DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3)

by Frankie Robertson

  Lady Celia smiled and glanced at the Jarl. “Isn’t that the truth.”

  Lord Dahleven shook his head at his wife, but his gaze held affection. “And after you left the dairyman’s cottage? You met with Lord Sveyn?”

  Benoia swallowed hard and continued her account. Her voice was stronger now than it had been when she started, and Annikke blessed the Jarl for giving Benoia the chance to gather her wits by talking about the thing she knew best—healing.

  “Sveyn was waiting in the small clearing near the big oak. I was surprised to see him there, because a storm was coming. He said I was pretty, and that he liked the bold way I flounced about the village.” Benoia twisted her fingers together. “I don’t flounce, my lord. I just go about my business.”

  Lady Celia was gripping her armrests tightly, her lips pressed together. Annikke thought she looked sympathetic, but it was Lord Dahleven who would pass judgment on Benoia, and his expression was impossible to read.

  The Jarl nodded. “Please go on.”

  Tears flowed down Benoia’s cheeks as she continued. Sveyn said he wanted her, and could give her beautiful dresses and jewelry, and invited her up to the manor. She’d said no, and backed away. Sveyn grabbed her, pushed her down and shouted at her to stop being a tease. His grasp had been painful on her arms, on her legs. She’d screamed and pushed at him, but he was too strong. All she’d wanted was for him to stop. Suddenly he’d begun screaming, and Annikke had pulled him off of her.

  A muscle in Lord Dahleven’s jaw jumped as he glanced at Father Ragnar.

  “Lies,” Lord Tholvar repeated. “She lay in wait for my son, and when he refused to lie with her, she maimed him.”

  Benoia turned on Lord Tholvar. “That’s not what happened!”

  “Show us your bruises, then, if you tell the truth.”

  “She cannot. I healed them. It was all I could do for her.” Annikke felt a flutter of panic as she spoke. Had she not done that kindness, Benoia would have evidence to prove what happened. Now they had nothing.

  “How convenient,” Lord Tholvar said. “And what about the men that she and that Fey-marked witch killed? Can they pay the weregild for them?”

  Annikke gasped. If the weregild fell on her and Benoia, they’d be sold into thralldom to meet it, no matter their blame or innocence.

  “Lord Vali, do you have anything to add?” the Jarl asked.

  Vali rose. The dirty, Exhausted lad she’d met in the forest was gone. Even her clean and rested friend had been replaced with a young lord whose dignified bearing befit the heir to noble family. “Would those men be the ones that wore no livery or the sigil of any house? I took them to be bandits.”

  “My lords, if I may?” Norva asked.

  Vali nodded, as did Lord Dahleven. Norva came around the bench to stand beside Benoia. “I, and three other women from Forsvaremur, killed men we saw attacking Lord Vali and the two women who had been caring for him. They claimed to be acting on behalf of Lord Tholvar and the Jarl, but I didn’t believe them since they were also proposing to rape these women. One of those men escaped, and two days later he attacked again with more men. We prevailed, but only just. The Jarl’s actual emissary didn’t recognize any of them either.”

  Annikke noted that Norva didn’t mention the intervention of the Elves or Annikke’s use of Elven magic to heal Aren.

  “Lord Vali, do you agree with this statement?” The Jarl asked.

  “I do, my lord.”

  Annikke could only see a portion of Lord Tholvar’s face, but she thought he looked surprised, and then thoughtful.

  From behind them, a guard announced, “Lord Sveyn and Lord Fendrikanin.”

  Annikke’s heart took a little leap. Lord Fender hadn’t forgotten his pledge to her. Whether he could offer any real help she didn’t know, but she would welcome another friend.

  Her hope stuttered when she saw his face. His expression wasn’t a friendly one. As he came abreast of Benoia he gave her a suspicious glare, and went to stand beside Lady Celia.

  Sveyn limped badly, bracing each step with a staff and dragging one foot as he made his way laboriously to the front of the room. Annikke couldn’t bring herself to feel any sympathy for the Loki-spawn.

  Lord Tholvar jumped up from his bench. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Now everyone can see you!”

