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  THE HIGH-KING

  Isolde Saga Book Five

  Robert D. Jones

  www.robertjonesauthor.com

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  CHAPTER I

  The smouldering embers of the village shook Isolde and Harald back to reality and they knew that the terror that had befallen these people had only just been missed. Isolde could tell by the small flames that still licked the blackened frames of the skeletal homes and barns that the destruction had happened that day. The smell of death lingered in the air with the thickness of a slaughterhouse.

  The pair looked on in shocked silence and Isolde couldn't tell whether she felt rage or sorrow, or perhaps she felt neither and the nagging exhaustion that plagued her days had numbed her so much that she didn't feel anything at all anymore. This was the third village they had seen put to the sword since they had come out of the Silent Hills, and somehow she was getting used to the sight of senseless violence.

  Isolde let Harald take her hand in his and he led her through the light snowfall and down into the hollows of the town. They walked slowly, knowing only too well of what they would find. There would be the bodies of dead men, maybe the odd woman or child, mercilessly cut down, the slaughtered livestock would be left to rot in the fields, and the comely homes ripped apart and put to the torch.

  The wind lifted up and the light smoke wafted toward them, carrying with it the pungent smell of blood and offal that had been baking in the winter sun. Isolde tilted her head down as if it would block the smell and she let Harald's hand go as he moved ahead of her through the village square.

  "No women..." he said vacantly.

  The silence in the settlement seemed like a thin veil holding back the screams of the dead. All around them were the signs of murder. The bodies were piled together haphazardly, limp arms jutting out with upturned heads and broken legs. A wounded dog crawled out from the remains of a half-collapsed house, its tail between its legs as it sniffed the air before retreating from the strange intruders. Isolde shook her head, she didn't know what to think anymore.

  She watched Harald kneel down on the road, it looked like he was searching for something and Isolde followed his gaze. There was the obvious signs of movement, the crushed snow and scuffled dirt from moving feet, the blots of dark crimson on virgin powder. Harald stood back up and looked out to the north, his eyes followed the hills beyond the village to the copse of trees that seemed to watch them like standing sentries in the distance. He stared for a long moment before turning back to her.

  "Every village," he said, "the only dead we see is the men. But where are the women and children?"

  "I don't know," Isolde answered. She shook her head again as if it were all she could do and felt the helplessness swallowing her.

  "Why slaughter these towns at all?" she said. "It doesn't make sense. If he kills them all, then who is he going to rule when it's done?"

  "But he isn't killing them all," Harald said. "He’s keeping the women and children."

  Isolde sat down on the thin snow, her shoulders slumped forward and she dug down to take a handful of frozen soil and watched as it slipped through her fingers.

  "I saw you being carried off in chains..." Isolde said, still watching as the wind carried away the fine dust.

  Harald knelt down beside her.

  "In the netherworld?" he asked and put his hand on her knee.

  "No," she replied vacantly before looking up to meet his eyes. They were intense as he peered into her, they held new depths full of love and strength. She looked at him deeply and saw his care.

  "No," she repeated, "I saw it in a vision when I was at Ama's. I didn't know how to tell you, but seeing all this death makes it feel so real."

  "A vision of the future? I thought you didn't believe in fate," he said with a wry smile.

  He rubbed her leg and the comfort felt good, but Isolde was at war with herself, she didn't know what to believe anymore. She looked back at the ground for a while before speaking again.

  "Ama told me the future can still be changed," she said. "I had another vision where Hrothgar was killed."

  Harald stood back up and stretched his back.

  "See," he said, "there is still hope."

  Isolde stayed silent, there was more she wanted to say, but the words got choked in her throat when she tried to voice them until they seemed to come out in one great blurt.

  "I wasn't in either vision..."

  Harald looked at her with a crooked brow that stretched the scar along his eye. She looked up at him and met his gaze, took a deep breath and tried again.

  "I wasn't in either vision," she said again much slower. "Ama said that some things cannot be changed, no matter what."

  Harald shook his head.

  "That's ridiculous," he said dismissively.

  "It's not," she shot back, desperation in her voice. "Harald, she told me that my son was destined for great things, but that I would die birthing him!"

  Harald took a knee beside her and picked up Isolde's hand. Again his intense eyes caught her own, but this time she felt her breath catch. In that one gaze he seemed to see all her fears and yet with nothing more than a squeeze from his hand, she felt safe again.

  "I don't know what the future holds," he said, "but I promise you, Isolde, no matter what happens, I will look after you, and I will look after any child you bear until my dying days."

  Their eyes were locked when the rough shout of a man broke the moment. It was distant but unmistakable, and Isolde watched Harald's eyes snap from comforting care to stern awareness. He lifted her up by the arm and they both moved swiftly toward the voice. They kept low as they skirted a wicker wall bordering a field and crawled through long grass toward the edge of the village's hill. The road out of town wound down through a whitewashed valley and they watched as a troupe of men marched up toward them.

  "Look!" Harald whispered, but Isolde shushed him, she could see what he was pointing at.

