Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Trabbi the loyal retainer

  • 1.12 – Negotiations

    1.12 – Negotiations

    “Erik.”

    The burly man nodded, rain streaming from the end of his beard.

    “You’re not going to make me fight you, too, are you?”

    “Cap’n’s mighty unhappy, Einarr, but he don’t want you dead an’ he don’t want either of us injured. Sent me to give you an offer.”

    “And?”

    “You come back aboard the Vidofnir and Runa goes to the Skudbrun, so everything’s done proper-like. Trabbi’s on board over there, but between we three and the fishes he’s not as unhappy about all this as the Jarl. Cap’n Stigander wants a word or three with Trabbi, thinks they can work something out.”

    “How do we know this isn’t just some sort of trick? If my father sent a priest along…” Runa’s eyes were wide, as though the thought of marrying Trabbi instead of Einarr kindled fear in her.

    “Runa.”

    She turned her gaze to him, her eyes pleading.

    “Runa, even if this all goes south, your father had his choice of suitors. I know he’s getting old, but I don’t believe you would be treated poorly. If we refuse, there are now two ships worth of men I would have to fight off before we could escape. On the other hand, I think there’s a good chance my Father will be able to work something out. Will you trust me?”

    She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Runa pursed her lips and lowered her eyes before finally nodding her acquiescence.

    “Thank you. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we might not end up outcast after all.”

    “Captain’s going to want words with you no matter what happens, you realize,” Erik put in.

    “That’s fine.”

    Barri and the other two Brunnings were standing, now, but prevented from rejoining battle by Erik’s muscular frame. Now the big man turned and addressed them. “You heard me. Go ahead and take your princess aboard, and tell your Captain that Captain Stigander Raenson of the Vidofnir requests permission to board.”

    If it had been someone with less presence than Erik, or if Barri had been less honorable of a man, Einarr might have worried about treachery from the Skudbrun. As it was, though, he was able to clasp Runa’s hands in his own with a genuine smile of encouragement. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

    He let Barri take Runa’s arm. Her worried gaze never strayed from Einarr as Barri carried her up to the Skudbrun on his back.

    Einarr looked at Erik, squinting a little against the wind trying to blow rain in his eyes. “I’m getting busted back down to deckhand, aren’t I.”

    Erik barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t suprise me.”

    ***

    When the storm died down, both Skudbrun and Vidofnir were still tethered to the small skiff Runa had acquired for her daring escape. With many agreements shouted across the waves, the boats were brought alongside one another and planks were extended between their two railings. Standing in front of the gangplank on the Vidofnir was Stigander, a cask of mead under one arm, flanked by Bardr and Einarr. On the other side stood the captain of the Skudbrun with his first mate and Trabbi. Einarr searched their deck for sign of Runa, but did not see her.

    Stigander cast a pointed look over his shoulder at his son before beginning. “Under flag of truce,” he called across. “I, Captain Stigander Raenson request permission to come aboard for the purpose of mediation with Trabbi Aridson.”

    “Under flag of truce, and with full consideration of the long friendship between Kjell Hall and Raenshold,” the other captain answered. “I, Captain Kragnir Hokarson, grant permission to come aboard.”

    Only then did Stigander step up onto the gangplank and stride across to the other ship, followed by Bardr and Einarr in quick – if not hasty – succession. Einarr steadied himself with his knees when a swell rocked their two boats with him in the middle of the plank. His father was presenting Captain Kragnir with the cask as a ceremonial gesture of goodwill – a gesture whose importance Einarr well knew was magnified by his actions.

    The Fates did not decide to drop him between the two boats for his earlier temerity, and moments later he was able to complete the crossing. Captain Kragnir led them back to the Captain’s awning. Runa stood outside of it, red-faced and wringing her delicate hands. Einarr wished he could go to her, comfort her, but under the circumstances feared that would only make matters worse. Trabbi looked her way, pursed his lips – in frustration, anger, or concern Einarr could not tell – and did not look again.

    The six men settled around the low table in the center of the sheltered area – Brunnings on one side, Vidofnings on the other. Kragnir opened the cask Stigander had brought as a peace-offering and poured everyone a cup of the sweet brew. Once they had all drunk, the ceremony was concluded.

    “What is there that the wandering Son of Raen believes must be discussed?” Trabbi opened. The bitterness in his voice planted a rock in the bottom of Einarr’s belly.

