DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3)

by Frankie Robertson

“What happened, mistress?” Aren asked gently.

  “What do you think? A lord’s son thought anything, or anyone he saw was his for the taking, including my daughter.” Annikke pulled Benoia into a fierce hug.

  There was no shame in young folk sharing the pleasures of their bodies, but it should be just that, a sharing. Not a violent, forceful taking of something not freely offered. She wanted better memories for Benoia than that. Better memories than Annikke had. Tears tracked her cheeks, but she paid them no mind. If the man thought her weak, he’d soon learn differently.

  Aren turned his upper body to face the women. “I’m sorry. It’s clear to me that Sveyn was in the wrong, and it will be clear to Lord Dahleven as well, I’m sure.”

  “He’s a lord!” Annikke scoffed. “And lords stick together.”

  “The Jarl is a fair man. He will deal honestly with you, if you’re honest with him.”

  “You know the Jarl so well as that, do you, that you can speak for him?” Annikke didn’t try to conceal her derision. “I think it more likely that you’d say anything to make us compliant. A handsome fellow like you no doubt expects to get whatever you want from women. A few honeyed words and they just drop into your hand. I will not.”

  The man laughed, and it was a bitter sound. “Mistress Annikke, you’re right. I cannot speak for the Jarl. But I do not believe Lord Fendrikanin would serve a man so unjust that he would punish a woman wrongfully accused. If you do not come back with me, and you elude me, some other man will be sent to hunt you. You will never be able to rest. What life is that for the girl?”

  Annikke pressed her lips tightly together, unhappy that he’d given her own argument back to her. She stood there, still holding Benoia, with the girl’s arms still wrapped around her, and tried to think of some other way. She couldn’t find one, no more than she’d been able to for the last few days. “He’s right, girl,” she said softly as the horse tossed its head, tugging the reins. Benoia stepped out of Annikke’s embrace to keep control of the beast.

  Benoia lifted a tear stained face, but her expression was fierce. “Then it should be me who goes to Quartzholm. You’re not responsible. I don’t want them to blame you for what I did. You should go home to our cottage.”

  “And let you face Tholvar and Sveyn by yourself? No.” Annikke put her hands on Benoia’s cheeks and smiled even though she felt like crying too. She wiped the girl’s tears away with her thumbs. “I won’t let them separate us. You’ll not face this alone,” she murmured.

  Then she turned and reached into the thicket, holding out her hand to their captor.

  *

  Aren took Annikke’s hand, gently wrapping his fingers around hers. As he did, the saplings that held his legs no longer restrained him. Her hand was warm and strong, but he read the promise in her eyes: Bring harm to my daughter and I’ll have your skin.

  She’d have to get in line. The Elves had made no specific threats if he didn’t protect Annikke, but he didn’t doubt there would be consequences if he failed to pay his debt. Beyond that, his honor wouldn’t allow him to shirk his obligation. How he would fulfill both his debt to Torlon and his duty to Lord Dahleven, he didn’t yet know.

  Benoia glared at him and gave him a wide berth. The young woman was small and slender, and looked younger than her seventeen summers. She held herself rigidly, with lifted chin and squared shoulders. He thought of his own daughter, Tandra, and recognized that Benoia was struggling to maintain a tenuous self-control.

  Aren wouldn’t challenge her. He had no way of knowing the truth of the matter, beyond the gossip he’d gathered, but if half of what he’d heard about Sveyn was true, Benoia deserved to keep what dignity she could. Had someone treated Tandra with the disrespect that Sveyn had apparently shown Benoia, he’d have seen the young lord lying scattered in pieces. He scowled at the thought, and Benoia flinched.

  “What now?” Annikke asked.

  Aren looked at the Fey-marked woman. Fatigue and worry shadowed her eyes and there was a smudge on her cheek that he wanted to reach out and wipe away. Her glorious silver hair was coming loose from a braid that hung down to her waist. Falling free, he could imagine that tips of those strands would tease her nicely rounded rear. He would enjoy brushing those silver locks.

  “Will you tie us up and drag us behind your horse?”

