Lord of Raven's Peak (20 page)

“But this wasn't so easily done, for little Ninian had a magic friend.”

Laren stopped, frowned, then demanded, “More ale for the skald, if you please, husband. My wits are near parched dry of words.”

Merrik gave her a full cup of ale, then clasped her legs again to keep her steady.

“What happened to the husbands?” Oleg called out. “Come along, Laren, tell us before your wits take flight into oblivion.”

“Who was Ninian's magic friend?”

She frowned from her height on the table at Oleg and then at Bartha, a big-bosomed woman who had dyed
the beautiful saffron gown Laren wore. “Ninian's magic friend was a Viking warrior who appeared only when the child was in danger. He was as cunning, as wild, as fearless, as a
berserker
. He wore bearskins like a
berserker
, but he didn't howl or scream out to the gods, or roll his eyes when he met an enemy. No, the Viking warrior was silent as a spirit. Once, when Ninian had lost his nurse in the forest close by the king's fortress, a wolf attacked him. The Viking warrior appeared as if spun from the smoke from a fire, tossed Ninian up onto a tree branch, and turned to face the leaping wolf. He gutted the wolf with his sword. Then, slowly, the warrior turned to the child and said, ‘You may be the king one day. I was sent to keep you safe. Come down now and go back to the fortress. Your nurse is frantic with worry for you.'

“He lifted Ninian back to the ground, patted the child's shoulder, and then he just seemed to fade into the thick green trees. One moment he was there—solid and strong as the oak trunk, a huge man, his sword covered with the wolf's blood—and the next moment, he was gone, simply disappeared. The child stood there, not understanding, but not afraid.

“A dozen soldiers burst into the small clearing. They saw the dead wolf, saw the child standing over it, and they were struck dumb.

“And thus the legend began of Ninian, the king's nephew, who, when still a small child, killed a wolf. That the wolf had been gutted with a sword was dismissed and forgotten. The more thoughtful knew that the child couldn't have lifted a sword, much less smote the wolf a killing blow. The king marveled at this small being. The small being himself marveled. He tried to tell his nurse of the Viking warrior, but she was in no mood to believe that a spirit could have slain the wolf.
No, she would prefer Ninian to be the magic one, the special one, the one chosen by the gods to follow the king.

“The sisters decided they would kill the child. They didn't believe he killed the wolf, for Helga had powers herself, and she had watched Ninian, and seen none in him. Thus they convinced themselves that a man had come along, seen the child was in danger, killed the wolf, then quickly left before the soldiers came.

“Aye, they would kill the boy. Helga cast a spell in her tower room. She called up the demons of fire and ice and desert sands. She bade them use their powers to rid them of the child. The demon of fire appeared and said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. He is sworn protection by one far more powerful than I. Leave him alone.'

“Helga cursed him and sent him back into the netherworld. She called up the demon of ice. He said, ‘I cannot kill the boy. A higher power than I guards him. Leave him alone.'

“Helga still would not accept the demons' words. She called forth the demon of the desert sands. He said, ‘You are a fool, woman, to call up the coward demons of fire and ice before you called me. You wish me to kill the child. I will kill him and I will enjoy it. Then you will be in my debt.'

“The demon disappeared in a swirl of thick black smoke. Helga rejoiced and told her sister that the child would soon be dead. They told their husbands. They all waited. One day Ninian was found missing. The king and all his soldiers couldn't find him. Everyone in the land searched for the child, but he wasn't to be found. He was gone, disappeared with no trace.”

Laren looked down at Merrik and said, “I am going to be sick.” She jumped down, trusting him to catch her, then broke away from him and ran through the open
palisade doors and into the bushes around the path.

Oleg slapped Merrik on his back. “Perhaps she will not be groaning overmuch this night or racing from your bed to be sick. There is still hope, Merrik.”

Merrik grunted. “Perhaps, but give me leave to doubt it. She will be very unhappy on the morrow.”

“I want to know what happened to Ninian,” Oleg called.

“Aye,” Roran yelled out, “I want to know who the Viking warrior was.”

“I hope she doesn't puke away the story with her guts,” Bartha said, “else I won't dye her another gown.”

“And I,” Merrik said, gazing through the open gates of the palisade, “wonder if my bride will even remember the Viking warrior or me on the morrow.”

