by Voima
When they had caught their breaths again, Valmar said, “There is one problem. If you are going to be my wife, you have to have a name.”
“You can call me Wigla,” she said promptly.
“Wigla?! But—”
“Well, I never had a name the way you mortals have names when I was a Hearthkeeper. Now that the woman you used to know as Wigla has become an immortal, she won’t need her name any more. Since we have, you might say, changed places, I have taken her name.”
He took her face between his hands and kissed her. “Well, Wigla, if you are a mortal now you’ll have to learn that you can’t just decide to be one place or another. And we humans need to eat. Unless you care to swim in the surf and eat raw fish, we had better start trying to find a house or manor around here.”
4
Early in the morning the two kings, Queen Arane, Karin, and Roric all sat together by the shore of the salt river. The men had bailed out the ship and had nearly finished salvaging what could be salvaged from the tidal wave. Counting and checking had yielded the good news that no one had drowned.
King Kardan looked assessingly at his daughter. She nearly glowed with joy. She had Roric's hand clenched in hers and kept looking at him as though not able to believe the good fortune fate had brought her. The man who had been chosen by the Wanderers to save their realm and had walked living through Hel had returned to her, and she did not even care what glorious deeds he had done as long as he was with her.
“We don’t need a formal Gemot,” she said. “Since Roric did not kidnap either me or Valmar, there is no reason to outlaw him.”
"I can certainly outlaw him for stealing my ship,” said Hadros fiercely, thrusting out his bearded chin.
“Roric did not do that,” she said coolly. “I did. To outlaw a future sovereign queen would take the All-Gemot of the Fifty Kings, which means you'll have to wait until next year. Unless you planned to declare war on me? I've heard you say, Hadros,” with the faintest smile, “that you do not war on girls.”
“He still has the blood-guilt of three men on him," the king said roughly, “and we have not seen Valmar.”
For a second Karin’s face became clouded—thinking doubtless of her little brother. Kardan answered for her. “I shall pay the blood-fee, Hadros, for my future son-in-law. Karin has told me she is ready to swear on steel and rowan that when Roric killed your warriors Rolf and Warulf they had attacked Roric as three against one, and I witnessed his single combat against Gizor.”
Karin unexpectedly smiled. “Roric and I can pay the blood-money ourselves. We know where there’s a dragon hoard—and the dragon is not coming back.”
The other king grunted and stretched out his stiff leg. “Even if the money’s paid,” he said, “I don’t like a man who’s foresworn his loyalty.” He kept glancing at Roric as though extremely proud of him, and then he would make himself scowl again.
“I think,” put in Roric, sober but with a hint of laughter at the corners of his mouth, “that Gizor has forgiven me.”
“The wight that appeared on the grave mound,” commented Kardan, “was said by many of the men to be one-handed . . .”
They all looked at Roric for a moment. The story he had told them, how he had gone from what Karin had been sure was a fatal fight against Eirik’s men to stepping alive out of Hel, was hard to believe yet impossible to doubt. They had already dug into the mound where Roric had emerged to bury King Eirik’s lyre next to Gizor’s body.
Karin seemed determined to make Hadros agreeable, or as agreeable as he could be given that his heir was still missing. “Are you two the first man and lord ever to quarrel?” she asked with a smile. “The Gemot would be busy indeed if it had to hear about everything said in a fit of anger.”
This would be much easier, Kardan thought, if Hadros would acknowledge that Roric was his son rather than treating him like a rebellious warrior. But perhaps he did not want to tell him the truth until the blood-guilt was cleared away. Or perhaps he did want to appear too quick to claim parentage of a man about whom they were already telling stories and would soon be making songs.
“All three of you,” said Karin, looking at the kings and queen, “came north seeking a lost daughter or son, and two of you have found them.”
“Valmar had better just be lost in the woods at home,” growled Hadros, then stopped, raising his eyebrows. “All three of us?”
“I think,” said Karin, looking levelly at the queen, “that it is time to tell Roric his real parentage.”
Roric clapped his hands over his ears. “I told the Witch that I renounced all knowledge of my father.”
Queen Arane took a deep breath. “You shall not learn of your father from me. But I think it time that you learned of your mother.”
The telling took a while. Hadros was at first furious, then abruptly began to laugh. “Fooled by a woman!” he said, slapping his knee. “You knew I was ready to believe, wanted to believe my own wife’s barrenness was not due to me. And you also knew that a king’s son, even if not acknowledged, would be brought up fit to rule. Are you going to tell us more about that winter when somebody fathered this lad?”
Roric mostly looked stunned. “This is not the kin I thought I had. I always assumed I was the son of a serving-maid, not a queen!”
“How about it, No-man’s son?” Hadros said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ready to conquer yourself a kingdom as I’ve been trying to persuade you to do?”
“How about mine?” asked Queen Arane.
Roric stared at her. “You are suggesting that I bring warships and pillage—”
“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “I am suggesting you appear before my kingdom’s Gemot and have them elect you as my heir. It will be difficult enough persuading some of my powerful lords, especially the ones who have long hoped to become heirs themselves, for you to find all the glory you want.”
Hadros reached into his belt pouch and pulled out something. He flipped it to Roric who caught it one-handed. “If you’re planning to become a king,” Hadros said gruffly, “I guess you won’t want to be my sworn man anymore. But you might as well have your ring back.”
Roric suddenly grinned at Arane. “I presume some of the potential heirs to your kingdom would not mind trying to assassinate me? I’ll do all the sword can do to persuade them I’ll make a good king. And my queen,” with a squeeze of Karin’s hand, “will do all the persuasion at which women excel.”
