Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 (15 page)

“How is the training progressing?” he asked Erik.

“Already she bests me at the magic of runes,” Erik said truthfully.

“Then if she sent you a runic message, you would understand her?”

“Ja,”
Erik said with a soul-piercing glance at her. “We understand each other.”

“Good,” Damian said. “According to the dispatches I’ve received, the time for our departure to the city draws near. Now all that remains is to determine how best to trigger a touch of the falling sickness so Valdis will come to the attention of those I intend for her to impress.”

“It's not something I can conjure from thin air,” she said. “The spells steal over me when I least expect them. If I knew what caused them, be assured I would avoid it.”

“Knowledge is power. Knowing what causes the fits is profitable to you. Use it now when you must. Protect yourself with the same knowledge later,” Damian said. “Think back to each time the spirits possessed you. What were you doing?”

Valdis sank back onto the bench. He was asking her to call up her demon and make it do her bidding. She didn't think she could summon that power.

Or possessed the will to grasp and wield it.

“At the Hippodrome, I was watching the chariot race, as you were,” she said. “There was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“What of the other times?” Damian demanded. “Surely there were other episodes.”

She nodded. “Before the
jarl's
assembly in Birka.”

“Large crowds, both times then. There's one point of commonality and a press of people is something we'll find in abundance in the city. What else?”

Valdis remembered waking on the Nordic hillside, her clothing stained from thrashing on the long grass. She had no knowledge of what had befallen her and no one was nearby but a flock of geese. “I was not always in a crowd.”

“Then it must be something else.” Damian rubbed a hand over his face. “A sound, a sight, a smell, a visitation of the falling sickness must be heralded by something. Think.”

Valdis squeezed her eyes shut and tried to retrace her steps. She was shooing the geese down the hill toward the settlement. She stopped and looked out over the distant fjord, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ragnvald's
drakar
gliding into the harbor. It was one of those unusually bright days of high summer and she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of sun on the water. The incoming tide made the light ripple in rhythmic pulses. A tingle shot from the top of her head down her spine.

Light?

Was it possible so small a thing could call up the beast within her?

She'd tried to banish the horrible day of her humiliation before the
jarlhof
from her mind, but now she combed that memory as well. She'd ridden in her family's wagon, lumbering into the settlement at a walk as they approached the
jarlhof.
All the
jarl's
pledge-men, their mail gleaming, were lined up on either side of the plank road as a sign of honor and welcome to Ragnvald's bride.

Her father couldn't resist showing off the speed his team could reach on solid planking instead of the spongy ruts that served as roads leading into Birka. He chirruped to the horses and they were off at a gallop, clacking over the faster surface toward the massive
jarlhof,
where Ragnvald and his father waited for them. The pledge-men's mail glinted at Valdis in repetitive flashes as she sped along. Her sister had giggled in delight at their speed, but the sound seemed distant to Valdis's ear.

It was her last clear memory of the day that upended her world.

Again, light.

And at the Hippodrome, just before Loki began growling his warning, the gilt spokes of the chariot wheels spun like glittering circles in her head.

Could it be? She opened her eyes and decided to test her theory. Everyone in Damian's household enjoyed the fountain in the courtyard, but while Valdis liked its cheerful patter, she rarely looked at it. Now she turned her full attention on the falling water.

The crystalline drops fell in the same pattern, one always on another's heels. That would provide her the repetition she sought.

Now for the light.

Sun sparkled on the south side of the fountain. From this angle, a small star pulsed at the summit of the water's path, glinting relentlessly. Valdis stared at the point of light, wondering if so ethereal a thing might be the gateway to the falling sickness.

The men were talking in low tones and she heard Erik exclaim that if Damian truly wanted to pass Valdis off as a
seid-
woman
,
there was only one way. Damian seemed to be arguing with Erik, but his voice grew indistinct and muffled. Valdis couldn't understand him. Her fingertips tingled and at her hemline, Loki growled softly and nosed her ankles. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from the dancing light. The little dog whined.

