C. Dale Brittain (51 page)

He thrust his sword, still all bloody, into its sheath and whirled, half-blind, toward the stallion.
 
He had just destroyed whatever shred of honor he might still have had by killing a woman.
 
The only spot of light left was that he might be able to warn the lords of voima that death was already present in their realm, warn them before their enemies found them.

“Valmar!” she called weakly behind him.
 
“Take me with you!”

He had no time to argue, consider, or even think.
 
The steel-clad riders were only a few hundred yards away and coming fast.
 
He scooped her up and threw her across the horse’s neck.
 
She seemed now to weigh almost nothing.
 
The stallion began to run even before he was fully into the saddle.

With a leap, they were across the stream and running all out.
 
Valmar dared a glance over his shoulder to see the riders stop, with cries and exclamations, at the pool of blood.
 
While they hesitated the white stallion gained another quarter mile on them.

For this, he realized, was a true horse of voima.
 
Far faster than it had run yesterday (yesterday?), they soared across the Wanderers’ realm, over hills and hedgerows, through woods and valleys.
 
Most of the time they seemed airborne, as if the horse scarcely needed to put down a hoof to remind itself of earth.
 
Not even Goldmane, Valmar thought, could have kept pace now.

He held the woman to him with one arm, his other hand on the reins but not really guiding, for this horse seemed to know where it was running.
 
Her head, still helmeted, drooped, and the blood flowed from her neck onto the stallion’s mane.
 
Then slowly the flow of blood ceased.

He expected her to go cold and stiff against him, but she still felt warm, and his hand on her breastplate could feel a beating as of her heart.
 
Unless it was his own.

The stallion’s pace gradually slackened.
 
Valmar realized he had not seen the band of Hearthkeepers in what must be hours.
 
Maybe when they realized a mortal could kill one of them they had hesitated in their pursuit.

He pulled up on a hilltop from which he could see miles in all directions and where a spring broke gurgling from the earth.
 
He slid from the stallion’s back and gently lifted the woman down.

She smiled, eyes bright as mirrors, and slipped her arms slowly around him.
 
“I hope you are satisfied, Valmar Hadros’s son!” she said with a faint smile.
 
“You terrified me as I have never before been terrified.”

He lowered her carefully to the grass and removed her armor and clothing.
 
She still seemed very weak, and when he brought water from the spring in his helmet to wash away the congealed blood she lay still, watching his movements, letting him rinse the blood from her skin and hair.

“Don’t forget to wash yourself, including your sword,” she said, trying to laugh.
 
“And your horse!”

There was now no wound at all on the side of her neck.
 
His shirt, protected by his mail, was the only piece of clothing either of them had that had not been splashed with blood.
 
It was much too big for her, but he slid it over her head and rolled up the sleeves.
 
Karin, he realized with a pang, had sewn that shirt herself; there was the tiny crown embroidered on the hem which she put on everything she made for him.

“How about you terrifying me?” Valmar asked, helping the woman sit up.
 
He found bread and cheese in the horse’s pack, food the Wanderers had sent with him, and offered it to her.
 
“I thought I had killed you!”

“Remember?” she said, smiling wider now.
 
Just for a second, there was terror again in her eyes, but she was doing her best to deny it.
 
“I am immortal!”

The wind out of the sunset blew softly and steadily.
 
“So you knew I could not harm you?”

“I did not
know.
 
And you did harm me, Valmar—when I saw my blood, which I had thought no mortal could draw, I too thought you had killed me.
 
When I challenged you I was fairly sure you could not, but I thought there was only one way to be certain that death had not yet reached this realm.”

“You would have let yourself be killed for knowledge?”

“Knowledge to help the Hearthkeepers,” she said almost complacently, munching on bread.
 
“Let me have some water to drink—this is dry.”

He too had been eating, but the cheese went tasteless in his mouth.
 
“For your people, for your honor, you tried to make me kill you.
 
To serve those to whom you are pledged you were willing to experience a death an immortal should never experience.”
 
She nodded, taking another piece of bread.
 
“But why,” he added after a moment, “when your own people were there to help you, did you tell me to take you with me?”

She swallowed and looked at him soberly, with no trace of laughter.
 
“This dealing with mortals has consequences I had not expected.
 
Over the years a few Hearthkeepers have left, tired of waiting for triumph, and joined themselves with mortal men, but I had never thought to be among them.
 
I love you, Valmar Hadros’s son.”

He put his face in her lap, wrapped his arms around her waist, and sobbed.
 
She gently stroked his hair until finally his tears and trembling ceased.

2

Eirik and Wigla blocked the mouth of the sea cave.
 
No diving past them into the ocean, thought Karin.

“Well, Princess,” said the renegade king with another supposed smile, “I see you have been reunited with your lover.
 
My offer still stands if the two of you want to join us!
 
So this is the man you prefer to me,” looking Roric up and down.
 
“I know he is a good fighter, and I see he is younger than I am, but can he play the lyre?”

“I told you she was not a princess to ransom,” said Wigla.
 
“She has nothing to do with that ship down at the river.
 
These are both outlaws—at best we could earn a bounty for killing them.”

“Of course, they might be planning to get the same bounty for
us,
” said Eirik thoughtfully.

Neither Karin nor Roric had yet spoken.
 
