DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (14 page)

Her smile faded. “No luck?”

Aren dragged his attention back to where it needed to be. A quick scan showed no strangers in their camp.

“Where are our guests?” Aren held his bow loosely in one hand at his side, and his other well away from his dagger. He didn’t want to die from a misunderstanding.

“Here,” a feminine voice answered. The smallest of the three women he’d seen emerged from the trees beyond his left shoulder, a drawn bow in her hands.

Aren turned slightly to better see her. She held her bow steady and sure, and he had no doubt she’d loose at the least threat. And there were the other two, still out of sight.

“Norva, this is Aren. He’s … escorting us to Quartzholm,” Annikke said.

“He’s taking me there to answer for the crime of defending myself,” Benoia added.

“Do you work for the same Lord Tholvar that those others claimed to serve?”

“No.”

“Benoia?” Norva asked as she continued to gaze at Aren down the length of her arrow.

“I don’t think so,” Benoia admitted. “He said he serves the Jarl.”

“He’s not a threat,” Annikke said to Norva. “Not like those others. You can draw down.”

Norva relaxed her string, but kept her arrow nocked. Aren turned his attention to Annikke, grateful that she thought at least that much of him. “What happened?”

“Some men came into the camp and said they were going to take us to Lord Tholvar. Or maybe Sveyn. One said they served the Jarl. They were a little confused on the subject. They got violent when Norva and her friends arrived and started asking questions.”

Something twisted in Aren’s gut, something more than the shame that he’d failed in his duty. “Did they hurt you?”

A shadow passed over her face. Something had happened, but she said, “No, thanks to these Daughters of Freya.”

Aren closed his eyes, as a storm surge of relief flooded him. He didn’t want to think about how Annikke and Benoia might have fared in the care of Tholvar’s men. His throat was unexpectedly tight as he spoke. “My thanks, Norva.”

“We saw a woman at knife’s point. That doesn’t sit well with us.”

“I’m in your debt.” His debts would soon bury him, but this was one he’d gladly pay.

Norva shook her head. “Nay. You saved the heir to Forsvaremur. We’re even.”

Aren cast a look at Vali’s slumbering form. “Lady Solveig’s son, eh?” He turned back to Norva. “Since neither of us want to bring harm to Annikke, Benoia, or Vali, perhaps your two companions could stop aiming their arrows at me?”

Norva lifted a brow, then trilled a whistle like a whippoorwill’s call. “They will continue to keep watch, however.”

The feeling in Aren’s back that felt like target had been tacked there eased. He gave her half a smile. “It’s only prudent.”

The wiry woman advanced closer, looking at the youth curled in his blankets. “How long before Lord Vali can travel?”

Annikke shrugged. “His body will tell us. It would have been better if your hunt had been successful,” she added to Aren. “He needs more food than we have.”

“Did you think I’d come into an armed camp hampered with a carcass? Build up the fire, we’re eating venison tonight.”

*

Annikke leaned forward, legs crossed tailor fashion, a warm cup of tea in her hands. Her belly was full, Vali had some color in his face again, and in company with Aren and the Daughters of Freya, her fear of Lord Tholvar’s men was in abeyance. Trouble still stalked her and Benoia, but for the first time in a week, worry wasn’t in the forefront of her mind.

Dusk gave way to night. Norva had just returned from her sweep of the perimeter, and Kellan had slipped away for her patrol when Benoia said, “I want to go with Norva and the others when they take Vali home to Forsvaremur.”

Annikke’s fragile peace shattered at the thought of losing Benoia. But it wouldn’t happen, not yet anyway. “You made a promise to Aren.” She didn’t look at him, but she felt Aren hold himself still, saying nothing.

“I promised to do him no harm, and to not try to escape. I haven’t.” She looked at Aren. “But if you let me go, that wouldn’t be escaping.”

“Benoia!” Annikke spoke sharply. “You can’t ask a man to break his oath! Especially not so that you won’t have to.”

Her foster-daughter’s expression grew both stricken and panicked. “I’m sorry! But what am I to do? We don’t know who sent those men. Maybe the Jarl decided not to wait for Aren to bring me in. I’m just a poor girl from a small village. Maybe he just wants to make me go away.”

