Lord of Falcon Ridge (Viking Era 4)

The man opened the door and said, “Lord Varrick will see you.”

They walked through the door into a huge house of darkness. The immense hall wasn’t empty. Women stood over the cooking pot at the fire pit, stirring with a huge wooden spoon. Two other women sat at their looms set against the wooden walls. There were at least a dozen men working their weapons, all of them silent. At the end of the immense hall, light flooded into the darkness through two huge open wooden shutters. The stream of light was harsh and heavy. In that stark light, standing on a wooden platform, stood a man dressed in black. He didn’t move, just stood looking at them, silhouetted in the beam of bright sunlight. He remained motionless, as if he weren’t really there, as if he were some sort of ghost appearing suddenly to drive them mad. Kiri whimpered softly and pressed her face into her father’s neck.

There was still no movement, no talk. No one seemed to breathe.

“Come here,” the man said, his voice deep and resonant, filling every corner of the huge hall.

Cleve gave Kiri to Chessa. “Stay with your second papa. Don’t be frightened. He is entertaining us just as would Laren, only he does it with light and shadow, black and white. More black than white, but that’s all right.”

Cleve said aloud as he walked toward the giant of a man standing with legs spread atop that high wooden platform, “You are lucky there is no mist overhanging the land and loch today. Otherwise you wouldn’t look like a demon from the Christian’s hell.”

“Ah,” the man said, still not moving, just staring down at Cleve, whose face was alight with the sun and couldn’t see the man’s face clearly because he was in the shadows. “What you say is true, but there are other ways to make men shudder with fright, to bring them to their knees, to make them obey me. You understand this. Who are you?”

“I am Ronin of Kinloch, but I have been known as Cleve for so many years that I think of myself as Cleve of Kinloch.”

At last there was noise, people staring at him, speaking now behind their hands, none knowing what to do, how to react. Not one of the men moved from their posts. Cleve thought Varrick had them very well trained. He had no fear of this man, just hatred, and yet he didn’t know how he was going to wrest what was rightfully his away from this man who looked like a demon standing there, his face in the shadows even as the light cascaded around him. Cleve was a man of thought. He was a diplomat. He would trust his wits.

The man merely stared down at him, not moving, not speaking. There was a sudden shift of breeze from behind him, sweeping into the immense hall, and his black tunic billowed, making him look all the more terrifying.

“Where are my sisters?”

“They are here. You say you are Ronin? We have long believed you dead. You disappeared twenty years ago, surely too long a time for a child to survive into manhood. Are you truly who you say you are?”

“I remember my mother telling me I was the very image of my father. Look closely at me, Lord Varrick. Do you see resemblance between me and the man you replaced so very long ago?”

The man said in that same cold voice, “No, there is no resemblance to you and your mother’s first husband. How came you by the scar on your face?”

“A woman, my lord. She struck me with a whip when I refused to bed with her.”

The man laughed. It was a cold rusty sound, and quickly stopped. Chessa saw several of the men stare openly up at their master.

“Why?” he asked. “One woman is much as another. Why did you refuse her?”

“She was with three other young male slaves, all of them naked surrounding her. She wanted me to pleasure her, then to mount her and show them how it was done. She said she’d seen me with another girl and had decided then that she would have me as well. I wouldn’t do it. She was enraged. She took her whip and sliced open my face. I bled on her.”

“I would have killed her for maiming me.”

“I had not that chance,” Cleve said. “I was a slave. But you know that, don’t you, Lord Varrick?” He stepped forward. “Let us continue, Lord Varrick. Do not think you can crush me like you did the small boy twenty years ago. Do not think I am a nightmare come only for the space of a single hour to torment you. I am here to stay. This is my home and I belong here. Where is my brother? No, I see that he isn’t here. You killed him as you tried to kill me, didn’t you?”

“You will crush me beneath your heel, Cleve?”

“I will come to an agreement with you, my lord. But I will not fade away. This is my wife, Chessa, she is the daughter of King Sitric of Ireland. This is Lord Merrik of Malverne. His wife is the niece of Duke Rollo of Normandy. If something happens again to me, you will be crushed, your magnificent platform that sets you above all others torn asunder, this fortress leveled. You will have nothing left, no huge windows at your back to give you presence and terrify people with your magic. I tell you this so that you will not act precipitously.”

Chessa felt the intensity of his eyes on her. Like Cleve, she couldn’t see him clearly for the sunlight blinded her.

“You are Hormuze’s daughter,” he said to her. “Are you truly of his blood?”

“Aye. I was very young when he gave King Sitric back his youth. I loved him dearly, but he left me, disappeared into the mists of time, giving me into the guardianship of the newly reborn king.”

“He is the greatest magician I have ever met,” Lord Varrick said. “Were any of you present when he worked this feat of magic on King Sitric?”

Merrik said, “My brother, Lord Rorik of Hawkfell Island, was there. It occurred just as Hormuze had promised. King Sitric wedded the virgin Hormuze selected for him. The following morning, he greeted his soldiers and the people at Clontarf as a young man, vital, handsome, the greediness of the old man melded back into the nobility of the young man.”

“And you are his daughter.”

“Aye, he taught me as well.” Chessa raised her chin just a bit. “He taught me potions and spells. But I was a child and learned only a little.”

Cleve said, “I want no battle with you, Lord Varrick. I want only what is mine and should have been mine. I spent fifteen years as a slave. I didn’t remember who I was until the dreams came to me over the past three years. Now I know who I am. I want what is mine. I will kill you if I must to regain it.”