    “Perhaps the unwillingness of your bride?”

    “My Jarl asked me to marry his daughter and keep her safe and well. To what part of that am I supposed to object?”

    “He did not even mention her happiness?” Einarr had not intended to speak, but the words would not be contained.

    “If this is also not something you wished, I believe we have a solution where you can back out and no-one has to lose face,” Bardr interrupted

    “I will confess to mixed feelings on the idea of wedding a girl my sons’ age.”

    Stigander nodded. “As would I, in your situation.” He looked sidelong at Bardr, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. “What say you to a duel?”

    “Captain, I may lead a fleet, but it is a fleet of fishermen. I hardly think that a test of swordsmanship…”

    “Glima, though?”

    “Wrestling?”

    “Wrestling. We may be getting on in years, but unless I miss my guess you’re not slowing down just quite yet. Your experience versus my son’s youthful vitality.”

    Trabbi set his jaw and turned his gaze to study Einarr.

    “Loser yields the right to marry the princess.”

    “I won’t throw the match,” Trabbi warned.

    Einarr met the man’s weighing eyes. “You’d be a coward if you did.”

    “Just so long as that’s understood.”

    “Of course.” Stigander shrugged as though he’d expected nothing else.

    “In that case, I agree. Runa should stay on board the Skudbrun until we return to Kjell Hall. My Jarl would never forgive me if I allowed her to remain with the man who tried to steal her away.”

    Einarr opened his mouth to protest, but before a sound could escape Stigander had already answered. “Agreed.”

    Not two steps after he had left the awning, Runa had thrown her arms about Einarr’s neck. “Easy, easy. We’ve got it all settled.”

    “I heard. You think you can win?”

    He smirked now, lowering his voice to avoid being heard to insult his rival. “Against a fisherman? Come now.” His face fell then and he shook his head. “Even if I don’t, though, I think it might not make much difference for you. After what we did, Trabbi would be well within his rights to cancel the engagement.” It might matter for him, though, depending on how forgiving the Jarl felt.

    She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, nodding before she let it out. He thought she might have been about to protest. She looked as anxious here as she had earlier, on the boat, when he was fighting off her countrymen.

    “You’re that worried I’ll lose?”

    She shook her head. “I’m worried you’ll be hurt.”

    Bardr and his father were nearly to the gangplank, but Einarr found a moment to wrap her in his arms and kiss her hair before hurrying on.

    1.11 – Capture 1.13 – Glìma
    Table of Contents
  • 1.10 – Runaway Bride

    1.10 – Runaway Bride

    Spring thaw was not far off, and Stigander was impatient to be off hunting the Grendel. If they were going to act, it would need to be quickly, before the Vidofnir sailed and the two young lovers lost their chance forever. At court the night after they had agreed, Runa passed Einarr a message: her lady in waiting had gone to purchase them a fishing boat from the village across the island.

    They hid the skiff in a cove up the coast from the Vidofnir’s mooring, and for the remainder of the Ice found ways – separately, of course – to squirrel supplies away on their skiff. Food, water, sea charts, a sextant… Einarr hoped it would be enough, because there would be no going back.

    The night of the Equinox was to be a full moon, and it was bad fortune to sail before then. The timing troubled Einarr, but the superstition said nothing of the night itself. Surely that would be near enough? That was the night Einarr judged they would have the best chance of escaping, and so they decided to risk it. Forgive me, Father. I could not refuse her.

    As the last light of sunset faded on the last night of winter, Einarr wandered past the table and hid some scraps of meat inside a small sack he carried beneath his cloak. He took no torch, and if anyone noticed when he slipped out they probably assumed he was headed for the outhouse. He gently lifted Sinmora from its hiding place beneath the eaves, pressing the sheath against his breast as he crossed the meadow. The light of the moon silvered the new spring grass around him, but he spared little attention for the beauties of the night.

    Finally the shadow of the spruce wood rose up before him, and as he stepped into the deeper shade of a tree he buckled the sword about his waist. Its weight was a comfort, but its absence in the hall would give them away. He only hoped it was noted late, once they were already on the water.

    Now he saw Runa nearly running across the open field, her face cast into shadow, her hair shining silver in the light. His breath caught in his throat, and all doubts as to their course fled his mind. Her cloak billowed behind her, and he saw a bag slung over one shoulder.

