Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(81)

The Thrym had gathered in a small copse of spruce trees.

They were arguing.

“You know, all of you, that I am no coward. That is not why I asked to speak,” Jarngrim was saying.

“We know, brother,” Eyvind replied. “None here doubt you. Say what you will.”

Aelfhild placed each foot with painstaking care. She huddled down at the edge of the trees, and peered through the branches. Kolbrun’s feet were visible, and little else, but she could hear the warriors speaking.

“It has been weeks and we have still not come to Aettirheim. I only wonder if it is wise to press on with this. So far, we have been lucky to find water. That will not last forever,” Jarngrim continued. “The venison is long gone, what rabbits we have seen are all skin and bones, and roots are nothing to live on. And we have already lost more than any of us wanted.”

“We do not know that Geir is lost,” said Eyvind.

“I think we do,” was Jarngrim’s reply.

Rolf broke in. “Watch how you speak!”

“No, old friend, he is right. If we meet Geir on the journey back my heart will be well glad, but I do not hold much hope for it.”

“That is why I asked to speak tonight.” Jarngrim’s voice once more. “I do not care which royal polishes a throne in Earnfold. That is not my worry. I care for each face in this circle. Two—no, three—are missing already. I count Bercthun as one of ours. And I do not wish to lose more. That is all.”

“You all know I will hear you out,” Eyvind said. “Jarngrim has spoken. Tell me now what you think. Onund?”

Aelfhild heard the Skjoldung suck at his whiskers. “Stories are not worth dying for. I am of a mind with Jarngrim.”

She winced at this new betrayal.

“Kolbrun?”

The shield-maiden shifted from one foot to the other. There was silence.

The answer was slow in coming. “I do not know. Truly. I swore to see this through, but I do not want to throw our lives away for nothing.”

The old man sounded frail. Kolbrun’s voice was anxious. And Eyvind had tossed aside the power that was his birthright and called for a vote. For the first time, Aelfhild saw, or heard, true uncertainty in her Thrym rescuers. They were stripped of their armor and without a ship to sail, and their spirits wavered.

They were suddenly so human. Disappointingly human. Aelfhild needed them to be more. She wanted them strong and steadfast, not whinging about and waiting for rescue. These were not the bold heroes that had swept her up from the grips of slavery.

“Rolf?”

“My oath is to the Jarl. I will take the girl to Aettirheim or die along the way.”

Aelfhild could have applauded. Here was the strength they needed. But the tally so far was grim.

Eyvind sighed. More than anything she wanted now to see his face, see some clue to his decision.

“Let me think on it. I will make my decision tomorrow. But I will tell you this now—I free each one of you from your oath to my household. Any man or woman who wishes to turn back may go without shame. No one goes further but of their own will.”

Over her shoulder, as she turned to sneak back to camp, Aelfhild heard one last snatch of conversation: “still one to ask.”

She was settled in next to Ceolwen by the time the Thrym returned. They muffled their footsteps carefully, but Aelfhild could hear the change in breathing. Sleep was far away. Her thoughts raced.

It was a betrayal. How many midnight meetings had she and Ceolwen slept through while the Thrym plotted? She cringed as she remembered her plans to sail off with the raiders after Ceolwen was made Queen.

She bore all of Ceolwen’s weight on her shoulders. The Gods were no help, so up to now she had relied on the Thrym to carry hers.

Now that support crumbled, and she felt herself teetering.





Aelfhild gritted her teeth and swung at Eyvind. He sidestepped and parried the blow with his spear shaft.

“Better,” he said, “but when you lead with your foot I can see the strike coming. Try it again.”

She stepped back and hefted her birch staff in both hands.

They were alone in the clearing. The other Thrym had gone off to forage and check the snares set the previous night, while Ceolwen slumbered on under Embla’s guard. The Aethling’s training at arms had proved a vain effort, and Eyvind no longer bothered.

This time she feinted with her left foot, but drove in with a rightward swing. It worked, and Eyvind was on his heels as they locked weapons.

Aelfhild put every ounce of her weight behind the stick, but the Thrym was more than a head taller and heavier than his lean frame suggested.

She staggered back.

This had been their dawn ritual since the shipwreck, but the first time she had real cause to strike the man.

Tell him you heard everything. Tell him you know.

Instead, she blew back stray hair from her face and attacked.

They dodged and parried, trading hits.

He danced back as the butt of her staff scythed past his nose.

“Easy!”

Her chest heaved with the effort, and she stood glaring at him from across their shrub-strewn arena.

He met the stare. “What has come over you?”

“I heard you.”

She spat the words, then spun to strike while he was still dazed by the impact.