EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (79 page)

Hallad sought the woman. Their eyes met simultaneously, locking for a brief moment, seeming to speak secretly before disengaging. Erik tensed, the muscles twitching under his skin. How much influence did this woman hold over his friend?

“Come, blood brother.” Hallad’s low voice contained a commanding quality. Erik wasn’t sure Hallad was even aware of the tone, which had persuaded him, time after time, on timbre alone. “We need to get some rest. We still have many days of travel before we reach Birka.”

“She knows,” said Erik.

“Knows what?” Hallad and Rolf asked in unison.

Hallad’s forehead creased and worry plagued his face. The woman turned away, walking into the night. Erik tried to grab her arm but ended up with a fist full of air.

“Tell me!” Erik yelled after her. “Tell me where Emma is!”

Hallad stepped in front of him, blocking Erik’s line of sight to the woman.
 

“Erik, you are tired. You need to rest.”

“Nei!”
 

Both Hallad and Rolf wore concern etched into their features.
 

“She knows! She told me I . . . “

Hallad’s worry changed to condescending, halting Erik’s speech. Rolf appeared frightened that his elder brother danced with the Shadow of Loki. Erik turned, kicking the ground with his foot, sending dirt into the fire pit.

“She hasn’t spoken since we met her,” said Hallad, as if speaking to an upset child. “How could she tell you anything?”

“And why doesn’t she speak? She knows, for Odin’s wisdom, she knows and she won’t tell me!”
 

He bent, picking up pebbles to toss in the fire, throwing them one after the other with a flick of his wrist, causing the charred wood to crack and crumble.
 

Rolf and Hallad exchanged a worried glance.

“They say when you have seen too much, the gods take away your speech,” Rolf offered.

“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
 

Erik chucked his last stone into the embers. The pebble clinked against burnt wood, sparks flying. He stalked across the distance, thumped to the ground and rolled himself in his cloak, wishing the dream would seize him again.
 

Hallad and Rolf exchanged hushed words from the other side of their camp. Erik suspected they discussed him, but ignored them both. He lay awake until the others settled down. Emma’s sweet face floated in his memory as he fought off the stinging under his eyelids.

After the others nodded off, Erik rummaged through his saddlebag until he found Emma’s golden key. He fumbled with his fingers, affixing the charm around his neck, tucking the piece beneath his tunic. He placed his hand over the key, his heartbeat thrumming under the metal, as a dreamless sleep captured him.

Chapter IX

A
FTER
DAYS
OF
TRAVEL
,
THEY
stood upon a rocky precipice surveying the landscape below. The wild waters of the river Syrra, with the gulf of the Sea of Gods gulping at her head, cut into the canyon banks and separated the group from their destination. Their path led to a wooden bridge strung across a chasm hundreds of feet above the raging waters. Bridge met road and continued downward into the tangle of the city. The bustling port city of Birka ranged from nordr to sudr. It was the largest establishment Hallad had ever seen, spread beneath them like a jewel at the edge of a boundless sea.

As they descended, an array of fish and salt smells burned Hallad’s nostrils. His stomach groaned. His father had packed plenty of dried meats and breads but Hallad longed for the taste of fresh food, especially after a few nights of Rolf’s burnt rabbit.

“We’ll get a hot meal, supplies and a warm bed for the night before we seek the Temple.”

Rolf stuck his chin in the air. His sparse hairs—an attempt at growing a beard—poked in all directions.
 

“I don’t take orders from the godhi’s son.”

“We should have left you at home embroidering with the women,” Erik replied.
 

The elder brother grew more irritable with each day of their travel. Hallad spent most of his time worrying over Erik’s wellbeing, defusing fights between the brothers and trying to keep Erik from hounding Swan, the name they had taken to calling their travel companion. Though Swan stayed close by his side she remained elusive, even refusing Hallad when he tried to tend to her bandage. A stolen peek of the wound he had inflicted the night they had met rested his mind though; the incision had healed quickly, forming over with pink skin.

“It’s all right, Erik. What would you have us do, Rolf?”

