Lord of the Runes (23 page)

“How did you do that?” Magnus studied the wound. It seemed to be a thin slice through her hand, like a knife wound.

“I was walking in the woods and fell. My hand hit something under the snow, but when I felt the pain, I didn't stop to see what it was. I ran here.” She moaned as Ingeborg cleaned it.

Eirik sat a few tables over playing
tafl
with another man and Estrid glanced at him, then dabbed at her eyes with a cloth. “Oh gods, it hurts.” Her voice rose into a wail.

“The healer will make it better,” Magnus said. She was under good care. No one had committed a crime against her and she hadn't been attacked. There was nothing for him to do. The others in the room lost interest in the unexciting accident and drifted away. Estrid shrieked as Ingeborg poured wine on her hand, but no one paid attention. Accidents happened all the time and people had their chores to see to.

Magnus and Leif went back into the private chamber to finish making their trading plans.

A short time later, Ingeborg cracked open the door and leaned in. “Jarl, may I speak with you?”

“Of course. Come in.” He stood as she entered the room.

“I have a concern that I thought I should bring to your attention, Jarl. In private.” She shook her head as Leif rose and offered her his seat. “Estrid's wound and her story don't match.”

He glanced at Leif, who raised his brows. “In what way?”

“She said she put her hands out to stop her fall. If that were true, then the wound would have been larger on her palm than on the back. But that's not the way it appears. The entrance to the wound is on the back of her hand. It's longer than the opening on the palm, as though something tapered went through it. Like a knife blade. There's no way for an object to make a smaller hole going in than going out.”

“Perhaps the object she fell on moved.”

“Perhaps. But it was wider near her fingers than on the other end of the cut. I've seen enough seax wounds to recognize them. There was skin on the inside of the cut on the back of the hand and the skin on the palm showed signs of having opened outward. She was stabbed on the back of the hand, Jarl Magnus. Unless she bent her wrist when she fell so she hit the ground with the back of her hand, it couldn't have happened the way she said.”

His heart sank. This was no simple accident, then. But what was it? An attack she was trying to hide? From whom? Hjellmar? Sometimes women who had been mistreated protected their abusers. Was she one of them? He nodded, sinking back down in his chair. “Thank you Ingeborg. I'll look into it.”

The healer inclined her head to him, then to Leif. After she was gone, he sat back and glanced at Leif.

“I need to see if Hjellmar has been mistreating Estrid. Someone did this to her and when I find out who it is, he'll be outcast. As insufferable as she is, she's our cousin and we must defend her.”

“I agree.” Leif crossed to the door and put his hand on the latch. “But I wonder how you'll defend her from herself.”

His head grew light as he rose. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of leaving, Leif pushed the door shut the rest of the way. “She's always been jealous of Asa. Asa gets hurt in battle and everyone praises and admires her. This might be Estrid's way of getting some of that attention for herself. And some of Eirik's attention as well.”

“You're as mad as you imply she is. She wouldn't stab herself. And Asa's admired, not because she was injured, but because it happened in battle. It was a sign of her bravery.”

Leif shrugged. “Maybe Estrid doesn't see it that way. Eirik is leaving soon. She might be getting desperate to go with him. Watch her. And take care about blaming Hjellmar for this. He's a sword balancing in a breeze. It won't take much to tip him over and hurt his pride. With as much as he's resented Asa, I wouldn't put it past him to take it out on her.”

“Then he needs to leave here. Go back to his homestead. The only reason so many of the warriors are here is because of the situation with the outcasts. Now that it's resolved, they can go back to their lives until we sail for the markets. It will get him away from here and away from Asa.”

“And if Estrid is fond of him, he'll be yet another one who leaves her behind, as her father did when he died, her mother did when she went back to Ireland, and her stepfather did when he was outcast. We've always suspected that's why she's the way she is to begin with. She'll likely blame Asa again, as she did before, which will make everything even better.” Leif shook his head. “This is why I'm glad you were born first, brother. I'll back you any way I can, of course, but what you do is your decision. I'm just glad I don't have to make it.”

