Othwulf laughed. “I'm not your uncle here.”
Which was, of course, its own small part of the problem. “I need you to be, for a moment.” He noted with gratitude that Othwulf's sardonic smile deserted him, and that the wolfcarl waited silent for what Isolfr would say. Isolfr gulped air and forged forward. “My father hates the Wolfmaegth.”
Othwulf nodded, drying his knife carefully on his jerkin before putting it away. “I suspected as much. And knew it, when I saw you here. He didn't want to marry Halfrid, you know. Didn't want to be jarl and raid and quarrel and raise cattle and worry about there being enough hurdles woven to keep the sheep in pastureâ” The wolfcarl sighed. “Those were to be my duties. Gunnarr talked of going viking,
bringing home a king's ransom and a princess from across the sea.”
“He's jarl. He could go if he wantedâ”
Othwulf's eyebrow rose. “And leave Nithogsfjoll, of all places, without a lord all summer? He might as well carve runes on the door inviting the trellmaegth for dinner and maybe a circle dance.” And Othwulf looked up, over Isolfr's shoulder, a squint that Isolfr knew by Othwulf's smile had the big wolf Vikingr pinned on its other end. “He was not happy to lose you.”
“He was not happy,” Isolfr agreed, falling into step beside him as Othwulf began walking toward the pack of wolves among whom Vikingr dozed. “And when Grimolfr went to ask for men-at-armsâ”
“I understand.”
Isolfr laughed, although it scoured his throat. “Not the half of it. He told the wolfjarl that he had given enough to the wolfheall already, and asked how Grimolfr liked bedding me.”
Othwulf snorted laughter. “Does he like it?”
A shrug, as they drew up beside the wolves. “He wouldn't know,” Isolfr answered, as dryly as he dared. “And Hrolleif would have his balls if he tried. Theirs is a closer than usual partnership, or so I am told.”
“Aye, they're shield-brothers as well as wolfheofodmenn,” Othwulf said, crouching beside Vikingr where the big wolf sprawled on the flags, soaking up the thin springtime sun. “It's not unheard of, and makes a strong pack when it works. There's other options, you know, for all a wolfcarl cannot marry.” He regarded Isolfr steadily, and Isolfr knew that Othwulf had seen through him as if he had no more substance than the scraped membrane of a sheep's gut. “Widow-women are grateful for a strong protector, a strong provider, and they say men who know wolves are more gentle than those who do not.”
Isolfr snorted mirthlessly, remembering Hjordis soft and willing in his arms. “And do they ask why that is, Othwulf?”
“Not in my experience. Nor do they wish to know what pertains when a man returns to the wolfheall and his brothers there. But womenâit's good to remember women, Isolfr, although not many a warrior will say it. It reminds us why we fight. And there are not so many women in a wolfheall as for that. And there are other thingsâif the blood runs strong, it's a shame to spill it unbred. I've two sons of my own. The younger, I'll wager, will be a wolfcarl himself.” Othwulf smiled, rising and crossing his arms. “Maybe even one like you.”
Isolfr stepped back, wishing Viradechtis were beside him. “How can I shift him?” he asked plainly, hoping for some spark of knowledge in Othwulf's eyes, but Othwulf shrugged and spread his hands.
“Scare him,” Othwulf said. “And show him that you are no less a man for what you have become.”
Before Isolfr could speak, the doors of the wolfheall swung open, and twenty-two wolfheofodmenn emerged. Every one of them looked grim. But the pack-sense carried determination as well and the resolve that came with having settled on a course of action. One that, looking at their faces, Isolfr thought they half-knew was doomed, though it would be glorious in song. He knew what the answer was before Grimolfr raised his voice to announce it.
With summer, they would take the war to the trolls.
Somehow, Isolfr had to earn his father's forgiveness before then.
