‘Well, they can unsay so. Sviggar’ll cut the tongue out of anyone who goes spreading talk like that. Not till we know more.’
‘The Old Goat’s a bit late for that! He might as well try and push a fart back up the Fat-Belly’s arse. They’re damned windy these Sveärs, you know.’ Being Gotar-born himself, Kai was happy to cast aspersions. ‘They’re all croaking away like a sack of frogs.’
‘They might have good cause to croak. We’ll know soon enough.’
‘By the way – there’s ale in the jug if you want it.’ Kai jerked his head at the smoke-stained pot hanging over the embers in the hearth. Erlan grabbed an ox-horn mug and ladled some out. Meanwhile, Kai had shinned down his ladder and begun rummaging about under the loft.
‘What the Hel are you doing?’
‘What do you think? Sorting my gear. I suppose we’re riding out early, eh?’
Erlan realised he should have anticipated this. He sighed. ‘No. I ride out. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘Because...’
‘Well?’
‘Because I say so. You’re not fully trained yet.’
‘Not fully trained! Then what the Hel have we been doing all these months?’
‘Look, if something happens, I don’t want to be worrying that some oversized Danish troll is about to knock that empty head off your shoulders.’
‘You do talk horseshit sometimes, master. Have you forgotten last winter – when the Vandrung came? I killed as many of those things as any of us. And two wolves ’n all!’
‘That was different. We had no choice.’
‘You’ve got no choice now, either. Need I remind you that we’re blood-sworn, you and I?’ Kai pulled up his sleeve to show off the thin scarlet seam across his forearm where he’d cut himself and made his oath. A gesture he used to dramatic effect about five times a day. ‘Where you go, I go.’ He gave a nod, as if that was an end to it.
‘Not a chance. Next time... maybe.’ Erlan smiled and got a scowl for his pains. ‘Anyhow, the whole thing could be a fool’s errand.’
‘You don’t believe that. And you know I’m worth five of any of those halfwit karls that’ll ride with you.’
‘You’re worth fifty,’ snapped Erlan, losing patience. ‘That’s why you’re staying here.’ Kai frowned, unsure of the comeback to that. ‘Listen, you mad little bastard. If there is a war coming I promise you aren’t going to miss out. This way at least I’ll have time to finish your training. The shieldwall is savage. Others can fall cheaply if that’s their fate, but I’m going to make damn sure you aren’t one of them.’
Kai slouched onto the bench and helped himself to a mug of ale. He gazed dejectedly into the amber liquid. ‘Bara says, till I’ve proved myself as one of the king’s hearthmen, I don’t stand a chance. Those were her exact words.’
Erlan burst out laughing. ‘Is that all this is about? Bedding Bara?’
‘What do you mean, all? That’s about the best reason there is!’
These days it seemed whatever the starting point, their talk always led back to Bara. To say Kai was besotted was a blistering understatement. And if the servant-girl had been elusive before, since she had been appointed handmaiden to the queen she had made it very clear that she was now utterly beyond Kai’s reach. Elfin pretty, fire-headed, fire-tempered, lissome as a wildcat, conceited as the day was long, she was no easy tree to fell. And by the gods, Kai had put in some axe-work.
‘Well, here’s to the chance to prove yourself.’ Erlan raised his cup. ‘Might be that day’s coming sooner than you think.’
‘No thanks to you.’
Erlan shrugged and drank anyway. Eventually, moodily, Kai joined him.
‘You’re sure I can’t tag along?’
‘Next time.’
‘Piss on it then! And piss on you!’ Kai stormed off to his ladder. ‘Still,’ he added on his way up it, ‘there’s many a rung in war for a man to climb to higher stations in life.’
‘For a resourceful fellow like you – no doubt.’
‘Exactly! And you too, master. I mean, this place is all well and good but we hardly want to live here for ever. You being destined for great things and all!’
‘Great things?’
