Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (25 page)

A goodly time passed while the man and the boy examined the prize and discussed, in nauseating detail, what creature the meal might be, how it was eaten and other things of equal fascination to the male gender. Lissa found other, more agreeable sights to dwell on.

Then Alwin expressed a desire to cut open the animal to discover what it had eaten. Unwilling to watch, she rose to return to the cottage.

Brandr caught her hand. “Wait.”

He touched the snake’s head and grinned when it dodged away. “Do you wish to eat it, Alwin?”

“Eat it? Nay!”

“Has it bitten you, or threatened you in any way.”

“Nay.”

“I see. You wish to torture it, then?”

Alwin frowned and scratched his head. “Nay.”

“Come, I will aid you. We will begin by skinning it alive, then we will slice slits in its belly from neck to tail and splay it open. I do not know if such creatures feel pain as we do, but it should provide much amusement to watch it twist and writhe, and seek to escape until it dies.”

Alwin swallowed and went pale.

“Do you not wish to join in this fun, Alwin?”

Lissa waited. Alwin glanced from Brandr, to her and back. He gave a slow shake of his head.

Brandr sat back. “Hmmm. Another day, perhaps. Let it go.”

Alwin gulped and nodded. He wasted no time in releasing the snake where he found it.

She let her gaze trace Brandr’s profile as he watched the boy.

He is not given to needless cruelty. I am glad.

He caught and held her gaze. “Alwin has expressed a wish to become a warrior. I have given permission for Sindre to teach him. He will learn to shed blood, soon enough. For now, it does him no harm to think before he kills.”

Just like you.

Brandr pulled from a fold in his tunic a dry, hollow reed. “Come here, thrall.”

Alwin scampered to his side.

“Sit.” With the tip of his sax, Brandr began to carve a hole nigh one end in the hollow tube.

“You make a flute!”

“Já. Do you know how to play?”

Alwin shook his head. “My ma could, though.”

Brandr whittled three more holes in the opposite end of the reed, spacing them at equal widths. His knife soon fashioned smooth finger holds over the openings. With deft flicks and nicks of the blade, a design began to take form along the length, knots and grooves with interlaced whorls. At right angles to each end, he carved double grooves to complement the rest of the pattern.

Lissa watched the flute take shape with no little admiration. The whole process was complete in a remarkably short time. Even Old Beric, a ceorl too ancient to do much of anything else, but who had a knack for woodcarving, was not so accomplished.

Brandr blew away the dust and handed it to Alwin. “It is a simple instrument, easy to learn. Blow into the end, here, while your fingertips rest over the holes.” He fit the boy’s fingers along the tube in a basic position. “If you work at it, vary the blowing of your breath, and try different combinations with the finger holds, you will begin to learn the sounds each make. Then you will discover songs you already know, or make new ones of your own. Just not now!” He grinned as Alwin began to blow a tuneless, teeth-clenching noise. “Until you become proficient, see that you practice where no one else must listen to your mistakes.”

“Thank you, leóf!” Alwin’s tone was just short of adoration. “Never have I had such a gift.”

Brandr ruffled his hair. “See you learn it well, thrall. One day, I may wish for you to entertain my guests.”

Lissa felt a little adoration of her own.

In such a way, would he behave toward his own son. Would that I….

She stopped her thoughts short. It was not wise to give name to such hopes. So then, they would speak of lesser things. “How many summers have you, Brandr?”

“Winters. We say ‘winters’, and I have three and twenty.”

“Were you fostered when you were a boy?”

He slid her an indulgent glance. “For a time, já, then I returned home and Sindre became my instructor. There are few who can best him.”

“He is very large, leóf,” Alwin piped up. “Will I learn to fight as he does?”

“You will have to ask him.”

With a little scoot, Lissa drew closer to Brandr. Her elbow made subtle contact with his, sending tingles along her skin. “Of what do you dream when you are alone, Brandr?”

Her ploy had no effect. He stared at her as if she had asked something utterly absurd.

“Do not give me that look,” she said.

He lifted one brow. When she refused to back down, he said, “What ‘look’ is that?”

