Legends Never Die: A Moment of Reflection (ch. 116)

“Not to talk you out of this brother, but what exactly is the goal here?” Halfdan questioned as my army bypassed Ribe, save for the two thousand Norwegians that were sent in to enforce a peace upon the burning city. There was a hum of anticipation in the air as word quickly spread about our aim -- the chase down the fleeing Danes. “It's about to start posting down rain, and I thought you wanted one great big battle?” 

“I did. Do,” I amended, looking out at the road the fleeing army had traveled. The dirt path was nothing but a muck that had already claimed the boots of those that traveled at the rear of the column. “Which is why like a bunch of sheep, they must be shepherded. Else they'll splinter apart to the ends of the land if we let them.” 

Halfdan snorted, “So, what I'm hearing is that you did too good of a job of putting the fear of Hel in them?” 

I considered it for a moment before I allowed myself a small smile, “Something like that.” I admitted, earning a chuckle from my brother. Five thousand men had already cut their losses and fled from any future battle. That was a great deal more than I had been prepared for, and, worse, it would cause future issues. 

Bands of men ten to twenty strong breaking off from the main army… they wouldn't just leave Denmark. At least not at first. Out of fear or need, they would become bandits that would be a constant throne in my side as I would need to scour the lands for the small bands. Given my own success against Charlemagne, it wasn't an issue that I wanted to deal with while I went about conquering around the Baltic Sea. 

So, we had two true tasks -- we needed to turn the five thousand men that had broken off from the main army around, and we needed to keep the main army intact as they fled to Alabu. There, I suspected that Horrik would muster up the last of his defenses. He would have no choice but to sally out and attack, as Alabu just didn't have the food reserves to survive a siege. 

The biggest issue, however, was making sure that Horrik had enough confidence to commit to the attack. If he jumped onto a longship and sailed off…? The very thought opened up a pit in my stomach. The thought that Horrik or Thorfinn could escape after I had done so much to prepare for my vengeance… I genuinely felt ill at the idea. Which is why I needed to be careful. 

“It shall soon storm, Wolfkissed,” King Widukind remarked, looking up at the gray clouds overhead. The air carried the scent of rain, feeling wet and humid. It was ideal for my purposes. 

“Then let us march,” I replied, urging my horse forward. My scouts would already be keeping an eye on the army, and they would undoubtedly have scouts looking at their back. “We know their destination. Let's force them to march through the storm,” I said, and I couldn't stop the grin that begun to tug at the corners of my lips. 

With that, a horn was blown as my army marched on. We avoided the already mud path that Thorfinn had used, which would take us wide, but we were still able to shadow the larger army. As I predicted, the moment that they realized we were giving chase, they immediately picked up their pace. 

I had fought armies much larger than my own before, but only by carefully maneuvering several factors. In Crete, I had spent weeks drawing them out to respond to an opening so I could use the terrain to my advantage. In Bulgaria, I had taken advantage of what I knew of the commanders and sowed distrust between them so I was instead fighting two separate armies at once rather than one large one. 

Now I was doing both at the same time. 

Horrik's grip on Denmark was slipping, and he knew it. By now, he would know the Danvirke had fallen. He would know that Hedeby had declared me king. He might even know that his army had retreated from Ribe. All of it painted a dawning picture, so that would force his hand. He would have to confront me on the field. Defeating me was his only hope to restore his damaged authority. 

That gave me the battle I wanted, but just like in Crete, I had to cultivate the army that I would face. Hunger and exhaustion. Those were my weapons of choice to wield in this battle. 

They would march through the rain and the mud. Through the night and day, if I had my way. They would have no time for foraging, and if their supplies were burned along the way? 

Days of marching through mud on an empty stomach, harried and harassed every step of the way. By the time we chose a field of battle, the war would already be half won. 

…

My army lagged behind Thorfinns by nearly half a day, with a gap that steadily kept growing as each day, my men would stop to rest. Meanwhile, I was part of the raiders that nipped at their heels. There were two hundred of us in total, each changing out a time to attack. The mornings came with a heavy fog that was ideal for raiding up and down their column. It, however, cleared during the afternoon and with it came the rain that the army was forced to march through. 

It was no light drizzle either, but a true summer rain with fat droplets that struck with physical force and soaked you to the bone. My raiders would rest then under a tent, kept dry and warm by a low fire. 

Then, once night fell, the other group would set out to harass them. True Sight made it childs play to see where they kept their supplies, and Thorfinn was no Hadi or Harun. On the first night, we burnt a significant portion of their food stores, and on the second night, we cut through the guard and destroyed the rest. 

They started to send out bands to collect food from villages, but that swiftly stopped when their men stopped returning. Slowly but surely, they felt the leash that was tightening and their options were becoming more and more limited. Until, realistically, they had only two. 

