Warrior, page 4
I nodded silently, beginning a casual retreat.
He caught me almost immediately, holding me lightly by the arm. It was a gesture almost as casual as my own, but I instinctively knew there was no breaking his grip.
“You see what they give them?” he asked the others, flicking the pin on my shoulder. “A charm to open any door, who would ever suspect them?” He grinned again, having drunk quite a bit already. “We have come to a nest of intrigue, and they are the perfect little spies.”
...what?!
Some of the officers were still watching, most were drinking. Either way, it seemed the time to say something in my own defense.
With another charming smile, I shook my head. “I’ve come only to pour the ale. I’ll make sure at the feast, your glasses are full.”
This earned another appreciative cheer, but the man wasn’t finished. His eyes fastened with intensity onto mine, as he pulled a silver coin from his pocket. It glimmered in the torchlight.
“We are living in dangerous times, little flower. Many powerful people, with powerful agendas, drinking and plotting, jostling for power.” He paused, staring intently. “If you should hear anything that might be of interest...I trust you will not keep it to yourself.”
The coin glinted between us, and I managed a shaking nod.
“No, I...I will not.”
Chapter 4
From the cool shadows of the barracks, I stepped a bit waveringly into the bright sunlight, blinking as my eyes adjusted, still feeling the faint curdling of avoided danger and shock. I wasn’t sure the man who’d sent me on the errand had any knowledge of how strange it would become; how I would be offered money beyond my rank and station, and tasked with slipping into the most secret of corners and bringing information back to the soldiers’ forbidden hut.
I had not taken the money. It had not technically been offered, merely held in the torchlight for all the world to see. Ours was a blunt land, open and unyielding, the lines of the map carved with the swing of an axe. But there was intrigue, as there was in any place where a large enough group of people had gathered together. We had rumor and mystery and spies. I had simply never been asked to be a part of it. That was for the people who lived inside the fence. I was an afterthought.
But perhaps that’s why he asked, I thought, touching the pin on my shoulder and trying to recount the man’s words. A key to open any door, and why not? Who would ever suspect them?
“Not what you were expecting?” a loud voice said behind me. I startled to the present and saw the pair of guards standing outside the door, looking supremely bored and slightly resentful to have been kept away from the festivities. They could hear them well enough, but the street was empty on both ends. “You see her face? It looks as though she’s been given a fright.”
The other chuckled, like it was some kind of game. Indeed, they had been playing. Unknown to their commanding officers, a pair of dice sat on an overturned barrel between them. They had been scooped quickly into a pocket, whenever a set of footsteps headed for the door.
“Perhaps they merely gave her a drink,” the other answered, as a reflexive flush colored my cheeks. A long cloak trailed down his shoulders, pristine and dyed in the king’s colors, the hem muddied with grass and dirt. “It’s not for everyone, a great deal stronger than their southern ale.”
“Is the world tilting, sweetheart?” said the first, picking up on the chase. It was mocking and practiced, they were trading off lines. The corners of his beard lifted as he grinned. “Do you need some water? Are you having trouble remembering why you came?”
“You should go back inside,” the other suggested innocently. His eyes told a different story, sharp and glinting in the shaded half-light. “I’m sure they’d be glad to help you remember.”
How many times today will someone call me a whore?
Instead of answering, I tipped my head curtly, just enough as formality required, before turning on my heel and heading straight back the way I’d come. My boots echoed loudly off the empty store backs and the bare walls of houses, marking each retreating step. I kept my pace steady as far as their eyes could see, but the moment I rounded the corner, I broke into a run.
* * *
The courtyard had continued to fill, in the time I had left it. More shops had opened, the fires were burning, and wooden booths had been erected along the edges; the subsequent crowds took up every available inch of space. Never in my life had I seen so many people. It overwhelmed the senses, ringing the ears and dizzying the eyes. The stench alone was sure to have stretched all the way to the forest; a thick clouding aroma of sweat, and animals, and smoke, and ale.
The ale quickly rose to take prominence. It grew stronger as I neared the main hall.
The crowds were a bit thinner there, contained to the sprawling market. The only people who were permitted entry, were either the selected attendants or those of noble birth. A pair of horses were tethered alongside, with bridles and adornments fine as any I’d seen. A bored-looking servant stood beside them. The sword that hung from his belt was leather-gripped and cold steel.
A rush of nerves swept through me, not dissimilar from when I’d approached the barracks, and I paused a moment outside the heavy doors, smoothing down the front of my tunic and making sure the brooch I’d been given could be plainly seen. When Trina had told me to stay within the relative safety of the great feasting hall, I’d nodded obediently, but we both knew it was a long shot at best. The people who dined in the chamber were the same ones who’d built the fence—the ones who’d be least glad to see me, though they’d be happy enough to let me fill their cups.
That being said, they were shorthanded. No one saw anything past the brooch.
By the stars, what a madhouse.
I paused in the entryway, choking a little on the smoke, and staring with wide eyes at the controlled sort of chaos raging within. It had been muffled by the walls, but was more hectic even than the market. Only a few seconds later, I discovered the reason why.
