“Nyr Arissen has looked the Ice King in the face and not trembled,” Ari went on, and this time the pride in his voice was clear. Nyr, oddly, was looking at the ground as though the praise made him uncomfortable. I’ll bet he did tremble, even if only inside, Ember thought.
“The Ice King’s pronouncement is this: the stranger Ember Arvidsdottir may not travel to the Fire Mountain, which is the site of evil, nor may her followers.”
Ember felt a hollow thump in her belly as the words hit home. Ari looked shrewdly at her, gauging her acceptance. Well, she knew how to seem complaisant. She bowed a little to indicate just that, keeping her face calm but allowing just a trace of disappointment to show through so that he would believe it.
Tern, on the other hand, tried to push forward, making an inarticulate exclamation. Cedar held him back, one hand on his arm, and Ember turned to frown at him.
“These were the pronouncements of the Ice King,” Ari concluded. People shifted, but didn’t rise. Halda was looking at her. Something was expected from them.
“Will you translate?” she asked Halda quietly, and the lady nodded, rising to stand beside her.
“Ember Arvidsdottir thanks the Hárugur King and his son for their courtesy and their courage,” she said clearly, in her own language but very slowly, so that Halda could keep up. Halda translated easily, and Ember listened hard so that she’d know the words again. “We will take counsel of them to decide what our next course should be.”
Ari nodded once, with satisfaction at both her courtesy and her humility. She stepped back, and at once the people around them rose and advanced on Nyr, his friends slapping him on the back and the girls exclaiming and fluttering their eyelashes, Larra well to the forefront. Ember exchanged an amused look with Halda, who shrugged and said softly, “It’s a great achievement, to be accepted as heir. Many have been rejected.” Her eyes were bright with pride and relief.
“Congratulations,” Ember said sincerely. “I rejoice in your happiness.”
She moved back to let others get closer, and saw that Cedar was staring at the doorways to the inner caves. Ash was there, with three men guarding him. He looked all right, she thought, relief as strong as Halda’s rushing through her, but he wasn’t happy. He must have heard the Ice King’s decision.
Ash was expecting her to go to him, but she couldn’t. She had to maintain the illusion that he was just a servant; family, but not overly valued, not worth, for example, a ransom.
So she nodded and smiled with moderate warmth and gave him the hand signal he used with the dogs to say, “stay.” His mouth twitched with amusement and he let his tongue hang out just a little, pretending to be a dog, but he didn’t move and the men with him were too busy watching Nyr, broad smiles on their faces, to notice.
Cedar, on the other hand, could go to him with no harm done, and after a glance at her, he did so, with Tern close behind. Tern’s expression as he looked at her was disapproving. He obviously thought she should rush to Ash’s side.
Ari sent Larra to summon her, and Ember thought the girl quite enjoyed being singled out. She shepherded Ember most solicitously back to where Ari was sitting. Ember thanked her politely, and she made that little bob with a spread of her skirts, then went to stand behind Nyr’s chair. Much good it would do her. Even if Ember wasn’t prepared to marry Nyr, she didn’t think Halda would countenance Larra as a daughter-in-law.
Iina, on the other hand, stood with her father, but her eyes were on Nyr just as much as Larra’s were. She had a much better chance, Ember thought. Father close to the ruler, valued, important… I’d put my money on her, if it were a two-horse chase. But no doubt there were other candidates.
She bowed to Ari.
“Bren tells me your man burned his bow,” he said roughly, his eyes bright, tiredness thrown off, peering at her from under his brows.
“As he should have, Hárugur King,” she answered calmly.
“Hmmph! So it was on your orders?”
She smiled, gently satiric. “In so many words? No, I did not say ‘Burn the bow.’ I did say, ‘The bow must not fall into anyone else’s hands.’ He found his own way of making sure of that, for which I commend him.” Turning, she bowed slightly to Ash, whose guards had brought him closer, although not within the inner circle.
“Mm,” Ari mused.
