Lord of the Runes (11 page)

Still, he'd watch for the outcasts. He turned his back to the slopes and walked toward the longhouse. They'd dispersed Alv's essence into the afterlife. The magic in this place could flow unhindered now. He had runes to search for this night, runes powerful enough to protect a dragon.

“T
hese are the symbols I envisioned for your carving.”

Eirik handed Asa a piece of wood with three staves drawn in charcoal on it. She settled on her bench beside the dragon and studied them.

“I know this one. I've used it several times before.”

“That's Elhaz. It's a strong protection rune.”

He sat down beside her and his clean scent washed over her. In the past few days, she hadn't seen him much. She'd wondered if he'd forgotten about her request. Or that perhaps he hadn't wanted to do it and had been avoiding her.

Now he sat beside her, his warmth sinking into her, his nearness opening an awareness in her body. This might not be such a good idea after all. But she had to finish the carving. Too many people depended on it to bring gold to the village, and she couldn't let Magnus down just because she found Eirik's presence disturbing. And enticing.

The dragon wanted the runes. Her dreams hadn't subsided, so she would have to ignore the weakness in her legs that Eirik caused. His wild, male scent. His deep, rich voice . . .

“See?” He took her hand and placed his against it, palm to palm. His hand dwarfed hers. Then he spread his fingers wide, taking hers with them. “Elhaz looks like a hand splayed out for protection. That's how you can remember it. The other runes are Thurisaz and Eihwaz, also powerful shielding runes. Alone, they have their own meanings.” He moved his fingers and curled them down between hers. “But together, they become something more, no longer separate, but joined into one, their destinies intertwined.”

He let their hands slide apart and her stomach tightened at the feel of his skin against hers.

“My vision showed me that these are the symbols your dragon desires.”

She gave him a quick glance at the last word. His eyes were deepest blue, but they held a touch of humor, as though he knew that what he said would make her blush. It did. And she melted a little more.

Gathering herself, she studied the runes and the dragon's neck. They would fit. It seemed as though he had chosen them to flow with the lines of the scales and the interlaced patterns that would frame them. Or, perhaps, the dragon had chosen them. She would have to match them on both sides, measuring and drawing them the same way.

“Does it matter how I draw them initially with the coal?” She ran her finger over the neck where the first rune would be. “I might have to start over several times to fit them just so.”

“It's the carving that brings the true power. And the painting of them with the proper colors. Still, I'll watch how you draw them to be certain they're correct. There's still some power involved.”

She nodded and picked up a piece of charred wood she'd collected from the longhearth. Concentrating on the area, she brought the image of the rune into her mind, matching it to the shading in the wood. Often, the grain itself showed her the way to carve, its colors shading the pattern.

Eirik placed his hand on her shoulder and, even through the layers of clothing, his touch made her skin tingle. He whispered soft words, as if speaking to a lover in the night. They were ancient words, their rhythm that of the skalds of long ago. Though she couldn't hear what he said, the sounds wove through her. The dragon's eye seemed to shift, gazing back at them.

She drew a sharp breath. It was there. Thurisaz. The shape of the rune already displayed itself in the grain. She traced it with the blackened wood.

“Do you see it?” She darkened the symbol again as the feeling grew more certain.

“Yes.” His voice was low, right beside her, but she concentrated on the image beneath her hand. “The dragon already knows. The stave lies in its heart and it only waited for your touch to set it free.”

“And your knowledge to open the way.” She moved to the area below it. The power of creation that flowed in her broke loose, like a chunk of ice breaking away from a glacier into a raging sea. It always flowed when she carved, but it was usually gentle, like a stream. This was different. It cascaded through her, cold and pure, and she drank it in.

His hand tightened on her shoulder and she leaned into it. Elhaz. Her strokes were sure and sweeping this time. She followed what had grown into the wood centuries ago. The ancient maple had developed from the time it was a seed, just so, for this moment. She never glanced back at the symbols he had drawn for her. She knew them already. They burned in her as though dragon fire had scorched them into her soul.

“Yes, that's right. Now—”

“Eihwaz.” She allowed the rune to curve, just a bit, to match the lower turn of the neck. It might not be correct, for the lines should always be straight. But it felt right and Eirik didn't stop her. She started drawing lines above and below the runes, as was often done, but then she hesitated.

“What is the dragon telling you, Asa?” He caressed her shoulder and leaned closer, his breath moving her hair. “What should you do now to finish the design? Listen.”

She closed her eyes, absorbing the magic emanating from him. The answer came from deep within her, with a power that could have come only from the spirit of the dragon—or the runes themselves. Why would they speak to her when they had him to channel their power? And yet, she would not ignore their wisdom. “There should be no lines to separate the runes from the scales. They should all flow together.”

“Yes.”

Drawing in the scales, she tapered them to join with the staves into one pattern, forever sealing them with the essence of the dragon. She added to the interlaced animals and vines on the front of the neck to merge with the rest of the design.

When she leaned back to study her work, Eirik's hand dropped away. The energy running through her receded. She took a deep breath. What had happened? She'd never before rendered a design with such precision, not without having to try several times before getting it right. This was the most intricate drawing she'd done and yet it had flowed without effort or flaw.

Working with the old master had never been like this. Before, the power hadn't flowed through her, the images of the runes hadn't burned in her mind. His touch hadn't weakened yet strengthened her, like Eirik's had.

“Something happened just now.” He brushed back a lock of her hair.

She didn't pull away. His eyes were so deep, so beautiful with the knowledge and power he carried. His was the way of the night. The ancient magic he'd touched her with was alien to her. She was a warrior and her world was one of steel and the light of day. For her, there would be no soft words whispered in the night. In more ways than one.

