DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3)

by Frankie Robertson

  “You had better have an outstanding reason for pulling me away from my lady wife,” Hahlf barked. The guardsman Aren had ordered to wake the commander looked relieved that Hahlf’s ire was now directed at Aren and not himself.

  “I do,” Aren answered, and related an account of the dazed guards and the would-be assassin.

  “Baldur’s Balls! I’ve never heard of such a Talent.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “The Jarl will need to be told. The guards, how were they, when you left them?”

  “Still dazed.”

  “And the prisoners? They’re unharmed?”

  “Yes sir. I arrived just in time.”

  “Good. I would not have enjoyed telling the Jarl that we let two women be killed while in our custody, even if they are accused of murder.”

  A masterful understatement, if I’ve ever heard one.

  “We need to secure them. That sneak could return at any time to finish what you interrupted. You shouldn’t have left them unguarded, even to bring me this information.” Hahlf turned to the armsman. “Rouse the next watch and summon a Healer to the gaol.”

  The man sprinted away.

  “Actually, sir, I moved the prisoners to a secure location before coming to you. They’re safe.”

  “Excellent. Where are they? Now that we know there’s a threat, we’ll move them back to their cells and increase the guard.”

  Now for the fun part. “No sir. The prisoners will be safer if few know where they are. Someone wants them dead, and that person has a Talent at his command that can put two healthy men into a passive daze for at least several minutes. We don’t know how many that Talent can affect at once, if he can use that Talent at a distance, or only by touch. I don’t want to find out through failure what other resources that person has.”

  Hahlf’s brows drew down in a frown. “Your caution does you credit Aren, but it’s misplaced. I am responsible for them. Tell me where they are.”

  “No, Commander. My caution is not misplaced. My orders from Lord Fendrikanin and the Jarl were to bring those women to Quartzholm and keep them safe. So far, I’ve only met part of that of that duty. I mean to fulfill the rest as well.”

  “You don’t think my guards are competent to protect them?” Hahlf asked in a dangerous tone.

  “I’m not suggesting you’d do less than your utmost to protect the prisoners,” Aren said. “But I must fulfill my duty in the way I deem best. The women are safer where they are than they would be in the gaol, and in no danger of escaping. More guards will only draw attention to them and show the assassin where to attack. I believe secrecy is the better protection.”

  “I should have you flogged.” Commander Hahlf’s mouth tightened.

  Aren wondered if the man was considering how many lashes to order.

  Then Hahlf growled, “Very well. But when the Jarl summons them they had better appear, or you’ll be taking their place in a cell.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Aren turned to go, pausing at the door. “I’d like the honor of Tracking the assassin. I believe I’d have an advantage since I fought with him.”

  “Granted. But be careful, and take another man with you. A wounded beast is more dangerous when it’s cornered.”

  Aren nodded and said, “Well I know it,” then he added, “Perhaps you should put an additional guard on Lord Vali until we have this Loki-spawn in custody.”

  “Are you teaching me my duties, now?” Hahlf snarled. “I already thought of that. Now get out.”

  Aren made his way back to the gaol to pick up the assassin’s spoor. The Healer was leaving and the guards now seemed alert and hale. He pointed at the one that hadn’t leered at Benoia. “What’s your Talent?”

  The tall young man lowered his blond brows in a perplexed frown. “I’m a Cat’s Eye.”

  “Good. Do you want to catch the man who nearly made you fail in your duty?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then come with me.”

  The guard nodded and followed Aren from the gaol.

  “Hey! You can’t just walk away from your post!” the other guard protested.

  “He can, by order of Commander Hahlf,” Aren shot back. “Besides, you don’t have much to guard at the moment, now do you?”

  Aren stopped briefly at the armory to borrow a bow and quiver full of arrows since he didn’t want to take the time to go home for his own. The young guard chose his knife and a throwing stick.

  “What’s your name, Cat’s Eye?”

  “Pavel.”

  “What do you remember of what happened?”

  “Not much. A man came to the gaol and held out his hand in greeting. After that, it was like I was sleeping, until the Healer woke me.”