“What would you have done in my place, my lord?” Ember asked. “Would you have handed over a new weapon to a traditional enemy?”
“We were helping you!” Ari barked.
She simply looked at him, a slight smile inviting him to share their common understanding of the situation. Nyr was smiling a little, but his father was far more experienced a negotiator.
“You have abused our hospitality,” he accused her.
“When I return to my father, I will tell him that you wish to trade for the new bows,” she said. “But without his permission, how could I make that decision?”
Respect for a father and a ruler was an argument he could accept, although he harrumphed a few more times for good measure.
“He’ll have to be punished, though,” he said finally.
“Believe me,” Ember said, sincerity blatant in her tone, “burning that bow was punishment. He loved that thing.”
“So he did make it?” Nyr jumped in. She blinked.
“He sanded it down, I think,” she said, and turned to Ash as though to check her facts. “Didn’t you?” He nodded, face impassive. “Yes. And I think maybe made the bow strings.”
“Who was your master?” Ari demanded of Ash.
“My master was Barley, in Western Mountains Domain,” he said.
“Yes,” Ari said grimly. “We saw them used there last summer.”
“My father has ordered quite a few, so he may have some spare to trade.”
“Ah,” Ari said. “Well, that can be discussed. But your man did something he knew I would disapprove of, and he must be punished.”
“How?” she made herself ask, as calmly as she could.
“Twenty blows with the stick,” he said, just as calmly. It was a challenge. She had no idea what a stick was, or how hard the blows would be.
“That seems excessive,” she said. “Did you tell him you wanted the bow?”
He hesitated, and looked at Bren, who shook his head and sent her an appreciative smile.
“So he did not, in fact, disobey you,” Ember concluded. “And he acted on the orders of his liege, to protect his people.”
“Ten, then,” Ari said, dismissing the problem and getting up. “I am going to bed, and do not wish to be disturbed until evening. Bren, you see to the punishment.”
“Ae, Hárugur King,” Bren said.
Ari and Nyr left, still walking heavily, and Halda followed them. The three guards brought Ash forward, and motioned him to take off his jacket. Urno, the painter, brought forward the stick. Tern glared at him.
It was long, almost as tall as a man, and thicker than her thumb. Some hard dark wood. She felt sick. Helpless. There was nothing she could do. They were surrounded, in the midst of their enemies. To protest, to question the will of the Hárugur King, might condemn them all.
Ash, damn him to the cold hells, smiled at her as though it were all just a joke. Bren took the stick.
“Hold onto something, lad,” he said. “Brace yourself.”
Ash took his advice and braced against one of the tables, his back to them. They were encircled by the men, but there were no women to be seen. Bren stared at her, waiting for her to leave.
“He is my man,” she said. “Acting under my orders. The least I can do is stay.”
A younger man growled something in disapproval, but Bren waved a hand at him and he fell silent.
Her father had rarely used physical punishments. He preferred to take the criminal’s time, assigning them to work at the fort or for the person they had injured or stolen from. The kind of work no one else wanted, like digging privies or cleaning pigsties. Worst of all, cleaning out
the tanner’s vats. Thank the gods, there was never any need to torture to discover whether someone was guilty, as she’d heard they did in the Wind Cities. The stones could tell them, if the evidence did not.
Serious crimes were punishable by death: rapists, murderers, child-stealers, slavers were dispatched quickly, by a knife to the heart. Arvid had never let anyone but the victim or their family attend executions, and he did not use the pressing box or the garrotte, like the southern warlords. But all rulers had to punish wrongdoers, and Ember had been thankful that it would be Osfrid who would make those decisions for her.
The first stroke made a thud as it landed on Ash’s back, and Ember felt the impact like a fist in her stomach. Tears came to her eyes. Ash didn’t make a sound, just braced again.
“One,” the men yelled as it landed.
Ash was strong; like the oak tree she’d compared him to in her thoughts. But he was flesh and blood, and merely human. He had no Power to call on, no special skills. He was like her, vulnerable to pain and injury and death. She felt her heart shudder as each blow landed; as his flesh seemed to ripple under the force of each stroke.
