Silk Dreams - Songs of the North 3 (34 page)

A fresh growl rose from the crowd as a band of armed men a hundred strong followed the chariots out and turned midway in the field to climb into the stands. Spectators who lingered too long in their seats were cut down as the mob made its way toward the emperor's box.

Swords flashed from the Imperial guard as they prepared to make their stand against a larger force. Panic sent the crowd stampeding to the exits, trampling underfoot those too slow to get out of the way. Valdis pressed herself against the wall as the fleeing populace surged past her.

Over the din, she heard an unearthly sound, a feral howl bursting from myriad masculine throats as if from a single raging beast.

A
berserkr
cry.

Only a troop of Northmen, a decade of Varangians could make that noise. She fought against the tide of people to see what was happening. Jabbing with her sharp elbows, she worked her way further into the stadium.

The armed insurgents reached the defenders and the fight was enjoined in deadly earnest. A man standing in front of the emperor bellowed an order and another ten men threw off their cloaks to reveal the Varangian
byrnnie
beneath.

Valdis's hand flew to her heart.

The man standing in front of the emperor, laying about him with his battle-ax, protecting the Bulgar-Slayer with his own body, was her Erik.

In some ways, every battle was the same—the same dry mouth, the same queasiness that disappeared the moment he first drew his weapon. Erik was acutely aware of the drumbeat of his own heart pounding in his ears. It dulled the sharp cries of injured and dying men around him. A thousand tiny details clamored for his attention: the glint of sunlight on an opponent's blade, the cloying reek of blood and entrails, an occasional whiff of urine, the whoosh as a sword sliced the air near his good ear, the black mole on an enemy fighter's misshapen nose. Each image, scent or sound would haunt him later with knife-sharp clarity, but he dismissed them now while he hacked away in the melee.

Power surged through his limbs. The ax handle became an extension of his arm, its swing a study in deadly grace. He breathed in rhythm with each stroke, not taking time to tally the fallen. Only one thing was necessary in battle: keep moving and make sure your opponent stops.

A
berserkr
roar burst from his lips as another insurgent came within the arc of his ax. A man was never more alive than when he was but a finger-width from death.

But Erik never had so much to lose before. One misstep, one slow turn and not only would he be done for, but he'd miss out on a life with the woman who made breathing worthwhile. He shoved all thought of Valdis away as he ducked beneath a scything blade.

Time expanded and contracted around him as the rebels kept coming. His arm grew heavier, but he kept swinging. Someone yelled that more rebels were coming up the back tunnel, closing off the emperor's escape. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the Bulgar-Slayer had thrown off his jewel-encrusted crown and picked up the sword of one of his fallen guards. The Lord of All the Earth's hair might be iron-gray, but he still had the grit to show men how he'd earned his nickname. Erik pivoted to face the new threat, placing himself between the fresh enemy fighters and the emperor.

The clatter of steel on steel echoed around the emptying arena. The battle flared up to a white-hot inferno, a conflagration from which it seemed none would escape, and then just as suddenly, burned itself out. The last insurgent was stopped by Erik's double-bladed ax.

No more rebels charged up the stadium stairs or out of the dark tunnel. Erik straightened and looked around. Hauk and a handful from his command were still on their feet. Many more were clutching wounds or staring sightlessly into the pitiless sun. Unspeakably weary and bleeding from a dozen flesh wounds, Erik pulled his ax blade from the chest of his last foe with a squelching sound.

The emperor was upright and unhurt. Though his snowy palla was blood-spattered, none of it was his. Erik breathed a sigh of relief.

“Erik!”

He turned to see Valdis running toward him with that silly little dog of hers yapping behind her. Fresh life surged through his limbs and he leapt over the fallen bodies to meet her on the steps of the Hippodrome.

“You're alive!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around him and peppered his jaw with kisses, heedless of the battle grime. Even Loki clamored around his knees, excited to see him for the first time.

He held her close and inhaled in her scent, the cleansing breath an affirmation that there was truth and beauty in the world after all. The eunuch had kept his promise. Valdis was alive and she was his. Her body pressed against him left Erik with an aching erection, but right now it was enough just to hold her and let the world slide by them.