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H
e thought about it that night, lying wakeful and cramp-limbed among fur and flesh and the dense heat of the sleeping pack. Thought about his father's pride and his mother's solemn patience, thought about the specter of Othwulf-who-had-been-Sturla that had hung, without his knowing it, over his childhood. Thought about his brother Jonak, now his father's heir, and wondered if his own shadow was lying cold across Jonak's shoulders.
He rose as soon as there was light enough to see. Bathed and dressed and braided his hair carefully, and with Viradechtis padding at his heels, slipped out of the compound. No one saw him leave, and even if they had, they would only have assumed he was going hunting.
He supposed, with bitter humor, that they would not have been entirely wrong.
Viradechtis liked the village and was happy to go there, but he didn't feel the sharp force of her interest until they were starting up toward the keep. They passed by the cottage that Hjordis shared with her sister and brother-in-law, and Viradechtis was disappointed; he promised her a visit on the return. But the keep renewed her excitement.
Here she had not beenâhere, as a pup, she had in fact been forbidden to goâand although she had always been sensible about the matter, her curiosity was wide-awake and eager. Her enthusiasm eased some of Isolfr's own apprehension, and he reminded himself that no matter what his father might say, he, Isolfr, was a man of the werthreat and, moreover, had sixteen stone of trellwolf to guard him.
After all,
he said to himself, as they rounded the last curve of the switchback,
he has already refused his help to the wolfheall. There is nothing you can lose.
The scrawny young armsman on guard at the gate did not know what to make of him, and was hard pressed to keep his gaze on Isolfr's face instead of on Viradechtis, standing in the sunlight with her tail waving good-humoredly, clearly capable of eating the armsman in two bites if she felt like it.
“Tell Lord Gunnarr that Isolfr Viradechtisbrother wishes to speak with him,” Isolfr said and watched, carefully not smiling, as the boy's eyes widened and he squeaked, “Yes, sir!” and bolted.
“Come, sister,” Isolfr said to Viradechtis, and they stepped together into the courtyard of the keep.
It was much as Isolfr remembered it, clean and orderly, the walls gleaming with whitewash and the cobbles swept clear. Viradechtis leaned against him, interested in what
she saw and smelled, a little puzzled by his thoughts. He gave her a memory of the birthing-box she had spent her first few months of life in, and she tilted her head, bumping up into his armpit, and thought of puppies playing catch-me across these clean, clean cobbles.
Isolfr was smiling at the thought when someone said, from the main door to the keep, “Njall?”
He turned and for a moment had no idea who the girl was. But he saw Halfrid in her face, and said, “Kathlin?”
“It
is
you!” She came down the steps, her blue eyes very wide. “Is this your wolf?”
“This is my sister, Viradechtis,” Isolfr said. “Viradechtis, this is my sister Kathlin. And I'm Isolfr now, sister.”
“Oh.” Her dismay was plain. “I forgot.”
“It does no harm,” he said smiling. “You're lucky I remember
your
name at all.”
“You didn't come,” she said, and he heard all her hurt piled up in her voice. “You said you'd come, NjaâIsolfr.”
“I am here now,” he answered, without looking down. “And if Father will permit it, I may come again.”
She bit her lip and glanced down at Viradechtis, in patent avoidance. “Will she ⦠may we clasp hands?”
“I would hope you might have a hug for your brother,” Isolfr said, and she blushed and sidled close enough to hug him hesitantly.
“I have
missed
you,” she said, as shyly as if she spoke to a stranger. Isolfr was not sure who he hated more at that moment, his father for forbidding him the keep or himself for making no effort at reconciliation.
“Would you like to pet Viradechtis?” he offered. “She'll love you forever if you scratch her ears.”
“Oh, may I?” Sincere delight, and he nodded. “Give her your scent first, as you would with a dog.”
She did, and Viradechtis snuffled her hand, licked her fingersâ
sausage
she said happily to Isolfrâand ducked her head invitingly. Kathlin took the invitation, and smiled blindingly when Viradechtis' tail began to wave back and forth.