‘Undoubtedly, master. And Kai Askarsson is going to see that you get ’em.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Land. Silver. A buxom wife. Four square walls, and big ones too. Oh, I’ve got plans for us. Don’t worry about that. It’s all in hand.’
Erlan heard Kai settle into his nest of straw and blankets. ‘You dream on, my friend,’ he called up. ‘I’m going for a leak.’
Is that what war will bring? he wondered, as he unlaced his breeches outside. Land and wealth and fame. The love of his lord and king.
No. War might bring him a lot of things. But it couldn’t bring him the one thing he wanted.
Because no matter how many men you kill, you can’t unstitch the past.
CHAPTER FOUR
Princess Aslíf Sviggarsdóttir swept towards the queen’s chamber with the ease of one long familiar with the blackened sconces on the wall, the shuffle of rushes underfoot, that rugged smell of ageing oak in her nostrils.
Her earliest memories whispered like ghosts in these shadows, when it was her own mother she rushed to see, her own childish squeals of delight as she was swept up and swung around in those comforting arms. That was long ago. She remembered how her mother would whisper her name close to her ear like a secret. ‘My little Lilla. My little Lilla.’
‘Lilla’ was the nickname her brother Staffen had given her. It meant simply ‘purple’ – chosen, he said, because her legs were always turning that colour when she was a baby. But like all silly names, it had stuck. She didn’t mind. She preferred it to Aslíf anyway.
But now her mother was gone and the chamber belonged to another. To this Saldas, her father’s second wife of four years past. And instead of her own infant footsteps, it was those of Saldas’s children that rattled the floorboards beside her.
Every day she would bring her half-brother and half-sister to the queen’s chamber to say ‘good day’ to their mother. Afterwards she would take them to the Kingswood where they helped her find herbs and seeds, and she would teach them about the flowers and plants that grew there and the healing lore that her mother once taught her.
But today was different. Today her steps were urgent as she half-dragged the children along the corridor by their little fists. Because yesterday the halls had been turned upside down. Someone who had watched that poor man die had told her maidservant what had happened. It sounded grim, and grimmer still the words of foreboding the man had spoken.
As soon as she heard it, Lilla had dressed and sought out her father, only to discover he was already in council. There he had remained. The night had worn on until Lilla grew weary of waiting and had retired to her bed where she had been troubled by a swirl of dreams. Somewhere within them, she had seen that dark place again, and shivered with the memory of the cold. And afterwards another dream, in which she saw a wolf snarling at a wolfhound, ready to fight. The hound had only one eye and seemed from its movements to be lame. But it was fearless and stood its ground, unafraid of the wolf with its fierce fangs. Before they fought, her mind had drifted on. Several times she had seen Erlan’s face as it had been in that dark place, filthy, gaunt, urging her onward, mouthing something, some warning perhaps. Only when she awoke did she wonder whether the lame dog was connected with him. If so, it was a strange image indeed.
While she had passed a fitful night, she knew her stepmother had been admitted to the council. That was why she hurried. Saldas would be able to tell her all that had been said.
‘Good day, Mother,’ she called through the curtain. Mother. The word was a joke. Saldas was hardly ten summers older than her – but she insisted Lilla use it. ‘May we come in?’
‘Enter,’ came the reply, in a low, melodious voice. Lilla pushed
aside the drape and hustled in the children.
Saldas was seated before the tall mirror propped against the wall, its silver surface polished to a shine. She was wearing a flowing white robe and, unusually, was combing out her long black hair herself. She rose to greet them.
There was the usual awkwardness as first Svein and then Katla embraced their mother. For all the queen’s grace, Lilla had never seen a mother less natural in handling her own offspring. She kissed each child in turn, smiling – though her eyes stayed cool.
‘You slept well?’ asked Saldas.
Svein was already busy pulling out a chest from the corner and began unpacking his collection of wooden toys in front of his little sister.
‘Not really. I don’t suppose many did.’
‘A little soon to be losing sleep, I think,’ Saldas said with a note of contempt. She wafted a hand at the edge of her bed.
