Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (6 page)

"What
did you mean by another way?"

Rolf
cut in. "Brother, she hasn’t spoken since we met her."

Erik
waved his arm, flashing a warning glance at Rolf, and repeated, "What did
you mean?"

The young woman stared
back with iron hard eyes.

Hallad rolled to his
side, wiping his broad hands over his face. His chiseled bones deepened in the
firelight as if carved of stone. A tired groan reverberated in his chest as he
tossed the bedroll aside and stood, exposing his bare feet to the crisp night
air. The downy hair across his well-muscled chest and arms refused to rise and
Erik wondered how he withstood the frigid temperature. By far he was the
tallest of the group—aside from the young woman, who stood nearly as tall as he—and
his shadow cast a long darkness over them, as if they stood beside a mighty
tree.

Hallad sought the woman.
Their eyes met simultaneously, locking for a brief moment, seeming to speak
secretly before disengaging. Erik tensed, the muscles twitching under his skin.
How much influence did this woman hold over his friend?

"Come, blood
brother." Hallad’s low voice contained a commanding quality. Erik wasn’t
sure Hallad was even aware of the tone, which had persuaded him, time after
time, on timbre alone. "We need to get some rest. We still have many days
of travel before we reach Birka."

"She knows,"
said Erik.

"Knows what?" Hallad
and Rolf asked in unison.

Hallad’s forehead
creased and worry plagued his face. The woman turned away, walking into the
night. Erik tried to grab her arm but ended up with a fist full of air.

"Tell me!" Erik
yelled after her. "Tell me where Emma is!"

Hallad stepped in front
of him, blocking Erik’s line of sight to the woman.

"Erik, you are
tired. You need to rest."

"Nei!"

Both Hallad and Rolf
wore concern etched into their features.

"She knows! She
told me I . . . "

Hallad’s worry changed
to condescending, halting Erik’s speech. Rolf appeared frightened that his
elder brother danced with the Shadow of Loki. Erik turned, kicking the ground
with his foot, sending dirt into the fire pit.

"She hasn’t spoken
since we met her," said Hallad, as if speaking to an upset child. "How
could she tell you anything?"

"And why doesn’t
she speak? She knows, for Odin’s wisdom, she knows and she won’t tell me!"

He bent, picking up
pebbles to toss in the fire, throwing them one after the other with a flick of
his wrist, causing the charred wood to crack and crumble.

Rolf and Hallad
exchanged a worried glance.

"They say when you
have seen too much, the gods take away your speech," Rolf offered.

"Forget it. You
wouldn’t understand."

Erik chucked his last
stone into the embers. The pebble clinked against burnt wood, sparks flying. He
stalked across the distance, thumped to the ground and rolled himself in his
cloak, wishing the dream would seize him again.

Hallad and Rolf
exchanged hushed words from the other side of their camp. Erik suspected they
discussed him, but ignored them both. He lay awake until the others settled
down. Emma’s sweet face floated in his memory as he fought off the stinging
under his eyelids.

After the others nodded
off, Erik rummaged through his saddlebag until he found Emma’s golden key. He
fumbled with his fingers, affixing the charm around his neck, tucking the piece
beneath his tunic. He placed his hand over the key, his heartbeat thrumming
under the metal, as a dreamless sleep captured him.

After days of travel,
they stood upon a rocky precipice surveying the landscape below. The wild
waters of the river Syrra, with the gulf of the Sea of Gods gulping at her
head, cut into the canyon banks and separated the group from their destination.
Their path led to a wooden bridge strung across a chasm hundreds of feet above
the raging waters. Bridge met road and continued downward into the tangle of
the city. The bustling port city of Birka ranged from nordr to sudr. It was the
largest establishment Hallad had ever seen, spread beneath them like a jewel at
the edge of a boundless sea.

As they descended, an
array of fish and salt smells burned Hallad’s nostrils. His stomach groaned. His
father had packed plenty of dried meats and breads but Hallad longed for the
taste of fresh food, especially after a few nights of Rolf’s burnt rabbit.

"We'll get a hot
meal, supplies and a warm bed for the night before we seek the Temple."

Rolf stuck his chin in
the air. His sparse hairs—an attempt at growing a beard—poked in all
directions.

"I don't take
orders from the godhi's son."

"We should have
left you at home embroidering with the women," Erik replied.

The elder brother grew
more irritable with each day of their travel. Hallad spent most of his time
worrying over Erik’s wellbeing, defusing fights between the brothers and trying
to keep Erik from hounding Swan, the name they had taken to calling their
travel companion. Though Swan stayed close by his side she remained elusive,
even refusing Hallad when he tried to tend to her bandage. A stolen peek of the
wound he had inflicted the night they had met rested his mind though; the
incision had healed quickly, forming over with pink skin.

"It's all right,
Erik. What would you have us do, Rolf?"

"I would . . . "
Rolf hesitated, glancing at Erik. "I would find a good meal, supplies and
a soft bed." He smiled his toothy grin. "And a horn of warm ale for
my belly."

Hallad rolled his eyes. Erik
hinted at a smile. Swan bore what resembled a smirk. Hallad swiveled his head
to hers—he'd never seen her smile—but by the time he looked again her carved
face appeared as straight as a sword. For the first time he wondered if she
understood their conversations and cursed his presumptions.

"And a fine young
maid's bottom to pinch," added Rolf.

Erik and Hallad both
sniggered. Hallad chanced a glance at Swan, but her face remained stone. As
they continued down the path, Rolf recited
Lokesenna
, acting out the
contest of insults between the gods with exaggerated gestures.