  “It’s not exactly the kind of thing we can keep secret, Father.” Sveyn made a face. “And I agreed with Lord Fendrikanin that I should be present to ensure justice prevailed.”

  “Lord Tholvar, did you send the men who attacked Annikke and Benoia?” Lord Dahleven asked.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Lord Sveyn, were those men there at your command?”

  “Of course not!”

  Lord Dahleven nodded. Annikke found herself wondering if they’d been mistaken in placing the blame for the attacks they’d endured at Sveyn’s door.

  “Then why did they mention you by name?” Benoia demanded.

  Her foster-daughter’s exclamation startled Annikke, and she blinked in confusion. How could she have doubted that Sveyn was involved?

  Lord Dahleven turned to Benoia. “You’ve had your say,” he said firmly, but not unkindly to Benoia. He frowned and glanced at his brother.

  Lord Ragnar’s forehead was furrowed, as if trying to figure out some puzzle. A moment later his brows lifted as if he was surprised by the solution. He whispered something to the Jarl, who looked startled before his brow clouded with anger.

  Annikke twisted her fingers together. An angry lord was a dangerous lord.

  But when he spoke to his wife, Lord Dahleven’s tone was mild. “My dear, your amulet, if you please?”

  Lady Celia’s eyes widened, then she lifted a pendant from under her bodice and offered it in her open palm. Her husband clasped her hand over the necklace. Beside Lady Celia, Lord Fender turned a startled expression from his liege to Sveyn, as his expression turned thunderous. The tension in his body suggested he wanted to throttle the young lord. Annikke looked from Father Ragnar, to the Jarl, to Lord Fender. Something had changed, but she didn’t know what.

  The Jarl narrowed his eyes at Sveyn. “My lord, would you like to reconsider your answer?” His tone held a quiet threat.

  Sveyn wobbled on his good leg and staff. “I only told them to take Benoia into custody! If they did more, they overstepped their orders.”

  That’s possible, Annikke thought. The first group of men had only disarmed her. Maybe the others made a mistake when they tried to kill me and Aren.

  “And what of the assassin that tried to kill them in their cells?” Aren’s voice came from the doorway. Every eye turned to watch as he strode forward. Annikke noted that he walked with a slight limp and there was blood on his trews. Had he reopened his wound, or gained a new one? She wanted to make him sit down so she could examine him, but that would have to wait.

  Aren stopped within striking distance of Sveyn, but kept his hands fisted at his sides.

  “I take it the intruder resisted your invitation to return to Quartzholm?” Lord Dahleven asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Aren answered in grim tones. “With both Talent and blade.”

  “Did he speak before he died?”

  “Nothing of importance, my lord.”

  Annikke thought Sveyn released a pent up breath.

  “Lord Sveyn,” the Jarl asked softly. “What do you know of the man who entered my gaol on a ruse, and left two of my guards dazed and vulnerable to attack?”

  “Nothing my lord! How could I? I only just got here with Lord Fendrikanin.”

  “Oh, please,” Lady Celia muttered.

  The Jarl’s gaze flickered toward his wife with what Annikke thought was a hint of amusement.

  “My lord Jarl,” Father Ragnar spoke for the first time in a voice like death. “Lord Sveyn has lied thrice to you. Further, he has abused those under his authority. The law is clear.”

  “No!” Lord Tholvar’s face was pale
and he sounded desperate. “I count only two falsehoods! The threshold has not been met.”

  “Actually, Lord Tholvar, the count is four. He first lied to you,” Father Ragnar said, lifting a finger, “when he told you Benoia lay in wait for him. He sought to deceive the Jarl regarding the attacks, and their purpose.” Two more fingers joined the first. “And he lied again about the assassin.” A fourth digit rose.

  “He couldn’t know about the intruder! He was with Lord Fendrikanin!”

  “His commands were already in place, were they not, Lord Sveyn?” Ragni asked with a lifted brow. “If your other men failed to stop Benoia from reaching Quartzholm, your assassin was to prevent her from speaking the truth to Lord Dahleven. Moreover, Lord Sveyn has been attempting to influence us all with his Talent. A form of Persuasion, I believe, that makes everything he says seem true and believable.”