“I would . . . “ Rolf hesitated, glancing at Erik. “I would find a good meal, supplies and a soft bed.” He smiled his toothy grin. “And a horn of warm ale for my belly.”

Hallad rolled his eyes. Erik hinted at a smile. Swan bore what resembled a smirk. Hallad swiveled his head to hers—he’d never seen her smile—but by the time he looked again her carved face appeared as straight as a sword. For the first time he wondered if she understood their conversations and cursed his presumptions.

“And a fine young maid’s bottom to pinch,” added Rolf.

Erik and Hallad both sniggered. Hallad chanced a glance at Swan, but her face remained stone. As they continued down the path, Rolf recited
Lokesenna
, acting out the contest of insults between the gods with exaggerated gestures.

Finally, they passed under the thick beams of the entry way to Birka, the weighty doors swung wide open in welcome. The city bustled. People bumped into one another—some offered a hearty pardon, while others fought over the unexcused offense. The aroma of fresh fish, oysters, mussels, grains, spices and whale fat wafted through the streets as merchants hawked their wares in any space they found that would fit their carts and blankets.

“We’ll find lodging and stables for the horses first,” said Hallad. “We should have time for supplies before dusk.”
 

Hallad led the crew, horses in tow, through the packed streets. As civilians noted Swan’s leather breastplate and impressive broadsword, they backed away, giving her wide berth. An occasional passerby crossed their index fingers together in order to flash the warding sign in her direction. Hallad tensed under the continual scrutiny, wishing for a nocked arrow and the familiar slickness of the green wood of his bow in his hand.

Before long they had stabled their horses and found lodging and a meal in Merchants’ Row along the wharf—a rough part of town willing to serve travelers without references. Rolf gulped at the warm mutton stew. Erik merely twirled his spoon in the bowl, his mind adrift in a tortured space. For all her grace, Swan wolfed as many portions as Hallad. Open stares met with the young woman, dissecting her appearance—her sword, her armor, her beauty. Swan’s tightening muscles showed that she sensed the threat, but her outward demeanor remained icy. Hallad knew better, though. In the past few days he had come to recognize that the emotions swimming through him often belonged to the woman, though he did not know how or why he had entered into such a connection with his charge.

A weathered man approached their table, wearing sailors’ britches and a yellowed shirt, darned with multi-colored stitches.

“Ho strangers.”
 

The din of the crowded room eased as heads turned to gawk. The man leered at Swan, rubbing his hands together as if he were just invited to a feast.

“Ye look like fine sorts,” said the man as he stared at Avarr’s signet. Hallad had taken to wearing his father’s clasp to pin the top of his mantle closed. “What say ye for the woman? I got ten coppers. Aram coppers at that.”

“Klur, she ain’t your sorts. Leave ‘em be,” said a husky serving woman as she scuttled over and whacked the man’s bottom with her rag.
 

Raucous laughter spilled over the smoky room.

“Jealous, are ye?” He winked at the serving woman, grinning. “I’ve got enough for the two of ye.”
 

With a meaty hand, he bent and squeezed the server’s rump. Another chorus of howls broke out from the spectators.

Rolf smiled, lifted his mug and pronounced, “My kind of place.”

Hallad searched under the table for his knife, feeling the cool end of the hilt meet his palm.

The plump server stretched her neck down.
 

“Sorry sir, they ain’t got manners down here.”
 

She eyed the signet on Hallad’s mantle as well, lingering too long for comfort, and then scuttled away. She pulled a serving girl aside, whispering into her ear. The girl glanced at the group and nodded, then scampered to the door and disappeared.

“I don’t like this.” Erik shot up from his seat, gathering his cloak.

“We should purchase our supplies and find the Temple,” Hallad suggested, pushing his chair back to rise.
 

Swan, quicker than Hallad and without making a sound, already stood by his side.

“Not so fast! I made ye an offer. Me Lord’s been a looking for this woman. I’ll buy her to save the trouble of fighting ye.” The man’s breath stank of fermented honey.

