“Shh, don’t worry love, I’ve just got to get ready.” Galin pulled the blankets back up over Luthene and slipped out of their bed in the pre-dawn gloom. He could hear the rain tapping against the horn windows and grabbed his cloak as protection. Leaning down, he kissed Luthene softly and smiled a moment as he pushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear as she lay there half-asleep in the warmth of the bed. “I love you, beautiful,” he whispered, and stroked her hair for a moment then abruptly stood, steeling himself for the task at hand. “I will see you out there. Make sure Colum sees. He has to learn, same as I did.” And then, his jaw clenched and full of resolution, he left the chamber, the door hinges squeaking in the darkness. Behind him he heard another bolt drawn and the scamper of feet along the cool flagstones but did not bother to turn around. Colum, he thought, and chuckled. The boy was a nuisance but tonight he would learn about his people in a way he never would have otherwise. As Galin pushed open the door to the courtyard and the biting, damp wind whipped against him, he turned back and called down the hall to the young boy. “If you’re going to sneak up on a man, Colum, you’ve got to be better than that. And make sure you have your cloak. Luthene would have my head if you caught ill wandering about in the middle of the night like a thief.”
A few seconds later the boy appeared at his side, grinning widely. “Already had it, sir, once I heard the rain. So where are we going?” Galin looked down at him and ruffled his thick brown hair affectionately.
“We, you impertinent mutt, are going to the Armory. Luthene showed you the company’s sword, didn’t she? Well, I have to prepare it for the morning.” Colum looked at him with a mixture of excitement and upset and Galin sighed heavily again. “Now come along, if you’re coming.” He crossed the courtyard quickly as the rain spat down, quickly soaking the wool of his cloak and making him grimace at the discomfort after he had just been in his bed with the woman, warm and content. But such was the price he had to pay to ensure the morning would end the trauma to the company and allow them all to begin to heal. By the time they reached the armory, he was already drenched and Colum looked more like the stray Galin portrayed him as, his curls hanging lank and plastered to his face. Galin fished a key out from a cord on his neck and opened the iron-bound doors and took a lantern that was left lit, hanging from a hook near the doorway. “Take off your cloak, Colum, and put it there by the forge, then start on those bellows. The embers aren’t quite dead yet and it’ll warm us something proper once it gets going again.”
While Colum grumbled and struggled with the heavy wooden shaft of the bellows, Galin took the heavy Highland sword down off the brackets driven into the wall of the armory. It was a beast of a weapon, a throwback to an age where men fought like in the myths and songs, single heroes in battles of strength and skill, not as soldiers disciplined to march in step and fight in ranks. There was a savage beauty to the sword, he thought, as he held its worn leather handle for the first time. Despite being nearly six feet long from tip to pommel, it felt light as a feather in his hands as he swung it in a shallow arc, feeling its full power. Colum succeeded in stoking the fire and Galin sat alongside him at the treadle grindstone. “Drop some oil on the stone boy, from the wee tub there, then stand beside me so you can see.” Colum scattered a few drops of olive oil onto the sandstone wheel and stepped behind Galin as he began to work the pedal and the wheel began to turn. Galin laid the blade against the edge of the stone and sparks jumped off, starling Colum. “Calm, boy, calm. It’s just the steel talking to us. Needs more oil.” Galin moved the blade along the stone as Colum coated the spinning wheel with more oil and soon the blade ground with a whisper.
As he worked the steel along the stone’s face, Galin looked at the fire, dancing in the forge ahead of them, and spoke, not looking at Colum but knowing that the boy would listen. “I can guess you are not happy with me right now are you, lad? About Murtagh. He and his wife would spoil you rotten, after all. But it’s a hard thing I have to do, and if you’re to grow up among us as a warrior, as a son of my house, you must understand why it has to be this way.” He paused and the only sounds in the long, dark chamber were the hissing of the wheel against the blade’s edge and the crackling of the coal and wood in the forge. “You ain’t never seen the north, have you lad?” Colum, in a small voice, answered that he had not, being born before the war while his parents were in Adeluna. Galin smiled and paused his sharpening, leaning the sword aside a moment. “Come here lad, sit on my lap and help me while I tell you about your people.” Colum scampered around in front of Galin and sat between him in and the wheel. Reaching his arms over Colum’s shoulders, Galin picked up the blade and began to spin the wheel again. “Put your hands by mine, Col, and you’ll learn how to talk to a blade.” The boy’s face lit up and he placed his hands alongside Galin’s scarred ones and felt the steel vibrate as it touched the spinning sandstone wheel.