    She, too, stepped into the shadow of the forest, and Einarr released a breath he had not known he held as she threw her arms about his neck. “Ready?” She whispered.

    He nodded.

    “Follow me.”

    Out of sight of the Hall, in the shadow of the wood, they fairly flew down the well-remembered path to the cove Runa’s maid had favored. Only the need to step quietly, even here, slowed them, for the moon was bright and full. Einarr kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, his ears alert for trouble, even as he gripped Runa’s hand in his other. Two main concerns troubled his mind as they fled down the path: wolves, and the hounds of the Hall.

    The path they followed to their hidden cove was long and meandering, and they had gone perhaps half the distance when one of those concerns came to the forefront.

    A dog bayed.

    “Hurry!” Runa’s voice was edged with worry but not at all winded.

    “You go on ahead. I’ll slow them down and meet you there.”

    “Be careful.”

    Einarr grunted acknowledgment and stepped off the path to crouch in a bush. The darkness was still his best ally, but with dogs the men from the hall were sure to catch up. He scanned his surroundings. In the mottled light under the trees his eyes tried to play tricks, but he still spotted a deadfall just up the path.

    He hurried forward, his boots light on the loamy ground, and put a shoulder to the log. Einarr was pleasantly surprised to find it light, hollowed out and dried by time. He moved it down a side path and set one end on a stone, leaving a gap between wood and ground. Into this gap he shoved pieces of the meat he stole earlier, as well as one of his leather gloves. To screen the bait, he covered it with fallen branches. That should keep them busy for a little while, anyway.

    His trap set, Einarr hurried back to the cove trail as best he could, sacrificing a little speed in the name of moving quietly. It would be for nothing if he could not make it back to Runa, after all.

    Some ways further down the familiar path, he smirked when he heard the sound of someone shouting at the dogs and picked up the pace. It probably wouldn’t take them long to get the dogs back on the real trail.

    Indeed, not many minutes later the shouting stopped, followed after far too short a time by the sound of baying hounds.

    Light reflected off of water up ahead and he poured on the speed, sprinting for the sea like he would charge for a boarding line. Einarr scrambled down the scree-covered path to the water. His distraction had slowed the hunters just barely long enough; he could hear his father’s voice bellowing behind, loudly enough that he did not worry about clattering rocks giving away his position. Runa stood in the bow of the boat with an oar resting on the wet sand below. Her hair glowed in the moonlight, a halo suggesting her true origins.

    Three bounds took him across the tiny beach, and Einarr vaulted into the boat next to his stolen bride. Her smile was sweet as he took the oar from her hands and pushed off the shore, even as the dogs began racing down the rocky path with Stigander close on their heels.

    The dogs stopped at the water’s edge, barking furiously. Runa’s boat had caught the tide, and they were deeper than the hounds wished to swim. Stigander stopped, also, and held his torch aloft.

    “I’m sorry, father,” Einarr called across the gulf. Runa’s arms curled around him from behind, offering what support she could.

    “Do you think that you will be safe because you are my only son?” Stigander’s voice cracked with anger and betrayal and hurt – and sorrow. A pang of guilt stabbed through Einarr’s resolve, but it was only a pang.

    “No, Father. And yet, she has persuaded me. Happy hunting when you seek the Grendel.” Einarr took his seat and began rowing, turning his back on his father and the Vidofnir.

    1.9 – Spring Thaw 1.11 – Capture
    Table of Contents
  • 1.9 – Spring Thaw

    1.9 – Spring Thaw

    For three more long winter months, Einarr attempted to court the Princess Runa, and for three more long winter months Stigander attempted to nudge the Jarl toward acceptance. Fortune was not in their favor, however, and the Jarl would not budge. The sons of Raen understood the reason all too well, but that made it no easier for Einarr to bear. Not when Trabbi the fisherman – Trabbi, who had not once sailed out of Hroaldr’s territory; Trabbi who had no ambition outside his fleet of fishermen; Trabbi, who was nearly as old as Stigander, whose chief virtues were loyalty to his Jarl and an established homestead, whose affection for the girl more resembled a fond uncle’s than a lover’s – was the favored suitor.