Annikke shook her head. “Far more likely it was Sveyn who sent those men. Lord Fender said to come to him if we were ever in need. You trust
him
don’t you? Would he serve an unworthy man?”

“Do lords keep their promises any better than other men?” Benoia asked bitterly.

Annikke cast an anxious glance at Aren at the implied insult. Even Norva’s brows rose, but Aren remained silent, his expression drawn. Annikke held her breath. Any second now he’d put Benoia in her place. He might even decide that he couldn’t trust her to keep her word and demand she submit to restraints. Would the Daughters of Freya allow that? Would they come to blows?

“I promised to protect you, and I failed to do that,” Aren said in a tightly controlled voice. “It’s only by a gift of the gods, and the skill of the Daughters of Freya, that you weren’t harmed. I am forsworn. But I will
not
fail to keep my oath to the Jarl. I
will
take you to Quartzholm.”

Who was his promise to protect us given to then, if not the Jarl? Lord Fender?

“Moreover, I believe the only way to keep you both safe is to go to Quartzholm. Running to Forsvaremur isn’t the answer.”

“Sometimes running from danger is all a woman can do,” Halageth said into the silence that followed his words.

“Sometimes, but not
this
time,” Aren said. “Those men were
not
sent by the Jarl. I’d stake my life on it. I haven’t been in Quartzholm long enough to know all by sight, but I do know what kind of man Lord Fender accepts into his service, and by extension, the Jarl. Those men would not behave as you’ve told me these did, nor were they wearing anything that identified them as being in the Jarl’s service.”

“That’s all well and good, but what if the Jarl decides he needs to placate Lord Tholvar more than he cares about justice?” Benoia said. “Let me disappear among the Daughters of Freya.”

Norva shook her head. “I cannot speak for Lord Dahleven, but what I do is on my head. I owe the Daughters of Freya too much to repay them by bringing the ire of Lord Dahleven to Lady Solveig’s door. You could run to the Daughters of Freya, but we can’t keep you from your Jarl if he commands your presence. We won’t. We owe Lady Solveig too much.”

Her foster-daughter pressed her lips together tightly and stared off into the distance. Annikke recognized the look as the one the girl wore when she wanted to argue but recognized it would do her no good. It didn’t mean she’d given up, however.

“Even if Freya’s Daughters would have you, it wouldn’t be safe to go there now,” Aren said.

Benoia looked at him with a sullen gaze, but Annikke could see he’d piqued her curiosity.

“The man who escaped? He surely recognized these women as Daughters of Freya. What other women could have fought so well? There’s only one ferry crossing within a week’s travel. Morlegg and his friends will be waiting for you there. But they have no reason to think you’ll go to the Jarl. They won’t look for you on the road to Quartzholm.”

Benoia looked away again, and Annikke’s heart broke to see a tear roll down her foster-daughter’s cheek.

“Benoia,” Aren said gently. He waited until she looked at him, then said, “I know you have little reason to trust men, but we are not all like your father or Sveyn. Lord Dahleven has a baby daughter. I do not believe he’ll be able to hear your story without thinking of what justice he’d want for her.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Chapter Fifteen

Birdsong began with the first greying of the sky, waking Aren as the day dawned bright and clear. Lady Solveig’s son awoke looking better than he had since Aren had first seen him. As they broke their fast, Vali declared himself fit for travel and Annikke agreed, provided he rest and eat often.

“I’ll see that he doesn’t overtax himself,” Norva promised.

The young lord rolled his eyes as he grinned. “You won’t have to, Norva. Mistress Annikke will watch me with Heimdal’s eye.”

Norva frowned. “They’re off to Quartzholm, my lord. We go to relieve Lady Solveig’s worry in Forsvaremur.”

Vali shook his head. “Send Kellan and Halageth with that message. I need to speak with Lord Dahleven on behalf of Benoia and Mistress Annikke. If not for their aid and Aren’s, I’d be dead. They helped me not knowing who I was. I owe them.”

