by T L Greylock
Eiger’s gaze returned to Bryndis without comment. “Your hall awaits, lady.”
Bryndis flashed another smile at the Great-Belly’s son, but the moment he turned his horse and called for his men to ride, Raef was sure he heard her mutter, “Yes, do not forget whose hall, fat man.”
The hall was long and low, a solid, durable structure lacking embellishments and fine features. The walls that surrounded the village were tall and thick, but here and there the timbers were rotten away, their strength eaten at by time and wet weather, and Raef was not certain the gate would withstand even the most tepid of assaults. Inside, the village was overcrowded. Children dodged between men and horses, their grimy faces laughing at the shouts flung their way. Dogs backed away from the onslaught of hooves, tails tucked between their legs. Men and women watched the arrival of the warriors with calculating expressions, no doubt wondering how they might all expect to be fed. Raef took one look at the place and signaled for his warriors to halt. He angled his horse toward Skuli and Dvalarr, who had ridden through the gates at the rear.
“We will not burden the lady Bryndis. Set up our shelters beside the lake. As long as we are here, we will eat only our own provisions and what we can hunt or forage,” Raef said.
The Crow assured him it would be done and Raef found Siv. Leaving their horses with the rest, they continued on to the hall. The doors, thick slabs of smooth, darkened wood manned by a pair of boys, swung open to admit them, and Raef stepped into the hall of Narvik.
A single fire blazed in the middle, surrounded on three sides by tables. Eiger had already seated himself at one and was calling for meat and ale. Bryndis picked her gloves from her fingers, her pale hair gleaming silver in the light of the fire as she spoke in quiet tones to a woman of middle years. Only after the serving woman had turned away and Eiger had taken his first eager swallow of ale did Bryndis acknowledge Raef.
“The Great-Belly?” Raef asked.
Bryndis opened her mouth to answer, but Eiger spoke first, ale dripping into his beard.
“My father is not well,” Eiger said. He wiped an arm across his mouth, then drained his cup and called for more. “He keeps his healer close,” Eiger went on. “If a poultice or broth will save him, he will find it.”
“Is he dying?” Raef said.
“Are not we all dying?” Eiger seemed amused by his own question, then brushed it away. “The illness will claim him, I believe, though perhaps not until the spring thaw. If the gods favor him, he may see high summer.”
Raef had no liking for the son of the Great-Belly, but he tried to offer the sort of words a man might like to hear. “The gods will welcome him into Valhalla and give him a place of honor.”
“No, I think not.” Eiger was not smiling now. “He is a weak man, unworthy of high honor. Too long has he lived off the fame of others, too long has he gotten fat on riches bought not won.” The son seemed oblivious that those same riches were already weighing on him.
“Your father was a bold warrior in his youth,” Raef said. “Can he not be forgiven for seeking comforts later in life?”
“Youth is not enough. A man must live all his years, be they many or few, with purpose.”
“Perhaps your father holds to a purpose still. Have you asked him?”
Eiger’s face darkened, but any answer he might have was forgotten at the appearance of a servant bearing a platter of withered apples and winter plums.
“How many times must I tell you,” he said to the servant, who would not meet his eyes. “The lord of Balmoran requires meat.” He waved an arm, sending ale splashing to the floor. The servant bowed and scurried off. Eiger took a swig of ale and nodded at Raef with a conspiratorial eye. “My father thinks the gods hold fruit dearest above all things. But you and I know they crave meat. Would Thor nibble on an apple? No, he sinks his teeth into dripping haunches of elk.” Eiger laughed and did not seem to notice that Raef did not join in.
A new platter was brought, this one heavier than the last and piled high with cuts of venison and legs of pheasant. A plate of bread was also brought. Eiger did not hesitate and his fingers were soon smeared with the juice of a hunk of meat. A dribble ran down his chin and he did not bother to wipe it away. Raef watched but it was Bryndis who stepped out from the shadows, her face betraying nothing. She sat close to Eiger and refilled his cup, this time with sweet mead.