By late afternoon they were ready to leave. Roric and some of Arane’s warriors had climbed up to the dragon’s den and come away with as much treasure as they could carry, but before they left they levered huge stones into the entrance. All the old stories agreed that a dragon’s hoard was always cursed, and that if any man tried to carry away more than a reasonable amount he would become consumed himself—by greed, or by the next dragon to scent the gold.
The ship had been afloat for three hours without leaking any more than might be expected, and Hadros declared it ready for the sea. “We’re too far from home for a raven-message,” he said, “but in a few days we should be able to send one to Dag and Nole and reassure them they were not visited by wights from Hel.” He added, half under his breath, “But if Valmar is there they already know that.”
“If any of the Fifty Kings were planning to conquer Eirik’s kingdom,” commented King Kardan cheerfully, “we should tell them this is no fit place for a man to rule. I’m glad you set the prisoners free, Hadros; trying to live on here is the worst punishment anyone could wish on a band of outlaws.”
With Karin with him again, he thought, he should be able to end his sorrowful worry, to enjoy watching her and the grandchild he should have sometime next year. He could rule as king for a few more years, give her time to gain a little more knowledge of the kingdom and its governance before becoming sovereign queen. Home was a good place to be.
But he had, he thought, strangely enjoyed this trip, now that it was ending happily—at least for him. Nex
t time, perhaps he should invite Hadros to go somewhere a little more civilized in his longship.
They were about to push the ship out into the channel when Kardan saw someone coming along the salt river from the direction of the sea: two people, he realized, a man and a woman, walking with hands clasped. The woman was young and dark haired; the man had a full red beard and was powerfully muscled. King Hadros beside him let out a gasp.
“I know I am not yet of age, Father,” called Valmar. It had to be Valmar, Kardan thought, but he seemed both bigger and older than the boy he remembered. Hadros had sprung from the ship to the beach and was pounding toward him, stiff leg or no stiff leg. “So I shall have to ask your permission. I would like to be married.”
5
Roric and Valmar stood at dawn in a circle formed by all the warriors. Each held a gold ring and waited for his bride.
Men always waited and women always came, to make it clear that the women were not being married against their wills. But Roric thought that Karin and Wigla seemed to be taking their own time about it, having chosen as the starting point for their procession a rock a quarter mile away and coming at a leisurely stroll, talking and laughing with each other.
Hadros, grumbling, had agreed that another day’s delay would make no difference. Now that Valmar was back and the blood-fee paid with the dragon’s wealth, Roric was freed from his blood-guilt, and since Valmar most definitely did not think himself betrothed to Karin there was no reason for the two couples not to be wed at once. Hadros had mumbled that he was not sure he wanted his heir to marry a woman without kin who looked to him like a siren, but there was no force in his objection.
“So you think there will be fewer wars in mortal realms now?” Roric asked Valmar as they watched the women slowly approach.
“There should be. But mortal realms were not remade, only the lands of voima. It may be generations before the change is complete, before humans are able both to follow the wandering paths of glory and to keep hearth and home—theirs and others’—safe and secure.”
“Eirik’s men may have trouble adapting to the change,” Roric commented.
“I’m looking forward,” said Valmar with a grin, “to hearing how my brothers did defending the castle against them.” He paused for a moment, then added, “They will be surprised when we all arrive, married to those they will think are the wrong people.”
“Oh, I think I can keep there from being talk about my wife,” said Roric lightly, tapping his fingers on his sword.
“And I can assure that no one says anything against the purity and constancy of my sister,” said Valmar.
The two women were slowly drawing closer. “Men and women have never been as clearly separated in their abilities as the Wanderers seemed to think,” said Roric thoughtfully. “Why do we men wander far, after all, if not to return at last, at the end of adventuring, to make a secure hearth and home?”
Valmar glanced at him sideways. “I think I figured that out myself.”
“It would be good,” Roric continued, “if more men could have women like Karin along with them, doing the plotting and planning, rather than thinking honor required them to be left at home.”
“And I think you shall find, if you face her in the practice ring, that Wigla’s as good a warrior as most men.” Valmar hesitated for a moment, then asked as though casually, “In your experiences in Hel and in the realms of voima, did you ever learn your father’s name?”
Roric shook his head. “I have renounced knowledge of my father. I had thought it would be hard knowledge to give up, but in fact it frees me. I have kin now and a mother, but I have no father, glorious or inglorious, either after whom I have to mold myself or else whose shame I have to overcome. My identity as No-man’s son will satisfy me well.”
“Maybe you are freed,” agreed Valmar quietly. “I feel as though I have only now truly become myself, yet I still have to go back and live in my father’s castle—with a wife he’ll be wishing was Karin.”
Roric laughed. “You can come help me plot against my new-found relatives if Hadros’s castle wearies you too much. But I do not fear you will return to your boyhood. The last time I talked to the Wanderer, he did not sound as though he would ever agree to joining with the Hearthkeepers. I’m impressed with you, foster-brother. They are making songs about me for coming back from Hel, but the real songs should be for you. Death is easy—it’s life that’s hard.”
Karin and Wigla had finally reached the circle. The warriors stepped aside to let them through, then closed in again. Both women had small smiles, as though still trying to make up their minds whether to accept these men.
Roric and Valmar stepped forward to meet them, rings held out. “If immortal men and women can join together,” said Valmar, “we should be able to find a way to live happily with our wives.”
