Wolfskin (56 page)

The only answer was wordless, incomprehensible. One of the sea women held the frame upright, two others were still fashioning strings, and there were two down on the sand now, crouching over something they were making. Nessa fitted the next peg.

“You should tell me the truth,” she said, fumbling to find another of the tiny bones, to trim the end narrower while she could still see. “If I don't get there before morning, will Eyvind die? How can I get there? How can I go up this path in the dark, with—” She looked at the thing she had made, so delicate, so fragile. She looked at the wolfskin, bulky, heavy, but not to be left behind. Guard whimpered in his sleep; he was exhausted and hurt. “I don't think I can do it,” Nessa whispered.
Oh, Eyvi, how can I do it?
She reached to slip the peg into place, but it was too wide and would not fit, and now the sun sank abruptly, and all at once it was too dark to see, too dark to calculate the fine adjustment necessary, to shave off the smallest fragment of bone so this could fit snugly but still be turned.
I can't do it.

The sea woman suddenly let go of the harp, and Nessa's hands shot out to keep it from falling. A thrill ran through her, a ripple of power that made every corner of her body tingle with a terrible awareness. In that moment, she felt what this was. As yet it had no strings, no voice, yet she sensed the magic hidden in the graceful frame, the energy concealed in the elegant small shape.
I am…I am…
Its voice hovered on the edge of hearing, urgent to come forth. Oh, it would speak all right; it would tell a tale to freeze men's hearts and set tears of shame in their eyes, it would make them shiver and quail with its song. This harp would bring truth to the tyrant's hall. It would save the Folk. It would save Eyvind, if only she could bear it forth in time.

 

There was a certain amount of dispute as to where Eyvind might be held securely until all was prepared for a formal hearing. Erlend and Holgar recommended some form of shackles, and a bolted door. Somerled thought such precautions unnecessary. After all, Eyvind had demanded a fair hearing. Now that he was getting one, why would he take the trouble to escape? Hadn't he given himself up with no more than a token struggle?

A compromise was reached: hobbles for the ankles, locked securely, but the hands left free, since the prisoner's wrists were red raw from the tight bonds he had worn during his march north. The chamber where they placed him seemed new. Eyvind thought it purpose-built for captives such as himself, for the door was an iron grille, heavily bolted. There was a high, small window in the stone wall; none but vole or finch might escape this cell. A straw-filled sack and a bucket provided the sole furnishings. Guards paced the hallway beyond the door, not Grim, not Holgar, not Erlend, but
others, men who did not know their prisoner well. Perhaps Somerled thought that safer. Or maybe the Wolfskins did not like to see their old comrade sunk so low. He had seen the unease on their faces, the confusion in their eyes. Now, he was not only a traitor, he was something worse: a coward.

For Somerled was right, as usual. Eyvind would not attempt an escape, though as soon they'd brought him in here, he had instinctively sized up door and bolts and guards to weigh the chances. For a Wolfskin, this was a natural reaction. But he would not try, even though he suspected Somerled's idea of what constituted a fair hearing would differ markedly from his own. If he broke out and fled, he would be pursued. Somerled could not afford to have him abroad spreading dangerous truths. And if they hunted for him, they would find Nessa. That could not be allowed to happen. He was not so much of a fool as to believe there could be a future in these isles for him, even though she had lain in his arms one whole, sweet night. She had a place here as priestess, as leader. As for himself, it seemed he had earned the scorn of all who had once admired and loved him. There was nothing to do but go on in the manner of a warrior, with what strength and dignity he could muster. He would face death as the wolf did, steadfast to the very moment of darkness.

Time passed. The guard changed and changed again. Someone brought food and drink. Eyvind wasn't hungry, but he ate it anyway, simply for something to do. The silence, the shadows sharpened his awareness of the pain in his wrists, the trembling in his hands, the weak, numb feeling in his legs. He made himself move about within the tight confines of the cell, bending, stretching, always hampered by the shackles. He tried to imagine what the hearing would be like, what Somerled would say, and how a man such as himself might counter the arguments of such an expert law speaker.