  Thank the gods. Pavel and his fellow guard wouldn’t be able to tell anyone that it was Aren who had taken their prisoners.

  “Do you think the women, I mean, the prisoners are all right?”

  Pavel went up a notch in Aren’s estimation. “Yes. They were taken to a safe place.”

  “Thank Baldur!” The relief in the young guard’s face seemed genuine. “And thank you, sir, for giving me this chance to redeem myself. What do you want me to do?”

  Aren nodded. “Your job is to watch my back while I Track this bastard. I’ll be intent on his path, so I’ll need your eyes on everything else.”

  Pavel nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Aren gave Pavel a sharp glance at the courtesy, but it was clear the man had spoken sincerely, not mockingly. He didn’t know Aren’s past. As far as the young guard was concerned, Aren was just the man who was keeping him from complete disgrace.

  Aren tracked his quarry as easily as he would a wounded buck. He didn’t need his Talent to follow the trail of blood spatters through the corridors. Aren enjoyed a grim satisfaction in knowing he’d left his mark on the spawn who’d meant to murder Annikke and Benoia in their beds. Although the killer must know he’d be pursued, the man attempted no subterfuge or misdirection. Instead, he’d headed straight for a storage closet on the next floor up. Ripped linen indicated he’d bound his wound, and when his track continued, the blood trail was absent.

  The lack of visible sign mattered not at all to Aren. Even though the assassin now began taking an erratic path to throw off pursuit, his route was as clear to Aren as if the man had left chalk marks on the floor pointing the way.

  Eventually, the man slipped out of the castle by the door to the kitchen garden. The guard there was dazed, just as those in the gaol had been. Aren slapped the man awake, and then continued onward through the garden gate, the shadows behind the stables, and past the barracks. When he reached the door beside the postern gate, Aren estimated he was less than a candlemark behind, and catching up. His quarry might be bleeding less, but the man had lost a fair amount of blood before binding his wound. He wasn’t moving at his best speed.

  Aren and Pavel spent more time than Aren wanted awakening the gate guards from their Talent induced oblivion, but honor wouldn’t let him leave the gate unguarded. Even more time was wasted explaining to the embarrassed and confused men why the small gate was unlocked and Aren and his companion were slapping them. Aren was on the verge of regretting his honor-bound choice, when comprehension filtered into the guards’ addled minds, and they waved him on his way.

  Arrow nocked and ready, Aren trailed the assassin through the dark streets of the village past quiet shops and taverns. Dawn was still over a candlemark away, but the moon’s silvery glow cast enough light to cut sharp shadows across the alleyways. The fellow was growing more clever now, doubling back and crossing his own trail. His tactics slowed Aren’s pursuit, but didn’t make his task impossible.

  Not long before dawn, Aren followed the track as it slipped out of the village via a drainage alley, and headed across open country straight toward the forest. Aren grinned as he jogged after his quarry. “Now we’ve got him,” he murmured. The fool was heading for the environment that Aren felt most comfortable in, far more so tha
n the village streets.

  “Won’t it be easier for him to hide in the forest?” Pavel asked.

  “Not from me. Or you, for that matter.”

  The eastern sky was just beginning to grey as Aren stepped into the shadows under the trees. The forest’s cool breath welcomed him but he moved cautiously. Behind him, Pavel’s movements were less than silent. Aren glanced back as a twig snapped with a small crack that sounded loud in the quiet.

  “Sorry. I’m not much of a woodsman.”

  Aren shrugged. “Just be careful.” There wasn’t time to teach him now. At least with his Cat’s Eye Talent, Pavel wouldn’t trip over unseen rocks and roots.

  In the distance, the woodland’s inhabitants began to awaken, with a chirp here, a rustle there, but around Aren, the branches and bracken were still. At least Pavel had stopped shuffling along behind him.

  Aren stopped. Listened. Felt for the trail with his Talent. And realized that his prey was as skilled in woodcraft as he was.