Blackness so deep it engulfed even the light of the star wrapped itself around Valdis and she knew no more.

“Now look what you've done,” Erik accused as he cradled Valdis's bucking body. Her splendidly mismatched eyes rolled in their sockets, showing only the whites.

“Let her be,” Damian ordered. “I want to see what she'll do.”

“She might injure herself.” Erik held her all the tighter. “Why did you drive her to this?”

Damian rubbed his hands together, barely containing his elation. “She drove herself to it, and so quickly too. Once she recovers from a fit, the superstitious will believe every word that drops from her lips.”

Valdis thrashed with more violence.

“I'd believe it myself if I didn't know the sickness for what it is,” Damian whispered in awe. The spell started to pass and Valdis ceased struggling. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where she'd bitten herself. “We'd be fools not to use so powerful a weapon placed in our hands.”

“She's not a weapon,” Erik said. “She's a woman.”

“Valdis is a means to an end—the further glory of the New Rome.”

Damian took time from congratulating himself on his own cleverness to cast a superior sneer at Erik. “As a military man, I am surprised you do not know the value not only of covertly gathered information, but also about the spread of false information to your enemy. Valdis is the perfect conduit for both.”

As her body shuddered once more, Erik decided he could think of only one enemy worth destroying: the posturing eunuch named Damian Aristarchus.

Within days of Valdis's dance with her demon, Damian Aristarchus ordered them back to Miklagard. Much to Erik's disgust, the eunuch occupied all Valdis's waking hours. While the servants packed, Aristarchus filled her head with the nonsense she must convince some poor dupe was a message directly from the world of spirits.

By night, her door remained closed.

Erik reluctantly admitted her wisdom in the matter. He was shamed by his willingness to endanger her with another visit to her chamber, but he'd have dared it if she so much as crooked her smallest finger his way. He thought she'd witched him before. Now he was certain of it.

And to his surprise, he didn't mind one bit.

During the ride back to the great city, though the eunuch's constant presence allowed them no private speech, Erik was satisfied just to be near her, to hear her voice, and to watch the play of light on her face.

Part of him hoped she’d changed her mind and decide to chance making a run with him for parts unknown.

But then the party arrived back at the Imperial Palace and Valdis disappeared into her silken gaol. Erik was summarily dismissed.

Every day after that, he'd made an appearance at the royal residence, demanding speech with the chief eunuch, only to be told that Damian Aristarchus was an exceedingly busy person, but perhaps time might be made to see him later if the Varangian cared to put his request in writing. Oh! But of course a
barbaroi
couldn't be expected to be able to write out his request. So sorry. If the Varangian officer would be pleased to return on the morrow, or better yet, sometime next week ...

There was no question of him seeing Valdis. She was locked up tighter than a vestal virgin in the temple of the eunuch's chambers, waiting until Aristarchus was ready to initiate his much vaunted plan. But one evening, Erik thought he caught a glimpse of her standing on the balcony, looking out over the granite heads of the Acropolis toward the blue waters of the Bosporus.

Did she regret not running away with him?

Whether she did or not, Erik could not rest, could not even report back to his commander till he knew for certain that Aristarchus would heed him in the matter they'd quarreled over before Valdis fell into that last shuddering fit. She was still bound for a zenana. That much was certain. Erik might not be able to change her fate, but he might make the tunnel she must pass through a little less dark.

It was worth a try.

That morning he decided he was done with Byzantine delaying tactics. He shoved past the first eunuch who tried to bar his way. When the distraught official called for assistance, the
tagmata
who responded turned out to be a man Erik knew from skirmishes on the practice field.

“I have business with Damian Aristarchus that won't wait,” he explained to his fellow soldier.

“It's all right, Benedict,” the
tagmata
told the fluttering eunuch. “He means no harm. If this Varangian were up to no good, your hands would already be looking for your head. Let the man pass and see to his business.”