  Annikke’s blunt question shook him free of his inappropriate thoughts.

  Aren looked at the sun’s position, gauging the time left in the day. Should they travel a distance to burn off some of the fight the women still had in them, or give them a respite to get used to him first? Aren looked from one to the other. He’d been on their trail since dawn with no break. He suspected they’d taken none, either.

  “I haven’t eaten since before daylight,” he said. “Shall we break our fast before we continue?”

  Annikke and Benoia exchanged a glance, then Annikke nodded.

  The day’s eye was past zenith and the afternoon had grown warm, so they tucked themselves into the dappled shadows from one of the taller trees. Aren loosened the cinch on Pinter’s saddle and picketed her in a patch of meadow grass. The women shared nuts and a chunk of yellow cheese between them. Aren dug out a hunk of journey-bread and a bit of jerked venison.

  They ate in silence. Aren watched the women, and the women watched him back, not even trying to pretend they weren’t.

  Aren finished his portion before Annikke and Benoia did theirs, but he saw no point in rushing them. They had candlemarks of sunlight left, and since the women had traveled away from the closest road to Quartzholm, it would take at least two days to backtrack through the forest to the road.

  “What’s Quartzholm like?” Benoia asked.

  The girl’s question surprised Aren. He hadn’t thought she would speak to him directly. “It’s big. Magnificent, actually. The outer walls are granite, but much of the castle is rose quartz. Great Talents crafted it before Fanlon’s time, so the walls are smooth and seamless except where Talents have carved scenes of beauty into the stone. It’s a bit of a maze, and it’s easy to get lost among the many halls and staircases. Outside the wall, there’s a village that surrounds the castle and flows down the hillside.”

  Benoia nodded and bit her lips.

  Aren realized that what she really wanted to know was, What will happen to us there? So he continued as if she’d spoken the words. “After we pass through the gates, I’ll escort you to Lord Fender. I expect he’ll arrange for you to bathe and eat before you go before Lord Dahleven, but if he doesn’t, I will.” Whatever they’d done, for whatever reason, they deserved that courtesy.

  Benoia’s brows rose in either surprise or skepticism, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t think she was aware of breathing the words, “A bath,” with apparent longing.

  A smile played at the edges of Annikke’s mouth. Had she needed to wrestle Benoia into the bath when she was younger, as he had his own daughter?

  When they’d all finished their meal, Aren tightened the cinch on his horse’s saddle and said, “Mistress Annikke, if you mount first, Benoia can ride behind you.”

  Annikke’s brows rose. “We’re to ride?”

  “This beast can easily carry you both.”

  “No, I mean, you’re letting us ride?”

  Aren tried not to take affront. “I’m no lord to ride while women walk.”

  “But we’re accused of harming a man.”

  “Accused is not guilty.” He gestured for Annikke to come closer to the horse.

  “Few would agree with you.”Annikke said.

  He thought of how the villagers of his youth had turned on his father even before they’d known the truth, how they’d made Aren’s life harder because of who his father was. “I won’t judge without proof. But I will ask you for your parole. I’d rather not have to tie you each night. Swear to me that you will not try to escape, or to injure me in my sleep.”

  “I swear to accompany you to Quartzholm with complete docility,” Annikke said.r />
  Benoia laughed. “Docility? I’ll go with you to Quartzholm just to see this wonder.”

  “Benoia.” Aren spoke in the same gruff tone he used to reprove his daughter. “Show Annikke the respect she deserves.”

  Benoia’s expression flashed from outrage to shame before she looked down at her feet. “I beg pardon, Annikke.”

  “Granted. Now swear your parole.”

  The young woman lifted her head and met Aren’s gaze. “I swear to you that I will neither attempt escape nor will I harm you—unless you try to harm me or Annikke.”

  Aren nodded to each of the women. “Accepted.” He made a step of his laced fingers. “Annikke?”

  She took a step back and looked up. “I’ve treated horses, but never been on one. It looks very tall.”

  “But beautiful,” Benoia said, petting Pinter’s nose. “Is she yours?”

  Aren shook his head, standing straight and letting his hands relax by his sides. “On loan to me for this task.”