Lilla took the seat, glimpsing a flash of honey-blonde hair above the pale russet of her dress as she passed the mirror. ‘Are you not anxious about what is to come?’
‘Why fear the future?’ Saldas smiled mysteriously. ‘Better to control it.’
How could one control the future? Lilla wondered. Especially in war. ‘I suppose the Norns weave all of our paths.’
The bridge of Saldas’s nose wrinkled. ‘An obvious thing to say, my daughter. I should have thought better of you.’ She chuckled as though it were a shared joke, but the condescension in her eyes nettled Lilla. ‘I prefer to weave my own,’ Saldas added. ‘Anyway, we know next to nothing about this supposed threat. And your father seems reluctant to learn more.’
‘Something must have been decided. The council talked until late.’
‘You know how it is with men, my dear. Each one must be heard five times over and none is ever persuaded. So round it goes.’
‘Father must have settled on doing something. His folk need reassurance at the least. I should speak with him. Perhaps there’s something I can do.’
‘I fear not. The best you can do is make sure this beautiful face keeps its composure.’ Saldas stroked a fingertip down Lilla’s cheek. ‘So lovely...’ She sighed. ‘If you must know, your father has sent two patrols south. They may find something.’
‘Who is to lead them?’
‘Gettir Huldirsson leads one. And the other is—’
‘Erlan,’ Lilla said without thinking.
‘Why, yes! How did you know?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Lilla, although she must have. She thought of the dream and her belly tightened.
‘Hmm. A premonition then,’ Saldas replied casually, inspecting some detail in the mirror a little closer, flicking at her hair with her comb. When she looked up, her expression changed. ‘Why, my dear, you’ve gone quite pale. Are you unwell?’
‘No. I— I’m fine.’
‘Ah.’ The queen’s frown slid into a knowing smile. ‘I see. You hold a secret affection for him.’
‘No! I—’
‘It would only be natural after all he did for you. But you mustn’t fret on his account. He’s a most able young man. Despite his... affliction.’
‘It’s not that. I just...’ Lilla trailed off, feeling miserably transparent. ‘When do they leave?’
‘This morning, I think. Perhaps they’ve left already.’
Lilla was on her feet immediately. But then she stopped. Now it was her being awkward. She felt her cheeks burning. Her eyes flicked between the door and the children, caught between staying and going.
‘Go on,’ said Saldas languidly, turning back to her reflection. ‘Though I fear you may be too late—’
Lilla didn’t wait to hear more. She was at the door and through the drapes, hurrying along the corridor and outside into the crisp morning air. She felt stupid. She hated her stepmother to see more than she meant to show her, and she had let her guard down. In truth, her reaction was a surprise even to herself. But she couldn’t think about that now. It was more important to see him if she could.
The day had started brightly, but there was a thin skein of cloud forming high above. Once the sun climbed up there, it would be a dull day and already, as she hurried towards the scattered dwellings to the east, she felt the coming gloom infecting the folk that she passed.
She had no idea what she wanted to say to him, but the threat of war seemed to lend urgency. Instinct told her she must see him. But why? She couldn’t say.
Maybe Saldas was right. Maybe it was only natural that she should fear for him. After the dark terrors of that winter he had been much in her mind. Only he understood what she had endured. Only he had followed her down into the dark heart of the earth where they had carried her, only he had seen those terrible things that still filled her mind with horror.
The memory of it all was more like a nightmare than something real. Those fearful creatures that had snatched her from the Kingswood, dragging her a hundred leagues or more across a snowbound wilderness, and then plunging her deep down under the earth. She had thought herself lost for ever... until she saw his face. Somehow he had come for her. Somehow he had got her out. They had got each other out, for she had killed too. And they had escaped to the light, no longer the same people.
How could they be after that?
But there was something else that drew her to him. He was an outsider like her. He had come to her father’s hall in bonds, together with that odd friend of his. He had been a stranger with a clumsy way of speaking. Yet surely some favourable wind of fate blew at his back. From a beggar’s rags, he had risen to the high council. More, her father now saw him almost as a favourite.
