Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(69)

Stepping back in, Aelfhild raised her shield, peering over the edge. Her chest was heaving. They circled, eyes locked.

With every heartbeat, she feared the coming bloodlust. It lurked at the edge of panic and she knew what it brought. The glinting edge in her hand promised only woe. She wrestled her breathing back under control.

Eyvind must have noticed. “Good,” he whispered. “There will always be fear. Use it to stay sharp, but control it. Do not let it rule you.”

He darted forward and swung, but she danced out of reach.

There was a sharp breath, a little gasp of air, right before he attacked. She listened for it again.

They circled.

Then suddenly, there was the noise; she launched herself to the right with every ounce of strength in her legs and lashed out at Eyvind’s shield. The blow struck home, and he hollered as he rocked back on his heels.

“A fine hit!” cried Rolf.

The greybeard had come to watch this new spectacle and shook his fists in approval. Ceolwen and Kolbrun continued their sparring nearby.

Eyvind grinned. “Better.”

They practiced stance and swing until Aelfhild’s arms ached from repeated shield blows and her hands blistered on the axehandle.

“The axe is a tool,” Eyvind said as he strode between the two Earnfoldings. “It is as worthy or weak as the hand that holds it.”

Aelfhild repeated that to herself over and over. The hand that wields it. She ruled the axe and not the other way around. Trust the Thrym to hide their most profound teachings in the shield-wall. She could protect Ceolwen with it. She could kill Osric with it. She could help.

This was something new she could offer.

“Take the anger, take the pain and the hope for tomorrow,” continued Eyvind. “They are tools you use to make sure you live and your foe dies. But keep them in hand always.”

He spoke to them both, but Aelfhild had little doubt the words were for her benefit. Ceolwen had not so far proved an eager or apt pupil. She held the axe away from herself at arm’s length and sagged under her shield.

Aelfhild was keener. Her stomach no longer turned at the weight in her hand. There was, she found, a primal thrill in the axe blow: a tremor that drifted along the wooden handle and coursed outwards through her whole body and tugged at instincts long buried and tucked away. As the feeling ebbed, it left her calmer, soothed. This was no real battle. She had no illusions about that. But one day, with practice, she would be able to stand beside her companions rather than behind them. And if the control Eyvind offered was a way to temper her curse, then she would seize hold of that chance with all her strength.





Wolves howled in the nearby woods that evening. The crew had made no effort to mask the smell of their roasting pig, and the aroma had carried. Aelfhild knelt beside Embla at the edge of the firelight, staring into the trees. The hound shifted side to side, growling at every snapping twig and stirring leaf.

Geir, Jarngrim, and Bercthun were busy picking over the remains of Vidar’s boar, though by now it was down to just hooves and bones. The three were determined to let no scrap of pork escape. Onund napped beneath his hood. Vidar and Kolbrun were playing a game of knives, throwing their blades into the dirt to see whose aim was sharper.

Ceolwen sat atop a log watching Rolf and Eyvind polish the sea salt and dirt from the iron studs in their leather armor. As Aelfhild wandered over, she heard her mistress interrogating the Thrym.

“Will we know it when we reach Aettirheim? All this land looks the same to my eyes.”

Eyvind did not look up from his work. “We are still sailing to the south here, following the line of the land. From the Ormsund it dips south and west, curving like a bowl. When the land starts to rise to the north once more we will be close.”

“How much longer?” asked Ceolwen.

“Hard to say, cousin. Maybe ten more days, if the winds favor us.”

“Will there be anything left after so long?”

“Some old stones and little more would be my guess.” Eyvind lifted his armor in the firelight, checking the shine on each bit of metal. He seemed satisfied and laid the armor tenderly atop his blanket.

“The tales say the city was built atop a high hill with a view of all the lands around,” he said. “The harbor was filled with sharp rocks that rise up from the water like teeth, and only those that knew the safe course could sail through them.”

“So we look for those rocks in the sea.”

Eyvind nodded. “And there may be something left of the walls. But it may take some searching.” He clucked his tongue, and Embla came over to join them. She sat close to her master’s leg and chuffed as the wolves set to howling again.

“Keep the fires high tonight,” he said. “The pup smells trouble.”

Aelfhild looked out into the dark. “Do you think they will come close?”

“Not if they have sense. My Embla knows just what to do with a thieving wolf.”

Embla growled her agreement.





38

After two more days of sailing, the coastline ceased its southward slope as they came to the bottom of the curving bowl that Eyvind had described. They made good progress with fair winds and fine weather.

The morning of the third day was bright and clear with a strong southerly breeze that whipped spray from the sea and kicked the waves up into white peaks. Unn-marr leapt from trough to trough with graceful ease and left a trail of foam in her wake.