  Benoia’s Talent is to see past illusion to the truth. That’s why she wasn’t taken in by Sveyn’s lies, Annikke thought. “But men of rank are seldom held accountable for taking what they want from a woman,” Annikke said. “Why go to so much effort?”

  “That witch withered my cock! I’ll never enjoy another fuck, never have heirs. And everyone knows about the Jarl’s new laws. I knew he’d punish me, instead of her. Me! I wasn’t going to let that bitch get away with it.”

  “Ah, he speaks the truth at last,” Ragni said softly.

  “My lord, I ask your mercy,” Tholvar said, looking rather sick. “He’s my only son!”

  “Then you’d better make good alliances for your daughters, with men more honorable than the one you begat,” Lady Celia said.

  Lord Dahleven shot her a quelling glance. “Lord Sveyn, by your actions you have proven yourself unworthy to care for the land the Elves have shared with us. You need worry no more about your inability to sire heirs. You are disinherited.”

  “What? No! Please, my lord, I was angry and afraid and sent those men without thought.”

  “Afraid? You were afraid?” The words leapt out of Annikke before she could stop them. “What of Benoia’s fear, when you threw her down on the ground? Or when your men tried to kill her?”

  Lord Dahleven raised a hand palm outward to silence her. His lip curled in disgust as he looked again at Sveyn. “Do you believe being driven by fear a defense?”

  “My lord, he’s young—”

  “He is fully twenty summers of age, and long recognized as a man. He will bear the consequences of his actions as a man must.”

  Father Ragnar whispered something to the Jarl, who raised his sun-lightened brows in apparent surprise. “You’re sure?” he asked.

  The Overprest nodded.

  The Jarl continued in a grim tone. “In addition, you will be stripped of your Talent. You have proven yourself willing to use it to harm others, and I will not leave you able to do so in the future.”

  Annikke gaped at the harsh sentence. A man without a Talent was regarded as a cripple, even more so than one missing a limb.

  “My lord! No! I’m sorry,” Sveyn pleaded. “Have mercy I beg of you! I made a mistake.”

  “You’ve made more than one, and many more than have ever been discovered, I suspect,” Lord Dahleven said. “But I will show you mercy—more than you showed the innocent young woman you tried to have killed. You will not be exiled. Instead you’ll be restricted to your family’s land, living on their sufferance.” Lord Dahleven rose. “You are dismissed. Return to your holding.”

  “But my lord, what life can I live, crippled like this? This deformity is not a proper punishment under your law.”

  The Jarl paused. Annikke could see his jaw working, as if he was chewing angry words.

  Lord Ragnar spoke. “When you hunt a mountain cat, you may get bitten. Bear it.”

  “No,” Benoia said softly. “I’ll heal him, if I can.”

  What? Had she misheard? Annikke turned her disbelieving gaze to her foster-daughter, as did everyone else in the room. “Sweetling?”

  “I don’t want him telling everyone who will listen about how the servant of the Fey-marked witch destroyed his life.” Anger and disgust chased across Benoia’s face. “Even without his Talent, some may look at his shriveled leg and believe him, and turn against you. I hate him for what he tried to do to me. To you. If I heal him, his words will just be the bitter ranting of a Talentless man. But I’ll need your help.”

  Annikke drew in a deep breath, then another. The rage in her heart tried to explode. “How can you even think of this?”She didn’t want to heal the Loki-spawn, she wanted to kill him for what he tried to do.

  Benoia stepped closer to Annikke and took her hands. “I can think of it because I want to go live among the Daughters of Freya in Forsvaremur, and I can’t leave you behind to suffer Sveyn’s frustration and wrath in my place.”

  “I could come with you,” Annikke said.

  Benoia’s eyes brightened, but she shook her head. “You have a home among the villagers. Most of them respect you, and many of them even like you. I can’t ask you to leave that behind. You’ve wanted your whole life to be accepted by them.”

  “You’re wise for one so young, mistress Benoia, but I think your fear is greater than the threat. Few will listen to a Talentless man who has been disinherited. Nevertheless, I will give you a choice, Sveyn.” Lord Dahleven stepped off the low dais and stopped in front of Tholvar’s son. “You may choose whether to be healed and be exiled for two years, or live as you are on your father’s lands.”