“How is it that you call yourself lord of Balmoran when your father yet draws breath?” Raef seated himself at the bench opposite Eiger and watched the other man through the shimmering heat above the flames. Siv remained standing at the edge of the hall, arms crossed, shoulders stiff, her dislike of Eiger obvious.
Eiger shrugged his meaty shoulders. “He has given much of that burden to me, it is true.” Thorgrim’s son cracked a smile and then shoved the pheasant leg between his teeth. “It is better this way. When my father dies, no man in Balmoran shall question me for they will already know me as lord.”
“How peaceful,” Raef said.
“Indeed. Tell me, Skallagrim, have you heard of Daegren Clefthand?”
Raef shook his head.
“The Clefthand makes his home in the south of my lands. He fishes in my lake and farms in my earth, and yet always has he pretended to be something other than a dog. Each summer, we hear rumblings of unrest in the south, of promises made by the Clefthand of uprising and bloodshed, and each summer my father sends a gift, gold more often than not, and the rumors die to nothing. When my father breathes his last breath, I shall look to the south and Daegren Clefthand will regret his own birth.” Eiger’s voice had risen and his cheeks, flushed with anger and ale, showed his fervor. When Raef did not react, he went on. “It is I who will lead Balmoran to greatness, not that insolent dog. Odin knows this.”
Bryndis’s gaze met Raef’s from across the fire and though he caught a hint of aversion in her eyes, she smiled as she offered him meat and mead. Only when Bryndis herself began to eat did Raef do the same. A moment later, five hounds burst into the hall, each baying with eager voices, tails whipping back and forth. They skidded to a stop in front of Eiger and he laughed as he tossed them morsels of fatty meat and let one lick the grease from his fingers.
“Do you keep dogs, Skallagrim?”
“A few,” Raef said. “I prefer to hunt in silence.”
Eiger laughed again. “Hear that, girls? The lord of Vannheim is too good for the likes of you.” He did not seem offended. “Me, I like to feel my blood rise when the hounds begin to bay.”
When Bryndis had finished her mead, she stood and looked to Raef. “I will see if Thorgrim is well enough to join us.”
Raef was quick to rise to his feet. “Let me assist you.”
When they had left the smoke of the fire and Eiger’s noisy chewing behind, Bryndis led him through the back of the hall and out a small door. There, in the narrow passage between buildings, Raef caught the lady of Narvik’s sleeve.
“How many of your people will go hungry this night because of his great appetite?”
Bryndis flushed. “We are not so poor as that, not yet.”
“His hounds are at liberty to roam your hall, he commands your servants as though they are his own, and you sit by and smile and pour his mead. Does Bryndis rule here? Or Eiger?”
Bryndis drew herself up and did not flinch from Raef’s stare. “You insult me, Skallagrim.”
“And there she is again, the woman I met in the ice this morning, a woman accustomed to authority, a woman who does not shrink in the presence of men. Where did she go, Bryndis?”
“What does it matter to you? I may do as I please in my home, Skallagrim.”
“You are right. Perhaps it is not my place. I hardly know you. But I cannot understand why you would sit by and let Eiger hold sway. This is your battle, the fight you wanted, your land and home at stake. Not his.”
Bryndis looked at Raef for a moment, the anger in her eyes fading. “I cannot fight Fengar alone. I am not beautiful. Men’s eyes do
not seek me out like bees honey. Eiger is happy. He has his hounds. His belly is full. I need Balmoran’s shields, Raef, and so I will do what I must to keep him happy.” Bryndis placed a hand on Raef’s arm. “Remember, I told you that Narvik has often been at the mercy of greater powers, that its people have learned to survive in a harsh world. The same can be said of Narvik’s ruler. I do what must be done.” Bryndis turned and took a single step forward before spinning back to face Raef, her face hard with emotion. “And when all this is done, when Fengar is dead and a true king has been named, when I no longer have need of Eiger, I will show him my claws.”
Raef did not doubt her intent, or the fire that burned in her eyes, but misgivings still plagued him. He swallowed them down and said only, “Take care that you do not dig too deep a hole, Bryndis.”