“With all that royal blood,” Old Firren said, and then spat, “surely she can recover quickly from the ale.”

And she did. It was near to midnight when Merrik, convinced she was back to herself again, took her hand and raised her from the bench. He said to all his very drunk people, “There is no rain coming, for Eller hasn't smelled anything.”

“He can only smell the foul odors of savages!”

“That's true enough,” Merrik said, laughing, “but the night is clear. Stay here if you wish and keep drinking. I will take my wife to my bed.”

They were given advice in the marriage bed, all of it very specific, all of it accompanied with laughter as both men and women played their parts as the bride and groom.

Merrik believed her embarrassed until they stepped inside the sleeping chamber and she said, “I trust you took note of all they said, Merrik.”

“Aye,” he said, and pulled her against him. “I heard everything.”

“I think,” she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, “that I'm still afraid. This is all very new to me, Merrik, despite all that I've seen in the past two years, and I have seen more than I should.”

“I know, sweeting, but it isn't important now. What is important is us. I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

“I know,” she whispered. She felt the allure of him, the temptation of him, and what he would give to her. Still, she just looked up at him, waiting.

He smiled at her and sifted his fingers through her hair, pulling loose the tangles. “Trust me,” he said, “just trust me.” He leaned down and kissed her, slowly, easily, as if there were nothing more he wished to do. He lifted his face.

“The night is long before us,” he said.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
Laren stood beside Sarla, who was stirring the porridge. Very few men were upright, many more were sprawled on their backs, appearing quite dead save for the occasional moans and snores. The women, more stoic, went about their chores, more slowly than usual, but still they worked, looked at the men, and shook their heads. The children, not stupid, spoke quietly whilst in the longhouse.

“That was a wonderful feast,” Sarla said. “I wish to hear the rest of the story tonight.”

“Aye, you shall,” Laren said. “Where is Taby?”

“He is with Kenna and the other boys outside. They are practicing with their swords, Oleg their teacher.”

“Oleg isn't holding his head and moaning?”

“Oh no, Oleg never suffers when he drinks too much mead. Nor do you, I see.”

“I don't know. Last night was the first night in my life I have drunk so very much.”

“You felt all right when Merrik took you away last night?”

“Aye, I felt wonderful.”

“You look wonderful this morning. You look very happy, very pleased with yourself.”

Laren didn't say anything. She was looking toward
the entrance of the longhouse. Merrik stood there in the open doorway, the brilliant morning sun behind him, and he looked a golden god with wet hair from his bath. He saw her, stepped forward, and smiled.

She felt the impact of him, relentless and commanding, irresistible and growing stronger, she could feel it, stronger and deeper, pulling at her, luring her, claiming her, and she saw herself the previous night, her bare hand clasped between his two larger ones, her legs between his, the slide of his hair smooth and vibrant against her flesh, her breasts against the rich golden fur of his chest. The image was softly blurred in her mind, but the remembered feel of him was stark. She'd not lied to him. She'd been afraid, for there had been pain that first time with him, and she had tried to twist free of him and his invasion of her body.

He was walking toward her, his stride that of a man who knew himself to be the master, coming to her, a woman who was his and his alone, a woman he now knew, a woman he was studying thoughtfully, his brow furrowed even as he smiled.

She saw another smile of his in her mind, clear as the soft summer air, the curve of his mouth when he'd raised his head from her belly, and seen her gasping, her breasts heaving, as she'd tried to calm her breathing, and he'd known the immense pleasure he'd given her with his mouth, was pleased with her for yielding to him, trusting him with herself, and now he wanted more, he wanted to come inside her and she wanted him there as well, deep inside her, become part of her, melding with her until they were inseparable. His smile stopped then as he'd raised her legs and spread them and come between them, staring down at her woman's flesh, touching her, and she'd felt the slickness of herself on his fingers, saw his eyes close briefly
as he'd felt her, resting his fingers there for a long moment, just feeling her, and then he was easing into her and she'd felt herself shudder with the strength of the feelings that washed through her and she'd wanted more and more and he was there, over her, always giving even as he took, always there with her, never leaving her, even in that instant when his own pleasure had gripped him and he'd thrown back his head and yelled his release. She'd held him tightly to her, reveling in what she had brought him to, so grateful that he had found her, and that he was the man he was.