  Benoia ran her hand down the mare’s neck, admiration in her gaze. “Lord Tholvar and Sveyn ride fine mounts, and Lord Fender had a fine horse, but the only others I’ve seen are draft animals.”

  “Pinter has a smooth gait, Annikke, and I’ll be leading her. You’ll have nothing to fear,” Aren said, gently.

  Annikke nodded stiffly. “I trust you.”

  Something twisted deep within him. Aren wanted to look away, but he couldn’t break away from her clear blue gaze. She trusted him? He was here to take her foster-daughter to judgment. And while he’d sworn to bring her no harm or grief, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his word. He nodded wordlessly and threaded his fingers together again.

  Annikke put her foot into his hands. Trust or no, she squeaked as he tossed her into the shallow saddle, and Aren bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  She grabbed for a handful of mane to balance herself, then looked down on him. Her eyes were wide with alarm, but they narrowed as she caught his expression. “Is my fear a source of merriment to you?”

  There was no good answer to that. The honest answer wasn’t the best one. Aren shook his head, and gestured Benoia closer. The girl shared an amused glance with him, then closed her expression as she remembered he was her captor. Aren sighed, and he tossed her up behind Annikke. It was only right that the girl be wary of him, but he wished it could be otherwise.

  Benoia put her arms around Annikke, and the older woman relaxed a little.

  Aren tied their carry sacks to either side of the saddle, twitched the reins and led them toward Quartzholm.

  Chapter Eleven

  A few candlemarks later, Annikke’s aching arse told her she’d need the liniment she’d packed. Aren had spoken truth: the mare did have a steady gait, and although the ground still seemed to be quite far away, Annikke no longer feared the horse would shy and toss her and Benoia off. In fact, after she’d gotten used to the beast’s stride, she rather enjoyed the view from atop its broad back.

  They’d turned back to travel up country along the Rift because following it was the shortest way to return to the road, but Aren chose a course well away from the crumbly edge. Despite the rough ground, they’d made decent progress.

  The sun was westering when Aren halted the mare, cocking his head and listening. All Annikke heard was the breeze ruffling the new leaves.

  “Why are we stopping?” Benoia asked.

  Aren didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to have heard the question.

  Annikke felt Benoia draw breath for another query, but she put a finger to her lips and the girl remained quiet.

  Several moments passed before Aren looked around him, almost as if scenting the wind. “Someone passed by here, not long ago.”

  “Someone?” Annikke asked.

  “One of Lord Tholvar’s men?” Benoia asked with a slight quaver in her voice.

  Annikke squeezed Benoia’s hand trying to give some reassurance, though she really had none to offer.

  Aren shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Who else would be out here? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Benoia argued.

  Aren gazed at the ground, covered with leaf litter. “A stripling youth, I think. The stride is a bit short to be a grown man’s, but it’s longer than most women’s. The odd thing is, it wasn’t here a hundred paces ago.”

  “Perhaps you missed it?” Annikke suggested.

  Aren’s expression appeared somewhat affronted.

  Annikke felt her face grow warm as she realized she’d just insulted his Talent. She opened her mouth to apologize, but stopped as Aren barked a laugh and shook his head.

  “Indeed.” Aren dropped the reins and walked back the way they’d come several paces, then walked an arc, pausing in half a dozen places. He removed another hundred strides farther and followed a similar arc, then trailed another distance along a single line until he was almost out of sight among the trees.

  A thought slithered into her mind. Aren was a good distance away and they had the horse. We could escape.

  She shoved the idea away as soon as it surfaced, ashamed she’d even thought it. We gave our parole.

  Before she could tempt herself again, she saw Aren striding toward them through the trees.

  “A reasonable thought, Mistress Annikke,” he said as he took up the lead again, “but, thankfully, my Talent is not in question. The trail comes in at a slight angle.” He pointed along the way he’d examined. “There are signs that someone has tried to conceal their passing,”

  “But your Talent still reveals it to you?”

  “Yes. The trail vanishes completely, but it begins again abruptly, then stops again, and starts up again here.” Aren pointed to a spot on the ground. “As if someone was making great leaps.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a Talent.”