Still, the little eunuch had insisted that Erik be disarmed. Once he handed over his battle ax and gladius, Erik was escorted through the polished marble halls and down the many stairs to Damian's lair.

He pounded on the silver-plated door, and when he heard no word granting him admittance, he shoved the portal open anyway. The chief eunuch was at his desk, as he'd been when Erik was first forced into the man's service, still absorbed by the administrative documents instead of looking up to see who had just battered down his door.

“Hello, Varangian,” Damian said without removing his gaze from his desk. Then he cast a quick glance at Erik before returning to perusing the scroll before him. “Don't look so surprised. Do you think I wouldn't know the moment you set foot on Imperial marble that you were on your way to see me? I have eyes in places you would never think to look.”

“Then you know I've tried several times. Why did you refuse me?” Erik growled.

“Because as you can see, I'm a very busy man.” Damian spread his hands over the paperwork on his desk. “And you have yet to report back to your commander. If I told Quintilian you've been released from my service for over a week, he'd hang you as a deserter. I've heard that Northmen put much store in the manner of their death. What's so important that you'd risk an ignoble one?”

Damian indicated that Erik should sit in the chair opposite him. While he would have preferred to stand, this was the eunuch's home ground. The engagement must be fought under his rules. Until Erik could find a way to change them.

“It concerns Valdis.”

“I surmised as much.” Damian steepled his hands before him. “Put your mind at ease. She is content and ready to begin her new life.”

“It's the manner of that life that troubles me. You still wish to convince someone that she is a
seid-
woman,
ja?"

Damian lifted an eyebrow in assent.

“Then you must make sure whoever takes her into his harem is aware that in order for a
seid-
woman to work her magic and foretell events, there are certain requirements in the North. Chastity for one.”

“She must remain a virgin?”

“A true adept keeps herself pure to focus all her energies on spelling. As you well know, power exacts a price, and spiritual power is even more demanding than worldly power. If there were another
seid
master here in Miklagard, he would tell you the same.” Erik was confident no
seid-
man would be found beyond the cozy reach of his own fire in the far north.

“Does a male
seid
practitioner maintain the same virtue?”

Erik grimaced. Damian had probably looked into his background when he first came into his service and knew he was not above frequenting the company of dancers and whores on occasion. “
Seid
-men are required to make other sacrifices on the altar of the powers. Besides, are not the rules for men and women different all over the world?”

Damian snorted at that. "You have a point."

Aristarchus might be only a half-man, but Erik suspected he wouldn't change places with a woman on a bet. Unless a Byzantine woman was a member of the royal family, she had far less personal freedom than her Nordic sisters.

“Valdis may be only shamming the power, but something of
seid
must be true in order for her to be convincing.” Erik pressed his advantage. “Wherever she is placed, her prescient abilities provide more opportunities to gather information than as a concubine.”

“You might be surprised what a man will tell his bed partner if he's properly... motivated,” Damian said wryly.

“But he'll take advice from someone whose wisdom he trusts,” Erik countered. “As a respected voice of counsel, Valdis can spread the misinformation you intend with far more credibility than as a bed slave.”

“Valdis is trained to be an odalisque. Since she was promised freedom, she's been willing to perform in whatever capacity deemed necessary for the good of the Empire. That seems to bother you inordinately.” Damian stood and crossed over to a side table that held an amphora of wine. He splashed some of the amber liquid into a silver chalice and took a sip, failing to offer any to Erik, though a second chalice stood waiting. “Why is that, I wonder?”

Erik decided to ignore the question. He stood to go. “You asked me to prepare Valdis to pretend to have
seid
abilities. My only concern is to make sure she is as convincing as possible, both for her safety and the success of the mission. If your frustrated fixation with the bedchamber leads you to disregard my advice, so be it. When your scheme fails, don't blame me.”