Curth: Part 1 of The Northlands Page 2

  Curth struggled in their strong grip and the men grunted with the effort of subduing him. The tallest of the men recognizing that this could get ugly in front of the children and women, picked up a log and tapped Curth across the temple. Curth went limp and the men dropped him beside the fire in the center of the village. The child whose dog had just been murdered cried loudly at his father arm. His father shoved him impatiently at his mother.

  The men stood over Curth’s inanimate body, one stooped to examine his clothing and his knife. One removed the bow and quiver.

  The women whispered and giggled to each other as the men removed his outer clothing.

  “Inside! Everyone!” shouted the tallest man. The women reluctantly retreated with the children and soon only the men stood in the center of the village. Curth began to stir. Two men were ordered to get spears and they stood close to Curth, their threat did not need to be spoken or translated.

  “Who are you?” asked the leader.

  Curth sat up uncomfortably and shook his head to clear the fog.

  The leader lent closer, “Who are you?” Curth looked at him wondering what the strange sounds meant.

  Curth spoke in his own tongue, “I hope you’re not going to kill me,” he said calmly with a crooked smile.

  A smile was not what the leader had expected. The enemies of the tribe were arrogant and forceful. This wasn’t an arrogant smile.

  “Get Ronl Froch!” shouted the leader, “chance he might know this tongue.”

  The men brought out Ronl Froch the oldest of the tribe. He could hardly walk and two men had to support almost all his weight as he came in front of Curth.

  “Speak again,” said the leader. Curth understood that maybe this old man would understand him.

  He looked at the old man closely. It was obvious that Ronl Froch was frightened but his eyes were bright and intelligent. Curth sat up properly and crossed his legs. He rubbed the bump on his head with a rye smile and said, “Hello old man. My name is Curth.”

  The old man’s eyes widened and he grinned toothlessly, “you be from the nord!” he said with awe.

  “I am from Thule,” Curth said with a smile, relieved that the man could speak his tongue.

  “Yes Thule, in the Nord!” said Ronl Froch turning to his kinsfolk and repeating this in the local dialect. Much murmuring went around the group at the mention of this land across the dark sea.

  “Put him in the case, we’ll deal with him tomorrow,” the leader commanded. Much to Ronl Froch’s protestations Curth was bundled into a small, secure hut and locked inside.

  The men drank the rest of their ale in one of the large huts and discussed this visitor. Those from the Nord were not their enemies, but they had different ways, and anyway no stranger could be trusted.

  And so it was that Curth was kept confined for the next couple of weeks. During this time Ronl Froch would bring him small amounts of food and try to speak to him at length about Thule.

  Ronl Froch had visited Curth’s country, he had traded there, had learned the language though he was now well out of practice. After two weeks they would bring Curth out around midday to have his meal with the village. The leader would ask Curth questions through Ronl Froch and tried to establish whether Curth could be trusted and could stay, or was a threat and would have to leave, or be killed.

  During this time Curth grew weaker, the food wasn’t enough and the inactivity wasted his muscles. As time went on Ronl Froch was allowed to speak with Curth longer after each meal.

  “Teach me your tongue Ronl,” Curth said one day. The old man smiled his toothless grin, “You shall acquire my tongue, I will speak with Troak. He will let me do this thing.” He rose gingerly and chatted eagerly to himself as he went to speak to Troak.

  Troak was obviously the village leader. He agreed to this idea and from then on let Curth spend most of each day with Ronl. Curth began to use this opportunity to exercise and build his stamina.

  Summer faded into autumn and winter sprung hard from autumn’s apathy.

  Elich turned west progressively searching for his old friend Curth. He reached the west coast in the dead of winter. The grey sea thundered against the cliffs and Elich was reminded of his own land, perhaps the rest of this world wasn’t so different from home after all.

  As they made camp that night three miles inland in a small dip in the landscape sheltered from the stinging wind, Elich thought hard about Curth’s whereabouts. Perhaps he was further south or east of their landing site. The possibility had always been there that this mission would be a long and hard escapade. Curth would not submit easily. He was the finest warrior that Elich knew, and no man that Elich commanded would be comfortable facing Curth alone, bar one.