A gasp came from the door and she broke his gaze, looking toward it. But no one was there. It had likely been one of the women who'd seen them and didn't want to interrupt.

She shook her head to clear it and to deny what he'd said. “Just some dragon magic, I think, or the spirit of the tree. It happens sometimes when I carve. It must happen to you when you cast the runes.”

He watched her as she rose and moved over to the other side. “I think there are talents and abilities in you that you haven't allowed yourself to experience. Hidden things.”

She dropped the piece of coal and picked it up with a shaking hand. Her stomach knotted. “I don't know what you mean.” Just how much could he feel? When the power had flowed through them both, had he seen the shadows that lay within her? The runes were strong. And dangerous. She would have to be careful and guard against their power, and his.

He stayed until she finished replicating the image on the other side, but he didn't say anything more, or touch her again. He looked at it when she finished and nodded at her. After he left, she stared at the design. The runes were correct, the scales perfectly drawn, the interlacing beautiful and complex. It was an exact replica of the other side.

And yet, without his touch, without his strength flowing through her, they were only black lines drawn on dry, dead wood.

* * *

“The rune caster. I saw you in here with him yesterday.”

Asa chipped away a small piece of wood and didn't look at Estrid. “Oh?” The sound she'd heard at the door must have been her cousin then. No matter. They'd done nothing wrong.

“His touch holds much magic, does it not?” Estrid sighed.

The knife almost slipped as her heart sank, but she caught the movement before it did any damage. “I wouldn't know, Estrid. That's your area of expertise.”

Her cousin's eyes narrowed, but she only smiled. “He's the experienced one. He's already visited me and half the girls here.”

Asa's fingers tightened around the handle as her heart jumped. Just then, the outer door slammed open and loud voices rang through the longhouse. Taking her carving knife with her, Asa brushed past Estrid and went into the common room. A farmer stood in the midst of several men, shouting about his livestock.

Magnus strode into the group, Leif following. “Calm down. Tell me what happened,” Magnus said.

“Jarl, those outcasts came and took three of my sheep and two young pigs. I slaughtered almost all I had in the fall and these were the ones I kept back to breed in the spring. They came in the day, bold as you like, and threatened me if I tried to stop them. Now I have little left.”

Magnus nodded. “You and your family won't go hungry. I swear it to you. Leif, send for the warriors who went to their own homes for the winter. We can't let this stand. The outcasts are becoming bolder and more dangerous. We'll slay them before this goes any further.”

“It'll take some time to travel to so many homesteads.”

“Then we'd best begin now. No one is to go alone. Several men will travel together and return here as soon as possible.”

Leif gathered the men, assigning them into groups.

Magnus took Asa aside. “Eirik told me the day after the funeral that he'd seen fresh footprints in the meadows above here. None of our people would be up there this time of year.” He looked around the hall. “Come to think of it, where is he?”

“I haven't seen him much lately, except yesterday when he helped me with the runes for the dragon.”

Magnus frowned. “I don't like that. The outcasts have never been this bold before. Since he arrived, they've change tactics. He's been gone a great deal these past few days. Suddenly they begin taking more livestock, and in the light of day.”

Asa glanced toward the door to the weaving room. Eirik couldn't be involved. Not a man with such magic in his soul. She would know. Or would she? She'd been wrong years ago about another man. And with what Estrid had insinuated, she could be wrong again.

“He appears to be a man of honor, Magnus. Surely the runes wouldn't speak to one who is a common thief.”

“How do we know that? The outcasts have nothing to lose. They can never return to society, for they have committed the unspeakable. Rape. Slaying a kinsman. Or a wife. I've often wondered at the wisdom of turning such men loose in the countryside, where they become desperate.”

He set his hand on her arm. “I want you to be careful, Asa. None of the women are to go outside the village until we track down these men.”

“The
fjells
are vast. How can you find them all?”

“Perhaps we won't need to. If we kill several of them, it will send a message and they'll back off. If someone is instigating this, he'll find out we're not just isolated farmers and merchants here. He'll have no doubt that we can fight for what is ours, both on the seas and in the mountains.” He gripped the hilt of his seax. “Whoever he might be.”

* * *

Asa stepped out of her room dressed in her long leather tunic and leggings, her sword at her side. Over the past few days, Magnus's warriors had trickled in from their homes in answer to his call. They ate and slept wherever they could, on the tables, benches, and even the floor. Fights had broken out over mugs of ale and who would sleep closest to the longhearth.

It hadn't been easy. These were hard men. They knew only fighting and drinking and—well, the serving girls nearly found out what else they knew. Magnus had forbidden any of the men from taking an unwilling girl, but still, there had been several near rapes.

She did what she could to protect the girls. None of the men dared touch her, or disrespect her rank and her abilities. She kept her seax on her at all times, the long knife's sheath hanging below her belt. At night, her sword stood close at hand near her bed. Other women and children who lived in the hall had gone to stay at homes in the village. It was safer that way.

So she was relieved on the morning Magnus declared they would begin searching for the outcasts. The hunt would help vent some of the tensions. That night, they would hold the
sjaund
, the funeral ale for Alv, and the men could drink themselves into a stupor. Then, perhaps, there would be a night of peace.

She winced. Or it might be worse. If only she could just shut herself in her room until morning. But she needed to be there along with her brothers to honor Alv. Only after they had drunk the ale would Alv's life truly be over.

Several other men had arrived during the night, and her heart sank at the sound of a loud voice. Hjellmar. He'd never been able to tolerate her being a shieldmaiden. To him, women had one purpose, perhaps two.

He stood across the room, bristling with weapons, his unkempt hair hanging down his back. Hjellmar was nothing but a brawler, uncaring of anything else. Magnus kept him on because he was a good warrior in battle, but he hadn't invited him into the longhouse to stay for any length of time. Until now.