  Exile! It wasn’t quite a sentence of death, but a man alone in the wildlands, without kin or friends, was vulnerable to injury, starvation, and hungry mountain cats. Permanent deformity or possible death. Annikke thought the choice fitting.

  “That’s a Loki’s bargain!” Tholvar protested.

  “Be quiet, Father,” Sveyn said.

  “Furthermore, whichever you choose, I will have your oath that you will visit no harm on Annikke or Benoia, nor on anyone under your authority ever again. Not a wife, a child, nor the boy who cleans your latrines. Will you so swear?”

  “My lord! You cannot mean to sanction dark seidhr by letting these … witches perform yet more of their magic on my son?” Lord Tholvar objected.

  “My leg and my cock are as shriveled as a dried plum, Father. What worse harm could they do?” Sveyn turned back to Lord Dahleven. “If she can heal me, I’ll swear anything you like.”

  “You misunderstand. She won’t even attempt to heal you until you give your oath.”

  “And when I give my oath, she’ll have no reason to heal me.”

  “Would you prefer exile as you are?”

  Sveyn bowed his head. “No, my lord.” With great difficulty he knelt on his one good knee and set his staff aside.

  The Jarl drew his sword and presented it hilt first to Sveyn. “Give me your oath.”

  “May Baldur witness my vow,” Sveyn began as he touched the grip, then swore what the Jarl had demanded. He finished by reciting the traditional words, “If I fail in my honor, may every man’s hand turn against me and this sword pierce my disloyal heart, and may all know me as Oathbreaker.”

  *

  The weight of Sveyn’s oath resonated in Aren’s soul. No man could witness such a vow and not feel it. No man could speak those words and take them lightly. His father had spoken those words. And he had paid the price of breaking that oath.

  A price his father had willingly paid. Aren finally understood that the cost to his father of keeping his honor, of leaving the woman he loved when she needed him, would have been too high. His father’s pride and stubbornness had kept him from being able to see his alternatives, but it had been his love for Aren’s mother that had forced his hand. He’d chosen love over honor.

  For the first time in his life, Aren understood his father’s decision, and his mother’s loyalty to his father’s memory.

  “Sveyn, you may return with Lord Tholvar to his rooms and await Annikke and Benoia there,” the Jarl said, sheathing
his sword. “If their healing is successful, you will be given a bow, a quiver of twenty arrows, and a dagger, and escorted to the borders of this province. You may return two summers from now.”

  Sveyn nodded, then struggled to stand. His damaged leg was too weak. “I need help,” he said after a moment. With a nod from Tholvar, his two retainers stepped to either side of Sveyn and lifted him with a hand under each arm. They stayed beside him as he hobbled out of the audience chamber.

  Tholvar lingered long enough to say, “I swore fealty to you, my lord, and this is how you honor it? You’ve thrown away any support I might have given your new law. You can play havoc with tradition without my help.”

  “Are you sure, Lord Tholvar?” Lady Celia said. “Without a male heir, the new law would allow your eldest daughter to inherit, rather than your cousin. Your lands would remain with your line.”

  Aren noted that Lord Dahleven didn’t censure his wife for her comment, just lifted a brow and smiled slightly. Lord Tholvar glared for a moment, and then made a non-committal grunt before making a minimal nod of courtesy and stalking out.

  When he was gone, Lord Dahleven said, “I’m sorry, Celia. Without his support, the other lords aren’t likely to approve the law at the Althing this summer. Maybe next year.”

  The lady didn’t appear distressed. “We’ll see. It’ll depend on which is greater, Tholvar’s self-interest or his stubborn anger.”

  “My lord,” Vali said. “I have a boon to ask of you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Forsvaremur needs a good Tracker Talent, and always welcomes men of honor. Aren came to my aid not knowing my rank or family. I’d take it as a personal favor if you would release him from his oath of service to you, and let him come into mine.”

  The breath stopped in Aren’s throat. Swearing fealty to a man of Lord Vali’s rank would go far in cleansing his family name.

  “Are you sure you want such an insubordinate man in your service?” the Jarl asked. “He clearly has a tendency to solve problems without consulting those in command. Did you know, he made off with my prisoners and stashed them away for their protection without even a by-your-leave?”