Warrior, page 6
She was sick, I suddenly remembered, peering across the chamber with a bit of a frown. They had to stop for a while, because she’d developed a fever.
I couldn’t tell if she still had one, but I didn’t think I would have known either way. The women beside her kept shooting tense glances, like they were worried she might faint. But the queen herself looked straight ahead, smiling occasionally when some drunken noble called out yet another toast, or a bannerman from a distant province came forth to present himself before the king.
There was a line of them by now.
They had waited, as was proper, until after the food had been cleared, and were now openly jockeying for position. Each would step forth, flanked by their kinsmen, then spread their arms in a grand gesture and bow to the floor with the awkwardness of men not familiar with the gesture. They would linger there a moment, as the king said a few words in greeting, before rising and stepping forward into his embrace.
In the beginning, this had been an utter fascination. By the fourth or fifth man, I was starting to wonder how he could possibly remember all of their names.
“It can’t be saved,” the boy muttered, giving up on the bloody tunic all together. He peeled it off a second later, tying shut the laces on his cloak. “I’ll blame it on the cow...” This time, he caught my stifled grin, and flushed defensively. “What?” he demanded. “It’s easier for you.”
“It’s easier for me...in a dress?”
“Perhaps not,” he admitted, staring over the proceedings with a sudden grin. It had been difficult to properly enjoy them before, having smelled like a barnyard slaughter, but he’d been sneaking as much ale as I’d been serving. “Do you know any of them? Their houses?”
I shook my head, turning to him in surprise.
“That’s Joran of the Westbluff,” he said, pointing, “he’s brought the great bowmen from the riverlands. And that’s Herlief the White. Have you heard of him?” I shook my head again, staring at a man with a single eye, wearing the headdress of a wolf. “He fought with the king at the Ducen Plain, drove back the Riders themselves.”
My eyes danced as I tried to imagine it, standing on my tiptoes and following his finger. In the smoky gold of the feasting hall, I could almost hear the swords.
“There are so many chairs still empty,” I murmured, almost to myself. I’d wondering about it all night, waiting for them to fill. “You’d think they would have known ahead.”
The boy shook his head, eyes dilated in the flickering light.
“The king’s supposed to arrive last,” he replied, “but that’s not always practical. The capital is in the very center of the kingdom, and there are those who needed to travel much farther. The sailors and traders. The men who are coming from farther north—”
As if by some twist of fate, there was a mighty creak and the heavy doors swung open once again, letting inside a cold gust of air. My hair knocked back as I turned with the others to look. A group of men was already sweeping inside, moving with the ingrained synchronicity of a pack of wolves. They stopped at the same time, the torches flickering around them.
North men.
There was no need to say it directly. Even for a girl from the south, it was easy to see.
Tall, heavily-cloaked, and crafted like the warriors from our stories, they looked as though they’d just stepped off a ship, or a snow-capped mountain, or straight from the field of battle, long hair falling to their shoulders, tall swords clinking at their sides. Life was harder in the highlands, more savage and dangerous. Some said the men were more savage and dangerous as well, but these seemed as mannered as all the rest. They walked only so far as to close the door behind them, before kneeling in perfect unison, offering a show of silent allegiance to the aging king.
He stood up immediately, beckoning them forward.
“I wasn’t sure we would see you tonight,” he called, opening his arms in greeting. The man in the center moved forward, leaving the others a few paces back. “There was a storm moving over the mountains—”
“It passed us by.”
They embraced like old companions, standing at the same towering height.
“Steffen,” the king murmured, pulling back to survey him. “It has been a long time. I was sorry to hear of your brother. Very sorry, indeed. And this must be his son?”
With the slightest trace of reluctance, the man, Steffen, turned around and the crowd parted to reveal a young man at its core. From where I stood, it would have been difficult to see him if he hadn’t shone like a flame against those standing around him. Amidst a sea of dark heads, his hair was such a pale blond, it appeared almost white—a blinding, wintery white, ribboned with the same tiny braids as the rest of them and hanging loose to his shoulders. His skin was pale as the freezing land where he was born, but it had seen a flush of sun as they traveled. His blue eyes were bright as the springtime sky, and his movements were graceful as a cat, as he walked lightly forward.
By all the gods...
Something twisted in me then, I cannot explain it. Or perhaps, something swooped. There was a weightlessness, somewhere around my midsection, that I’d never felt before. Glancing swiftly around the rest of the room, I saw the same vacant expression mirrored in a dozen other faces.
The king took in a sudden breath, as the queen rose and crossed to his side.
“You have done well raising him. He is the spitting image, is he not?”
The young man stood there politely, eyes on the ground. There seemed a kind of gravity around him, one that drew the gaze of others and defied the youthfulness of his age. Even in profile, his face carried an obvious beauty. His jaw was stubbly, with just the hint of a beard.
“It’s time he was presented,” Steffen interjected, taking his cue. He clapped the boy on his back, jostling his balance. “For distinguishing himself, on these first springtime raids.”
It’s strange, no one has introduced him.
