Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(59)

Eyvind lifted his palms to show he held no weapon. “We come from Jarlstad with open hands. I am Eyvind, son of Harald, Jarl of Trollsmork. I wish to speak with your master.”

The young man rode back to his companion, who turned and rode off toward the village. Their minder returned but kept a cautious distance.

“Wait there,” he called.

Standing down the alarm, the crew turned back to their breakfast. Embla ventured out to sniff the young man and his horse, returning to her master when she had decided for herself that the boy was harmless.

They stoked the fire and broke their fast with bread and cheese—and fish for whoever was in the mood. Aelfhild could see their watcher lean forward in his saddle at the sight of food. His cheeks were hollow and skin pallid, evidence of meager rations and a hard winter.

She was not the only one that noticed. Onund took pity, calling out, “What is your name, boy?”

“Birgir,” replied the horseman after a pause.

“Will you not break bread with us, Birgir?” The silver-haired old man beckoned the boy over.

A fearful glance toward home hinted at Birgir’s divided loyalties. His duty was to watch over the invaders, not mingle with them, but a meal was sore temptation.

“You can watch us better from over here, boy,” said Onund with a laugh.

In the end his hunger won out, and Birgir dropped from his horse and joined them by the fire. The boy wolfed down everything handed to him, paying heed to little else, but he blushed and fidgeted under their gazes once finished. Sheepishly he thanked them before returning to his horse as the warriors settled back in the sand to await his companion’s return.

The second horseman, another rail-thin youth, returned and spoke with Birgir.

“Thane Kjartan welcomes you, and bids you join him in his great hall in Oddsbaer!” With a grand sweep of the arm, Birgir gestured for them to follow.

Eyvind left Rolf with Vidar, Geir, and Bercthun to guard Unn-marr in her berth. The rest followed along behind the two lads on the path back to Oddsbaer.

As they walked, Aelfhild took in the countryside. The land was even and patchy green, but the soil was all sand and pebbles, hard for farming. Nothing grew taller than a shrub, as there was nothing to break the biting winds. Cattle grazed in the distance, herded by men with black-spotted sheepdogs.

Oddsbaer was painfully quaint in Aelfhild’s eyes. A wooden palisade which would scarce have passed for a fence in Cynestead circled a collection of a sod-roofed huts, barns, and sheep paddocks. The great hall, its roof newly-thatched and doors thrown open, stood proud in the center of town across from the lone well.

Outside the threshold stood a lanky man with a golden beard and great bushy eyebrows beneath his fur cap; he wore a studded leather jerkin on his chest, and a short sword hung from his belt. Behind him stood a handful of warriors in tattered and rusty armor, holding spears with notched edges. Here was Thane Kjartan with his men, such as they were.

“I welcome you, Eyvind, son of Harald, to Oddsbaer! Join me in my hall!” Kjartan opened his arms wide in welcome as he shouted his greeting.

Eyvind bowed low. “We thank you, Kjartan Thane, for such welcome. I bring you gifts from Jarlstad and from my father.” He opened a small wooden chest that Onund had carried along from the ship, producing pelts and precious stones from within. “Hides, amber, and garnets from Trollsmork. May they do you well!”

Onund handed the chest to one of the Thane’s men, while Kjartan beamed with delight. Such respect paid to him in front of his men, and from a Jarl’s son no less, did him great honor. He clasped Eyvind’s forearms, and beckoned them into his hall.

The roof was low and there was little light from the small windows. The sweet springtime fragrance of clary sage hung from the walls and rafters in bushels of purple cones and broad leaves struggled to mask the of smell of hay from the floorboards and smoke that gathered around the narrow gap in the ceiling.

Meat crackled on a spit over the hearth. Benches were laid out around rickety tables, with a few barrels pulled up to make extra seats. Kjartan’s wife Saeunn met them inside–a greying woman in an embroidered dress which had clearly been left to the moths at the bottom of some chest for many years. She greeted each of her visitors in turn, bidding them to be seated and take their rest.

Mead was poured and bread set out, and Kjartan stood with Eyvind at the head of the table to raise a toast.

None of the folk in Oddsbaer looked any better fed than young Birgir, and that included the Thane, much to his credit. Kjartan and his warriors restrained themselves with visible effort when the roast mutton was laid upon the table along with curds and bowls of whey. They took care to serve the guests more than they gave themselves, but the way each bone was carefully saved after being picked clean revealed much to Aelfhild’s eyes.

The Thane asked many questions about the Landsthing, eager for tidings from the assembly, and Eyvind and Onund told him all that they knew. Kjartan shouted his approval as Eyvind recounted the holmgang, his audience hanging on each word. Quick to prove the courage and skill of his own men, their gold-bearded host told them of a wicked band of outlaws that had preyed upon them over the winter, and how his men had driven the brigands off with spear and blade.

Kolbrun translated for Aelfhild and Ceolwen the parts they could not quite make out, though Kjartan’s dramatic gestures and hand-waving were most helpful.

When they came finally to the matter that brought Unn-marr to Oddsbaer’s shores, the Thane shook his head gravely at mention of the Ormsund. “The winter was a cold one, and the ice has lingered long,” Kjartan explained. “Only now is it breaking. Mist is thick over those waters, and the ice has broken many hulls. That is a dangerous path you take.”