But the world was never content to do anything so benign as that.

“You there, Varangian!” Erik heard the emperor bellow. “Return to us this instant.”

Erik trudged back to the carnage in the Imperial box, leading Valdis behind him, loath to release her hand for a moment.

The aging potentate narrowed his eyes at Erik for the space of several heartbeats. “We know you. You captained the pirate
dhow
in the Harbor of Theodosius.”

Erik nodded. “Your Majesty came very close to removing my head from my body that day.”

“But not close enough. You crippled my ship,” the emperor accused.

Erik hadn't known the Bulgar-Slayer was onboard. He wanted to give the fleet a taste of true battle. A thousand excuses leapt to Erik's lips, but he knew none would satisfy. “Yes, my lord, I crippled your ship,” he admitted.

“You deviated from your orders and made us appear weak before the populace,” the emperor continued, his black eyes snapping. “You placed our Majesty in danger from our nephew's minions on the lion ship.”

Erik felt as if he was before the lawspeaker, about to be convicted all over again. He hung his head and tightened his grip on Valdis's hand. He never should have stayed to fight this last battle. He should have stolen her away in the confusion and let the Greeks sort things out for themselves.

“Then you placed your craft between us and danger and sacrificed your entire crew to save our royal neck.” The emperor's face split into a wide smile. “We thought you dead with the rest of your gallant Northmen. And today you have risked yourself for us again. It is not often we receive loyalty from a man who has already died once in our service. How shall we reward you?”

Erik blinked in surprise. He'd expected punishment, but instead the Lord of the Byzantines was offering him whatever he wanted. He could think of only one thing.

"My lord, I have served you for many years. Let my release from your service be my reward. I have already secured passage to Ravenna on a ship leaving with the evening tide. I desire nothing more than your permission to leave this city with my woman.” He turned to Valdis and cupped her cheek. “My wife, if she'll have me.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes and she whispered the word he longed to hear: “Yes.”

The emperor studied Erik for a moment, chin in hand. Then he shook his head. “We give you permission to leave the Empress City, but not to withdraw from our service. We have even more need of loyal men at the far edges of the Empire than we do here. The garrison at Ravenna is in want of a new prefect. Consider yourself promoted.” He turned to the captain of his guard. “Now let us return to the Imperial Palace to consider what must be done with our purple-born nephew. Take a detachment and bring Leo to me with all speed.”

Valdis and Erik stood at the gunwale of the Imperial
drommond,
watching the spiky skyline of Miklagard slide past them. They were still bound for the distant port of Ravenna, but the emperor insisted they go in style to Erik's new position. Lights from the Imperial Palace danced on the choppy waters of the Sea of Marmara, streaks of silver on the purling surf. Erik slipped his arm around Valdis's waist. She shivered.

“You're not sorry to be leaving, are you?” he asked.

“No, there's nothing for me in the city.” She cast a quick glance up at him. He was glad he'd made sure to have the good side of his face toward her. Even so, he rarely caught her looking at him. She probably couldn't bear to.

“From what the Bulgar-Slayer tells me, there's plenty waiting for us in Ravenna. Aside from the hefty rise in pay, the prefect's position comes with a fine home in town for winter and a summer villa in the nearby mountains.” Now that Valdis was free, nothing stopped her from returning to the North. He hoped she wouldn't regret coming with him to yet another southern city. “Ravenna's not home, but Hauk said the mountains and the narrow sea reminded him a little of the North when he was there last.”

She smiled at him. “Anywhere I'm with you, I'll be home. I'm sorry if I seem preoccupied, but I was just thinking about Damian,” she said as she turned to stare at the disappearing metropolis. “‘Everything has happened just as it should,’ he said. It's still hard for me to believe he willingly took my goblet. He knew he had drunk my death, and he actually smiled at me.”

“We made a deal. Damian convinced me he knew how to save you and would do so, if I guarded the emperor. I didn't know exactly what he was planning, but he was driven to protect the Bulgar-Slayer at all costs. And he kept his word to you as well,” Erik said with admiration in his tone. “He knew exactly what he wanted to accomplish and he was willing to do whatever it took. He may have lived a eunuch, but he died a man.”