    Einarr seethed each and every time that Trabbi stepped in before him to speak with Runa, and seethed more to remind himself of the cause. The Jarl did what he believed best for his daughter and his own holdings, and attaching either of them to the cursed line of Raen was not likely to be either. He stopped short of cursing his grandfather. Tempting as it was, he had no hand in the Weaving that drew calamity on his descendant’s line.

    For her part, Runa accepted his attentions with a smile that was merely polite, and gave Trabbi as little encouragement as she could manage. Einarr almost pitied the man, in truth, because he suspected in the end none of the three parties involved had much say in the matter.

    Eventually, though, the soothsayers and the wind proclaimed that spring was on its way. Soon the Vidofnings would be able to refit and prepare for the first expedition of the new year. On the first clear day of the thaw, Einarr volunteered to give their ship its initial inspection. He wanted – needed – to get away from the Hall and the stifling awkwardness that had settled in the air as the months passed. The cold stares Einarr got from the Jarl only made things worse, of course: that their presence this winter was suffered for the sake of his friendship with Stigander was plain. The more Einarr had pushed himself forward, tried to show himself a good match despite his handicaps, the less welcome he felt.

    Snowdrops were beginning to show their heads, he noticed as he skied over the still-snowy field surrounding the hall. The idea flitted through his head to collect some on his way back, but before he could settle on the idea a voice reached his ears.

    “Wait.” The sweet note that carried halfway across the field to him was Runa’s voice. “Wait, please.”

    Einarr stopped and twisted to look behind him. The fur of her cloak was dyed crimson, and drew his eye to the long blond braid that caressed her figure. He sighed, obliging, as she closed the distance. She would make an excellent wife. But not for me, at this rate.

    “Thank you,” she said. Her face was already red from the cold.

    “You shouldn’t come out this way alone. There are wolves about, even in your father’s holdings.” He affected formality; since the Jarl did not intend her for him, it would be best to put some distance between them.

    “I’m not alone, now am I, so long as you allow me to walk with you.”

    “Such a thing would hardly be proper, under the circumstances.”

    “Oh, come now. I only wish to talk with you, and you are far too much the gentleman to try anything.”

    “Am I?”

    “Aren’t you?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

    He laughed in spite of himself, lowering his head to hide the smile he could not quash. “As you wish, my lady.”

    “Excellent.” Runa closed the distance between them and threaded a hand about his arm, under the cloak to leave his sword-hand free.

    “My lady. . .”

    “There is no impropriety in a young man escorting a woman this way, especially at her request.” She played at haughtiness, teasing him for his formal mask.

    He looked over at her, about to protest, but sighed instead. The look of her sea-blue eyes brooked no opposition and the feel of her bosom pressed against his arm sapped his will. “Well then, since you insist, let us continue.”

    It was not until they were starting down the switchbacks leading to the beach that she spoke again. “You know that my father has formally proposed my betrothal to Trabbi?”

    “I wish I was surprised.”

    “They haven’t been exactly subtle, have they.” She sighed. “Why must I marry a graybeard?” She wailed, and the change in tone was enough to make Einarr jump, even with her arm wrapped around his own.

    “So Father has failed, then. …That may be partially my fault. If I had backed off after that Hall dance…”

    “I would still be engaged, but I would be even more trapped.” Runa looked at him, her eyes as earnest as he had ever seen them. “You do love me, don’t you?”

    Einarr looked at her sidelong, trying to ignore the unseasonably low cut of her dress, trying equally to find the strength to lie. “Yes,” he breathed, his heart winning over his head.

    “Then if I tell you I have a plan…?”

    “That may depend on the plan.”

    She nodded once and fell silent again. Einarr offered her a hand for balance going down the steep path crossing from the forest to the beach. He could see the ship, now, and from here it looked as though nothing untoward had happened, but a thorough inspection was what he had come out to do.

    “You know when I decided I would marry you?”

    “When?”

    “When you teamed up with me to bring in the goats all those years ago.” She couldn’t quite stifle a giggle, and it lightened Einarr’s mood enough that he smiled.

    “Has your father told you why he is against it?”

    “Yes. I’m afraid I can’t quite bring myself to worry about it, though, and the Weaving must be nearly unraveled by now.”

    He pursed his lips. He wasn’t at all sure of that, not after the encounter with the Grendel last fall.

    “Will you take me away?”

    “To what? A life on the run, with neither hearth nor hall nor port of call?” He recoiled at the idea, ashamed that some small part of him was still tempted.