Laren hadn't realized she was standing there, staring at her husband, not moving, just staring, her lips parted, her eyes wide on his face.

He stopped in front of her, and lifted her chin in his palm. “It is only the beginning,” he said, leaned down and kissed her mouth. “Only the beginning.”

“Will you always be thus with me?”

“Aye, as you will be with me as well.” He kissed her again, gently, lightly, his tongue tracing over her lips. “I should have taken you to the bathing hut with me. Next time I shall. I'll hold you on my lap with you facing me and raise you so that you can take me inside you. I think you will enjoy that.”

Her breasts ached. She leaned into him, all that she felt writ clear in her eyes, and he wondered how he had deserved such good fortune. “You did well last night, wife. You pleased me mightily.” He lightly touched her breasts simply because he had to, he had no choice in the matter, then quickly stepped back.

“There is the matter of practice, Merrik,” she said, trying to smile, but desire held her now and all she wanted was to have him hold her and stroke and kiss her. To feel his mouth on hers, to feel his tongue lightly touching hers, made her lean forward again.

He sucked in his breath, grasped her upper arms in his hands and held her still. “I cannot please you now, but I want to, the gods know I want to very much.”

Oleg was there, some feet away from him, waiting. “When you are ready, Merrik, we will speak with each of our people. We should not wait too much longer, for memories blur and people forget.”

“Aye,” Merrik said, kissed her once more and left her.

“They are questioning everyone to see where they were when Erik was killed,” Sarla said.

Laren didn't say anything. She was suddenly thinking that the man who had struck Erik with the rock wouldn't simply blurt out his guilt when confronted. No, he would have thought about this, reasoned it out and devised a story that would be reasonable. Or a woman, she thought. A woman could have struck Erik down.

She looked after her new husband, striding tall and determined beside Oleg. She tasted the warmth and sweetness of him on her mouth, the delight of him throughout her body. She cooled suddenly, her mind sharp and clear. She felt deep fear of the unknown man or woman who had passed her on the trail, looking down at her, knowing she would be blamed. And then, quite suddenly, she realized she hadn't been completely unconscious when that man had passed her. She saw him lean over her, staring down at her, then rising, smiling. No sound from him, just that smile of his. If only she could see him. Ah, but she knew now it was a man, for that silent smile sounded yet in her mind.

She had to find Merrik.

Whose laughter?

 

“ . . . Prince Ninian was gone with no trace. The king was beside himself with grief. He took to his bed,
refusing to eat or to drink. On the third day, he lay weak and uncaring about himself, about his kingdom, guilt overcoming all. He had lost Ninian and thus he had failed and didn't deserve to live. He hadn't kept the child safe and he knew Ninian was the future and now that future was blighted and it was all his fault.

“Suddenly, he saw a faint shadow form behind the candlelight. He stared at it, his mouth opening in awe and fear as the shadow grew and grew, becoming more and more solid, until finally, it was a man. It was a Viking warrior, huge sword in his hand, garbed in a rough bearskin, a pounded gold helmet on his head, his eyes a beautiful startling blue. The warrior stared at him, then said, contempt lacing his words, ‘You will cease your grieving. You are the king. You will act the king. If you do not, your daughters will force themselves into power upon your death, placing their sodden, weak-willed husbands on the throne. Indeed I know that it is Helga's husband, Fromm, who will take your place. Helga's magic is greater than Ferlain's. Ferlain and her husband, Cardle, will both die from poisoning.

“ ‘Rise now and resume your duties. Eat and drink and regain your strength. Bathe and robe yourself. Become once again the man you are supposed to be.'

“ ‘But Ninian, my beautiful boy, what of him?'

“ ‘I will fetch him now. When I return with him, I will see to it that your daughters and their husbands receive the punishment due them.'

“ ‘Ninian is not dead?'

“The warrior shook his head, the gold helmet catching the light of the candle flame, brilliant and dazzling as the midday sun.

“ ‘But who are you? How do you know these things?'

“The Viking warrior said, ‘Rise and be ready to receive Ninian. You will deal with your daughters and
their husbands. Beware of Helga. She called forth the demons to kill Ninian. She will try to kill you as well.'

“The king leapt out of the bed. He felt young and incredibly strong, his days of privation forgotten. He wanted to touch the Viking warrior, but even as he walked toward him, the warrior seemed to retreat from him, though the king knew he hadn't moved. The air was still and warm and the warrior just seemed to grow dimmer until he was a veil spun of the finest silk, then he was naught but a brief shadow, then nothing at all.