My eyes leapt from one to the other, the pitcher forgotten in my hand. Any other moment I might have been reprimanded. But the eyes of the entire room were all trained in one place.
The king’s face softened, still latched upon the boy.
“You should have been raiding together, this year,” he said softly. “You and your father. I knew him quite well, back in the day. It seems another lifetime.” He nodded to himself, looking the boy up and down. His lips curved with a nostalgic smile. “He would have been proud.”
The crowd of companions swelled behind him, pushing each other forward and clapping the boy roughly on the back. Here, at least, there seemed a genuine warmth. His hair slipped forward, and he smiled a little himself as they called out their support.
“He is proud already!”
“He is toasting you in Valhalla!”
The trio in the center crossed themselves with a simultaneous gesture, heads bowed under the might of the gods. A second later, the boy offered a quiet, thank you, my lord, and stepped back off the podium. I stared in surprise. All night, I’d been watching people crowd the head table, trying to linger as long as possible in the king’s presence, like flowers straining to the sun. But the boy was already back amongst his fellows, attempting the ever-impossible task of trying to blend in.
A hundred wonders I saw that night. A hundred torchlit moments I would always remember. But for some reason, none of them stuck with me quite so much as the moment that boy stepped off the podium. I was still thinking about it when I went to bed that night.
I’m sure I’d still be thinking about it when I got up the next morning.
Chapter 6
The sun was already peeking over the tops of the eastern hills when I opened my eyes the next morning, stretching my arms high above me, and breathing the scent of flowers drifting in the window. I had left it open, it was finally warm enough to do so. For a few idle moments, I merely lay there, thinking of all that happened the night before, blinking slowly at the brightening sky.
Already, it felt more like a dream. Something I might have conjured from my pillow, to help me wile away the tiresome hours. It was beautiful where we lived. Beautiful, and comparatively safe, given that we were nestled squarely in the lower half of the kingdom. I was lucky to have a roof over my head, and no children to worry about. I was lucky to have a cunning protector.
But there were times I would have traded it all for a single day of adventure. For something unexpected to leave a new impression. For something to come along and take me by surprise.
Trina had waited up for me, though she pretended she didn’t. The smoke was still swirling from a hastily blown-out candle when I pushed open the door and hung up my cloak. I’d stared with a faint smile, twirling the vapors with my fingers. Since I was just a child, she’d done the same thing; watching secretly from the window, pacing restlessly in front of the door until the moment she knew I was safe. Karmen had done it in the open. But my aunt was a tricky sort, an open heart of the purest love, yet bristling and untouchable, hemmed behind a thousand sarcastic defenses.
My eyes closed as the early morning rays fell across my face, striping my pale skin in shining streaks of light. A part of me wished she’d been at the table, not hastily climbing into bed. A part of me was desperate to recount every moment from day before; the barracks, the merchants, the feast, the procession. Even a certain white-haired Adonis that had found his way into my dreams. But another part was still troubled she hadn’t been there herself. It wasn’t often the two of us kept things from each other, but in the clear light of day, it was easy to see she’d been putting me off.
No matter, you’ll just ask her about it this morning.
That was the plan. Then I remembered, I was to be serving at breakfast.
“Crap!”
With a little gasp, I threw back the covers and leapt out of bed—pulling on the same linen dress I’d worn the night before, and hoping my hair didn’t smell too much of smoke. Considering the company I was to be keeping, I did make some bit of an effort. Instead of twisting my dark braids in a knot behind my head, I let them spill freely down my shoulders—taking a necklace of bronze-tipped claws and colored stones, and hanging it carefully around my slender neck.
It was nothing, compared to the finery I’d seen the night before. But it suited me well, and the rest of the servants would be dressed the same way. At the last moment, I remembered the tiny pin I’d been given for access, and pinned it to the hollow of my shoulder, where it was easily seen.
Perfect...now run!
With a hasty, I’m going out, called over my shoulder, I threw open the door and hurried down the garden pathway, falling into a line of other people who were heading the same way. They threaded slowly through the tall grass, brimming with excitement and gossip from the night before, eagerly discussing what the new day might bring. I kept to the edge—walking normally a few paces, before breaking suddenly into a panicked run.
But the time I elbowed my way to the main gate, the smoke from a dozen cooking fires was already spiraling from the ceiling of the great hall. I said nothing to the man by the door, merely tapped the brooch, and smiled tightly as he waved me through. The other serving girls and boys were clustered by the kitchen, nodding with bored obedience, as their arms were laden with food.
I slipped into place among them, cutting in front of the red-haired boy I’d been talking with the night before.
He opened his mouth to protest, recognized me, and flashed a smile instead. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” he greeted me cheerfully, looking much happier now that he’d removed the blood and found himself a shirt. “They kept us pacing around for hours last night, the gods themselves could not have feasted so long. I figured you were sleeping it off.”
I smiled in return, moving up a place in line. “You have that luxury, do you?” I teased, glancing over my shoulder. “Of sleeping it off? If you have no need for the coin, perhaps you could give it to me. Unless you are saving it,” I finished gravely, turning again, “in case another cow happens to die on your tunic.”