A raven had come with news.
The king’s caravan was picking its way across a trail that had been partially washed out by the river, and the grand noontime feast had turned into an early supper. While that granted more time to some, it left others in a dizzying tailspin of preparation. The sconces were filled with fresh tapers, as baskets of kindling were gathered for the fires. The animals that had been delivered for slaughter were granted a few more hours, grazing in the fading sunlight, while extra benches were fetched for the tables, and the food that was already cooked was delivered on platters outside.
The tension was palpable, and from the moment I pushed open the great doors, I felt myself become just one of a hundred faceless attendants; a pair of ready arms and servile hands.
“Oh good, there’s another.”
A woman I’d never seen before grabbed me with a pair of clawed fingers, ignoring my startled gasp of air, as she swung me away from the entrance way and angled me towards the kitchen. A man was standing in the doorway, barking orders to everyone within earshot.
“Present yourself quickly, and do whatever is asked.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke; her eyes seemed to be constantly roving—sweeping over the preparations and picking out faults and details invisible to the common eye. “We have no time for mistakes, you understand this? Complete whatever task is assigned to the letter, and you will be given two penningar at the end of the night.”
Two penningar, our silver coins. Same as the soldier had offered.
“Yes, mistress,” I answered swiftly, keeping my eyes on the ground.
She looked at me then, making a quick assessment. Whatever she determined, she appeared to be pleased. “You’re a pretty one, I’m not surprised they sent you in here. But no matter what happens, you are here to work. I won’t have the king’s squire complaining—”
A great table heaved in the background, halfway overturning, as a pair of servants attempted to drag it closer to the fire. There was a clattering of dishes, and the woman let out a hissing oath. By the time I turned, she was already gone. I looked after her a moment, before hurrying to the kitchen.
The smells and sounds that had been freewheeling around the courtyard were in tighter concentration here. The closer I got, I could feel the vibrations shaking up through my feet. By the time I reached the entry, my cheeks were flushed with the steam from a dozen bubbling caldrons.
My new taskmaster was still wedged in the entryway, talking to three people at once—none of whom seemed permitted to say anything in return.
He was a froggish-looking man, with eyes too big for his face and a tongue that was always moving. When it wasn’t flapping in speech, it was poking at the corners of his mouth, like a captive plotting a secret escape. When he saw me standing there, those bulging eyes fastened onto mine.
“What? Speak!”
Charming.
“I was told to report,” I replied curtly, not seeing the need for anything more. It felt like I’d been saying the same words all morning, going from one frazzled person to the next.
Indeed, the man didn’t see it as insolence, but seemed to appreciate the brevity. His eyes scanned me only for a moment before he reached behind him and plopped a silver tray into my hands. There were pitchers of ale alongside it. He grabbed two handles and set them on top.
“Take this,” he instructed, “walk around the outer tables and keep the glasses full. These are bannermen,” he added sharply, watching to make sure I understood. “They do not need to ask for things, you must provide them. Anything,” he added again, pointedly, “anything they should require.”
The message was clear, but I pretended it wasn’t. Oftentimes, the best way out of these situations was to either play stupid, or draw a blade. Given the two penningar waiting for me at the end of the evening, I went with the former—gripping the tray with a tight smile.
“I’ll do my best.”
* * *
Despite the roaring fires and skyward slit down the middle, the feasting hall was relatively dim, and I blinked quickly when I stepped through the heavy doors into the bright sunlight. The tables where the man had directed me had been set apart from the main courtyard, in an area of grass that had been hastily prepared for exactly this occasion. The king might have been delayed, but his bannermen had been pouring in for weeks, bolstered by their attendants and households, and one could not simply oust them to prepare for the feast. They would need the promise of something better, to accept their logistical banishment—quiet exclusivity, laid out in the summer sun.
I took a moment to gather myself, another to balance the tray, then I fixed on a bland smile and started drifting around the outskirts—stopping every so often when a raised goblet appeared in front of me, or I heard the familiar call for more ale!
They might have been the great lords of our land, but in a lot of ways, it wasn’t so different from the nights I found work in the tavern. Men were men, everywhere, whether you dressed them up in rich furs or not. These ones were in fine spirits, having been at the settlement the better part of a month, with nothing to do but drink and hunt and whore at their leisure. They already had their favorite picks at the brothels, and the food had been set according to their tastes. The king would soon arrive, and the celebration would begin in earnest. The calls came louder, and more frequently.
More ale!
I drifted from group to group, never staying too long, having long ago mastered the art of making myself invisible. It wasn’t always easy; I was pretty, as my taskmasters never failed to see. But the lords were distracted, and didn’t make a habit of looking into the faces of servants. At any rate, they had been swept away in the same excitement of the rest, and there was plenty to discuss.
“—heard they needed to shelter in Bryne because the queen developed a fever,” one of them was saying. He was twice as large as any man I’d ever seen, with a bronze-studded band straining across his barrel chest. “And that is not all,” he continued, eyes twinkling conspiratorially, “I heard the king requires a pair of stable boys just to help him mount a horse.”