She was already turning away and did not respond. Raef followed her to another building, this one an old stable converted into living quarters. The interior was lit only by candles, their flames flickering in the gust of air that followed close on Raef’s heels as he stepped over the threshold. The air was smoky and smelled of lavender and dill, as though long-forgotten herbs had been left too long. A pair of servants kept to the edge of the candlelight, one stooped and bent so far that he could barely lift his head to see their arrival, the other a young woman who watched Raef and Bryndis with wide eyes. At the far end, a large chair sat before a huge, blackened hearth and a figure was ensconced deep within its hulking grasp, half-hidden under layer after layer of thick furs.
Had he not known Thorgrim Great-Belly was ailing, Raef might not have recognized him. Gone was the proud lord and the remnants of strength and youthful vitality that had clung to him when he had called the gathering. His was still a large man, encumbered with fat, but he sagged now, as he heaved himself out of the chair, the pelts cascading off of him, and his steps were slow and sluggish as his feet dragged across the floor. His cheeks were pale and his eyes sunken. He kept his head down, gaze intent on his feet as though he feared he might stumble on the smooth floor and fall to his knees. He managed no more than four steps away from the hearth before he was forced to stop and steady himself. The young female servant rushed to his side and Thorgrim leaned against her slender frame. Only then did he raise his eyes high enough to take in his guests.
“Do you know me, lord?” Raef asked.
The noise that came from the Great-Belly was both cough and laugh. “Know you? You spilled blood in my hall once, Raef Skallagrim. I do not forget such things.”
“Skallagrim is my guest,” Bryndis said. “Whatever has passed between you has no place here.”
Thorgrim brushed this away with a feeble wave of his hand. “Where is my son? Has he gotten himself killed yet?”
Bryndis answered in smooth tones. “Eiger has only just returned from scouting Fengar’s position.”
Thorgrim snorted. “More like he slept off a bellyful of mead in some stinking place and has come out in search of the next cask.” The Great-Belly laughed at his own wit and coughed again, his body convulsing with the force of it. His grip on the young woman grew tighter, Raef could see, the pale skin over his knuckles stretching thin as the coughing fit subsided. The young woman bore the violent motion and the Great-Belly’s weight without even a grimace.
When Thorgrim had regained his voice, he glared at Bryndis. “I am tired. Leave me. Skallagrim can stay.”
Bryndis met Raef’s eyes, but neither spoke a word as Bryndis passed from the smoky room, leaving Raef with the Great-Belly. The girl helped Thorgrim reclaim his seat by the hearth and she rearranged the heavy furs with care, including the fine white pelt that Raef and his father had given Thorgrim at the gathering. The Great-Belly motioned her away and sank back into the chair, a grimace of pain flashing across his face. Only when the servants had retreated in Bryndis’s wake did Thorgrim venture to speak again.
“Are they gone, then?” He peered around Raef and then stood once more and walked to the hearth. His strides were firm and sure and his hands did not tremble. The watery eyes that had stared at Raef were now clear and bright.
“What is this?” Raef asked, wary at the sudden change in the lord of Balmoran.
The Great-Belly did not answer right away, instead he put a log on the fire and then seated himself on the bench by the hearth, his broad shoulders bent over his chest, his hands clasped together while his elbows rested on his knees. “My son will have told you I am dying, and this is the truth. Only I do not intend to go to Valhalla as soon as he would like.” He caught Raef’s gaze. “Oh, I stumble and I limp and I complain of pains and aches in my head and bowels. But I am not so weak as that. Not yet.”
“Why such pretense?” Raef stepped closer to the fire, watching the older man carefully.
Thorgrim’s eyes grew harsh. “The wolf and the bear have been enemies since the dawn of days. A wolf would never presume to attack a strong bear, hale and whole. But a dying one? Riddled with pain and prone to fever? So weak he can hardly grasp a horn of ale? A wolf might misjudge this bear. A wolf might act rashly.”
Raef grasped the meaning, if not the entire story. “And yet a wolf hunts with a pack. A bear would not fall to the teeth of one, but the jaws of many?”
Thorgrim gave a nod and Raef knelt to tend to the fire. “True, my son has those who would follow him. But I am not yet friendless. He is uncertain of himself, his position, his power, though he pretends otherwise. For now it is enough that he thinks me disabled by my illness. This way I may watch and make my own plans.”
