Dangerous Talents (25 page)

Dahleven saw no reason to hide the truth from Ragni. He said it in the fewest number of words. “Sorn caught her heart, and then she had to watch him die of a belly wound.”

Ragni groaned softly and grimaced in sympathy.

“Then, yesterday, in the storeroom…” Dahleven ran a hand back over his braided hair. “Baldur’s balls! I kissed her.”

Ragni raised an eyebrow. He almost looked delighted. When Dahleven didn’t continue, he said, “Aside from your blasphemy, I don’t see the problem.”

“She wears his band!”

“As a gift only.”

“Now, perhaps. Not when I kissed her.” Dahleven shook his head. “It was too soon for her. You know how women are. She grieves for Sorn, and I took advantage of her. That’s why she cut me. And why you shouldn’t be presuming on her ignorance. She doesn’t understand our customs, or what you imply when you touch her that way.”

Ragni pursed his lips and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he shook his head and sidestepped Dahleven’s complaint. “You’re right. I do know women. And you clearly don’t. I don’t know why she’d like to cut your heart out, but I’m pretty sure it’s not because you kissed her, you dolt. She may be saddened by Sorn’s death, but she doesn’t act—or feel—like a woman lost in grief.”

Despite his brother’s Talent for Empathy, Dahleven knew what he’d seen pass between Sorn and Lady Celia. He would have argued, but they’d arrived outside the chambers where the Council of Jarls would convene. He gave Ragni a determined look as a servant opened the door and announced them. “Later,” he growled, then smoothed his face to greet the assembled Jarls.

Ragni grinned and shrugged, and followed Dahleven into the hall.

Five of the seven Jarls were already present. Hafdan was missing, and their father, of course. As Kon, it wasn’t appropriate that Neven wait on the others. He’d appear when the Jarls and their seconds were fully assembled.

At this, the first meeting, only the Jarls and their heirs gathered. At subsequent meetings of the Althing, lesser lords, their advisors, and prominent carls with significant holdings would attend, and the larger assembly would address and resolve any disputes that couldn’t be resolved locally. Usually there weren’t many. Most men settled their own disagreements directly, rather than bring their disputes to the Althing like children running to a parent.

An oval table surrounded by sixteen chairs dominated the room. Most of the Jarls stood talking, catching up on gossip, cementing alliances, and trolling for tidbits of rumor that might affect desired agreements. They turned and nodded as Dahleven and Ragni entered the room, eager to have one or both of the Kon’s sons join them. Neither he nor Ragni immediately favored one over another, pausing first at a table set with refreshments. The Jarls resumed their conversations.

Dahleven accepted a tankard of ale from a servant and watched Ozur shake his wavy gray mane. The old Jarl disdained the fashion of braids, allowing his long hair to cascade over his shoulders and blend with his full beard. Combined with his ample girth, his hair made Ozur resemble a fuzzy gray ball, but Dahleven knew better than to underestimate the older man. Ozur was far from soft. He’d challenged Neven for leadership of Nuvinland since the two of them were young men. No, there was nothing soft about Ozur. He talked with Yngvar, the other Jarl with direct access to the sea.

Yngvar was another from his father’s generation, but a very different kind of man. Easily swayed, he cared only for the peaceful continuity of his life. The people of his province prospered mainly due to the plentiful harvest of the ocean, not through great leadership. Yngvar hated contention, and Ozur would have had his vote on all matters, except that Yngvar voted his comfort and profit, and Ozur wasn’t always comfortable. Despite his weakness, he would have been tolerable, if it weren’t for his obtuse propensity for crude and tactless remarks. How Ozur tolerated it, Dahleven didn’t know. He steered away from the two of them.

Ragni crossed the room to Father Wirmund, and Dahleven went to join the trio of Magnus, Solveig, and Ulf. Solveig thrust her jaw forward, obviously not pleased by something Magnus said, while Ulf laughed gently.

“Granted, Solveig isn’t my neighbor, but you’re too anxious, I think, Magnus. It’s too early yet for the boy’s Talent to emerge. The lady has ample time to plan for unfortunate possibilities.”