The light from outside suggested late afternoon or early evening. Eyvind sat on his straw pallet, concentrating hard, making sure he could remember all the details of Ulf's death, and what had been said during that day on High Island. The blood…the dead eye…the knots…Somerled's voice, shrill with shock…He was jolted back to the present by a hoarse whisper from the door. Grim stood beyond the grille, flaxen hair, bristling beard, anxious eyes.

“Eyvind!” he hissed. “Wake up, man!”

Eyvind rose and moved forward. He said nothing.

“Listen,” whispered Grim, mouth close to the narrow bars of the door. “Shouldn't be here, haven't got long. Might be able to get you out. You game for it?”

Eyvind could not help himself, his heart thumped, his blood surged with hope. A friend, freedom, a chance to live—gods, how he wanted that!

“How?” he murmured.

“Suppertime, little diversion, one of us slips the bolt. End of the hallway, there's a yard, and a couple of old nags. Up to you then. We'd keep them busy, give you a fighting chance. Better than nothing. What do you say?”

“I can't.” There was no choice; he had known that all along.

“What!”

“I can't. I have to face him; have to tell my side of the story. But thanks. I thought I had no friends left here.”

“Huh.” Grim's eyes flicked one way and the other, watching for the returning guards. “We don't think much of what you've done. That doesn't mean we want you dead. Why not? Why not get away? You've about as much chance against
him,
” he jerked his head in the general direction of the hall, “as a naked babe against an armed warrior. None, that is. Better to die a free man, surely.”

“I can't. Someone has to tell the truth, and it looks as if I'm the only possibility. Grim?”

“What?”

“Where's Eirik? I sent him a message, a while ago. Why isn't he here?”

Grim scowled. “Don't know. Seen nothing of the pair of them, him and Thord, since long before we took the Whaleback. Busy with the ship, I should think. Nearly time to sail. Still, this isn't like him. Eyvind—”

Grim broke off as footsteps sounded along the hallway: the guards returning. “You sure?” he hissed.

Eyvind nodded. Inexplicably, there seemed to be tears in his eyes, and he turned away so his old comrade could not see this sign of weakness. He had to be strong: strong, clever, and calm, like Somerled. The arguments, the facts; he would go over them once more, make sure he would be able to relate them clearly, even with Somerled looking right at him, ready to pounce on any flaws. He sat down again on the straw pallet and tried to concentrate, but his mind seemed to have stopped cooperating. The images he saw in the shadowy cell were not of the voyage to High Island, the climb, the mist, the desperate search and sickening discovery. Instead, he saw the for
est above Hammarsby and two boys walking along a narrow path under tall firs. They went soft-footed, knives and spears ready for the hunt, moving together in a silence of complete understanding. One felt pride:
He's good at this now, and I taught him.
What the other felt, there was no telling. He saw them younger, in the red light of a winter dawn on the frozen lake, one unsteady on his new skates, the other supporting with kind words and strong arms. He saw himself with crudely splinted leg, face white as chalk, staggering down the rocky hillside, and a small, fierce-eyed Somerled struggling to keep him upright. The grim jaw, the scowling determination of that exhausted child set him apart; surely, Eyvind thought, such single-minded courage had destined Somerled for greatness. And he had indeed become a king, just as the seer had foretold.

But…this travesty based on murder, cruelty and lies, this mockery of a true monarch's rule, surely it was not this the cat woman had spoken of? Even he, stupid, muddled Eyvind, whose only skill was with sword and axe, could have done a better job as leader here. For all his cleverness, Somerled had got everything wrong. They must be made to see that. He would make them see it. Eyvind lay down and closed his eyes. Without rest, he had no hope of keeping his wits about him when the time came.
Sleep safely, Bright Star. My hand in yours.

 

Sometime in the darkness Eyvind was woken by voices and the flare of torches, and the sound of bolts being scraped open. It seemed to be time to move. Erlend and Holgar conveyed him out to the hall, his feet still hobbled. Neither said a word, nor did they lay hands on him this time, but walked on either side as if uncertain which they were, warders or bodyguards.