“It would have made him happy to hear you say so,” Valdis said with a sad smile. Then she turned her gaze on him and the smile changed to a look of unmistakable invitation. The pale brow arched above her dark eye. “Perhaps we can name our first son after him.”

“Damian Eriksson.” Erik tested the name on his tongue. "If we're blessed with a son, nothing would make me happier. But that assumes I get you with a son. The sooner the better.” He took her hand to lead her to the sumptuous cabin below decks that had been reserved for them.

From the luxurious appointments, Erik guessed this was the cabin the emperor himself used when he sailed on this vessel. A row of windows looked out over the stern, and the room even had its own private head. An oil lamp swung from a hook above an ebony commode fitted with a brass basin for washing.

Loki had already claimed a corner and curled up in Erik's discarded cloak. The little dog finally seemed to accept Erik's place in his mistress's life and had ceased growling at him at every opportunity.

The only complaint Erik had about their quarters was that the space was designed with the much smaller Greeks in mind. The cabin ceiling was so low Erik had to stoop to avoid knocking his head. But the room boasted a fine bed, even if it were somewhat short by Nordic standards. It was a bed Erik hoped would see hard use during this long passage.

A swell made the ship rise suddenly and he narrowly missed banging his forehead on a low beam.

“Sit down,” Valdis urged him. “I don't want to spend my wedding night with an unconscious groom.”

“Let me douse the lamp first.”

“No, leave it,” Valdis said with a hand to his forearm. “I want to see you.”

Erik sank onto the end of the bed and studied his hands. She was so beautiful. A light-gilded elf maiden could scarcely be fairer. While he'd never thought of himself as a particularly handsome man before, now his injury rendered him ugly as a troll. He shook his head.

“How can you bear to see me?”

She sank to her knees between his legs and forced him to look into her seductively mismatched eyes. “How can you bear to hold me when the Raven comes for my mind and I know not who or what I am?”

“You can't help your malady.”

“And you can't undo the past,” she said softly. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me when I thought you dead? I'm so grateful to have you back from the water and the flames, I'll not complain over a few changes.”

A few changes.
Erik had seen children stare unabashedly at his ruined visage, pointing and nudging each other, till their mothers bundled them out of his sight. Even battle-hardened men had trouble meeting his gaze without wincing. He was hideous and he knew it.

“A wise woman told me once that a life cannot be judged by what is lost, but by what remains,” Valdis said, reaching up a tentative hand to touch his ravaged cheek. “Shall I tell you what I see, Erik? I see a man who swears to his own hurt and does not change. I see a man who will not abandon his duty even in the face of death. I see a man of honor and courage.”

“You must see what no one else does.”

“We are not just flesh and bones, you and I. I see your soul, Erik.” A single tear coursed down her cheek. “And it is dazzling in its strength and beauty. I see the man I will love with my whole heart till I am but ashes.” She lean forward and kissed him.

He tasted the salt of her tear at the corner of her mouth. His tongue slid in to play with hers, a quiet seeking game. Her fingers tightened where she rested them on his shoulders. When he released her mouth, she smiled at him, and for a moment, he saw his reflection in her eyes. His face was whole in the warmth of her love.

They took their time. With unhurried delight, he undressed her and allowed her to tug him out of his clothes as well. He traced every crevice: the crook of her elbows, the hollow between her breasts, every curve of her luscious body with his fingertips. Then when she pressed against his chest, he lay back and surrendered to her exploration. She handled every bit of him, kissing the scarred flesh and touching with love his most unlovely parts. Under her uncritical acceptance, his healing was complete.

Their leisurely loving woke a deep hunger, a raw emptiness. When their bodies finally joined, it was with the sweetness and completeness of a homecoming. The North might be forever barred to him, but he found his home in Valdis's welcoming arms. He buried himself in her, wrapping himself in her love and giving his with equal measure. Not until her body spasmed around him did he allow himself release. He called out her name, cried out his love for her, his longing and loneliness fading in their oneness.