Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1)

by Norris, Màiri

  Brandr had not moved, had not faced his uncle. “Where are they now?”

  “When last I saw them, they moved east, but it would be wise not to be here should they change their mind and come this way. They are many.”

  “We will discuss this with the others.”

  Silence. Sindre’s gaze centered on Brandr’s back. “As you say, Músa.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Brandr leaned against the wall and listened to the debates.

  Sindre, as always, was at their crux. Roots of Yggdrasil, but his uncle did love to quarrel! The current dispute was over Oswulf and Bryda. Would the couple accompany them when they left, and if so, as thralls or free? Sindre insisted they submit to slavery, but Oswulf was a freeman and intended to hold to that status, though he worried for Bryda should they go on alone. Sindre considered the man’s unwillingness to yield the protection of traveling with a group a weakness, and pounced on it like a wolf on prey.

  Earlier, they had squabbled over whether to stay overnight, or leave immediately to avoid possibility of encountering the king’s troops. Lissa, curled beside him on the pallet, had said little through it all, and he wondered at her thoughts. Regardless, his own mind was made up.

  “Brandr?” Her lyrical voice was soft in his ear, and the sound of his name a delight to his soul. If she worried about the outcome of the arguments, she did not show it. “You have already decided. Why then do you not call a halt to the arguments?”

  He gave her his full attention, pleased at her serenity, and gratified she understood him well enough to know his mind. “The news of the troops has them all on edge. The discussions give them a focus for their fears. I will let them work the unease from their hearts, then announce my decisions.” He nodded to where Oswulf, with carving knife and ash wood in hand, sat next to Bryda by the fire. “See you. Oswulf will agree to become my thrall.”

  “He will not! All this evening has he declared his intent to remain free.”

  “Yet beneath his insistence runs a reluctance to submit Bryda and his unborn child to the dangers of the wild. He knows they will be safer if they travel with us. He will yield for her sake. Sindre knows it.”

  “I do not agree. Bryda is strong, and she…what did you say? What child?”

  “Look more closely. Have you seen what he carves?”

  She looked more carefully. “It is a toy! A horse, made to fit the hand of a small child. Oh, but he could be carving it for someone else, or because he has naught else to do.”

  He let his amusement at her argument show. “I think not. To whom would he give it, and does Oswulf seem to you the type of man who would carve a toy for no purpose? She has tried to hide it, but Bryda has been ill each morn. She slips out to the woods ahead of others to empty the contents of her stomach. She is well the rest of the day. Have you not also noticed she goes to relieve herself more oft than any of us? These are things I have seen in the women of my family when they carried a child, especially the wife of Sindre.”

  Her golden eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Sindre is married?”

  “Not any more. His wife died giving birth to their first child, a boy, who also did not live.” The revelation had startled her. “Why are you so surprised? Sindre is a man, like any other.”

  “It is only that he seems….” She shrugged.

  He grinned, understanding all too well, but the mirth quickly passed. “He cared for her, and bragged unceasingly about becoming a father. We had never seen him so happy. Their deaths were very difficult for him.”

  “That explains much.” Her voice held sadness.

  “Do not let Sindre see you pity him.”

  “I will not. About Bryda. Will you use Oswulf’s care for his wife against him, then?” She looked at him with pleading in her eyes. “Must they become thralls? Are Alwin and I not enough for your needs?”

  It worried her. He held her gaze, watching the gold in her eyes reflect the firelight. “Think you a víkingr ever has thralls enough to sell? Do you not know our greed is legend?” He chuckled at her frown and reached to tap the tip of her nose with his finger. “Worry not. My decision is made. Oswulf will serve me, but he will not find it burdensome.”

  She nodded, but did not look convinced.

  As they conversed, the room had quieted.