  In front of the five men were a woman and two children. Their faces were cast down and they seemed to walk as if their legs were made of lead.

  "They're chained," she whispered back.

  Isolde watched as the men laughed and one kicked out at the leg of the child trailing behind, forcing the poor thing to tumble down and drag his sister and mother back with him. A bellow of laughter roared from the men as the mother tried to stoop down and shield her children like a helpless bitch sheltering its pups. But it was no use for her, Isolde could see the prisoners’ arms were bound, and as a ferocious boot came down on the woman's cowering arms, Isolde could watch no more.

  "Come back," she hissed at Harald. "We have to help them."

  ***

  Harald nodded in agreement and Isolde could see the rage in his eyes and the disgust in his curled lips.

  "They must be rounding up the ones that ran," he said.

  Isolde shook her head and they slipped back into the burned out village. Ever since they left Heroth Nuir, the two of them seemed to share one mind most of the time, and now they worked together in silence. Words were sparse and often unneeded. They had to be quick though, and Harald got to sifting through the pile of dead bodies. It didn't take long to find what he needed, two bows of strong yew and a handful of harshly fletched arrows. The weapons were common, made for work, not show, but they now knew that death did not need the fine ornamentation that bedecked the weapons of the rich.

  "I haven't shot in months..." Isolde hissed.

  Harald put his finger to his lips to quieten her complaints.

  "Have faith in yourself," he said and handed her a bow. "Just look to wound if you can't kill."

  Isolde nodded to him and took the bow in her hand. It was light and long, a hunting bow, and the arrows were as fine as any she could have hoped for, though the thin broad-heads were for small game, not northern raiders. Harald pointed to the collapsed house behind her and made off for the ruins of the barn opposite the street. This would work, she thought and slipped through the splintered doorway into the cottage.

  The smell of burnt meat assaulted her nose and the charred remains of a woman lay crushed under the collapsed beam of the roof. The floor's threshes had burnt away leaving a blanket of grey ash. It was a merciless scene.

  Isolde squeezed her bow tighter and leaned her arrows up against the wall as she peered through the small cottage window. She could see the way that they had come, the woven wicker fences and the long grass in the field. The sound of steps made her heart jolt and she fumbled for one of the arrows. She blindly nocked it to the string and watched as the mother and her two children came into view. The woman had been crying, her eyes were red and a dark purple bruise was swelling just above one of her cheeks. The children looked just as wretched with their red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. A brother and sister, no older than five or six summers, Isolde decided.

  She felt a rage turn her stomach as the raiders followed behind their prisoners and into Isolde's view. The first was the man that had tripped the boy. He was a wicked looking thing, a bald head with a wiry black beard in plaits running down his chest. A loose shirt of mail hung limply from his shoulders, half covered by the blue round-shield he let sway from his arm. The black dragon of Skalloway was painted down its middle.

  Next came two men speaking under their breaths, the one speaking was bald and beardless, with thick scars crisscrossing his scal
p and face. His eyes were red and fierce, like the glowing of steel within a forge's furnace. He kept looking about the town and making comments to his friend, whose long, mangy brown hair hung down his back like knotted cords.

  Isolde shifted at the window and tried to duck down lower as the eyes of the bald man scanned over her. She held her breath and sighed in relief as his eyes moved away. He hadn't seen her. The next two raiders were straggling behind and Isolde noted how much younger they were. Both had bright blonde hair that was plaited tightly, one’s face held the slightest hint of a beard whilst the other was smooth. They looked tired, Isolde thought, as though they didn't want to be there.

  The scarred face man barked an order, and Black-beard grabbed the little girl by her hair. Isolde watched in shock as the raiders moved quickly. The two youths jumped up, one grabbing the little boy and the other kicked the mother to her knees. Isolde grimaced as she felt the blow he delivered.

  "Where are they?" Scar-face barked at the mother with a rasping voice.

  The woman sobbed and Isolde couldn't hear what she was saying, but as a thunderous backhand cracked the woman over sideways, Isolde could only assume that she didn't know where they were.

  "Cut her open," Scar-face ordered to Black-beard.

  The man tightened his grip on the little girl's hair and drew a knife from his belt. Isolde watched in horror, stuck to the spot as the man drew it up to the girl's neck, holding the point of the blade so close that the faintest movement would slice her skin open. And then Isolde saw the blood.

  There was no sound, Isolde wasn't even sure if what she had seen was real. Blackbeard's head violently shunted to the side as a cloud of crimson mist sprayed out from above his ear. The man dropped and the mother screamed as her daughter crumpled under the weight of the collapsing raider.

  The other men stood in shock, then the youths looked to scar-face while the mangy-haired man threw up his shield. An arrow cracked into the thick wood as he did it and Isolde suddenly realized what was happening- it was Harald. She looked down at the notched arrow in her own bow, she had nearly forgotten it was even there. She put her fingers to the string and strained it back with all her strength. She managed to get the arrow back to her lip, but the wood was strong and she couldn't hold it, she shakingly pointed at one of the youths and let the string thwack back. In the blink of an eye, she saw her arrow punch through the mangy man's shoulder and he howled as another arrow from Harald found its mark in his throat.