“I'm glad you have her,” Kathlin said. “I worried about you, when you went and Father was soâ”
“
Kathlin
! Get away from that beast!” It was a roar; Kathlin, Isolfr and Viradechtis all startled and turned. Gunnarr Sturluson stood in the doorway of the keep.
Kathlin hesitated; Isolfr said, “Please, tell Mother I would speak with her before I leave,” and she gave him a quick, grateful nod and fled.
Isolfr looked up at his father and was bewildered to find him so small; he was accustomed to think of his father as imposing, stern and knowing as a god, but that had been before he learned to look Grimolfr Skaldsbrother in the face.
Isolfr wondered how he could not have noticed, that spring day four years ago, that his father was afraid of Vigdis. Afraid, but willing to stand up to her to protect his son.
Isolfr licked dry lips.
Viradechtis did not care to be called
beast
, and she did not care, either, for men who smelled like Isolfr but not as nice. Isolfr caught a twitch, there and gone, of what his father smelled like through Viradechtis' nose, and was reminded with sudden painful humor of what Ulfmaer had told him his first day as a tithe-boy, and of Hroi's emphatic agreement.
He coughed instead of laughing and said, “Father. Greetings. It pleases me to find you well.”
“Does it?” Gunnarr growled. “And I suppose you want me to tell you it pleases
me
to see you in the company of thatâ”
“I should warn you, Father, that Viradechtis understands our speech tolerably well.” The blood drained from Gunnarr's face, but he continued forward, and Isolfr remembered his dutyâboth the duty of honor he owed his father, and the greater duty he owed the wolfheallâand said, “I do not ask your blessing, Father, only your help.”
“Help?” For a moment, there was light in Gunnarr's eyes. “You mean you want to come home?”
“Help for the wolfheall,” Isolfr said patiently and told Viradechtis that if she moved so much as a paw, he'd put her to hauling firewood all summer long.
“You're here on the wolfjarl's errand,” Gunnarr said, face darkening again. “Is it not enough that he's made you his wolf-bitch? Must he make you his errand-boy, too?”
For a moment, the matter hung precariously in the balance. Isolfr's fists were clenched so tightly he could feel his nails digging into his palms, and Viradechtis was growling, a low oscillation of menace, just barely at the threshold of audibility.
Gunnarr heard and went up on his toes, too proud to step back; Isolfr heard and reined his temper in. “Father, I will tell you once and tell you truly. Lord Grimolfr does not bed me, nor would wish to. And I come on the business of the wolfheall, not at his bidding. I come to tell you that what Lord Grimolfr told you is true. The trolls are coming south in greater numbers than the oldest man in the wolfheall can remember seeing. The wolfjarls have held Wolfmaegthing, and come summer, they will march north. And I tell you also, Father, if the wolfless men do not march with them, then the Wolfmaegth will die in the mountains and you will have nothing standing between you and the trolls but these beautifully whitewashed walls. And your walls will not save you.”
He stopped, panting for breath. He had never said so much to his father at one timeâhad never heard his father let
anyone
say so much without interruption. And his father was staring at him as if he had never seen Isolfr before.
Gunnarr said, abruptly, “I must think on't,” and turned away, disappearing into the keep.
Isolfr wanted very much to go home; Viradechtis, leaning into him, agreed. He turned toward the gate, and his mother emerged from the shadows of the stables. “Isolfr.”
“Mother.” He crossed to her; they clasped hands as adults.
She looked at Viradechtis. “And this is your ⦔
“Viradechtis is her name.”
“A beautiful creature,” said Halfrid, and Viradechtis told Isolfr that she liked this one much better than the unpleasant-smelling man.
“She thinks well of you, too,” he said to Halfrid.
“You have found your way to manhood, I think,” she said, touching one of his braids.
“Maybe,” Isolfr said, and they smiled at each other ruefully. “I remembered what you said about honor. It has helped.”