Finally, they passed
under the thick beams of the entry way to Birka, the weighty doors swung wide
open in welcome. The city bustled. People bumped into one another—some offered
a hearty pardon, while others fought over the unexcused offense. The aroma of
fresh fish, oysters, mussels, grains, spices and whale fat wafted through the
streets as merchants hawked their wares in any space they found that would fit
their carts and blankets.

"We’ll find lodging
and stables for the horses first," said Hallad. "We should have time
for supplies before dusk."

Hallad led the crew,
horses in tow, through the packed streets. As civilians noted Swan’s leather
breastplate and impressive broadsword, they backed away, giving her wide berth.
An occasional passerby crossed their index fingers together in order to flash
the warding sign in her direction. Hallad tensed under the continual scrutiny,
wishing for a nocked arrow and the familiar slickness of the green wood of his
bow in his hand.

*****

Before long they had
stabled their horses and found lodging and a meal in Merchants’ Row along the
wharf—a rough part of town willing to serve travelers without references. Rolf
gulped at the warm mutton stew. Erik merely twirled his spoon in the bowl, his
mind adrift in a tortured space. For all her grace, Swan wolfed as many
portions as Hallad. Open stares met with the young woman, dissecting her
appearance—her sword, her armor, her beauty. Swan’s tightening muscles showed
that she sensed the threat, but her outward demeanor remained icy. Hallad knew
better, though. In the past few days he had come to recognize that the emotions
swimming through him often belonged to the woman, though he did not know how or
why he had entered into such a connection with his charge.

A weathered man
approached their table, wearing sailors’ britches and a yellowed shirt, darned
with multi-colored stitches.

"Ho strangers."

The din of the crowded
room eased as heads turned to gawk. The man leered at Swan, rubbing his hands
together as if he were just invited to a feast.

"Ye look like fine
sorts," said the man as he stared at
Avarr's signet.  Hallad had
taken to wearing his father's clasp to pin the top of his mantle closed
. "What say ye for the woman? I got ten
coppers. Aram coppers at that."

"Klur, she ain’t
your sorts. Leave ‘em be," said a husky serving woman as she scuttled over
and whacked the man’s bottom with her rag.

Raucous laughter spilled
over the smoky room.

"Jealous, are ye?"
He winked at the serving woman, grinning. "I’ve got enough for the two of ye."

With a meaty hand, he
bent and squeezed the server’s rump. Another chorus of howls broke out from the
spectators.

Rolf smiled, lifted his
mug and pronounced, "My kind of place."

Hallad searched under
the table for his knife, feeling the cool end of the hilt meet his palm.

The plump server
stretched her neck down.

"Sorry sir, they
ain’t got manners down here."

She eyed the signet on
Hallad’s mantle as well, lingering too long for comfort, and then scuttled
away. She pulled a serving girl aside, whispering into her ear. The girl
glanced at the group and nodded, then scampered to the door and disappeared.

"I don’t like this."
Erik shot up from his seat, gathering his cloak.

"We should purchase
our supplies and find the Temple," Hallad suggested, pushing his chair
back to rise.

Swan, quicker than
Hallad and without making a sound, already stood by his side.

"Not so fast! I
made ye an offer. Me Lord’s been a looking for this woman. I’ll buy her to save
the trouble of fighting ye." The man’s breath stank of fermented honey.

"What do you mean?
Who’s looking for her?" Hallad asked.

"He’s drunk,"
offered Erik. "Come, let’s leave."

"Nei, friend. Won’t
be that easy. See, me Lord’s had me on the lookout for a pair like ye. Is the woman
he wants." He poked a dirty finger at Hallad’s chest. "Ye be
disposable."

Klur grabbed Swan’s wrist,
pulling his sword from his scabbard to brandish at the group.

"I’ll be taking her
now. So’s ye three back off and ye don’t get hurt."

Before Hallad and Erik
had a chance to contest, Swan swirled. In one fluid movement she grabbed the
man’s forearm and flipped him over backward, slamming him to the ground. Her
sword appeared in her other hand as she jammed the blade under the man’s chin,
nicking his flesh with the tip. A trail of blood trickled over his skin,
sinking down to the mead-soiled floorboards.

Klur threw his hands
over his head, pleading.

"He didn’t say ye
was dangerous! Ye ain’t worth the bounty. I give!"

The hall clamored. Men
laughed, pounding their mugs against their tables.

"Klur! Klur!"

A man from the crowd
yelled, "Got yourself a valkyrie you idiot!"

More laughter
overflowed. Swan stepped aside as if she danced, releasing the pressure of her
blade’s tip. Klur rolled over and slunk back to a nearby table, rubbing his
neck and receiving pats on the back from a group of men, their faces red with
merriment. Klur growled at their abuse, causing an even louder uproar.

"So much for
you
protecting
her
," Rolf said as the group took the short reprise to
flee before the mob changed their mind.

They hurried, losing
themselves in the narrow streets of Merchants’ Row, twisting through the throng
of sailors, thralls and riffraff.

What happened back
there?
Hallad thought.

As if to echo his
question, Rolf chimed in, "What did he mean by his Lord was
looking
for her?"

"He was drunk,"
said Erik. "A man speaks foolishness when brimmed with mead."

Hallad didn’t agree.
Keep
the girl safe at all costs. Death follows in her wake.
Pain tugged at
Hallad’s gut. Their travels from the Steadsby had remained uneventful aside
from the constant strain between Erik, Rolf and Swan. No danger had threatened
until now. The realization of battling an unknown foe seeped into him.

"Did you see how
she dispatched that rough? Flipped him like a sack of grain!" Rolf
reenacted the scene as they hustled through the streets. Swan’s unease nudged
Hallad, a bundle of energy ready to spring to his defense if need be.
Protect
her with your life.
His father’s words buzzed through his head again. Clearly,
the girl had done the defending. Embarrassment pushed in on Hallad.
Once
more, I have failed.