  Isolde had missed her target completely, but at least she had hit one of them. She fumbled for another arrow and knocked the lot of them down to the ground with her shaking hand. She scrambled one up and flung it to her bow as she watched another one of Harald's shafts find its mark. This one went into the back of the ‘bearded’ youth she had aimed for and she grimaced at the sound of cracking bone.

  Scarface and the last youth rallied together, and the mother scrambled to collect her children as Harald surged out of his hiding spot. He carried Wulfric's great-axe in both hands and strode toward the two raiders. Scar-face came forward to meet him, blue shield in one hand and sword in the other. He had his back to Isolde, and she drew back the full weight of the bow and aimed for him. The raider raised his blade to meet Harald and Isolde closed her eyes, held her breath, and let the arrow fly. The shaft pierced his thigh and the man dropped to one knee as Harald brought the weight of the axe down on top of him.

  The last youth was frozen to the spot as Isolde came out the cottage. He was quickly kicked to the ground by Harald despite his pleas for mercy. But as they bound his arms, he began to hiss and cuss and fight back until Harald beat it into him that he was going nowhere.

  ***

  Isolde turned to the mother who stood half crouched, cradling her children in protective arms. Her dark eyes shifted quickly from Isolde’s bow to her face and Isolde could see how ragged the family really were. The poor mother’s dark auburn hair was knotted and tangled with twigs and leaves, and the bright red scrapes across her face suggested that she had been dragged at one point. She instinctively squeezed her children tighter and Isolde lay her bow on the ground slowly.

  “It’s okay,” Isolde said, keeping her eyes locked on the mother’s and trying to force an air of calm.

  The mother didn’t reply and her children buried their faces deeper into her breast.

  “Please,” Isolde said, tentatively taking a step closer. “We won’t hurt you. Are you okay?”

  The woman let out half a sob and like a dam breaking its bank, the tears came streaming down her cheeks. She squeezed her children tighter and sunk her face into the golden hair of her daughter. She howled and sobbed and Isolde took them all in an embrace. Her own heart was breaking with the woman’s pain and she could think of nothing else to do.

  “What happened here?” Harald asked quietly.

  Isolde looked up at him and could feel the fear of the family still in her arms. To them, she and Harald must have looked like more armed raiders. He stood tall, but not proud, his shoulders were rounded as if the axe in his hands weighed more than the world itself. The woman sobbed in silence, gasping for air, but as Isolde patted her hair and began to pull a leaf or two away, she seemed to gain some control of herself.

  “Raiders…” she began, but it was too much and she had to stifle another sob. “The men, they cried out for us to run… and we did…”

  The woman stood suddenly, her children at her feet, and her head twisting this way and that like a panicked rabbit.

  “The men!” she screamed, seeing the piled bodies behind Harald.

  Harald tried to catch her as she raced past him but she pushed him away and fell to her knees before the village’s dead.

  “Ubbe!” She howled out. “My Ubbe!”

  Harald dropped down with the woman and held her as she cried into her palms. But Isolde couldn’t take it, the rage had overflown from her heart and spilt out into her throat as an acrid taste. She turned away from the kids and saw the last raider, the youthful blonde, wriggling against his bonds on the ground. With a thunderous crack, she lay her boot into his ribs and felt the blow-back pain shoot into her ankle.

  “What have you done?” she screamed at him.

  He looked up at her with wild eyes full of hatred and spite, so she put her boot into him again so that she could hear the very breath in his lungs be forced out. The raider gasped for air and stared up at her with bitter eyes.

  “We should of stuck ‘em down there,” he growled.

  Before Isolde could strike him again, Harald cried out and the mother was scrambling over the raider, clawing at his face with one hand while the other stabbed manically with some piece of stray metal she had found. The blade went in and out of any piece of bare skin she could find and scraped against chainmail and bone more than once. Isolde ripped the woman off as soon as her senses came to her. But it was too late, the last living raider was choking on his own blood.

  It took the strength of both Isolde and Harald to hold the woman back and calm her. She screamed and cussed, and Isolde saw her hand bleeding from where the metal had been gripped too tightly. The children were crying for their mother, screaming out ‘mama… mama…” but it took a long time before she stopped fighting and crying.

  They had her propped up against a wall before they could get her to talk again.

  “What happened?” Harald asked as Isolde did her best to bandage the woman’s hand.

  “They came like lightning,” she started, her eyes looking out into the distance of nothing. “Someone cried out… I don’t know who… but then the men were yelling, everyone was screaming. Ubbe… my sweet Ubbe… He grabbed me, I screamed at him to come…”

  The memory was too much and she held her eyes with her spare hand, but Isolde could see she had no more tears to cry.

  “The men stayed to fight,” she said. “And the rest of us ran for the trees.”

  “There are others?” Harald asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe,” the mother shook her head. “They found us quickly. I thought we would die. But they took us back to a camp, all women and children in chains… they all marched west, but they took me and my kids back here.”