This again
. Magnus wanted Solveig to designate an alternate heir in case her son proved Talentless. She had taken on the duties of the Jarldom when her husband, Brand, had been killed by Renegades. Her son, Vali, was too young to inherit, especially since his Talent hadn’t yet Emerged. She was within her rights to assume the Jarldom, and tradition supported her, but there were some who had spoken against the leadership of a woman. Magnus, though he didn’t like the prospect of having a woman guiding a neighboring province, had spoken in her support. He observed the old ways, and by the laws of custom, a woman could and should protect the inheritance of her children. By all accounts she was doing well, and her people were behind her. She even had the support and aid of Brand’s cousin Gunnar, who would most likely be Jarl if not for Vali and Solveig.

“You’re right, Ulf, Solveig isn’t your neighbor,” Magnus said. “Nor do you share our burden of caravan losses and defending against Tewakwe raids.
Your
borders are safe. She has done well, but a strong man is always a better leader, especially in difficult times.”

“No one knows better than I how difficult these times are,” Solveig said tightly. “No one. You supported me a year ago, Magnus, when I was unproven. I wonder that you want to undermine me now.”

“I don’t want to undermine you, Solveig. You’re right to protect Vali’s place. But I’ve made it no secret that I think you should remarry. Gunnar is a fine man, after all.” Magnus gestured at the warrior, who looked amused. “And you’re still young enough. A man’s hand on the reins would make everyone feel more secure. And should Vali prove Talentless—”

Talentless
. It tripped off Magnus’s tongue so easily. Dahleven knew what weight that word carried. He’d come into his Talent late, wondering each day after he turned twelve if every odd sensation was a portent of his Talent, knowing that his elders watched him for a sign and speculated on whether he’d grow up to be Jarl, or half a man. At least Father had had Ragni to fall back on. Dahleven glanced at Ragni talking quietly with Father Wirmund, and sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the gods for his brother. Ragni had never once gloated when he’d come into his Talent before Dahleven had. Vali had no brother, and the pressure for him was starting early, at only eight.

“Vali will not be Talentless!” Solveig interrupted. “Nor do I need to buy Gunnar’s loyalty with marriage. It is precisely because he
is
a fine man that he should choose his wife for reasons other than power and politics. He knows I will not oppose his leadership of the jarldom, should Vali…not be able to inherit. Until that time, to proclaim him publicly as successor would weaken Vali’s position. I will do nothing to harm my son. Not for any reason, nor for any
one
.” Solveig had kept her voice low and controlled, but the intensity of her words wasn’t lessened.

Hafdan was announced and he hurried in, breaking the tension. A little younger than Dahleven, Hafdan stood tall yet relaxed, radiating self-confidence. He’d been a good choice to replace his cousin as Jarl, when Jorund’s ambition had driven him to the crime of house-burning two years ago. Hafdan bowed his courtesies to the room at large. “My apologies for my late arrival.”

“I’ve only just arrived myself, and we’re all still slaking our thirsts.” Dahleven said, pressing a tankard into Hafdan’s hand.

Hafdan smiled and took a swallow.

“Too much ale last night, Hafdan?” Yngvar bellowed from across the room. “You young pups haven’t enough experience in ruling or drinking to know your limits.”

Dahleven cringed inwardly.
First one squabble, then another. Thank the gods the Althing brings the Jarls together only once a year
. The Jarls had been calm and well-mannered for a while after they’d voted to Outcast one of their own. The shock of Jorund’s crime had subdued even Yngvar for a time. Apparently, that time was now past.

Ingdall, Yngvar’s heir, winced ever so subtly and stepped away from his father as the Jarl continued. “Or did your lady wife detain you late abed? She’s breeding again, yes? Women in her state are insatiable, aren’t they? I remember my own wife, once her sickness passed, couldn’t wait—”

Hafdan’s face stiffened in a rictus of control. Dahleven knew that only the truce of the Althing saved Yngvar from immediate and serious harm. Enviably, Hafdan had a true union of mind and heart with his lady wife, and felt any lack of courtesy toward her keenly.

“Yngvar!” Magnus voice cut sharply across the other Jarl’s. “Tell me about your new fishing fleet. I’m told you have five new ships.” Magnus strode across the room and drew Yngvar aside.

Dahleven had never understood how such a spineless man could habitually spout the most tactless and offensive things. Perhaps because no one thought him worth the effort to call him on it.

He glanced at Ingdall, where the man stood expressionless, trying to ignore the fuss caused by his father. He was very fair and looked nothing like his sire. How would it be to have a father who inspired derision rather than respect? Ingdall was a hard man to know: quiet, competent in the games, but not flashy.