  Brandr sat straight. “Hear me,” he said. “Now that the arguments are exhausted, I will tell you what shall be done. For now, we have no need of haste, so I deem it less wise to move through strange land in the dark than to take one last night of rest where we are. We will wait till morn to leave, but we will set double watch, Turold with Sindre and Oswulf with me. If any comes nigh, we will know of it soon enough.” He waited. No one objected. “Oswulf, show to all what you carve.”

  The man threw him a wondering glance, but held up the toy.

  “Do you speak of it, or shall I?”

  All eyes turned to the ceorl. He smiled, unable to hold his pride inside. “Bryda is with child.”

  Startled silence was replaced with good wishes. Sindre wore his disgusted look, but Turold grabbed his lyre and began a merry chant.

  Brandr waited for the clamor to die down. “Oswulf.”

  The ceorl tensed.

  “Are you willing to submit to become my thrall, in exchange for my protection?”

  The lyre sounded a discordant note before falling silent.

  Oswulf struggled, his desire to refuse plain. He cupped Bryda’s face in his hand. “This day, we talked of it.” He leaned close to his wife, holding her eyes. “I know you would remain free, but I will not risk you and our child.” She gave a little cry, but he covered her lips with his thumb. “I will do what I must, for the sake of the babe.” He looked up. “Aye, I will become your slave, but I ask that Bryda remain free.”

  Brandr nodded. Beside him, Lissa held her breath. “I accept your service, Oswulf.” He paused. A barely perceptible sigh floated around the room, but he was not finished. “I will accept your service, but as freeman, not thrall. You and your wife will kneel and swear loyalty to me, and my house—when I have earned one.” He grinned. “In exchange, I offer my protection. Do you find this decision satisfactory?”

  Lissa’s small hand covered his where it rested on his thigh. He did not have to look at her to know she found his choice honorable. Inside his heart, something ill at ease and restless was mollified.

  “Aye. This is agreeable.” Relief vied with gratitude in Oswulf’s tone. “We will do it now.”

  Close as they were to where he sat, they had only to turn and come to their knees. The oath was quickly offered.

  Brandr met Sindre’s eyes across the room, satisfied to see there a grudging acceptance. Perhaps his uncle was beginning to learn there were other options to his own way.

  “There is one more matter that must be dealt with, and that is the chance we go into ambush.” He laid out the situation with Talon, and Lissa’s certainty the first marshal had not given up the search for them. “There is little we can do except be wary, especially when approaching a place, such a river ford or a narrow pass, where a trap might easily be laid. That we know of the intent, robs them of the element of surprise. So far as we know, there are one and ten who travel with the first marshal.” He turned to Lissa. “Might he have gained more men?”

  “Possibly, though I know he did not take much coin with him when he left Yriclea. Thegn Wolnoth said he would not need it. He would have to find men willing to fight for other reasons, for he will not be able to pay for the service.”

  “Other reasons, such as hatred for Northmen?”

  “Yes.”

  He rose and stretched. The discussion was over. “Alwin, aid me.”

  While Alwin cleaned and polished his ring shirt, he taught him how it was made, and how the links were formed to turn a blade. Oswulf and Turold went out to the shed to pack the smoked meat to carry with them the next day. Lissa sat with Bryda, much of their discussion about the new babe.

  Sin
dre, uncharacteristically quiet, also went out, saying he wished to keep watch.

  “Then take the first watch,” Brandr said. “I will send Turold to join you when he has finished his task.”

  He wondered at his uncle’s unusual behavior. In another man, he might find it cause for worry, but while Sindre had many faults, disloyalty was not among them.

  The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. He sent them all to an early bed, reminding them the morn would herald a long and weary day.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  Lissa woke to Brandr’s hand shaking her awake. “Rise, thrall, and prepare food.”

  Before she could respond, he was gone. She groaned and rolled over, wishing only to curl deeper into the furs. A hard, dull ache throbbed low in her belly. She heard movement nearby and opened her eyes to see Bryda rising, as well. Sindre still snored in his corner, Alwin stretched beside him. Turold mumbled something unintelligible as he stood up and stumbled outside. Trying to shake off the lethargy that plagued her, she crawled from the pallet, straightened her skirts and rolled the fur.