“The king stood there, fear curdling in his belly. Then, because he was the king, indomitable and decisive, he yelled for his servants. After he had supped and drunk his fill, he returned to his vast chamber to await the return of Ninian and the Viking warrior.

“He had not long to wait. One moment he was alone, hopeful in his solitude, and the next, there stood Ninian, alone now, dirty as a village urchin and looking healthy as the day he left. His clothes were torn, his knees scraped, but he was smiling, by all the gods, he looked very well indeed. The king dropped to his knees and gathered the boy to him.

“It was a joyous reunion until the king realized Ninian was somehow different. He drew back, tracing his fingertips over his beloved face, and said, ‘Where have you been? What befell you?'

“ ‘I have visited the netherworld that lies beneath the desert sands far to the south and east of here. I stayed with the demon of the desert sands, an odd title, Father, but that is who he said he was. He told me that I would remain with him forever, that I would become his heir. I told him that I couldn't remain with him, that I belonged here, with you, here with all our people, that I was needed.

“ ‘He would not listen to me. I told him that he had
to return me or the Viking warrior would come and hurt him. He laughed, Father. He laughed loudly, then, suddenly, he choked. His face turned blue and he clutched his throat. Then, the Viking warrior was there and he was not laughing. He raised his hand and the choking stopped. He watched the demon regain his breath, then told the demon of the desert sands that even though he was his brother, what he had done was against all their rules. He told him that he had the agreement of all the higher demons and that he would be forced to remain buried in his netherworld for one hundred years as his punishment. The demon of the desert sands begged and pleaded with the Viking warrior, but he just stood there, shaking his head. He raised his sword and the demon cowered away from him and left us alone.

“ ‘Then the warrior held me against him and suddenly I was here, Father, with you.'

“After the king had visited with his son, he gave him over to the servants to bathe him and garb him well. Then he called for his daughters and their husbands. Helga and Ferlain believed they were being called to their father's deathbed to receive his blessing. Imagine their consternation when they saw him, hale and strong, seated on his throne, garbed in his finest silks. Their husbands, Fromm and Cardle, stood back, not understanding why their wives looked pale and ill. They bowed to their father-in-law, bidding him good day. They remarked to him that he looked in excellent health, contrary to what they'd heard. They trusted he'd come to accept that Prince Ninian was dead.

“The king merely smiled at them and bade them seat themselves on a bench against the whitewashed wall of the huge chamber. Then he said, ‘Helga, come here.'

“She did, forcing herself to smile, but surely nothing was lost yet. So he looked healthy, so perhaps he was
resigned to Ninian's death. She would see to it that he sickened soon enough. She wondered if he had asked them here to announce that now because Ninian was gone from them, Fromm would be his heir. That made her smile in truth now as she approached her father.

“She bowed before him. ‘You look well, Father,' she said.

“ ‘Aye,' he said. ‘All of us look well.'

“ ‘We are all very sorry for Ninian's disappearance, Father. We pray you are not too distraught.'

“ ‘Nay,' the king said. ‘I am very well, as I told you.'

“ ‘Do you ask us here to proclaim that our husbands are now your heirs?'

“ ‘Oh no,' the king said. ‘I bade you here to welcome back your brother.' He called out and Ninian came from behind the thick crimson draperies behind the king's throne.

“Helga shrieked. ‘It is a demon! A witch!'

“ ‘Nay,' said the king. ‘It is you who are the demon and the witch, both you and your weak sister. As of this moment, you are no longer my daughters. Your husbands are no longer my sons-in-law. All of you are banished as of this day. Go and be damned, all of you!'

“Helga felt fury wash over her. She raised her arms to the sky and shrieked, ‘Demons, come to me now! Strike down the man and the child! Kill them!'

“But no demons appeared. The Viking warrior was there, standing suddenly before them, radiant and shimmering, as if the sun were shining behind him. Helga cried out and stepped back.

“The warrior raised his sword high, kissed its finely worked iron handle, then said, ‘What is due you, Helga? You are the evil one, Ferlain is only weak, her powers enhanced only by yours. As for you men, you wretched
husbands, you are pitiful. What should I do with you?”'