not much more than a bowl-shaped depression in the terrain, but it was something different so Wilhan went down into it. At the bottom he found something very odd; a huge oak tree was growing there, and sticking out of the trunk near the base was the remnants of a sword.

The sword's hand grip was rotted off, as were any decorative fittings that had been on the pommel and guard, but the metal of the blade and tang was free of corrosion. It was obvious that the tree had been growing around the sword for a very long time; just a few inches of blade near the guard were visible. There was a knot on the opposite side of the trunk, and upon close inspection Wilhan saw the very tip of the blade exposed there. A little digging around the base of the tree underneath the sword's handle turned up bits of rusty fittings that had once been heavily decorated with gold and silver inlay. The fragments of decorative gold and silver that he recovered barely amounted to the value of a small silver coin, but for a penniless boy of fourteen the fragments made the entire trip worthwhile.

He pulled back on the bare metal handle, and then he tried to wiggle the sword, but nothing happened. The blade was stuck fast. While he was still holding onto the hilt he thought about taking an axe to the giant tree, but he figured that with his luck he would probably hit the sword and break it. The sword was too close to the ground to cut below it, and not understanding the damage that it would cause to the temper of the metal, Wilhan considered charring the wood away from the sword the way that dugouts were made. Then, with a fanciful thought, he imagined the blade becoming white hot and burning itself out.

Just as soon as the thought came into focus, Wilhan felt energy being pulled from his body and out through his arm. The shock of the energy transfer caused him to grasp the handle tightly and, terrified, all he could do was imagine the sword pulling the life from him. Then everything went dark.

It was morning when he awoke, still so weak that he could barely move. The edges of his forefinger and thumb were burned, and small blisters had formed. He vaguely remembered steam shooting back at him from the point where the blade entered the tree trunk. Upon studying the sword again, he saw that whatever had happened to him had also caused the bark next to the blade to char.

Afraid of the sword, and eager to get back to camp, Wilhan left the sinkhole and backtracked, only to find the camp deserted. It looked as if it had been that way for several days, but the expedition had left a clear trail in their wake. Setting out after them, he eventually crossed what he thought was the same limestone break in the landscape. Curious, and not at all upset about being free of the expedition, he followed the feature back in the direction of the sinkhole to see if he could find either the flint or the sword again. As luck would have it, he found both.

Rather than follow Engruth's trail after that, he followed a stream to the Turtel River and then walked upriver to familiar territory. The route was a bit longer, but it gave him landmarks and allowed him to hunt and snare food. Game was scarce in the wake of the large hunting party.

He returned home a week after Ranis got back and found out that the dog had returned to camp shortly after he had left to look for it. Right after the dog returned, Engruth decided to move on. He ordered them to break camp and forbade Ranis from going after Wilhan, saying that it would leave the party without a guide. It didn't matter that neither of the boys had ever been in that region before. "He's a guide; surely he can find his way back to us." Engruth had said. He also forbade anyone to call out for Wilhan because it would scare game away. Ranis wanted to tell the man that his barking hounds had the same effect, but he knew better, held his tongue, and hoped for the best.

Wilhan didn't tell anyone about the sword. No one would have believed him. But he did report on the chert he had found because it gave him a reason to go back.

In the days and weeks that followed, he couldn't stop thinking about the sword. He convinced himself that it was the bare metal that had allowed the sword to pull so much energy from him. A wood or leather handgrip would allow him to control it, he was sure of it.

After the longhouse was finished, Wilhan announced that he wanted to go hunting and try to find the flint again. He had a bow made as a byproduct of the lumber split for the new longhouse. The pull was a bit heavy for him, but it was possible for him to kill a deer with it at distances he was likely to encounter in the forest. The arrows came from the raiders, who had a full compliment of hunting weapons with them -- bows and boar spears. Thankfully they had relied on their axes for the attack. Tobsil let him go; it wasn't unusual for a warrior to go off by himself, as a test of sorts, even though Wilhen was young for it. There was a lull in farm work at the moment, and the stone Wilhan planned to bring back would make up for his absence.

Traveling in a straight line, Wilhan found that he could get to the sinkhole by the end of a long day's hike if he started before dawn. Soon after he arrived and set up camp he fitted a crude wooden handle to the sword hilt. He also fitted a piece of leather between the tree and his hand to protect it from whatever had burned him, and then he tried to activate the sword again. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do after a long hike, but he had the impatience of youth.

He had forgotten exactly what he was thinking about when the sword activated before, so it took him several thought patterns about fire, heat, and embers before the sword activated the second time. He was wrong about the handle lessening the effect.