She could feel him at her shoulder, tense and alert, but, she feared, thinking that she herself might have an idea.
 
Had Eirik and Wigla plotted it all from the beginning?
 
Or, more likely, had Wigla set Karin on the path to the dragon’s lair to get rid of a potential rival, then gone to tell Eirik about the way into the Wanderers’ realm in an attempt to reestablish herself in his favor?

“So tell me,” continued Eirik, “are you hoping to find great piles of jewels and rich silks in the lands of voima?
 
Or does one instead bring back charms that guarantee luck in love and conquest over all men?”

“If you are intending to raid the realms of voima for wealth and booty,” said Roric suddenly and fiercely, “then let me tell you that you shall find none.
 
I know—I myself have been there.”

This brought Eirik up short for a second, then he attempted to reestablish his air of bravado.
 
“Then you think you have powerful help in the Wanderers, is that it, young warrior?”

“
Roric
to you, outlaw,” he snapped.
 
“Roric No-man’s son.”

“Then
King
Eirik to you!”
 
Sun flashed on the waves breaking behind him.
 
“And let me tell you, Roric Slut’s-get, in this land we do not fear the Wanderers.
 
The old stories tell us they did not always rule earth and sky, and now there are hints that their rule is coming to an end.”

“Then who
do
you fear?”

Eirik grinned broadly, showing gapped teeth.
 
“I thought your princess here would have told you I fear no one.
 
But we
serve
the lords of death.”

Roric stepped in front of Karin, his hand on his hilt.
 
“I can help you meet them if you like.
 
I already have three men’s blood-guilt on me—I will not hesitate to kill another man, especially an outlaw whose death would bring blood-guilt on no one.”

“Be careful, Roric,” Karin murmured behind him.
 
“He is trying to make you angry.
 
He must have a dozen warriors outside this cave.
 
He either plans to sacrifice you or else to persuade you at the point of the sword that your best hope is to join his band.”

But why, she thought, was Roric trying to make Eirik angry?

“You are very sure of your Wanderers, aren’t you,” said Eirik to Roric, making no move toward his own sword.
 
“But
we
choose to serve the lords who were there before the Wanderers, who will be there after they are gone.
 
Different lords of voima may rule earth and sky, but only Death was there at the beginning and will be there at the end.
 
The princess tells us you were searching for the door to the Wanderers’ realm, but we serve those who door is never hidden.”

Roric had given no indication he had even heard Karin.
 
“What a coward’s service,” he jeered.
 
“You know that all mortals must die, so you meekly accept the inevitable.
 
You do not fight against your fate but try pathetically to glory in loss.
 
If you want no part of voima, no part of life, why even bother making songs with your lyre?
 
Why even bother noticing the beauty of the princess?
 
Why not sacrifice yourself at once to the dark lords you serve?”

Eirik’s mocking all vanished.
 
“I have heard enough,” he started to say, the sword halfway from its sheath, but the woman beside him suddenly gripped his arm.

“He is right!” she cried.
 
Her green eyes darted back and forth between the two men.
 
“Listen to him, Eirik!
 
There has to be life that does not serve death!”

Eirik, startled, stared at her a second then gave a shout.
 
There were answering shouts outside, the rattle of weapons at the entrance to the sea-cave.
 
The outlaw king turned back triumphantly to them.
 
“The way from here is well guarded, No-man’s son.
 
Will your Wanderers guard you if you swim in the sea like seals?”

Roric shot Karin a sudden grin.
 
“The Wanderers keep appearing in mortal realms for their own purposes,” he said to her.
 
“We’ll see how they like a crowd of mortals appearing in
their
realm!”

He grabbed her hand and sprang at Eirik, his sword out.
 
The king deflected the stroke with his own blade, but then they were past him.
 
Straight out of the cave, where salt spray leaped against the stone, past the startled faces of Eirik’s warriors—a
lot
more than the dozen she had expected—they dove like seals into the bitterly cold waves of the northern sea.

And emerged with a thump, not even wet, onto the grass of a hilltop field.
 
Karin stared around wildly, at the sun sitting, blood-red, on the horizon, at the grazing cows who looked at them plaintively, at a cluster of buildings in the lush valley below them.
 
Soft air touched their skin, not ocean wind but an inland breeze of late summer.

Roric jumped up, pulling her with him.
 
“So far the witch has kept the bargain,” he said with a laugh.
 
“I see the sun has still not set here—though it’s a lot lower than when I was here before.
 
Let’s get away from this hill before your renegade king shows up with all his men.”

“This—
 
This is the realm of voima?” Karin said.
 
They hurried down the hill toward the manor house.

“Copied after mortal lands by the Wanderers’ mother,” said Roric.
 
“We should warn the people here that they’re about to be invaded.
 
When we do not come back up through the waves again, Eirik will send some of his men diving after us to see if we really have found a door to this realm.
 
He’s furious enough now that he won’t let us get away.
 
That woman of his—
she
may follow on her own.
 
And if any get through, well, the rest should soon follow.”

A woman came to meet them at the manor house door, but only after repeated knocking.
 
“Excuse me,” said Karin, “but we wanted to warn you.
 
We think some warriors may soon be—be coming over your hill.
 
I think they are looking for booty.”