    “Am I not worth fighting for?”

    “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

    “Playing a courtly game you can’t win. My father won’t change his mind for that. I see three choices, only one of which is likely to be acceptable to both of us.”

    “Oh? And what would those be?” Einarr started up the ladder leading to the Vidofnir‘s deck, only half listening as he tried to find the argument that would convince him not to go along with it.

    “First: we accept my father’s judgement and I marry Trabbi.”

    Einarr twitched. It was the safest option, but the thought of losing her to a man his father’s age was physically painful.

    “Not acceptable to me, and I don’t think to you either. Two: you take me like a common serving girl. We aim to get caught, preferably after I’m with child. Surely then Father will yield.”

    He turned his head to stare down at her, wide-eyed, hardly able to believe what she was suggesting.

    She cut him off before he could object. “Somehow, I think you too much Stigander’s son to go along with that.”

    “I am appalled you even thought it worth mentioning.” That traitorous corner of his mind noted that she mentioned no personal objection to the plan. He was doubly betrayed when the thought kindled desire. He stamped it down.

    “Indeed. Three: we get a boat and sail away. On the first island we come to, we wed.”

    He sighed and did not answer immediately. The idea was tempting, but it would be a betrayal of everything his Father had taught him. He was standing on the deck by the time he trusted himself to answer, and at that point she was halfway up the ladder. He needed to look her in the eye for this.

    No sooner had her second slipper met the deck boards than he took her by the shoulder and spun her to face him, affecting more anger than he felt. “What sort of man do you take me for? The Sons of Raen do not steal wives. You really think I could let some pretty face – even one like yours – convince me to betray my own father? To end their friendship like that?”

    “Not a face, perhaps, but what about a voice?”

    His mouth hardened. “You wouldn’t.”

    “I could.” Despite the difference in their heights, she managed to peer down her nose at him. Then her face fell. “But you’re right. I wouldn’t, even though I do not love him. You would abandon me?”

    He stared at her for a long moment, weighing how serious she appeared and how much he wanted her against the combined wrath of Hroaldr and Stigander. He would be surprised if anyone at Kjell Hall did not realize how he felt. It would make him a renegade, the very scion of cursed Raenshold cast out as a traitor to their Thane, but as he gazed on her the last of his resolve melted away. He knew his answer to her question. “No…. No, I cannot abandon you. You put me in a difficult position, my lady.”

    “Just as my father has placed me in one.”

    He clasped both her tiny hands in his own, nodding and hoping she understood his agreement. “Runa.” The name tasted sweet on his tongue, and at that moment it was the only word he could say. A long moment passed before he remembered his task. “I have work that must be done before I can return to the hall. Will you aid me in my task?”

    “I will, my lord.” A playful smile curled the corners of her mouth.

    1.8 – Dance Fight! 1.10 – Runaway Bride
    Table of Contents
  • 1.8 – Dance Fight!

    1.8 – Dance Fight!

    Einarr knew those boots very well, in fact. Had watched, in any spare moment she could find, as Astrid stitched them herself from the skins of rabbits she had asked him to catch. Stitched them herself, when it would have been the easiest thing in the world to pass it off to one of the thralls. And now Stigander swaggered onto the dance floor wearing them, courting a wife for his son.

    He kicked himself through a backflip to stand upright. Stigander smirked and began to spin around on his heels, his hands held out as if to ask ‘what can I say?’

    Einarr matched and opposed the spin, such that they crossed paths twice each rotation. Every few twirls he dropped to a crouch, and now it was Father’s turn to match him.

    There was a limit to the acrobatics they could pull off with both of them in the circle, however. The music continued, shifting into the Warrior’s Dance. Stigander motioned to someone in the hall, who tossed him a staff. Einarr looked over at Erik and gestured for the same. He caught it with a flourish before knocking its end against the floor. The knock from his father’s staff rang out a bare breath later. Einarr met his father’s eyes with a boyish grin, and the older man’s confident smirk never faltered.

    Muttered voices from outside the circle, those few who were not participating, were punctuated by the clink of coins changing hands. Both of them spun once on their heels, mugging for the crowd. Clack! Einarr’s feint was blocked by Stigander’s.