For a second, he just stared. Then his lips cracked in a smile.
“You should talk less,” he suggested.
I flashed a grin, turning to the front.
I get that a lot...
The breakfast was a great deal easier than the feast the night before. There was plenty of food, but it was simple fare. Breads and cheeses, fruits and fish. The lords drank less ale, but seemed in even better spirits. It was the first official day of the festival. The games were about to begin.
You could not walk from one side of the room to another without hearing talk of it. The chamber was buzzing, like a thousand bees drawn to the same hive.
There would be all sorts of festivities, a careening spectacle far as the eye could see. But the tournament itself consisted of four main things: wrestling, archery, swordplay, and axe. Between all of these, the swords were the most important. But a Viking wouldn’t invite you to sit at his table unless you were impressive with an axe. In the days to come, we were to shadow the great lords and ladies from event to event. We were to keep things lubricated, keep things friendly. We were to keep things very friendly, if the price was right. This was always tagged on at the end.
“I was surprised to see your name on the parchment,” one of the nobles called loudly across the chamber, locking eyes with another. Their formality was a transient skill, it could be turned on and off at a whim. Given that the king and queen had yet to make an appearance, things were a great deal less formal than the night before. “After getting skewered like a prawn when the ships docked at Kilsing, I was under the impression you could no longer heft an axe.”
They were fighting words, the kind that usually ended with someone like me wiping blood off the floor. But the man he was speaking to only laughed, rising from his seat and pulling down the neck of his tunic to reveal a long and slashing scar.
“That Saxon whelp nearly took my arm,” he answered, taking the axe from his belt for good measure and giving it a cursory twirl. “But he paid for it, in the end.” His eyes reached across the room, bright with anticipation. “It’s a feeling you’ll know yourself, if we’re listed on the same day.”
“You think so?” the first man asked innocently, rising from his chair. A score of men were grinning beside him, watching as he fingered the grip on his blade. “Would you care for a wager?”
“Why take your money?” the other replied. “I’ll simply make arrangements with your wife.”
There was a rumble of laughter, followed by chorus of good-natured shouts. These were echoed by the usual threats and promises, as everyone cheerfully returned to their meal. They might have traveled for weeks to enter in the tournament, they might have been intending to hack each other to pieces just after lunch. But it was breakfast, now. Such things did not concern them.
The only thing that mattered was—
“More ale!”
I lifted my head in surprise, seeing a host of empty cups waving in the air. The meal was nearly finished, and my pitcher was empty. I cut swiftly towards the kitchen to refill it, but no sooner had I reached for the barrel, than the woman in charge caught my elbow and shook her head.
“They’ve had enough for so early,” she said quietly, “and the king sent word they were not to be served too much. He wants the hall cleaned and empty before the royal meal is served. The queen is unwell, and has no desire for company.”
I nodded quickly, setting the pitcher on a spare tray. “So what shall I do?”
She glanced over at me like she was surprised I was still there. “The games will be starting soon, they’re fighting in the arena first. You’ll be expected to serve lunch, but it’s not for a few hours.” She pulled two silver coins from her apron, pressing them into my hand. “An advance on tonight’s payment. Enjoy the day while you’re still young.”
* * *
Enjoy the day...
If the woman had been speaking a different language, I couldn’t have been more baffled by the words. I had come to work from daybreak to sunset, with no expectation of actually joining in the merriment, beyond whatever stolen glimpses I got from my place in the stands. That she would actually pay me early? Relax her rigid apron strings, and usher me outside...?
I cast a swift glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see her laughing at me from the doorway, then sent up a silent prayer of thanks and hurried as far away from the feasting hall as I could manage. It didn’t take long for the smoke to clear and the skies to turn blue again. The great market was already bustling with activity, a hundred people rushing a hundred different ways.
For a moment, I merely stood there with a vacant smile, letting myself become one more thing caught in that mighty current. There wasn’t a need to pick a direction, there were scores of tiny wonders everywhere I looked.
With the giddiness of a child, I paused at the nearest vendor without a coherent thought as to what he might be selling. My hands gripped the coins in my pocket like they were the only thing tethering me to the ground, even though I knew there wasn’t a way I’d ever spend them.
My aunt might have inconveniently forgotten, but there was a reason I’d waited for hours in line, praying to find work in one of the local taverns. Those would have paid bronze, and the great hall paid in silver. But still, there was no reason to be complacent. The harvest had been lean that year, and most people’s tables were empty half the time. Even the lovely garden that Karmen had tended with such care had grown scarcely enough for the two of us.
The coins, I was saving. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t look.
“Would you care for a sample?” the merchant asked, catching my eye.
It was a woman, that surprised me. No doubt, her husband was off drinking in one of the inns. My lips parted with an automatic refusal, as I glanced down to see what she was selling, but before I could manage to speak, a sudden spray misted upon my arm.
I drew back like from a snake, clawing instinctively at my skin.