When he awoke it was dark and his camp fire was cold. He had activated the sword while his campfire was burning, so he figured that he had been unconscious for at least a full day. And even more so than the first time, he was worn out when he regained consciousness, so he did little more than pull his blanket around himself and fall asleep again. The next morning he carefully cut the bark away from around the sword and saw that not just the bark, but the living sapwood itself was charred next to the metal.

Wilhan convinced himself that the sword would burn itself out of the mighty oak with just a few more tries, so at midday he activated the sword again. When he woke up it was the same time of day. He assumed that it was a day later. After eating something and resting for the day to regain his strength, he tried once more just before dark. That time he was able to hold on to consciousness long enough to see actual embers start to glow around the edge of the blade, and he was also able to force himself to let go of the handle just before he passed out.

It was not quite sunset when he awoke, a little less than a full day from his last attempt. He had had enough of the sword for the time being, but he was not discouraged of getting it free. After a good night's sleep he collected some large pieces of chert and made his way home. A story about a wounded deer that got away, and troubles finding the exact location of the flint deposit, satisfied Tobsil as to why he was gone for so long.

Wilhan was drawn back to the sword every few months after that -- whenever he could find a good excuse to leave the farm. Each time, he was sure that the next visit would see the sword come free.

Before he knew it, he was old enough to go raiding with the brothers, and he had to skip his summer visit to the sinkhole for the first time in four years. As thanks for defending the family against the raiders, Tobsil had adopted Wilhan and trained him alongside his sons. When each of the younger boys came of age they went raiding with Fexrem, who had gained such a good reputation as a warrior that he was made a clan squad leader. Each longship that went out to raid along the north coast carried about sixty men. They were divided into two or three squads. Usually two or more ships would go out for a summer and raid one planned target, and any lightly defended farms, villages, or towns that they could find in addition to it.

Wilhan wasn't small for his age, but he was a bit effeminate and boyish looking. He was also a late developer compared to the hairy men of the tribe. Part of his youthful look was due to the fact that most men waited a year or two longer to start their military career; but Wilhan was as skilled with weapons as any his adoptive brothers, so Tobsil saw no reason to hold him back. At eighteen, Wilhan had almost no facial hair. He also had a bright smile, dimples, and twinkling eyes. Perhaps that was the reason he woke up the night before his first raid with his oar mate's hard stinking cock pushing at his lips.

Rorgen One-Eye was a beast of a man; big, crude and violent. He lived for battle, and that was possibly the reason Wilhan, as the new guy, was paired up with him, or it could simply have been bad luck.

Wilhan stopped himself from punching Rorgen in the balls, mainly because he didn't have a good angle and didn't want to get his head bashed in. Instead, he simply rolled over as naturally as he could.

The next day started before dawn when the three ships unfurled their sails and the men began pulling on their oars to get up river. Their target was the trading town of Ostergam. They had sailed all the way across the Blensin Straits and far west along the coast of Werimar to hit their richest target first.

The town was surprised when warriors boiled out of the three ships and started killing people; they had assumed that the ships were trading vessels. Wilhan concentrated on fighting anyone who would fight back, he left taking captives to the larger men who were practiced at subduing kicking, scratching, and screaming women. Because of his boyish looks, he had a lot people eager to face off against him. Men who should have been helping their comrades by double teaming some of the more fearsome-looking attackers instead went after the kid. He even had to kill a fat washerwoman who came after him with a red hot fireplace poker.

When it was all over he was so weary that he missed out on the looting. It seemed that in every building he went into someone was already there sacking the place. It was in one of those houses that he saw Rorgen putting a purse full of coins into his shirt. He thought nothing of it at the time, but that evening at camp Wilhan noticed that Rorgen had not put the purse in with the rest of the loot. There was no way for the king, the clan chiefs, or the ships' owners and captains to get their fair cut if all of the valuables -- other than weapons -- taken during a raid were not pooled. If they didn't do it that way, more men got killed taking stupid chances, and less was gained overall from such an operation.

Thinking that Rorgen must have simply forgotten, Wilhan mentioned it to him. The answer he got was a vicious backhand that sent him flying. The next thing he knew, he was being picked up off the ground by his long hair, and being bitch-slapped; that was until Rorgen found Wilhan's twelve-inch sax blade thrust up into his groin. Not wanting to leave the job half finished, Wilhan struck several more times in quick succession and severed the big artery that carried blood into the man's right leg.