  “I will help you when I return,” Bryda said. She was pale, and held a hand over her mouth as she rushed out.

  She followed the woman into a dawn as gray and dreary as she felt. Bryda had not made it far. She stood heaving at the back of the cottage, one hand braced on the corner.

  “Bryda, I will prepare a drink to ease your distress, though I have few of the leaves left.”

  “Nay, do not concern yourself. It will pass now.”

  “I must boil willow for myself. It would be no trouble to heat what you need.”

  Bryda offered a sickly smile. “If that be so, I would drink some, and gladly.”

  They went together back into the cottage, and set about their task. After a hasty breaking of the fast, the hudfats and other baggage were repacked. Their loads were redistributed and shared among Alwin, Lissa, Bryda and Oswulf, who now also carried in his belt the woodcutting axe. Brandr, Sindre and Turold remained unencumbered to keep watch and if necessary, fight.

  The sun had but cleared the horizon when Brandr took the lead in this ninth day of their journey. Lissa stared wearily at the sky as they skirted the great mound. It seemed her clothes had only just dried, but the roiling clouds looked set to soak them all, once more, to the skin. Despite the cup of boiled willow bark she had drunk that morn, the ache in her belly got worse. Thoroughly miserable, she slogged on.

  She was in line behind Brandr, at his insistence. He led them northeast through the easiest paths he could find, but his pace was swift, too brisk for talking. As if the previous days of rain had been a signal to the gods, the weather continued overcast and chill, with intermittent showers turning partially firmed ground back into mud.

  They covered nigh two leagues before Brandr let them rest, but not for long. She thought the respite too short and said so, when he came to stand beside her. “Brandr, we need more time to catch our breath.”

  “I think it is you that needs time, Lissa Brandr-thrall. Bryda does not seem to find our pace too difficult.” He looked more closely at her face. “Something is wrong. What is it?”

  She could not stop the flush that warmed her skin. “Naught.”

  “Thralls who lie to their masters have their tongues removed. Give me the truth. Are you ill, or hurt in some way you have not mentioned?”

  “Brandr, it is naught. Truly. Ask no more.”

  “Anything that affects your ability to keep up is my concern. You will tell me where you are hurt!”

  She huffed. “I am not ‘damaged’. If you must know, it is my woman’s time.”

  His face blanked.

  “Need we halt while you…do something about it?”

  “No.”

  He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and strode off. “Everyone, up!”

  He was almost out of sight before the rest of them got to their feet.

  Shortly after midday, they came to a road that wound alongside another wide, shallow river. Brandr was muttering long before they got there.

  They had left the woodlands and were passing through open downlands with little cover for leagues around, and he was worried. He halted them before they topped a hill with a long, gentle downslope that overlooked the river road. From the other side came the noises and calls of many travelers. With Sindre, he climbed the rest of the way on his belly.

  After only a few moments, they crawled back down. “The road is a short distance away,” he said. “But a long line of troops, both horsed and on foot, traverses it, heading west.” He paused. “They have many fine warhorses. I have never seen so many in one place.”

  His non sequitur caught Lissa’s attention. It was not the first time he had displayed an unusual interest in the great beasts, but he said no more of them as he held a hurried council with Sindre, Turold and Oswulf.

  She sensed the tension in him as he called them all together. “These are troops of King Alfred. It would be best for us all if they do not discover our presence. We have decided to separate. Sindre and I will move east along the crown of this hill until we are far enough away no one would guess we travel together. You will all be safer if you are not found with us.”

  She stood frozen, unable to believe his words. “Brandr, I do not like this! We should stay together. Turold and Oswulf will vouch for you. Please, do not do this.”

  He stepped close and ran a finger down her cheek. “Turold will lead you back to yonder grove until the troops have passed and he deems it safe. There are bushes behind which you can shelter. As for us, should we be discovered by a patrol, we will say we are merchants, and that we were shipwrecked and seek only to return home.” He glanced at Sindre, who fingered the head of his axe and looked pleased by the possibility of meeting up with soldiers. “It is close enough to the truth.”