  “Nor have I. I’d guess this youth’s Talent is some kind of Concealment, and not yet well honed.”

  “But why would he be here?” Benoia asked.

  “My Talent only shows me that someone passed this way, not the why.”

  “Do you think it’s someone looking for me?” she asked in a worried tone.

  “Unlikely. This boy has been concealing his trail. I cannot think why someone searching for you would do that. He’s probably running from someone, just as you were.”

  “Who would guess the forest would be so crowded?” Annikke muttered.

  Aren grinned, and Annikke felt an unfamiliar flutter of pleasure, that he enjoyed her attempt at humor.

  “Should we turn away from his path?” Benoia asked. “He might be a criminal. A real one. What if whoever is looking for him finds us, instead?”

  Aren shook his head. “This youth seems to be alone, and more likely to avoid us than seek us out. And his pursuers, if there are any, have their own quarry. They won’t waste time on us.”

  “What if he’s running from Oathbreakers? What if he is an Oathbreaker?” Benoia persisted.

  Aren stiffened and his face took on a peculiar expression. “Not all Oathbreakers are bandits, girl.” His tone was sharp.

  “But—”

  “Enough! This is the shortest way. This is the way we’re going.” Aren turned and tugged on Pinter’s lead, clicking his tongue to encourage the horse to follow.

  Annikke glared at Aren’s back, but didn’t waste her breath on a reproof.

  *

  I shouldn’t have been so hard on the girl, Aren chided himself silently as he trudged along with Pinter and the women following. She’d only spoken a fear that many held. Anyone craven or feckless enough to break a sworn oath was only a step away from thievery or worse. So many believed. But though his father had brought disgrace on his family, Aren could no more imagine him turning to thievery than he would himself. Not all Oathbreakers were dangerous men.

  Few saw beyond the dishonor, however. The fact that Oathbreakers were shunned and often had no honest way to fill their bellies, or satisfy the hunger of their loved
ones, was a just consequence of their actions. No one looked closer than that.

  Aren pushed away the bitter thoughts. His father’s actions had no bearing on today’s tasks.

  Aren led them northwest, on a route calculated to intersect the road to Quartzholm late the next day. The ground rose, and gradually pines began to outnumber oaks and aspen. He took a lazy weaving pattern through the trees, watching for the intermittent trail they’d crossed earlier. The longer he followed, the more he became convinced that they followed someone whose Talent was either weak or poorly trained. Now that Aren knew what he was looking for, he easily found sign of a single person doing his best to leave no trail. Whoever it was had some woodcraft, but Aren’s skill as a hunter made it possible for him to follow.

  Whoever was ahead of them wasn’t experienced at evading pursuit. The fool never changed direction when his Talent obscured the trail. Aren didn’t have to search for the track. He just continued on his own path, and soon he’d find the sign resumed several hundred paces onward. That, in addition to the length of the person’s stride, reinforced his belief that they were following a callow youth. Someone more experienced would have altered direction while their Talent hid their passage, requiring anyone hunting him to spend time casting about for a new track. Nor would a person serious about avoiding discovery have rested so often.

  As the day waned, they gained ground on the other traveler. The sun was low in the sky when Aren called a halt.

  “What about the fellow we’re following?” Benoia asked. “Shouldn’t we keep going? Find out who he is?”

  “I don’t want to come upon him in the dark,” Aren said. Certainly not with two women in tow. “He’ll have to stop soon as well. We’ll catch up with him tomorrow—if we want to.” Though it might be better to remain half a day behind.

  Benoia nodded and jumped down from her perch behind Annikke. Aren reached up to help Annikke. She put her hands on his shoulders and swung a leg over Pinter’s withers, but when she hit the ground her legs threatened to give way. Aren tightened his hold. She colored and looked away, but Aren kept his hands on her waist until she steadied. Despite her long trek before he found them, she still smelled of the fragrant herbs that must have scented her bath water. In a flash his mind supplied him with an image of her submerged in a large soaking tub like those in Quartzholm, water lapping at the curve of her breasts.