  Instinct made Aren turn and raise his bow. Ten paces back, Pavel stood still, his eyes glazed and unseeing. Much closer, the assassin rushed toward Aren, bare hand outstretched, the other wielding a long blade.

  *

  Annikke, Benoia, and Vali broke their fast with a meal of nuts and fruit, cold meat, warm bread, and soft cheese. Simple fare, but delicious and plentiful, thanks to the excess provided because Vali was in Emergence. Or maybe the kitchen had been told he had “guests.”

  The dining room where they ate was as big as the main room of her cottage, and the table they sat at was circled by an inlaid pattern of multi-colored wood that depicted hunters and the stags and boars they pursued. Annikke hadn’t fully comprehended Vali’s rank while they were on the trail, when he’d been dressed in plain garb and just as grubby as she and Benoia had been. Clearly the Jarl held Lady Solveig in high regard, to assign her heir a suite furnished with such beautiful things and with more rooms than he could use.

  Annikke and Benoia had slept well on a wool-stuffed mattress under a quilted comforter. Vali had offered them each their own bed, but with a glance at her foster-daughter, Annikke had known they’d both sleep better comforted by the other’s presence.

  They’d just finished eating when Norva returned from her errand, bringing clothing to replace the robes they’d been given the night before. The blue dress Benoia donned complimented the girl’s fair hair and made her big blue eyes luminous, but was slightly too large for her. It made her look as if she was only twelve. Annikke’s forest green gown, however, fit perfectly.

  Within moments of putting on their new clothing a young runner arrived, summoning Vali and his guests to appear before the Jarl. Vali’s brows rose at the carefully worded invitation and dismissed the runner. “It’s time, ladies.”

  “I wish Aren were here,” Annikke said. Her feelings made no sense. She barely knew the man, but there was something about him that made her feel safe.

  Vali regarded her as if he understood what she hadn’t said. “Perhaps he’ll meet us there. In the meantime, I’ll do my best in his absence.”

  Annikke felt her face grow warm. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” Vali interrupted. “No offense was taken.”

  Annikke tried to swallow her fear. At least they’d be going to their doom clean and well-dressed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Outside Vali’s suite, two additional guards stood watch, supplementing the one that had been on duty by the stair the night before.

  “We’re to accompany you, my lord.”

  Annikke’s heart sped up, if that was possible, but Vali appeared merely curious. “Why the armed escort? Is there some threat to the peace?”

  The guards exchanged a look. “Someone attacked the guards in the gaol last night, my lord, and helped the prisoners to escape.”

  Benoia made a small sound of distress.

  “No need to worry miss,” the other guard said. “The prisoners will soon be caught. One of our best Tracker Talents is on their trail.”

  “That’s good to know” Vali exchanged a concerned look with Annikke and patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “In the meantime. I’m glad you’re here to help keep these ladies safe.”

  The guard nodded and led them down the hall to the stairway, the other armsman following. The same passages that had been deserted the night before now bustled with activity. Servants stood aside and as they passed, and the lords and ladies they saw nodded courteously, even if most of them gave her hair a startled second glance. Annikke almost wanted to laugh. What a difference a bath, good clothing, and a noble escort made. If all those people knew she and Benoia were the escaped prisoners, accused of murder, they’d treat the two of them very differently.

  Now that she was rested, Annikke could pay attention to her surroundings, and she had to keep herself from gawking at the beauty. Heavy wood doors were exquisitely carved, each with a unique image. Statues of the gods and their mounts stood for newel posts at the top and bottom of each staircase. Light reflected in from cleverly placed openings, even well away from outside walls, bringing the rose quartz to life.

  After traversing several hallways and multiple flights of stairs, the guard stopped outside a set of open double doors bracketed by two more guards. Vali quietly identified himself and one of them stepped into the opening and announced, “Lord Vali, and Mistresses Annikke and Benoia, my lord.”