The men counted the rest as Bren laid them on. On the fourth blow, blood appeared on his shirt. On the fifth, he rocked on his feet but grabbed at the table and saved himself.
Bren gave him a moment to set himself again and Ember caught a glimpse of Ash’s face, sweat-streaked and determined. He planted his feet and nodded at Bren.
“Six!” the men shouted. Blood was flowing now, from a wide slash on his right shoulder.
“Seven!” His head was still up, but it bowed just a little as the blow landed.
Ember’s knees were shaking and she wanted to run, to hide her head, to throw her skirt over her eyes as old grammers did when they mourned. But he was her man, following her orders, and in this place she was the only authority, the only protection, he had.
“Eight!” His fingers, gripping the table, were white, and his arms had begun to shake. Cedar stood at her shoulder, fists clenched.
“Why doesn’t he go faster?” he muttered. Urno, the artist, stood beside them.
“To go quickly would be to treat him like a child,” he said. “That would dishonor him.”
“You’re all barbarians,” Tern said, glaring red-eyed. Urno frowned as if encountering a new thought, but he turned away without answering. Ember knew she should reprove Tern, but she agreed with him too much to force the words past her clenched throat. Every blow seemed to hit her own body; pain speared down into her as it did him. Only the long, long training as the warlord’s daughter kept her on her feet and not screaming.
“Nine!” Ash’s back was covered in blood; his shirt was in tatters, but his feet were still planted, although he swayed.
“Ten!” the men yelled, and then cheered and laughed, the groups breaking up.
Bren handed the stick back to Urno and went to Ash, but Ash dragged a breath in and stood up by himself. He turned, that challenging smile still on his lips, despite being as white as death. He even grinned at Bren while his blood was dripping onto the floor.
“A good arm on you, there,” he said. Bren smiled back and Ember thought that she would never understand men. Idiots! She took Ash’s arm and Cedar went to his other side, but he shook them off.
“I’m not an old man, to need a shoulder to lean on,” he said, almost crossly, and Bren nodded approval. A few of the other men laughed at her and made comments which contained, she was sure, the word for “hen” and “chick.” Ash laughed too, although he could have understood nothing but the tone. Fine, if he wanted to play the man and show off, she would let him.
She let go and moved back, but his head came around to follow her movement and he smiled, properly this time, and said, “Thank you for your eloquence.” She could feel tears fill her eyes, hot and stinging.
“Let Cedar look after you,” was all she could say.
“Aye,” Cedar confirmed. “It’s a brother’s job.”
The men around accepted this with nods and Cedar led Ash off toward a corridor, Tern holding his other elbow.
Bren saw her tears and sighed. “Punishments are not fit for women to see,” he said.
She ignored him.
“Now what happens to us?” she asked.
“Tomorrow, when your man has recovered, you come with us on the journey to your father.” He looked pleased by this, as well he might. She was guarantee they would not be attacked before they reached Arvid. Especially if they went the long way, around the Forest.
She nodded, as if she had expected nothing else.
They would have to leave tonight.
“I need to check my horses, then,” she said. “Make sure their tack is ready.”
Bren pursed his lips, unsure.
“And to tell you the truth,” Ember added, “I’d like to get out into the fresh air for a while.”
That brought a half-smile; it was a feeling everyone here had in spring, she suspected. Bren motioned one of the young boys over, a slight lad with corn-colored hair and eyes so pale they were disconcerting.
“Take our guest to the stables and then show her the gardens,” Bren ordered. To Ember, with some pride, he added, “This is Siggi.”
“Ae, Da,” Siggi said, staring at her with interest. He went ahead to one of the many passageways that led out of the hall. Ember noted which one—it was beneath a painting of a double-headed battleaxe dripping with blood. She hoped that wasn’t an omen.