He left, and Magnus stared at the closed door. He couldn't make any accusations without some level of proof. Asking Estrid about what truly happened would do no good if she was determined to protect someone. No woman would just stab herself like that.

Not unless she was mad. Everything had been quiet in the past few weeks as far as any mischief was concerned, but he'd continued having his men patrol both inside and outside the longhouse. He would keep them on, at least until everyone left for the trading season. Then those left here could settle into their usual summer routine and all would be as it had always been. And yet . . .

Heaviness had lain for some time in the pit of his stomach, as though a storm built up pressure there, growing darker and more violent. He'd thought worrying about the trouble with the outlaws had caused it, but that was over now and yet the feeling remained. It churned on the horizon of his thoughts. Already he could smell the tempest coming toward him.

What would happen when it finally broke?

I
n just a few days, the men would take the dragon's head down to the ships.

Asa touched up the paint on one of the scales. It had to be perfect. Magnus would ask an unprecedented price for this. Word would spread and the king would hear of it. To show off his wealth, he'd have to have it for one of his ships and she'd gain even more word-fame for her talents.

So why couldn't she feel better about it? She should be rejoicing, but instead, the thought of seeing it for the last time seemed to tear her open inside.

Or was it something else? In the weeks since the battle with the outcasts, the snows had lessened. Magnus had sent a man to the main fjord to see if the way to the ocean was clear of ice. Word had returned that it was.

Eirik would leave very soon. They'd spent many evenings playing
tafl
, telling stories with the others. At night, she still dreamed of Eirik. He'd said nothing of what, if anything, he felt for her. Perhaps that was for the best. He would leave and she might never see him again. No doubt he wouldn't want to hurt her by starting a relationship he couldn't continue.

It was the right thing for him to do, but her heart didn't care. And yet, the way she'd caught him looking at her from time to time made her long for him in the darkness of her room. Then, old fears reared up within her and she shrank away from those desires. She still harbored the shadows that would send him away from her. And if he was not going to remain with her, there was no reason to risk reopening old wounds. They wouldn't be as easy to heal as the lacerations on her arm had been.

The scent of the stew Birgitta had left for her made her stomach rumble. Everyone else must have eaten already, but she'd been busy working. Often, one of the serving girls brought her a meal so she didn't have to stop, and today it was mutton with some of the winter store of dried vegetables.

She studied the dragon as she put a small bite of the stew into her mouth. Sweetness burst over her tongue and she spit it back into the bowl. Sweetness in a stew? It wasn't honey. That was the only thing she knew of that could taste that way.

She dug in the bowl with her horn spoon and brought out a piece of mushroom. It wasn't unusual to have dried mushrooms in a stew. But it wasn't soft and cooked like the other dried vegetables. It was hard, like it hadn't been in there long. And it didn't look like the mushrooms they would use.

Fear shot through her and she ran out of the longhouse to the well. A bucket of water sat on the low wall and she set the bowl aside and scooped up water with the ladle. She rinsed her mouth out, spitting out every trace of the stew that she could. Her heart raced. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps the stew hadn't cooked long enough and the mushrooms, dried all winter, hadn't softened the way they should.

But they wouldn't be sweet. She rinsed again and again until the taste was gone.

“Did you eat some of your own cooking again, Asa?”

She looked up as Leif walked toward her, grinning. But when he saw her, he sobered and broke into a run. “What's wrong? You look pale.”

“The stew is strange. Did you eat any of it?”

He picked up the bowl. “Yes, we all did. What did you taste?”

“Something sweet.” She took the bowl and picked out the piece of mushroom with her spoon. “Was any of this in your stew?”

“No, there was nothing like that. Just the usual vegetables.” His face turned white as he stared at her.

Birgitta walked past them and he said, “Get Ingeborg and hurry. I think Asa's been poisoned.”

“What?” Asa sank down on the low wall as Birgitta ran toward the healer's house. “Why?”

“I don't know. But it's not good that your bowl held something that wasn't in the communal pot.”

Eirik came out from the longhouse and Leif motioned him over. “I think someone has tried to poison Asa with mushrooms. In your travels, have you ever seen this?”