“The one men get when they know of what I speak, but wish to pretend they do not.

He started to laugh again. “You imagine things.”

“Then I will ask something else. Why did you risk death-duel with Sindre to defend me?”

His face blanked. He did not immediately answer her, but raised his gaze to the sky.

She waited. Alwin watched, too, his golden brown eyes bright.

Brandr seemed very far away.

He cannot say the words. I had hoped, after his earlier withdrawal, he might admit this much. Is it truly so hard to explain? Perhaps he but needs time. I must be patient.

She opened her mouth, prepared to release him from what was too obviously a dilemma, but was forestalled by a voice behind them.

“Answer the question, Músa. I, too, would know your reasoning.”

Alwin leapt to his feet with a happy shout. “You are back!”

She turned more slowly, but Brandr never flinched. He only smiled.

The big víkingr stood behind them at the base of the mound.

She hid a shiver. He could move like the
gástas
of the old tales. Yet, Brandr had known his uncle approached.

Sindre’s gaze rested briefly on her face, then dismissed her. “A large troop of Alfred’s soldiers travels little more than a league from here. I have trailed them for half this day. They search, though for what, I was unable to discover. Outlaws. Runaway slaves. Us.” He shrugged. “Our friend Captain Preed kept his oath not to follow, but he might have sent word of our passage to the local garrison.” He paused. “We should have killed him.”

Brandr had not moved, had not faced his uncle. “Where are they now?”

“When last I saw them, they moved east, but it would be wise not to be here should they change their mind and come this way. They are many.”

“We will discuss this with the others.”

Silence. Sindre’s gaze centered on Brandr’s back. “As you say, Músa.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Brandr leaned against the wall and listened to the debates.

Sindre, as always, was at their crux. Roots of Yggdrasil, but his uncle did love to quarrel! The current dispute was over Oswulf and Bryda. Would the couple accompany them when they left, and if so, as thralls or free? Sindre insisted they submit to slavery, but Oswulf was a freeman and intended to hold to that status, though he worried for Bryda should they go on alone. Sindre considered the man’s unwillingness to yield the protection of traveling with a group a weakness, and pounced on it like a wolf on prey.

Earlier, they had squabbled over whether to stay overnight, or leave immediately to avoid possibility of encountering the king’s troops. Lissa, curled beside him on the pallet, had said little through it all, and he wondered at her thoughts. Regardless, his own mind was made up.

“Brandr?” Her lyrical voice was soft in his ear, and the sound of his name a delight to his soul. If she worried about the outcome of the arguments, she did not show it. “You have already decided. Why then do you not call a halt to the arguments?”

He gave her his full attention, pleased at her serenity, and gratified she understood him well enough to know his mind. “The news of the troops has them all on edge. The discussions give them a focus for their fears. I will let them work the unease from their hearts, then announce my decisions.” He nodded to where Oswulf, with carving knife and ash wood in hand, sat next to Bryda by the fire. “See you. Oswulf will agree to become my thrall.”

“He will not! All this evening has he declared his intent to remain free.”

“Yet beneath his insistence runs a reluctance to submit Bryda and his unborn child to the dangers of the wild. He knows they will be safer if they travel with us. He will yield for her sake. Sindre knows it.”

“I do not agree. Bryda is strong, and she…what did you say? What child?”

“Look more closely. Have you seen what he carves?”

She looked more carefully. “It is a toy! A horse, made to fit the hand of a small child. Oh, but he could be carving it for someone else, or because he has naught else to do.”

He let his amusement at her argument show. “I think not. To whom would he give it, and does Oswulf seem to you the type of man who would carve a toy for no purpose? She has tried to hide it, but Bryda has been ill each morn. She slips out to the woods ahead of others to empty the contents of her stomach. She is well the rest of the day. Have you not also noticed she goes to relieve herself more oft than any of us? These are things I have seen in the women of my family when they carried a child, especially the wife of Sindre.”

Her golden eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Sindre is
married?
”

“Not any more. His wife died giving birth to their first child, a boy, who also did not live.” The revelation had startled her. “Why are you so surprised? Sindre is a man, like any other.”