The horses were not far, and the passage led straight to their pasture. Merry was pleased to see her, and that simple affection lightened Ember’s heart. She collected their dirty bridles in a basket and checked on the saddles, safe in a stone shed built against the cliff.
Siggi took her back to the hall with an air of having successfully performed a difficult task. He swaggered a little as he ushered her through the doorway and saw some of his friends watching.
“I need to see my men,” she said slowly, trying to get her accent right. She shook the basket a little, as if to say that she wasn’t going to do their work.
He grinned, showing a gap in his teeth.
“Ae,” he nodded, and ran off to the passageway she had seen the men go through.
There were few people in the hall today, but there were some older women preparing food near the central hearth, who stared at her curiously. Her trousers, showing under the calf-length skirt, made them cluck their tongues with disapproval. They sounded like hens in a barnyard, and she had to fight not to smile. Instead, she mimicked Larra’s little spread of the skirts with a bob, and discomfited them. They all bobbed their heads and then turned into a tight circle, pretending not to be looking at her.
Siggi ran out of the passageway and was followed, just as fast, by Cedar, who came hurrying over to her, looking alarmed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Are you all right? This little one came running, calling ‘Arvidsdottir, Arvidsdottirsmen!’.”
Siggi grinned cheekily at her and she mimed flicking his head with her hand. He grinned wider and ran off to some friends on the other side of the hall, no doubt to boast about being her guide.
“I’m fine,” she said to Cedar. “How is Ash?”
“Resting,” Cedar said, “and cross with anyone who tries to help. He’s always been that way—it’s best to just leave him alone. He’ll recover.”
She must have looked surprised at his equanimity, because his mouth twisted awry a little. “He’s had worse than that falling out of trees or from cliffsides,” he added. “He was always climbing, even as a little lad, Mam says. Always trying to get as high as he could, but he never seemed to hurt himself badly. He heals fast.”
It was reassuring, in a way, because they had very little time, and Ash had to travel tonight, come what may.
“Bren has told me,” Ember said, conscious that not far away a pair of women were picking over beans for supper, and alert for every word. No telling how much they could
understand. “We will be leaving for home tomorrow, with the trading party.”
He met her eyes and she held his steadily, warning him not to react.
“The Ice King’s word is law here, and He says we must go,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the women nod, and knew they had been set as spies. Ember handed over the basket of tack to Cedar. He looked at it blankly, then his gaze sharpened as he recognized their own gear.
“I’ve been to see the horses,” she went on. “They’re ready to ride after such a good rest. Clean this and get it ready, too.” It was an order, lady to servitor. He nodded slowly.
“Aye, my lady,” he said. “Should I check the saddles, too?”
“No, they’re fine. I’ve looked at them.”
“Do you know what time we’ll be leaving?” he asked.
“At dawn, I suppose, or soon after.” With one hand, concealed by her skirt from the women, Ember showed Cedar two fingers. The second watch. He nodded understanding. “It will be a long day’s travel,” she went on. “I hope Ash can manage it, because we can’t slow Prince Nyr down.” Again the woman nodded to herself. She wasn’t a very good spy—maybe it was just natural curiosity which had set her to listening. But certainly what they had said would be reported to Bren.
“Let’s hope your father won’t be too angry with you for not completing your task,” Cedar said. Good, keeping up the act. He was learning, Cedar, how to choose his words, which was just as well if he was going to be a warlord.
“Well,” Ember replied comfortably, “you know how he loves trade. If we bring a trading party back I think he will forgive me.”
The woman smirked. That’s right, Ember thought. I’m just a lazy daughter who is taking the easy way out. I don’t care one way or the other if I complete my task, whatever that is, do I? You go and tell Bren that.
Sure enough, as Cedar took the basket of tack back to the men’s passageway, the two women picked up their own basket and headed for a small doorway on the other side of the hall.
Ember felt suddenly weary, although it couldn’t have been later than noon. She sat down on a bench at a table and wondered what was happening at home.
Ember and Ash Page 31