She passed a smith’s forge and caught snatches of talk from some hall-folk gathered there. Words like blood, steel, slaughter. It would be the same all over Uppsala. Words uttered like poisonous invocations, their dark magic summoning death ever closer. She glimpsed the grindstone whirring, sparks flying. Already men were sharpening their killing edges.
So it had begun. And what could she do to stop it?
She hurried on, her thoughts returning to Erlan.
The king’s favourite... Her father’s last favourite, Finn Lodarsson, had met with a bitter end, murdered in her father’s mead-hall in plain sight of everyone. He had died choking, death gurgling in his throat.
A horrible sight.
Traces of wolfsbane were found in his cup. Suspicion fell first on one man, then another. Men were tortured. But nothing came of it. No motive. No reason. Only silence, until eventually folk stopped talking of it. Or if they did, they began to doubt Finn was murdered at all. Just one of those things, they said. He was ill-fated.
Aye, thought Lilla. In the end, fate is guilty of all things.
She stopped. There in front of her was Erlan’s squat little home. She was breathless from her hurrying and, she realized, probably flushed too. She felt foolish. She took a moment to straighten the brooches pinning her robe and apron, then smoothed out the strings of amber beads hanging between them, pushed the wayward strands of hair behind her ears and re-tied the ribbon at the nape of her neck. All of a sudden the door flew open and a warrior, looking like Tyr himself, stepped outside.
He was so wrapped in gear, it was a moment before she recognized him. His helm hid his tousled black hair, but the dark grey eyes shining out either side of a long nose-guard were unmistakably his. Over his tunic he had a leather byrnie crossed with belts and slings supporting a small armoury: a hand-axe, a couple of seax fighting knives, a limewood shield slung over his back and of course his precious ring-sword, sheathed in an ox-hide scabbard, at his hip.
She realized she was staring and looked away.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said.
She opened her mouth but just then Kai appeared, carrying a cloak and a sort of knapsack, presumably his master’s.
‘Lady Lilla!’ he exclaimed. ‘A fine day for a ride, don’t you think?’
She looked up, as if noticing the sky for the first time. ‘I fear it won’t last,’ she repli
ed distractedly. She turned to Erlan. ‘I need to speak with you.’
‘They’ll be waiting for—’
‘Alone.’
Erlan shrugged in acquiescence and sent Kai off to fetch his horse, sniggering. ‘So...?’
‘I had a dream about you.’
‘A dream? I’m flattered.’
‘You were in danger.’
‘Well, all of us may be in danger.’
‘This was different.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know exactly.’ She described her dream to him, the wolf and the wolfhound. He listened carefully.
‘That could be anyone,’ he said when she had finished.
‘But I kept seeing your face in those black caverns. And there was another.’
‘The Witch King?’
‘No.’
‘Who?’
‘I— I couldn’t make it out.’
A shadow fell across his face. ‘Those were dark things, Lilla. They’re best forgotten.’
‘How can I forget?’ she exclaimed. ‘How can you?’
‘Listen, Lilla. I’m sorry. I can’t help every dream you have.’
‘But don’t you see? After what we went through... We’re... connected. After what we endured together.’
‘Are we?’ he said coldly. ‘Granted, we both endured. We both lived. But that’s all. You’re the daughter of a king. And me...’ He shook his head.
‘You’re wrong, Erlan. The dream means something. It was a warning.’
‘A warning? Of what?’
‘I can’t say. Please, Erlan – I need you to be careful.’
‘What need have you! Your father has a hundred other men here to protect you. He could call upon a thousand more. Why do you care what happens to me?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked up at him and saw his dark eyes soften a little. ‘I do, though.’
‘Fine. I’ll be careful. But if we run into the Wartooth’s men—’
‘It’s not the Wartooth that I saw.’ She seized his hand. ‘Promise me you’ll be vigilant.’ He said nothing. She squeezed his hand tighter. ‘Promise me.’
A Sacred Storm Page 3