Dahleven turned back to Hafdan, whose face was still rigid with anger. Dahleven nudged the tankard upward, clutched forgotten in Hafdan’s white-knuckled hand. “Drink.”

Hafdan pulled his daggered gaze from Yngvar’s back. He lifted his ale, took a sip, and swallowed tightly, his face relaxing a bit.

“Tell me about the new terracing of your fields,” Dahleven said. “I hear your crop yields have increased.”

Hafdan smiled grimly, as if to say,
Don’t worry, I won’t kill the old fool—today
, but he accepted the distraction Dahleven offered. “We decided to rotate the crops—”

“Kon Neven,” a servant announced in stentorian tones. The Jarls fell silent as Dahleven’s father entered the room.

Neven wasn’t exercising his Talent, but every eye followed him to the table. His green brocade tunic flashed with gems sewn across his chest in the pattern of his emblem, a swooping hawk. By comparison, the other Jarls looked like minor lordlings. Dahleven made no effort to suppress his proud smile.

Neven rested one hand on the back of the large chair at the head of the table. “My Lords, throughout the long years we have come together to hear the needs of our people and make the land prosper.” The ritual words were powerful, and sent a shiver up Dahleven’s back. “Just as our fathers in Midgard gathered, so do we now. We have feasted together, as we have since Fanlon’s day, and now we convene the Althing with this Council, to guide our future together.” He gestured with open hand, inviting the others to sit, then did so himself.

Dahleven sat on his father’s right. Father Wirmund took his place at the far end of the table, to Ragni’s left. Other than the four of them, no one had an assigned place, and no precedence was accorded any particular position.
Thank the gods. We hardly need another source of contention
.

After the usual shuffling and scraping of chair legs on the fitted stone floor, Neven regained the Jarls’ full attention. “My Lords, we have a matter of importance to consider, one beyond our usual concerns. Though not in equal measure, all of our provinces have been affected by the raids on our trade caravans to the Tewakwe. In recent months, our borders have been attacked. We can no longer continue as we have been. Increasing the strength of the caravans and the numbers of our border patrols is not enough. We must face this threat to our peace and deal with it. End it. If we do not, it will continue to grow.”

“It’s clear what we must do,” Solveig said. “We must take the fight to the Tewakwe Confederation. Give them a taste of the bitter draught they’ve been feeding us!”

“Are you proposing a combined force again, Kon Neven?” Ozur shook his wooly head. “I can’t support that. I’ll not ask the men of my province to fight and die for another’s land with no hope of gain.”

“If we sent you our men we would have too few to work the nets and leave our own lands undefended.” Yngvar bared his yellow teeth in a poor attempt to smile. “And such a force would give you a great deal of power.”

“In truth, Neven, are the losses really so serious? I’ve lost a few barrels of salt-fish, but that’s to be expected in trade. I think perhaps you are making overmuch of this. There’s been a bit of raiding and pilfering by Tewakwe Renegades going back as far as I can remember. That’s not new.” Ozur’s reasonable and avuncular tone was only a step away from condescension.

“Assaults on our borders
are
new.” Magnus slapped his hand down on the table. “Running battles on the ridges are new. The death of my son is new.” Magnus drew down his bushy brown eyebrows and spoke with such vehemence that his dark braids shook. Ozur didn’t meet his eyes. Magnus’s son had been killed in a raid on his lands just after the thaw. His grandson, Magni, sat by his side now as heir. At seventeen, Magni had been a man for two years, but he still had the long, loose-limbed look of an unbroken colt.

“Lord Dahleven has just returned from the drylands.” Neven’s voice pulled everyone’s attention back to him. He still wasn’t using his Talent. Dahleven wasn’t surprised. His father preferred to let reason prevail, when possible. He thought his father might be overly optimistic with this group.

“He went there to learn more of the threat we face.” Neven continued, turning to Dahleven. “Tell them what you observed.”

Dahleven saw no reason to lead into it slowly. “Tucked in a blind canyon near the Owlridge crest, this side of the Tewakwe holdings, we observed a camp of Renegade Tewakwe. They were living side by side with our own Outcasts.”

“Outcasts!”

“Nuvinlanders?”

“It’s hardly surprising that evil-doers flock together,” Hafdan said mildly.