They could slow down to hunt and forage, but in doing so they would allow my army to close the gap. Which would render their punishing march not only pointless, but counter productive. Or, they could grit their teeth and power through the hunger and exhaustion. Considering their flagging morale, and the fact that even with hunting and foraging that they would struggle to feed such an army, they chose the latter. Exactly as I hoped they would. 

I'm certain that there were many that would want to defect from the army that was forced to march for days on end, through the mud and rain on empty stomachs and no sleep. Only our constant raids convinced most that there was no escape. And finding the corpses of the few that tried were compelling arguments to seek safety in numbers. 

The journey, under ideal circumstances, should have taken around a week with a fast march. Twenty miles a day was fast enough to be quick, but it was sustainable. With the rain and mud? That was closer to ten miles a day. Then five miles a day as the hunger and exhaustion set in. Thorfinn did exactly as I wanted him to and he pressed on, trying to reach Alabu as fast as possible. It was tempting to just attack. He had largely hidden himself from me, but I knew that if I truly wished for it, I could find Thorfinn in the army. 

But that was contrary to my broader strategy, so I resisted. Barely. 

It was the better part of two weeks later when the army began to close in on its destination, limping forward with my own army less than a day's march right behind them. And, it was as we began to near Alabu that I realized I had started recognizing the wilderness around us. Paths that I had walked down as a boy, forests that I had hunted in. 

“We're near home,” Halfur muttered underneath his breath, realizing it alongside me and Halfdan. “I came down this path when I left home. We're not too far from the old village,” He continued, a frown tugging at his lips. 

I hadn't at all been prepared for the wave of homesickness that struck me like a bolt of lightning. I found myself grabbing the reins of my horse with a white knuckles grip. All too easily, I could remember the last time I had saw my home -- the house that I had been raised in. The moment that I found my eldest brother dead, slain by cowards who had attacked and slain more of my kin at my farm. I could recall the black anger that had possessed me like a vengeful spirit and how I had torn a dozen men apart so savagely that they looked like they had been ravaged by a wild animal. 

It was just a house, I knew. The parts that made it a home were long since gone. There was no point in going there. Not anymore. Yet, I still found myself moving forward, urging my horse down the path that would take us by our childhood home. Wordlessly, both Halfdan and Haldur followed me. 

The path was entirely too long and too short, I found. The more I saw if it, the more I recognized and the memories that were stirred up. Things that I thought I had long since forgotten came to mind. 

“I remember that tree,” Halfdan pointed out, a small grin rising. “Sieg got stuck in it and was too scared to come down.” 

To that, Haldur snorted. “Brandr had to climb up and push him out.” 

“Because you two said you would catch me. And you didn't,” I felt compelled to point out. “I'm surprised I managed to live this long with you two looking out for me. I nearly broke my neck.” I couldn't remember for the life of me what compelled me to climb up the tree as a young boy, only that I had climbed up too high and I couldn't make my way down. I also vividly remembered both Halfdan and Haldur jeering at me from below, promising to catch me if I jumped. Even as a boy, I had been wise enough to not trust that.

Halfdan belted out a laugh, “I'm more surprised your mother didn't wring the two of us by our necks.” 

“I still remember the noise you made when you hit the ground. ‘Ahhh- Oof’” he mimicked with a grin. It was a pretty faithful recreation. 

“I remember. I felt fine once I got up for all of ten minutes.” I battered back fondly. 

“I remember that. You got up like nothing was wrong until you bursted out crying and ran home shouting that you hated us,” Halfdan laughed. I had meant every word at the time too. It was strange how bitter memories could become our most treasured with enough time. Though, I think the fondness mostly stemmed from Mother assigning my chores to Haldur and Halfdan while I got a treat. 

I had avoided thinking of those times. I hadn't even been aware of it, not really. My life before the betrayal my family suffered felt so… tainted by it. Thinking of those happier times led me to think about Brandr and the others. Which would lead me to think about what I lost. What had been taken from me. And then I found myself consumed by a well of bitterness and anger that didn't have a target. At least not one in my grasp. 

I’m not sure what changed. Perhaps it was time healing the wound or maybe it was the fact the targets of my vengeance were at long last in my sights. But I found the memories weren't so bitter anymore as we made our way down familiar paths. Though, it was still something of a fist to the gut when we first caught sight of our old home. 

It felt like a betrayal that it looked so unchanged. That so much could be different, and yet it was almost identical to my memories. Smoke traveled up from the hearth, telling me that my home was occupied by another. Yet, there was no one in the fields. 

“They put the firewood in the same place,” Halfdan noted, his voice thick with an emotion neither of us commented on. 

“They'll have a fine harvest too,” Haldur added, his gaze sweeping through the fields as we approached our old home. It was at the treeline where I had killed my first man with my trusty sling. It had been in the doorway where I had slain three men. I hadn't realized how young I had been at the time. I thought myself almost a man at twelve years old, but I really had been just a child with more strength than sense. 

