Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

“Merrik, you remember the dream I told you about? Well, I’ve had it on and off now for over two years. It’s grown bolder, fuller in the past two years. Last night I dreamed it again and this time when I awoke in the morning, I knew. I remembered.” He paused a moment, pain filling his eyes. “I am half Viking. My father was Olrik the Ram, and he was a powerful Viking chieftain, as was his father and his father’s father before him. He was known as the lord of Falcon Ridge, his fortress was called Kinloch. I look like him, with my golden hair. As for my strange eyes, I have no idea if they are from him or from my mother. I was too young to know when I was taken. I wasn’t born a slave, but like Laren, I was made into one. As I said, my mother was Dalriadan, small and fair skinned, hair as red as an angry sky before sunset. She was very beautiful. My father captured her on a raid and married her. They settled northward near the coast. I have a brother and two sisters, all older than I. My brother was Ethar, my two sisters, Argana and Cayman.”

“The lord of Falcon Ridge,” Merrik repeated slowly. “I have heard of him. Perhaps it was from my father. What happened? Why were you sold into slavery?”

“Yes,” Laren said, touching her fingertips to his linen sleeve. “How came you to be a slave if your father was so powerful?”

“My father died when I was very young. My mother married another Viking warrior who was powerful in a neighboring area. I remember he was cold and hard and he wore only black. He brought silence to Kinloch, and fear. Aye, I remember even as small as I was that he terrified everyone. I remember that I was out one day riding my pony. I stopped when I saw someone I knew, and whilst I was talking to him I was struck on the head and left for dead. I didn’t die, but I was very ill. A man found me, brought me back to health and sold me in Hedeby to a man who liked . . . well, it’s not important. My stepfather—I can’t remember his name—he was a bully, but he was so cold, how well I remember that, the unnatural coldness of him and everything he touched. He took my father’s place and everything changed. Surely it was he who wanted me killed, but I didn’t die, though the result was surely the same since I was a slave for fifteen years. It was never his plan to raise me to take my rightful place, though I wonder why he killed me before he killed my older brother, who was the rightful heir. That’s a mystery. Doubtless after I was gone, he spawned more children off my mother. As to what became of my brother and sisters, I don’t know. I remembered in this last dream that he wanted my sister, Argana. She was only a girl, no more than twelve. But I knew he wanted her and my mother knew it as well. He beat my mother, I remember that. I remember hearing her screams, his low, deep voice, so calm, so very black, and her screams.”

Cleve looked from Merrik to Laren. There was regret and deep, deep anger in his eyes. “I want to go home,” he said. “I pray my mother and my brother and sisters are still alive. It has been nearly twenty years. I want to know if what I suspect is true: if this man, my stepfather, tried to kill me, if he killed my brother, so he could take what is ours. I want vengeance.”

“I will go with you,” Merrik said, and rubbed his hands together. “I grow bored with all this damned peace, not a single squabble in over six months now. At the last meeting of the thing in Kaupang, there were only silly complaints—a man who’d stolen a pig from his neighbor—matters that didn’t deserve the time it took us to travel there. Even the raid into the Rhineland whilst you were away being a diplomat wasn’t much of a challenge. I will go gray before I test my sword again. You say your land is savage? You swear my sword won’t hang lifeless by my side?”

“More savage than you can imagine. But don’t forget, I was but five years old.”

“I will go with you as well,” Laren said. “Merrik is right. It’s time for an adventure.”

Merrik opened his mouth, then wisely closed it.

Cleve said slowly, “I was born Ronin but I’ve been Cleve for twenty years. Cleve I will remain.”

4

Rouen, Normandy

Palace of Duke Rollo

Midsummer A.D. 924

DUKE ROLLO OF Normandy, a man of many more years than were allotted to most men, sharp of eye and strong of will, and ready for any adventure, leaned forward, and said, “Cleve, Laren has told me of your be

ginnings. I, too, wish to see that you regain what is yours, that you find your family, though it has been nearly twenty years, a long time. People die. Few are like me and my brother, Hallad. Ha, that Hallad. I am convinced that he will sire another child even as he is being laid out for burial.”

“This is true, sire,” Cleve said. Laren’s father, Hallad, had sired another three sons off his young wife he’d wedded five years before. He was still as hail and hardy as Rollo. It sometimes terrified Cleve. It reminded him of King Sitric of Ireland, a young man who was older than death, if judged by years. Had Rollo and Hallad been touched by the same magic?

“But surely you would rather speak of the marriage between William and Chessa, daughter of King Sitric.”

“Oh, aye. It is time and William knows it. He doesn’t really want this marriage, but he will do it. He misses his wife, you know.”

“He must breed more sons,” Cleve said.

“He understands what he must do. You told him that the princess was comely.”

“Aye, she’s comely.”

“Is she submissive?”

“There is a brightness about her.”

“Does that mean submissive?”

“Not exactly, sire, but surely William won’t know disappointment in her. But you didn’t ask me these questions before. The marriage is arranged. Merrik, Laren, and I will remain here until the princess arrives for her marriage. William has asked that we wait.”

“Aye, I know it. Merrik will spend all his time with Taby, Laren will tell me skald’s tales, and you, Cleve? What will you do?”

“I will bask in the brightness of your court, sire.”

“Ah, well, don’t tell me then, what you will really do. Ha, I’ll wager she’s a comely young girl. That’s it, isn’t it?”

It was the truth, but Cleve merely smiled, a sated smile. Her name was Marda, she was buxom and merry, and she pleased him mightily.