    They exchanged a few more showy feints, their staves cracking against each other with every blow, before the flow of the music suggested a separation. Einarr planted his staff on the floor and pushed off into another cartwheel. Stigander held his at both ends and jumped over the middle of it. The crowd loved it, but Einarr saw the Jarl clench his jaw.

    They spun together now, their staves striking with enough force to sting the palms this time. Stigander pressed close and growled at his partner. “So you do have some spirit in you. Give them a good show, now.”

    “We’ve got her attention.”

    In the moment before they sprang apart, Stigander’s smirk relaxed into a smile. The music led them on from occasional feints and into the “fight” at the center of the dance, and their staves kept time for the piper as much as the drummer did. Before long, the music allowed them to press forward again.

    “It’s not her attention I’m worried about.”

    Einarr glanced at the Jarl for just a moment and got shoved back three steps. From that third step, though, he leaped forward, staff raised overhead to strike. Stigander raised his overhead, braced in two hands.

    “I can’t tell if he’s furious or bored.” Hroaldr was still in the circle, but deliberately not looking at the spectacle in the center.

    “Furious.” Stigander looked deliberately over toward the Jarl. “But we might be in danger of boring the rest.” Stigander ducked and spun around behind Einarr, tagging the back of his legs with his staff. Einarr followed suit, ducking into a low spin and sweeping his staff towards his father’s legs. Stigander jumped.

    Nice choice, Father. Einarr spun faster, rising gradually from his crouch. With each spin, Stigander had to jump a little higher. Eventually, when the stick was nearly to his waist, he backflipped out of the arc of the strike. Clack! Stigander brought his own staff around to meet his son’s.

    Einarr lunged forward, taking his staff in a two-handed grip and driving his shoulder into his father’s rock-hard stomach. The man didn’t even grunt, and so Einarr turned the lunge into a spin on his outer heel, the other leg held out straight. When he turned around, Stigander had once again turned to face him. His face was red as he knocked the end of the staff against the floor, and he seemed out of breath. An icy flood of worry crushed Einarr’s flush of enjoyment, and he knocked his own staff to signal the end of the fight.

    Stigander did not give up his swagger as he danced to the outer circle, but it was less certain of itself. He tossed the staff to the waiting Kjelling and moved to take Einarr’s old place in the circle.

    The place near Runa was open, but there was no reason Stigander should have conceded there. Einarr tossed his staff back to Erik and tried to follow: a look over Stigander’s shoulder warned him off. Later, then. He stood straighter, ignoring for the moment his concern in favor of a “victory” lap around the stage before he trotted off to take his Father’s former place near the Jarl.

    He nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw the Jarl’s face. Hroaldr’s face was redder than Stigander’s, his lips pursed in fury, staring at Einarr. He slid into the proffered opening anyway, giving Runa a thin-lipped smile.

    It may have been the single most uncomfortable place he had stood during a Hall Dance, but thankfully it didn’t go on much longer. Even Sivid didn’t try to compete with the father-son show that had just occurred, and he wasn’t usually one to be cautious of the odds.

    As the music faded and the circle dissolved, Einarr felt a strong hand grip his arm. A strong, male hand. He turned slowly, knowing who it had to be. Einarr was still unprepared for the fury filling the Jarl’s eyes.

    “I’m not blind, boy. Even if I were, Stigander has made things quite plain t’me. D’ye think that maybe, just maybe, there’s a reason Trabbi is courting my daughter instead of the son of my friend?”

    Einarr opened his mouth to interject, but the Jarl continued.

    “You want to marry my daughter. So tell me, boy: d’ye have a hall?”

    Einarr clapped his mouth shut.

    “D’ye have a hearth? A ship? Oh, yes, you have a ship – or you will, crewed by your father’s men, loyal to him first, and no port to call your own. Is that what you would have me bind Runa to? Trabbi is a loyal vassal. Trabbi has holdings of his own, and if his boats are fishing boats, there are worse things. Now, tell me, boy, who should I marry my daughter to?”

    “My lord, how many wives has Trabbi buried?” It was all he could come up with under the stinging truth of the Jarl’s rage.

    “Fewer than Stigander.”

    “And how old are his children?”

    Hroaldr met his eyes in an icy glare, the anger undiminished, as though to say he had already considered such matters. “Do not test me where my daughter is concerned. Understood?”

    “Yes, my lord.”

    1.7 – Feast in the Hall 1.9 – Spring Thaw
    Table of Contents