“The North’s the place the Maker left just for himself, see? He made everything here, the dirt, the sky, the water, all of it, and he made it from the stars themselves, shaping them in a forge in his hall beyond the clouds. He fashioned the world like a smith but his masterpiece was our home, yours and mine. And just ‘cause you ain’t seen it yet doesn’t mean it’s any less yours, lad. You’re the son of a Highland man and you’re to be one as well.” He could feel a subtle shift in the boy, a straightness in his back and a squaring of his shoulders, and Galin grinned. “The North reflected the Maker himself. It’s a land of beauty, aye, and plenty, but it’s a harsh land, and it was set in the midst of enemies, for the Maker was a wild man and a warrior. And when the world was finished, cooled and set in the blackness, the Maker lived among the Highland men. He led them in war, he feasted with them in peace, and he was, to them, the first man among brothers. And he was a great warrior, a little like your Da was. Fought with a sword like this’un, cleaving through orcs like they were naught but hay come harvest time. The men that fought with him, his companions, well, they were warriors too, great men. But not all of them were men that could be trusted, see?
“Remember what I’ve taught you in the yard? About your shield, how it protects your man alongside you as well as yourself? Well, when the Maker and his companions were attacked once, trapped in a valley by orcs, he called on them to make a wall and fight. And they fought for hours, hungry and tired, but it seemed like the orcs were too many. One man, Haraldr the Coward, could not believe they would survive, so he threw down his shield and ran. He left his shield-brothers to die and hoped to save his own hide, even when he was commanded to stand fast. Deantoir, the Maker’s name in our tongue that is, when the battle was over and he’d beaten back the orcs, found Haraldr hiding in the woods, not from the orcs, but from the shame of what he had done. And Deantoir, he brought the man to the gates of his hall, and in full view of the people, took his head for the crime of betraying his comrades and refusing a command. His body was chopped into pieces and thrown into the sea, and in Dunholm, when the wind is right, you can still hear his scream over the water.” Galin paused to wet the stone again and turned the blade to its other side to even the edge. “So what has that story told you, Col?”
“That a Highlander’s got to be brave, sir. And stand by his brothers,” Colum answered eagerly.
“And what else?”
The boy’s face screwed up in concentration and he lapsed into silence, groping for an answer. Galin chuckled softly. “What was Haraldr’s shame?”
“That he ran?”
“And what else?”
“That he left his brothers and the Ma…Deantoir,” he replied, trying the unfamiliar word for the first time. “By him leaving the wall, he put them all in danger.”
“And why did he have to stay in the wall, Col?”
“Because… he was a soldier. He had a duty to stay, didn’t he?”
“Aye son, and that’s the heart of it, the heart of things with Murtagh as well. It isn’t enough to be a fierce fighter, Col. You’ve got to be a reliable one too. An army’s as strong as its weakest man and it must fight and move like a body. The commander’s the head and the men are the arms and the hands and the feet. Your hands don’t do what your head don’t tell ‘em, right? And neither should a soldier, or the whole body is in danger. Murtagh and the rest, they did not remember that and such a lesson has a blood price, even for Haraldr, who was a friend of the Maker himself. But for Murtagh… it isn’t the same. He is going to his death with honor, sacrificing himself for the other men who broke ranks. He’s redeeming the company’s honor with his life and that’s why he’ll wear his armor and carry his sword. The Maker will welcome him across the Bridge of Swords as a true friend.” Galin took the sword away from the wheel, its blade sharpened to a razor’s edge, and slid it back into its sheath.
“Now lad, in another hour, I have the task of dispensing the Maker’s justice and every man’ll see it. And you’ll be there as well, little man.” Galin picked him up off the treadle’s bench and set him alongside the forge. “And a man’s got to have a proper knife, lad. We carry them everywhere, us Northmen, and they’re as much a part of us as an arm or a leg. And it’s high time you have one of your own.”
Colum’s round face split into a grin and he hugged Galin around the waist. “You mean it, that I get one? Really?”
Galin laughed and pried himself out of the boy’s grip. “Come with me,” he said, and handed Colum the lantern. There was a small chest at the end of the armory where blades that were no longer needed often ended up, donated to the company for the men who might have need of them. Galin told Colum to push back the lid on the chest and the lantern’s soft light spilled over the short, wickedly pointed blades. Galin reached into the chest and took one out, one shaped much like his own, but with a shallower angle at the tip. “This is yours now,” he said, and handed it to Colum reverently. “Never leave your room without it and treat it with respect. If I ever find it dull or rusted, I will tan your hide, you hear? Now go, run along to Luthene. She will be worrying about how to make you look like a proper solder for the parade. And remember this lesson, eh, Col? We are family, the company, of one body. And Murtagh’s the tonic that’s healing us. He’s a hero, lad. Now go!” Colum sprinted away clutching his new knife and Galin smiled until he saw the courtyard through the open door. The first rays of dawn were burning through the clouds and it would be time to carry out his duty.