I swung a leg over my horse, landing lightly on the ground. I also recalled slaughtering the men that I had found here in the aftermath of the raid. There were traces of the battle still, I realized -- noting the faded bloodstains that marked the building and the stones. “It's smaller than I remember,” I muttered, realizing that I would have to duck to enter the front door. 

Halfdan barked a laugh at that, “The house hardly shrunk, little brother. You've just become a giant.” I knew he was right there, but it felt as if the house truly had shrunk. I hadn't even realized it, not truly, but I had outgrown my father. He wouldn't have to duck his head to enter his home. 

I'm not sure how I felt about that. My father in my memories had always been a towering giant larger than life itself. the idea that if he were still alive, that I would be looking down at him… it made my heart squeeze in a way I didn't care for. 

“Why did we even come here?” Haldur asked, though the question seemed directed to himself as much as it was us. “The only thing this has done is we frightened whoever now lives here.” That much was true. Given that there was smoke coming from the hearth, they must have hid themselves in a hurry. I couldn't really blame them for that. 

“I wanted to see our home again,” I admitted. “I doubt we'll see it again after this.” I would be king. Haldur was a Jarl in Norway. There would be wars to wage and kingdoms to manage. 

I- we had outgrown the sleepy little farm we had been raised on. 

“I wanted to pay our respects to Brandr. You did bury him with the others, right Siegfried?” I looked at Halfdan, vaguely insulted that he would even consider the idea that I wouldn't. At my expression, he shrugged. “I imagine you had a rough time leaving, Sieg. It'd be understandable if you couldn't.” 

“I did,” I said, gesturing to the path in the forest that was our family graveyard. The bones of our grandparents were buried in that forest, as were the bones of our brothers. All but our father, Havi, and… wordlessly, we followed Halfdan into the woods, finding an overgrown dirt path. 

I half dreaded what I would see when we arrived at the graveyard, but I was surprised to see that I was both right and wrong. Exactly as I had feared, the graves showed signs of disrespect. Stones had been smashed and the graves dug up… yet, the bones had been returned to the graves at some point, and protective stones had replaced the ones that were destroyed. Someone had disrespected my deceased kin… and someone had corrected that injustice. 

Both Halfdan and Haldur said nothing of it as they offered their prayers to those that we lost. I considered what I could tell their ghosts, but I found that I didn't have the words. I would have to honor them with action. 

As the three of us left the forest to find that our horses were where we left them, I became aware of the weight on my shoulders. We saddled up once more, our business here done. Yet, it as we began to leave that a flash of movement caught my eye, and I looked up into a tree to see a little girl looking down at me. She had young, dirty blonde hair, and looked down at me with wide green eyes that were filled with fear. 

I offered a thin smile to her and a small wave, and after a moment of confusion, she waved back. 

I didn't know who lived in our home, but it was theirs now. For better or for worse, our fate laid in a completely different direction beyond the sleepy farm that should have been ours.

Our return was greeted with some confusion, but no questions as we set out on the path once more. The quiet moment was just that -- a moment. Now, once more, we were back to tightening the noose around Horrik and his kin, and after that brief moment of peace, I found my resolve that much firmer. 

The farm had been a day's journey from Alabu, but I found that it was dramatically shortened on horseback. Our band of two hundred horsemen chased the army to Alabu, almost to the very gates themselves. They managed to find a final burst of energy at being so close to their destination, and it was almost a fight to escape behind Alabu’s palisade. 

The town had changed since I last saw it -- it had been in the throes of celebrating our victory, right up until I had been poisoned and rescued by Thorkell. It had expanded significantly in the years following our departure, even the brief glimpse I had gotten of it as we sailed by on our way to the Romans. It had become a town that was a peer of Ribe, which, honestly, wasn’t saying much. 

But it wasn’t the town itself that had my attention. Not really. It was the two men standing on the palisade. 

Horrik and Thorfinn. 

Horrik looked older than I had last seen him. There were wrinkles that had gathered in the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, while there were traces of white in his beard. Stress had aged him, but he was putting on a brave front as he looked beyond the edge of his town that was now overstuffed with a starving and exhausted army, who would no doubt fracture in short order unless he took action. 

Thorfinn looked more like Horrik now -- his hair was pulled back in a similar hairstyle that his father used to have it in, while an eyepatch covered his missing eye. Unlike his father, however, his expression was one of pure black hatred as he glared in our direction. 

I thought that I would have a stronger reaction seeing them both once more. The others did. I could hear Haldur grinding his teeth while Halfdan’s hands were trembling with rage. Yet, I found that I was strangely calm as I regarded the two who had begun it all. The ones who had inadvertently made me the man I am today. 

Slowly and deliberately, I raised a hand up to my neck and drew a line across my neck. The same action I had given them once before. Their expression tightened, but if they had a response, I didn’t care to hear it. I simply turned my horse around and made to return to my army that was marching up the dirt path. 

This had gone on long enough, I decided. 

By tomorrow, my quest for vengeance would be fulfilled.