“Perhaps the bear will recover?”
“No.” Thorgrim gazed into the small flames that now ate at the log. “The bear will not. And Eiger knows this as well as I.”
“How can either of you be so sure?”
“Because he has made sure of it. This is no natural illness, Skallagrim. My own son has had me poisoned. He thinks I do not know, of course, and I play the part he has given me. As I said, I have plans of my own.”
“And those might be?”
“Retribution.”
Silence fell over them even as the fire grew, sending light into the dark corners. At last Raef spoke again. “Why tell me?”
“Because I must make do with the man Odin has sent to me. You help me, I help you. A simple bargain, no?”
“I am here for Fengar, not to interfere in Balmoran’s affairs. And what do you think you could offer me?”
Thorgrim scratched at his beard and continued as though Raef had said nothing. “You lend me your ears, tell me everything you hear in my son’s presence, and in return I will see that he keeps his hands off the girl.”
“Bryndis? She is capable of fending for herself.” And yet Thorgrim’s words were a confirmation of Raef’s fears.
The Great-Belly’s gaze narrowed. “The last time my son took interest in a woman, she did not see the light of day again. Her body was a mangled piece of flesh, disposed of with the kitchen refuse. Would you have the lady Bryndis suffer the same?”
Raef kept silent and Thorgrim got to his feet. He called for the serving girl and the moment his voice rolled off the timber walls, Raef watched as his shoulders slumped forward, his back bent in a painful stoop, his hand shook as it reached to steady him on the back of the chair, and, as he went to meet the girl, Raef heard his feet shuffle away, one agonizing step after the other.
TWENTY-THREE
“It is not much,” Bryndis said, her gaze roving over the spare chamber that had been opened for Raef and Siv. The room was little-used and smelled of damp earth. “But it will keep you dry.”
“The day is not yet old, Bryndis. Show me where Fengar is.”
“My men are worn to the bone. There will be no more scouting today.” Bryndis raised her voice as Raef began to protest. “Tomorrow.” Raef accepted this with a nod, though it did not sit well with him. “I have little to offer you, but there is one thing my hall is rich in that few have. Steam. A hot spring runs under these hills and long ago a bathhouse was built t
o harness its warmth. Even in darkest winter the stones are warm to the touch and the waters hot. You are welcome to it.”
Bryndis did not lie. The bathing room, stone from floor to ceiling, was filled with steam. A shallow pool covered much of it and a single servant, a young boy, collected their clothes as Raef and Siv slipped into the water. Raef submerged himself for a long moment, glad to feel the heat penetrating through his winter skin. Standing, the water came to the middle of Raef’s chest and he floated on the surface until Siv offered to scrape his back. Raef agreed and seated himself on the edge of the pool, the steam rising and swirling, the stones warm beneath his skin, and closed his eyes as Siv went to work on his back, first rubbing oil and then scraping it away with a strigil. When she had finished, he did the same for her, and in time he felt the tension slip from his muscles.
Raef set the strigil down on the stones and wrapped his arms around Siv, resting his chin on her shoulder blade. The short hairs behind her ears curled on her damp skin. “We could do it. Here. This very night. I am sure Bryndis keeps a priest.”
Siv leaned back against him. “Not here.”
“Have you changed your mind?”
Siv smiled. “No.” The smile vanished. “But not here. This place, I do not like it.”
“Then we will wait.” Battle with Fengar loomed and there was little chance of another opportunity presenting itself in the coming days. But Raef understood Siv’s misgivings.
“Do you think Hauk has joined Fengar?”
It was an unexpected question but one Raef had turned over in his own mind many times. “Perhaps. His list of friends grows thin. And now that he has been exposed, there would be little point in pretending he does not follow Fengar.” Raef paused and watched a trickle of water slide down Siv’s neck. “Fengar will have need of him if they are to survive.”
Siv was quiet for a long moment. “I think of Eira often. I wonder if she has found a measure of happiness, if, indeed, a Valkyrie knows what it means to be happy. She was never at peace. Perhaps this new life will fill the emptiness in her heart.”