  As morning broke Elich went to the tent of his second in command. He woke him silently and motioned him to follow.

  Deskeen was at least a foot shorter than Elich and at least a foot wider. He was built like the wild bulls of legend, his face permanently screwed into a vicious sneer that reflected his cruel personality. He also had a history with Curth. Elich knew that Deskeen’s jealously of Curth ran deep and wide. Curth was a talented warrior, a naturally athletic and attractive figure. Deskeens prowess with the sword and spear came from his strength not his agility. Curth would hound him in practice and tease him until Deskeen’s temper would break. Time after time Curth had made a fool of him, not out of spite but n an attempt to humble Deskeen’s haughty spirit. A meeker Deskeen would make a better soldier. Elich knew it had had the opposite effect. Deskeen’s egotistical nature, his twisted ambition and murderous intent had been honed and developed in those embarrassing encounters with Curth. He had developed into a warrior to be respected. Now second in command to Elich he had the fear of the men. Elich knew that if the will to catch Curth waned in the men then Deskeen’s will would be enough for all of them.

  “The men need renewed, I had hoped we would be back home by now celebrating the victory of justice,” Elich confided in Deskeen.

  Deskeen looked momentarily shocked by Elich’s candour before realizing his role in this early morning stroll.

  “The men are without equal as are you Elich,” Deskeen’s voice was rough with passion. The men stopped walking and faced each other. The morning breeze brought the scent of wind-dried seaweed marooned on the rocks short miles from where they stood.

  “I confess Elich, I do not believe the Curth we once knew is dead. I believe the Curth we once knew is the Curth we now pursue. He is and always has been a traitor! The men know it and they still have the whiff of blood in their nostrils. I can lead them now if you wish to return to your glorious father.”

  Elich stiffened at Deskeen’s suggestion that his will had faltered.

  “There is nothing more that I can do for my father now than to bring back the head of the man who has betrayed my royal blood!” Elich shouted, his eyes inches from Deskeen’s.

  Deskeen smiled gleefully showing no fear, “You are right of course my lord. Let us away this morning south and catch this cowardly renegade.”

  Ronl Froch taught Curth patiently. He had come to view Curth as almost a son to him though known so little a time. In a village where strength and agility were paramount, Ronl Froch had become obsolete and so looked on as a burden. Now however, he had a purpose again, a mission. He told Curth of the old days of his youth, when the forest almost reached the shore. His days of trading with Curth's people and the wars that had been fought in his own land between the various clans.

  His ancient eyes twinkled as he described the summers of great trade between their races. When boats would regularly cross the dark sea, avoiding the numerous islands and sailing to the icy lands in the Nord.

  His father was a trader before him and had lived in the great forest all his life. It was widely believed that the great forest covered all the earth except the Nord. This made people from the Nord special. In fact now that the forest was receding and here was a man from the Nord in their very midst some felt tha
t an invasion was imminent. They would take this Nordman and tie him to a tree in the great forest! That would sort him and his kind out once and for all! The leadership of the village was not so hasty, for which Curth was relieved, for although not afraid of trees as some of the natives thought, he had never been in a great forest and thus feared what its dark shadows might hold. Ronl Froch would come to spend all day, every day with Curth, and would only leave to go to his hut when the first howl of wolves would be heard echoing down from the escarpment.

  As Curth's grasp of the local language improved, Troak the leader of the village started to come to spend time him. He made it known that this was to assess the threat but it soon became obvious to Curth that Troak was an inquisitive person. He was cut in the same mold as so many other leaders Curth had seen except he was less haughty. Curth recognised a naivety within Troak that enemies would exploit. He could picture Elich and his mighty men ransacking the village and Troak being left helpless in the face of such savagery. It chilled his bones to think about it because despite himself he had come to enjoy the company of these native people.

  Elich's pursuit had been put to the back of his mind and he had to remind himself occasionally that at any moment he might hear the battle cry of the Nordmen and this distracting visit would come to a sudden and bloody end!