I stiffened slightly, tipping a pitcher into his goblet, then moved on before anyone could notice the slight flush of my cheeks. Our people were Viking; we did not cower before our kings like the simpering masses in the lands further south. Loosened by drink and bolstered by honor, ours was a blunt race—one that indulged in open discord and frank discussion. But there was something gossipy about his tone that felt unseemly, even dangerous. A sweeping glance around the clearing said I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The other lords were rising to attention, the attendants were neutral and expressionless—keeping their eyes fixed solely on their tasks.
“And who did you hear this from?” another challenged. He was older than most of the others, with tumbles of graying hair and a gilded axe slung across his back. “The dockworkers? The smithy? The local boys who spend all day drinking at a tavern, and have no more knowledge of the king and queen than the two of us?”
“No more knowledge?” the first replied, laughing as he took another gulp. “You forget, Bodin, I was there in the capital before the first of the great frosts. The king and I have hunted together. He knows me by name.”
He was boasting, but too drunk to see it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. At that point, it scarcely mattered; most everyone else seated around the tables was in exactly the same state.
“Oh, he knows you by name. Forgive me.” The older man leaned back with a grin; it was impossible to miss the sarcasm in his voice. “And here I thought he merely snapped his fingers for you—and you came running like a hound.”
A chair scraped back, but it was drowned in the spattering of laughter that followed. It was a slight, yes, but the lords were feeling festive and saw no reason to challenge it.
They raised their glasses instead.
“You’re a pretty one,” the barrel-chested man murmured, lifting the back of my skirt as I bent to refill his drink. “Too pretty to be wasted on something like this.”
I flashed a purse-lipped smile, keeping my eyes on the glass.
“My husband requires it,” I replied mildly, easing back into the crowd.
Since I was fourteen years old, my ‘husband’ had been rescuing me from similar advances, though never yet with a lord. The man appeared only in conversation. I had yet to meet him myself.
“I hear the king plans to announce the raids early this year.” One of the younger men looked around eagerly, hoping someone else had heard the same. “There’s even been talk that he intends to stay behind in the capital city—send another commander in his stead.”
“And you think that will be you, do you?” the older man snapped in reply. He’d had twice as much to drink as the rest of them, but was unmistakably sober. After so many winters, it would take more spirits than we had in the entire settlement to muddy his tongue. “Let me tell you something, whether or not the king chooses to lead the raid himself, he’s still twice the warrior that you and your friends will ever be. The man fought at the Wilding, and in the Blackfoot hills. If you wish to ask when we sail, you may do it to his face. Otherwise, fill your mouth with something.”
As if on cue, another serving girl appeared from nowhere—lifting her own pitcher and filling the man’s glass. Our eyes met across the clearing, pained with the same quiet tension.
This might have been a mistake.
“Leave the boy alone; he is only excited, as anyone can see.” It was the barrel-chested man again, deep into his glass. He resurfaced with a ruddy flush, stretching the band across his tunic still further. He should have been shamed into silence already, but the ale had been flowing. There had been a barrel of mead before that. He leaned across his table, lowering his voice as if to share a secret. “I hear the queen can no longer have any children. She is past the age.” He added casually, as if by mere happenstance, “And the king has lost all three of his sons.”
In a flash, something in the air shifted and a stark silence rang over the clearing. Those who had been talking amongst themselves quieted, as smiles faded and faces buried quickly in a glass.
I froze where I was standing, not wanting to be the first to move, not able to summon the wits to even try. Even having grown up in the farthest flung reaches of the kingdom, I had heard rumor of the king’s troubles. Everyone had, I suppose. I just hadn’t put it together until now.
That man certainly did. They all did.
“The king is in good health,” the old man replied brusquely. There were murmurs and nodding; yes, the king was in good health. No need to speak on it further.
A few awkward starts, and the conversation resumed again—latching quickly onto hawking and hunting, keeping a wide berth from anything else. It was an admirable effort, one that might have even fooled anyone new to the clearing. But between the clink of glasses, and the harsh bursts of laughter, a secret truth had been made perfectly clear: This wasn’t a birthday celebration. It was a competition. An unofficial tournament to see who would become the next king.
Chapter 5
The sun had already begun to fall by the time the lords tired of their drinking and left the makeshift clearing. The smoke from the fires had grown thick, and my arms were throbbing from so long holding the silver tray. Six times, I’d needed to go back to the kitchen and refill the pitches. Six times, when there were several other attendants, and only twice as many men. I truly didn’t know how they accomplished it. Some part of them had to be drowning. And the feast was yet to come.
With a little sigh, I made my way slowly towards the great chamber, trudging along in the grass and casting an almost wistful look over the wall. In the dusky light, I could barely make out the rising hillside in the distance, dotted with identical homes. Most of them were dark and empty, their occupants somewhere inside the settlement like myself. Only three of the windows showed a flicker of light, from a candle or cooking fire. One of them had to be my own.