“What do you mean? Who’s looking for her?” Hallad asked.

“He’s drunk,” offered Erik. “Come, let’s leave.”

“Nei, friend. Won’t be that easy. See, me Lord’s had me on the lookout for a pair like ye. Is the woman he wants.” He poked a dirty finger at Hallad’s chest. “Ye be disposable.”
 

Klur grabbed Swan’s wrist, pulling his sword from his scabbard to brandish at the group.

“I’ll be taking her now. So’s ye three back off and ye don’t get hurt.”

Before Hallad and Erik had a chance to contest, Swan swirled. In one fluid movement she grabbed the man’s forearm and flipped him over backward, slamming him to the ground. Her sword appeared in her other hand as she jammed the blade under the man’s chin, nicking his flesh with the tip. A trail of blood trickled over his skin, sinking down to the mead-soiled floorboards.

Klur threw his hands over his head, pleading.
 

“He didn’t say ye was dangerous! Ye ain’t worth the bounty. I give!”

The hall clamored. Men laughed, pounding their mugs against their tables.
 

“Klur! Klur!”
 

A man from the crowd yelled, “Got yourself a valkyrie you idiot!”
 

More laughter overflowed. Swan stepped aside as if she danced, releasing the pressure of her blade’s tip. Klur rolled over and slunk back to a nearby table, rubbing his neck and receiving pats on the back from a group of men, their faces red with merriment. Klur growled at their abuse, causing an even louder uproar.

“So much for
you
protecting
her
,” Rolf said as the group took the short reprise to flee before the mob changed their mind.

Chapter X

T
HEY
HURRIED
,
LOSING
THEMSELVES
IN
the narrow streets of Merchants’ Row, twisting through the throng of sailors, thralls and riffraff.

What happened back there?
Hallad thought.

As if to echo his question, Rolf chimed in, “What did he mean by his Lord was
looking
for her?”

“He was drunk,” said Erik. “A man speaks foolishness when brimmed with mead.”

Hallad didn’t agree.
Keep the girl safe at all costs. Death follows in her wake.
Pain tugged at Hallad’s gut. Their travels from the Steadsby had remained uneventful aside from the constant strain between Erik, Rolf and Swan. No danger had threatened until now. The realization of battling an unknown foe seeped into him.

“Did you see how she dispatched that rough? Flipped him like a sack of grain!” Rolf reenacted the scene as they hustled through the streets. Swan’s unease nudged Hallad, a bundle of energy ready to spring to his defense if need be.
Protect her with your life.
His father’s words buzzed through his head again. Clearly, the girl had done the defending. Embarrassment pushed in on Hallad.
Once more, I have failed.

Hallad slowed their pace once he realized no one followed.

Rolf lagged behind, fingering wooden sculptures displayed at a merchant’s cart.

“Look brother. My carvings are as fine as these.”
 

Rolf gained the skills of handiwork from his father, and though his father used the talent for shoemaking, Rolf applied the ability to endless hours of whittling, turning sticks into figures.

“Brother,” Erik pulled Rolf forward, crumpling the edge of his crimson mantle, “we move.”

“Nei, Erik,” Hallad interrupted. “We need to stock our supplies.”
 

Hallad reached for two bedrolls amongst metal pots, knives and cutlery.

“We don’t have coin or trade,” Erik replied.

“Nei need. I hold enough coin for us all.”
 

Hallad flashed his blood sworn a smile, but his grin met with Erik’s refusal. Erik had shadowed his little sister since childhood and the young men had spent years lounging on the Green, attending Ostara, the Plow-Blessing and Frey’s Festival with one another, in an attempt to hide Erik’s interest in Emma from Thyre. They took the oaths of blood sworn after Erik had rescued Hallad from two wolves hunting the Great Wood. The bond they had shared had been as close to brotherhood as Hallad had ever known. But since the night they’d lost Emma, everything had changed between them. Every annoyance incited Erik; he no longer looked toward Hallad with camaraderie. Instead, his gaze was filled with distrust and heartbreak.