  He pulled a leather bag from a fold in his tunic. It clinked as he took her hand and closed her fingers over it. “Keep this out of sight should you meet with others.”

  His gaze swept over her. He suddenly pulled her into his arms and kissed her as if…as if he knew it would be the last time. She felt dazed. It was as though the sun had darkened and gone cold, or that winter had crept in while no one looked, to steal all the light and warmth from the day. It felt as if she was losing him, as she had lost all the others she had ever loved.

  She shivered. “Brandr!”

  He took the cloak from his shoulders and swept it around her.

  She tried to refuse it. “No! You will need it. Please, Brandr.”

  “Shhh, lítill blóm. All will be well, but if the worst should come to pass and we are taken or killed, go wherever seems best to you. Stay as far from the soldiers as possible. It is not safe for you and Bryda to be among them.” He set her from him. “Beyond the river, in the far distance, there is a village. It lies along a line of many trees. There is a place where a stand of oaks grows taller than all the rest. Stop among them and wait for us. We will meet up with you there.”

  He set her from him. As he turned away, Turold stuck out his hand and the two warriors clasped wrists.

  How alike they are, in honor and courage!

  No words were spoken, but much was said in that single, long glance. She looked at Sindre, who watched the exchange. For once, no mockery touched his features. As if he felt her perusal, his hard, somber gaze met hers. For the space of a long breath, she felt the world around her shift.

  Merciful saints!

  His jaw clenched and he walked away, angling up the hill on an easterly bearing.

  Brandr nodded to her, once. “Go with Thorr!”

  She watched him catch up to Sindre. He did not look back. They took naught with them but their weapons and the gold around Sindre’s waist, which none but they and she, yet knew of.

  She wanted to run after Brandr, to beg him not to leave her. Emotions clamored. The cold within her deepened.

  Turold came beside her. “It is time to go.”

 
She blinked, suddenly aware water dripped from her hair to slide in icy rivulets down her face. When had it started raining again?

  Turold pulled the hood of the cloak up over her head. “Lissa, come!”

  The víkingrs were almost out of sight. She looked around to see Alwin, Oswulf and Bryda were already retracing their path, toward the grove. Alwin clutched Sindre’s great cloak about himself. Sindre had made a belt for him, and hitched up the hem, but he still hopped along, trying not to trip over it. His antics would have made her laugh had the moment not been so dire.

  Neither of them has protection from the rain. They gave up their cloaks to us.

  Turold touched her arm. “Do not worry. They will be safe. You will see them again. You must have faith, and believe that.”

  She nodded. He caught her hand and they hurried after the others.

  Until the sky began to grow dark, they huddled among the green growth beneath the trees in the grove. Alwin, shivering as hard as she despite Sindre’s cape, cuddled close to her side. Turold sat with his back to a tree, his head on his knees. In a gesture reminiscent of the víkingrs, he had insisted Bryda take his cloak for the babe’s sake, and she lay in Oswulf’s arms. As if all feared unfriendly ears, no one spoke.

  Lissa thought of what she had seen in Sindre’s eyes.

  He wants me. I saw it blaze. It is why he acts with me like a badger with a sore paw. But what of Brandr? I care so much for him, and I know he also desires me, yet still I know not his intent. He calls me ‘sour face’, then places himself in danger to protect me, and Sindre goes willingly with him. What a strange thing it is, that we three should be at cross-purposes in this way. Oh, please, keep him safe. I need him desperately. I do not know what I will do should he not return.

  The rain slowed and stopped. Turold lifted his head, his eyes unfocused, as if he listened. He rose. “It’s time.”

  They crept once more to the top of the hill and peered over. The scene was empty of life. Only the road, churned into a morass of mud, and a few pieces of discarded gear gave evidence a large column of troops had recently passed that way.