Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“Who gives her this incantation?”

“Ah, Hormuze again, the king’s own advisor and physician. He’s an old man like the king, but he’s wily, smart, and dangerous. He is not one of us. His name is strange. I have heard it said he comes from a land even farther to the south than Miklagard, a land of deserts and vast burial monuments that go back hundreds upon hundreds of years. He speaks a strange tongue, this from a servant I bribed who said she heard him speaking to his daughter in this alien language. I heard it said that he controls the king, though I cannot testify that it is true. Few see the king, but enough to swear that he lives and gives the impression that he makes the decisions and gives the orders. He says to those familiar to him that Hormuze is his physician and advisor, and thus he is willing to trust him in matters of his health and in matters that need advice. Then he laughs his old man’s laugh and says that in matters of the marauding Irish chieftains, it is he who commands and who rules. However, as I told you before, Rorik, I heard it said that both Hormuze and the king will come to fetch Mirana from Einar.”

Rorik nodded, saying, “And what do the king’s people and his warriors believe about Hormuze?”

“They believe what the king says, that he is his physician and advisor, and yet they are wary of him. They fear him, for his hold on the king is a strong one. Hormuze has told them that once the king has wed Mirana, daughter of Audun, on the first day of September, he will be reborn, he will be vigorous and young again, and he will give his people heirs to rule them forever. On that day he will appear to them and all will see that he has spoken the truth. On that day, he claims, the Irish chieftains and all their forces will be as insects underfoot. The people cling to this. They even now begin to dream of a vigorous man emerging from his bridal chamber, renewed and somehow young again and ready to lead them to undreamed-of glory.”

“What kind of blank-brained fools

are these?” Rorik said, and spat into the bushes. “Why did he choose Mirana of all women? She is of no great house, her birth isn’t royal. Why her?”

Kron shook his head. “I don’t know. No one does, save Hormuze and the king.”

Kron had already told Rorik most of this, but there were more details he’d thought to add this time. Rorik smiled. He had an idea. He said to Kron, “Tell me, is there someone close to this Hormuze? A wife? A son or daughter?”

“Aye, there is a daughter. She is but ten years old if I remember aright.”

“And he is an old man himself?”

“Aye, he appears beyond old, an ancient relic.”

“Odd that he could sire such a young child. Is he attached to her?”

“Aye, my lord. Hormuze worships the girl. She is a sweet child I have heard it said even though he treats her like a princess. There is no wife. I believe she died well before Hormuze came to the court.”

Rorik rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he said. “That is excellent. We haven’t much time, but we have enough.”

* * *

Hormuze was a careful man, very careful. He trusted no one and he never would. Slowly, meticulously, he pasted down the gray beard that covered his face and hung down past his neck. He patted the woven mat of gray hair over his own thick black hair. With the skill of long practice, he lined his face, taking care not to use too much walnut oil. He did not believe people to be stupid as the king did. But he believed people saw what it was they expected to see.

They believed Hormuze an old man. Thus he was an old man. When he finished he rose from his rosewood chair and fastened the three layers of soft feather padding, belting it about his lean belly. He dressed himself, then looked at himself again closely, as was his wont, in the polished brass mirror. He was pleased. He looked as he was expected to look. The long straggly beard covered the strong cords of his neck. The door opened and Eze stood there, her head cocked to one side, staring at him.

“You are a true graybeard, Papa,” she said, then came to him and lightly kissed his wrinkled cheek.

“Quietly, Eze,” Hormuze said, as he stroked her soft black hair. “Ah, you are so beautiful, my little one. Just like your poor mother. It won’t be long now. You are keeping your own council?”

“Aye, Papa,” the child said, and kissed him once again. “Be careful, Papa.”

“Aye, always.”

Outside the small window, Kron drew back, stunned by what he’d seen. Lord Rorik had been right, but only in a part of it. By all the gods, this was strange, this young man who made himself old. Ah, and the little girl. Kron shook his head. And they’d spoken the strange language between them. Kron quickly pulled the guard’s body from sight. He stole the man’s boots and his beautiful pounded silver armlet. A robbery, all would believe it a robbery.

27

THE NIGHT WAS black. Bloated clouds roiled through the heavens. The air was heavy and thick with rain, the wind becoming colder by the moment.

Mirana waited patiently. She knew Gunleik would come. Still, it seemed an eternity since he’d nodded to her, just after the evening meal. Where was he?

Suddenly, from behind her, he said, his voice soft as a summer’s breeze, “What do you out here, Mirana? You ate very little, yet the women prepared all the dishes you like. I do not wish your charms to waste away. Come inside and let me feed you roasted fowl from my own plate.”

He sounded so very loving and tender. It scared her to near speechlessness. But when she turned to face Einar, there was a sweet smile on her face. She touched her fingertips to his arm, feeling his flesh ripple beneath her touch, feeling the strength of him. “I thank you, brother, but I fear my stomach is displeased. It was doubtless something I ate earlier. I will be well again on the morrow.”

But he was frowning. “Sira told of how Rorik’s family had poisoned you, how you nearly died that first time, how another woman did die. I don’t like this, Mirana. Are you certain your ailment is a mild one?”

She nodded. “Aye, I am certain.”

“You are here at last. By all the gods, I was worried. Endlessly, I worried for you. Gunleik became an old man. I beat him for his failure. Then I sent him after you. He is wily and cunning, smarter than any of my other warriors. I knew he would find you if you still lived.”