Benoia’s eyes widened. “Thank you.”

“Aye, my lord. Quartzholm it is, then.” Norva didn’t look displeased.

Aren nodded. Vali was going to be a fine Jarl when his mother handed over Forsvaremur to him. “Quartzholm is the better choice for you both as well. You made no friend of Morlegg. You won’t surprise him again, and if he is waiting at the ferry, he’ll have more men with him. You’d all be better to return home with a larger escort.”

“Aye,” Kellan said, “but Halageth and I will chance the ferry crossing. My Talent will let me reconnoiter the landing without being noticed, and Lady Solveig should have word her son is safe sooner rather than later.”

Aren couldn’t fault that thinking, and the two women soon departed. His own party took a little longer to sort out. Vali tried to refuse when Aren said he should ride Pinter, wanting to let Annikke and Benoia ride. Aren respected him for it, but before he could disagree, Annikke pierced Vali with a look perfected by motherhood. “You’re still under my care, young lord, and
I
say you ride. If you walk, you’ll need to rest every quarter candlemark. We’d best get to Quartzholm before Lord Dahleven grows impatient.”

Lady Solveig’s son had the grace to look sheepish, and climbed into the saddle. “You see Norva? Mistress Annikke will keep me in line.”

The five of them made slow progress, partly because Aren called frequent rests. He said it was for the sake of the horse, but he wasn’t going to let Vali tire himself. Besides the young lord, it was for Annikke’s sake as well. Fatigue shadowed her eyes. She’d been sleeping on the hard ground for more than a week, eating meager rations. Whatever she’d done to mend Vali’s arm, an arm Aren would have sworn was broken but that the boy now used freely, had taken even more out of her, and then she’d endured a violent assault. She needed rest almost as much as Vali, and if he’d had a second horse he would have made her ride.

Pines began to dominate as the elevation rose. The early summer undergrowth was minimal, but under the cover of fallen needles the ground was rocky and uneven. Aren chose a route through the forest that would intersect the road. “It’s longer in distance, but ultimately shorter in time,” he explained when Norva asked.

They made camp under the spreading boughs of an old, lone oak, sharing a meal of journey-bread, cider, and roasted venison as the light faded. Vali again ate like a starving wolf, but Benoia sat rigidly, wrapped tightly in a blanket even though the night hadn’t yet grown cool, barely nibbling her ration. They would reach Quartzholm tomorrow, and no doubt the girl was nervous. Aren tried to think of some way to allay her fears, but he’d already said all he could. Her fate was in Lord Dahleven’s hands.

“Sing us a song, Benoia,” Annikke asked.

Benoia jumped, startled out of whatever thoughts were furrowing her brow. “I don’t feel much like singing.”

“Oh, yes! Please do,” Vali said. “The Long Hunt! Do you know that one?”

Benoia chuckled, as Vali no doubt intended. He’d named a song sung at every festival.

“Of course.”

Annikke nodded. “Good choice.”

Aren could see Annikke was keeping her anxiety under tight rein, but even in the fading light he noticed how her knuckles whitened as she clasped her hands together tightly. Then Benoia began to sing, and the tension in her shoulders eased. Soon she was nodding her head in time with the song.

The young woman’s voice was clear and sweet, and she sang the nearly endless ballad about the adventures of a band of men hunting in an endless wood well, omitting the more ribald stanzas. Aren wondered if she knew them.

Probably,
he thought.
The young always manage to learn such things. I wonder if Tandra knows those verses.

Aren decided he didn’t want to know, and joined Vali and Norva on the upbeat chorus. Was it Aren’s imagination, or were the leaves swaying in time with the tune despite the lack of a breeze?

“Now you,” Benoia commanded Annikke.

“You know better than to ask me to sing,” Annikke protested.

Benoia laughed. “True enough. But you can tell us the story of the boys sheltered by the trees.”

“That’s a children’s tale,” Annikke protested.

“But a good one,” Aren said. “And appropriate to the setting.”

Annikke glanced up into the shadowed boughs spreading overhead and snorted delicately. “Very well.”