The hall was alive with lamplight and movement and the buzz of anticipatory voices. They ushered Eyvind to the center, facing the table at which Somerled sat, flanked by the men who had been his brother's advisers, and by some who had been elevated by the new chieftain's favor. The captain of the knarr was there: the knarr on which a man called Firehead had died. On every side of the long chamber, men sat on benches or stood in small groups, talking among themselves; the place was packed as full as a temple at the time of sacrifice.
No white goat this time, only a man.
Eyvind's thoughts spun in a way he much disliked, but could not halt.
And Somerled has learned to use the knife; I taught him myself.
He blinked and straightened his shoulders. There must be no sign of weakness. Keep still, stand upright, set a guard on eyes and tongue that they betray no secrets, tell no
more than was strictly necessary.

The hum of voices ceased. Somerled had risen to his feet. He wore a little circlet of finely wrought silver in place of his customary neat hairband; he appeared quite pale, very serious, and every bit a king.

“I call this assembly to order,” he said gravely, not raising his voice. “The matters we must deal with tonight are dark and troubling. They touch on the very safety and security of our settlements on this shore. Our enemy works subtly. He seeks to undermine us by turning our most loyal servants and comrades to traitors, our dearest friends to enemies. Do not think that the great victory we achieved at the Whaleback was the end of this struggle. Oh, no. The fight goes on in the hidden crevices and corners of this land, in the dark caves and sinister places of the earth, on the far-flung islands. The evil works subtly; it is under our very noses, in front of our very eyes before we see it in its true colors.” Somerled sighed, his dark gaze intent on Eyvind. “That is why this hearing has been called without delay. I will not lie to you. You know this man has been my closest friend since childhood, dearer than a brother, sworn to me by blood. You know the pain I feel in pursuing this. I did indeed speak with him, offer help, seeing, as he could not see, the poison our enemy had slipped into his mind. But Eyvind would have none of it. It was he who demanded the formal hearing I conduct tonight. Perhaps he was right to do so. These charges are of the gravest kind, and if we find him guilty, the penalty will match them in severity. You all know what that means.” There was a slight shuffling of feet, a fidgeting around the hall. Grim stood by the western door; Eyvind saw his ferocious scowl. Where was Eirik? Where was Margaret?

“So, we shall commence. I will set forth the charges; Eyvind will have his turn to speak. Decision and penalty will be pronounced tonight, and the sentence carried out at dawn tomorrow. Such affairs unsettle us all; they stand in the way of our plans and endeavors and cast a shadow on the fair fields of our conquest. I cannot have this. I want this over quickly, over and done with.”

Men muttered among themselves again; it seemed to Eyvind to have the sound of agreement. Were there no friends here, nobody who would listen? Had Somerled convinced them all before this had even begun?

“Very well, Eyvind.” The tone had changed now; it was a silky, deceptively soft voice, one Eyvind had heard before in a court of law, deliciously anticipatory, like the sound in the throat of a cat before it moves to take the prey. “The facts are thus. You led your men forward at Ramsbeck with a courage nobody disputes…”

It was an expert account. Somerled held the audience in the palm of his hand as he set out the tale of his Wolfskin's disappearance, his own grief and fury at Eyvind's apparent demise at the hands of King Engus and his warriors. Then there was the ghostly sighting at the lair of the island witches, when he sent his men out to capture Engus's niece. The girl was a sorceress, and had needed to be stopped before she employed her dark arts against his own forces.

As he spoke, Somerled moved out from behind the table and paced to and fro, sometimes behind Eyvind, sometimes before him. Eyvind noticed how this king looked each man in the eye as he passed, as if speaking directly to him. It was unnerving. He set his own gaze forward, fixing on a particular point in the stone wall above the heads of the intently listening arbiters. Soon he himself must speak; he must try to set his case out clearly, weary as he was. He must keep this going, he must not give in. The longer the hearing lasted, the more time he bought for Nessa.

“Then he came back,” Somerled was saying, “in the flesh this time. Odin's bones, I've never felt such joy as I did at that moment, seeing my old friend alive, though a mere shadow of himself. We were poised on the brink of our great victory; I needed no more than my Wolfskin's presence to make that day perfect. I sent him forward to take his place among the others in the vanguard, for despite his obvious weakness he seemed hungry for it. And then…” Somerled's voice faltered. He looked down at his hands, folded before him. “And then…it pains me to put into words what all of you know already. Erlend, lad, stand forward and tell this assembly what happened that dawn at the Whaleback.”