  A man of perhaps forty summers sat on the ornately carved chair on the low dais at the other end of the room. His auburn hair was highlighted with sun-bleached strands and he wore his beard short. Broad shoulders filled out a suede tunic dyed the same dark green as her dress. Annikke appreciated Vali’s subtle touch. He’d chosen the color of her gown not to match her eyes, but to indicate her loyalty. But where her dress was plain, a hawk embroidered with gold thread swooped across the man’s left breast.

  The Jarl. Until a week ago, Annikke had never imagined she would see him, and certainly not under these circumstances. A pregnant woman sat beside him, her blond hair braided in a simple style. Lady Celia. Her chair was the same size as the Jarl’s, indicating her status, but requiring the Lady to rest her feet on a padded stool so her toes didn’t dangle like a child’s.

  Another man, a little younger and clearly related to Lord Dahleven, stood slightly behind the Jarl and to one side. He was dressed in the gray mourning garb of a priest of Baldur. That must be the Overprest, Father Ragnar, the Jarl’s brother. She’d once heard a skald sing of his exploits in the conflict with the Dark Elves. She’d heard that his Talent was Truth-telling. She hoped that was true—and that the Jarl valued the truth.

  Lord Dahleven gestured them forward.

  The room was long and narrow, with two long benches close to the dais. Vali escorted Annikke across the smooth rose quartz floor, with Benoia holding her other hand.

  Lord Tholvar occupied the bench on the left facing the Jarl. He had two retainers standing behind him, neither of them men Annikke had seen before. As they entered, Tholvar turned to glare at them.

  As they advanced, Benoia’s stride faltered for a step, possibly because of the look of hatred on Lord Tholvar’s face. Annikke was grateful for Vali’s confident support, because she wasn’t sure if her knees or Benoia’s were shaking more. Vali stopped in the wide space between the benches to stand before the Jarl. Vali bowed slightly, and Annikke sank somewhat awkwardly into a low curtsy with Benoia following her example. Curtsying wasn’t a skill they’d needed to practice much in their little village.

  Lord Dahleven regarded them with an impassive expression. Not a twitch of brow or lips betrayed any shock or fearful curiosity at the sight of her silver hair. His lady, too, had a neutral expression, nor did she guard her belly as if fearful of her Fey influence.

  “Rise,” Lord Dahleven said. “Mistress Benoia, Lord Tholvar has already told me what happened between you and his son. I’d like to hear your account of the events that bring you here.”

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sp; Vali whispered, “Courage,” in Annikke’s ear, patted her hand again, and then went to sit on the right. Norva stood behind the young lord.

  “My lord!” Tholvar protested. “What benefit will this provide? You have the facts, while these women will both lie to protect themselves.”

  Benoia cast a panicked glance at Annikke.

  “It’s all right, sweetling.” Annikke squeezed her foster-daughter’s hand. The girl was trembling. “Just tell the truth as best you can.”

  The Jarl smiled gently. “Good advice, mistress. Now come closer, Benoia, so you don’t have to shout.”

  Annikke gave Benoia’s hand another squeeze then released it. She was trembling herself as she moved to stand with Norva behind Vali.

  “I was on my way home from treating the wounds of Lord Tholvar’s dairyman—he was gored by a bull—when Lord Sveyn accosted me in the forest.”

  Annikke clenched her hands as Benoia’s soft words brought the image of Sveyn atop her foster-daughter to the forefront of her mind. She remembered Benoia’s fear and anger and hurt. Remembered her own fury and desire to do violence.

  Father Ragnar stepped forward to whisper in his brother’s ear just as Lord Tholvar interrupted. “You see, my lord? Lies. Why waste our time on this?”

  Lord Dahleven held up his hand palm outward to the lord. “My time, and yours, is mine to waste.” He turned back to Benoia. “And how was the dairyman when you visited him?”

  For a moment Benoia looked confused by the unexpected question, then she said, “He was doing well. The wound was reddened, but the poultice and our, um, other medicines had worked. There was no putrefaction. I left him more herbs to help with the pain, and others for his wife to give him when he talked too soon about returning to work.” A little smile played at the corner of her lips. “Men never respect their injuries.”