Just like the rest of the company and Murtagh himself, Galin dressed for war, wearing his finest coat of mail over a thick leather jerkin and clasping the silver-enameled war belt he had taken in that fort the first time he had been there around his waist. When he stepped out of the armory, the company’s great sword leaning across his shoulders, he saw that Cooper had stood to his duty and the men were lined in three mute ranks like a square without one side. As the mist burned off and the air warmed, Murtagh emerged from the fortress keep. He had spent the night with his friends one last time but he did not go to meet his Maker like a coward, stripped to his shirtsleeves. His armor, polished by the men of the company, outshone Galin’s own and he walked with the confidence of a man who trusted in his god and his fate. When he reached Galin, he stopped short and delivered a crashing salute in his full war panoply, then smiled at his executioner. “A few words, sir?” Galin nodded and stepped back, letting Murtagh address his friends a final time.
“Brothers, it’s the end of my march. We’ve been through some terrible times and some grand ones together and I want you to know I have loved this company as I did my family and it pains me to leave you. But we did the unthinkable, we broke oaths, ours and the company’s, and no matter the reason, we have to pay a price. So today, I pay it, for all of you. Do not dishonor my gift and hurl abuse at the man who has the task of seeing the punishment meted out. He carries a heavier burden than I do. Honor me, honor him, and honor the company until we meet again, across the Bridge of Swords, at the table of the Maker.”
The men murmured among themselves and the officers did nothing to stop it. Galin, smiling, began to stamp his foot, beginning a tidal wave of noise that swept over the courtyard and the men roared their acclaim as they had when they chose Galin, honoring their comrade one last time. As the noise died, Murtagh turned back to Galin. “They’re yours now, sir. Just make sure you don’t bollocks it up.” He grinned and patted Galin on the arm and Galin smiled back.
“Thank you old friend.” Galin leaned the great sword against a wooden block set in the center of the hollow square and pulled a leather thong from inside his tunic. “Give me your sword hand,” Galin said softly. When Murtagh held it out, Galin wrapped the thong tightly around it, tying his fingers shut around the hilt of the sword. “Now the Maker cannot mistake you for anything but a warrior, dying with a sword in your hand,” he whispered. “Kneel.”
Murtagh looked at Galin once more before he knelt, trying to reassure the commander that he did only what had to be done. The men of the company all sucked in a breath as Murtagh knelt and leaned his head forward. “Don’t fret, Galin,” he said for only the commander to hear. “I am going home to my Aisling and my Seren. We will keep a spot for you in Deantoir’s feast and welcome you as a son when you arrive.” Galin blinked back tears, trying to blame them on the harshness of the dawn light as the sun broke over the horizon. He took up the sword and pulled it slowly from its sheath, the wavy patterns in the steel shining like fire in the first light of the way. Galin’s fingers gripped the worn hilt until his knuckles were white and he raised it over his head. It hung there, suspended a moment and the second seemed to stretch into eternity, as though the inevitable fall of the blade could be avoided. With a soft grunt, Galin swung down, the blade moving as quickly as his arms and back could propel it, and found its mark. Murtagh’s head fell onto the damp ground of the courtyard and his body remained upright a moment, pumping his life’s blood into the air before it slumped forward.
Galin forced himself to look down and he saw his dead friend’s severed head, already growing pale and cool in the morning air. He was smiling, Galin thought, as he saw it, and smiled a little himself. He was at peace, already welcomed to his reward, and surrounded by his family. He died a hero and saved the company from itself. It was not, all things considered, a bad way to die. Galin straightened up and leaned on the quillions of the bloodied sword, looking first at Luthene and Colum, standing together in the square, and then to Cooper. The man nodded sadly at Galin then drew his sword and saluted Murtagh’s lifeless body.
“The company is dismissed.”
One by one, the men of the company did the same, making their salute and drifting away from the courtyard until Galin was left there alone. He took the heavy sword in both hands again and brought it up in a salute, his friend’s blood dried on the blade, as a single tear escaped his eyes and cut a trail through the blood that had splashed over his cheek. “Travel safe, brother. You will be missed until we meet again in the Maker’s hall.” He smiled and cuffed away the tear. A soldier did not weep for a dead hero. He honored him with his life and Galin vowed that he would honor Murtagh’s. Somewhere, on one of the farmsteads outside the fortress walls, a rooster crowed. It was, at last, a new day.