“It is only that he seems….” She shrugged.

He grinned, understanding all too well, but the mirth quickly passed. “He cared for her, and bragged unceasingly about becoming a father. We had never seen him so happy. Their deaths were very difficult for him.”

“That explains much.” Her voice held sadness.

“Do not let Sindre see you pity him.”

“I will not. About Bryda. Will you use Oswulf’s care for his wife against him, then?” She looked at him with pleading in her eyes. “Must they become thralls? Are Alwin and I not enough for your needs?”

It worried her. He held her gaze, watching the gold in her eyes reflect the firelight. “Think you a víkingr ever has thralls enough to sell? Do you not know our greed is legend?” He chuckled at her frown and reached to tap the tip of her nose with his finger. “Worry not. My decision is made. Oswulf will serve me, but he will not find it burdensome.”

She nodded, but did not look convinced.

As they conversed, the room had quieted.

Brandr sat straight. “Hear me,” he said. “Now that the arguments are exhausted, I will tell you what shall be done. For now, we have no need of haste, so I deem it less wise to move through strange land in the dark than to take one last night of rest where we are. We will wait till morn to leave, but we will set double watch, Turold with Sindre and Oswulf with me. If any comes nigh, we will know of it soon enough.” He waited. No one objected. “Oswulf, show to all what you carve.”

The man threw him a wondering glance, but held up the toy.

“Do you speak of it, or shall I?”

All eyes turned to the ceorl. He smiled, unable to hold his pride inside. “Bryda is with child.”

Startled silence was replaced with good wishes. Sindre wore his disgusted look, but Turold grabbed his lyre and began a merry chant.

Brandr waited for the clamor to die down. “Oswulf.”

The ceorl tensed.

“Are you willing to submit to become my thrall, in exchange for my protection?”

The lyre sounded a discordant note before falling silent.

Oswulf struggled, his desire to refuse plain. He cupped Bryda’s face in his hand. “This day, we talked of it.” He leaned close to his wife, holding her eyes. “I know you would remain free, but I will not risk you and our child.” She gave a little cry, but he covered her lips with his thumb. “I will do what I must, for the sake of the babe.” He looked up. “Aye, I will become your slave, but I ask that Bryda remain free.”

Brandr nodded. Beside him, Lissa held her breath. “I accept your service, Oswulf.” He paused. A barely perceptible sigh floated around the room, but he was not finished. “I will accept your service, but as freeman, not thrall. You and your wife will kneel and swear loyalty to me, and my house—when I have earned one.” He grinned. “In exchange, I offer my protection. Do you find this decision satisfactory?”

Lissa’s small hand covered his where it rested on his thigh. He did not have to look at her to know she found his choice honorable. Inside his heart, something ill at ease and restless was mollified.

“Aye. This is agreeable.” Relief vied with gratitude in Oswulf’s tone. “We will do it now.”

Close as they were to where he sat, they had only to turn and come to their knees. The oath was quickly offered.

Brandr met Sindre’s eyes across the room, satisfied to see there a grudging acceptance. Perhaps his uncle was beginning to learn there were other options to his own way.

“There is one more matter that must be dealt with, and that is the chance we go into ambush.” He laid out the situation with Talon, and Lissa’s certainty the first marshal had not given up the search for them. “There is little we can do except be wary, especially when approaching a place, such a river ford or a narrow pass, where a trap might easily be laid. That we know of the intent, robs them of the element of surprise. So far as we know, there are one and ten who travel with the first marshal.” He turned to Lissa. “Might he have gained more men?”

“Possibly, though I know he did not take much coin with him when he left Yriclea. Thegn Wolnoth said he would not need it. He would have to find men willing to fight for other reasons, for he will not be able to pay for the service.”

“Other reasons, such as hatred for Northmen?”

“Yes.”

He rose and stretched. The discussion was over. “Alwin, aid me.”

While Alwin cleaned and polished his ring shirt, he taught him how it was made, and how the links were formed to turn a blade. Oswulf and Turold went out to the shed to pack the smoked meat to carry with them the next day. Lissa sat with Bryda, much of their discussion about the new babe.