Lord of Raven's Peak (Viking Era 3)

“Perhaps is a word for weasels. Truth slithers about on your agile tongue like a toad through swamp grass. If there is someone who would ransom you, tell me. I will consider it. At least I can send a man to this person and ask him if he still wants you back, if he still even remembers you or the child. Since he is a man, perhaps he will have forgotten you since he would have no particular love or affection for you.”

He could see her mind squirreling about madly, see the myriad shifting expressions on her face. He waited to see what she would say. He awaited lies. He was a bit surprised when she let out her breath in a gasp, saying, “I cannot tell you anything. There is someone, but I’m not certain. Perhaps that someone is no longer there. But, heed me, I buried silver long ago. Aye, that is it. I have a buried treasure.”

Ah, at last the lie, but not at first, no, that was truth of a sort. He raised an eyebrow. “For just this emergency?”

“You mock me, Viking. A man like you could never understand.”

“A man like me? I thought you said I was different.”

“You’re still a Viking. You are a warrior even though you are a trader as well, and you kill without hesitation, if killing would gain you something you want. I accept the manner of man you are. I know more of your practices than you could imagine. Also, during the past two years I have learned to recognize the way of things. I have learned that if you don’t at least pretend acceptance, you will rot in a ditch quickly enough or be beaten to death.”

“So you do have people who would ransom you if you could but get a message to them, people who would want you back.” He stared thoughtfully at his feet, big feet, as brown and strong as his hands. He leaned down and scratched his toe. None of the men, she’d noticed, wore boots or shoes whilst in the longboat. All their belongings and clothes were in the chests upon which they sat. He said slowly, not looking up at her, “This is curious. You don’t wish to tell me anything because you’re afraid any message I sent would reach the wrong people.” He looked up then to see her face whiten, if such a thing were possible. Perhaps getting her to tell him the truth would present something of a challenge, but if he guessed the truth, it was as apparent as a maiden’s blush in her expression.

He said nothing more, merely leaned over to speak to Old Firren. It was a long time before he spoke to her again, and when he did, it made her start, so deep and strangled was she into her own thoughts.

“Your name—Laren—it is odd. Where do you come from?”

She was wary now, very wary, and said only, “Far away from Kiev.”

“But not that far away from Norway? From England? From Ireland?”

“It is not of concern to you.”

He chose to let the arrogance of her amuse him. It was either that or wring her neck. “Your eyes have more gray than blue in this bright light.”

“Not all that common a color in my land, is that what you want to know? It is common enough. As for your eyes, Merrik, the blue is like the clear summer sky overhead, too clear and pure to be guileless. Aye, they could hide deceit in their depths, they could lie cleanly to the one looking at you. Your eyes are just like those of every other man from your country. Just look at Oleg yon. His eyes are darker, but nonetheless, enough the same.”

“Roran has black eyes.”

“The man with one ear? He looks like an Arab. Surely he is not a Viking.”

An Arab, he thought. Where had she come from before she’d reached Kiev? Miklagard? The Caliphate? Perhaps as far away as Bulgar?

“Surely he isn’t one of your countrymen.”

“He’s from the Danelaw, near to York. His mother is a Saxon, but his father a Viking merchant.”

She nodded.

She knows the Danelaw, then, he thought, or at least she has heard of it.

Oleg called out, “Merrik, Eller smells something.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Eller’s nose is magical. Sit still beside me, for we must get into the center of the river quickly.”

“I don’t see anyone on shore. No one, nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter. Once I ignored Eller’s nose to my great cost. Never again. Be quiet and keep your head down.”

The men were silent now, once again concentrating all their energy on getting the longboat back into the strong current and moving swiftly away from the scent that reached Eller’s nose. The wind picked up as they reached the middle of the river and they tightened the huge wadmal sail, its squares of black, green, and gold vivid in the afternoon sun. Four men held the lines, making them taut when they sailed too close into the wind, and slacking off when the sail flapped too wildly away from the wind.

She looked back and saw men now lining the shore, waving spears and rocks at them, yelling. They didn’t look friendly. Still, how could they have harmed the Viking longboat?

She leaned back her head and breathed in the clean air. She felt he was toying with her, and doubtless he was, but she wouldn’t tell him more, she couldn’t afford to. He was too close to the truth and she was too afraid. No, what would happen in the future would be what she would make happen. She would be responsible, she alone. Still, as she felt the river breeze cool her forehead and make her eyelids droop, she knew again something of the taste of freedom. Perhaps, at last, she was free. Both she and Taby.

She looked at her little brother, sitting on Cleve’s knee, pressed against his chest. She looked at the hideous scar on Cleve’s face and wondered what vicious mistress had ordered this done to him and why. What offense could warrant this? Ah, but without the scar, he would be a handsome man, with his thick golden hair and bronze flesh. And his smile was full and laughing, his teeth as straight and white as the Viking’s.