“Gods.” He took the spoon with the mushroom on it and smelled it. He frowned, his jaw tight. “What did you taste and did you swallow any of it?”

“It was sweet, like honey, but not very nice.” A tremor passed over her body as her chest muscles tightened. Was it fear, or something worse? “I spat it out as soon as I tasted it. Then I came out here and rinsed out my mouth until I couldn't taste it any longer.”

“Good, but we need Ingeborg.”

As he spoke, the healer and Birgitta ran toward them. The older woman was breathing hard, but she kept up the pace until she got there.

“What did she eat?” She took the spoon.

“Death Cap.” Eirik's hands fisted and Asa gasped as ice spread through her veins. “I recognize the smell, very unpleasant, but sweet. It was in Asa's stew, and no one else's.”

“Birgitta, get my brother,” Leif said, and the girl rushed into the longhouse. He looked at Ingeborg. “What can you do for this?”

“Do you have milk thistle?” Eirik regarded Asa and there was something in his expression she had never seen in him before—fear.

“Yes, we use it for digestive problems and women's issues. But I have no experience with this,” Ingeborg said.

“I've seen it used in the East to purge poisons. Make a tea of it with honey. Make as much as you can, and Asa will have to keep drinking it.”

As she hurried to her house, Magnus came out with Birgitta. “Asa's been poisoned?” He grabbed her up and pulled her to him in a hard embrace.

“Someone tried,” Leif said. “But she spat it out and rinsed her mouth, so maybe she didn't swallow any of it. Ingeborg is fixing her a remedy just in case.”

“It was a Death Cap mushroom.” Eirik took a deep breath. “Someone put it into her bowl.”

Magnus whirled on Birgitta. “Who gave her that bowl of stew?”

Her face screwed up as she began to cry, and she crumbled to her knees. “I did, Jarl Magnus, but I swear I didn't know anything was wrong with it. We always set aside some of the evening meal for the mistress in case she doesn't want to stop working. We put it on the table in the cooking room and whoever has the time will take it in to her.” She hid her face in her skirts, weeping harder. “I didn't know. I swear it. We all love her. We'd never hurt her.”

“I know, Birgitta.” Magnus helped her up and she stood, trembling and sobbing. “I know you wouldn't harm her. Was anyone in the cooking room who shouldn't have been?”

“No, Jarl.” She sniffed, but tears still fell down her cheeks. “It was only the women. We were all so busy serving, though, going in and out, that anyone might have slipped in there without us noticing.”

“It's all right, Birgitta. It's not your fault.” Asa stood and hugged her. She wasn't too steady herself, though. Someone had tried to kill her. Her legs gave out. She would have fallen, but Eirik caught her and held her to his side.

“I feel weak. Is that one of the effects?”

“No, and you won't feel them, if any, for a half a day. Then it would be stomach cramps and vomiting. But you rinsed your mouth out and you'll drink the infusion Ingeborg is making. I've seen it work before.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Magnus said. His voice was light.

Eirik just gave him a half smile. “I know enough not to use the older mushroom if I want to poison someone. Its sweet taste and unpleasant odor will give it away, as it did now. The young mushroom has almost no taste at all and is easily hidden in food. Whoever did this didn't realize that.”

Magnus clapped his hand on Eirik's shoulder. “I wasn't implying that you were involved.”

Eirik nodded. “I've brought milk thistle back from my journeys for my mother, who is a healer of sorts, so I know of its properties. In the East, where I've traveled, poison is much more prevalent as a tool to kill. It's always wise to know about these things as a defense against assassination when you're somewhere you aren't exactly welcome.”

Magnus studied him, then took a deep breath. “And I thank you for that knowledge. It might save Asa's life. Once again, we are indebted to you.”

“I'm not keeping a tally.” He held Asa closer to him.

“We should go to the healer's house,” Leif said. “It will be more private there and the less anyone else knows, the better.”

Magnus agreed and they walked toward the small building. Birgitta followed, still sniffling.

Asa leaned against Eirik. His strength poured into her. Even with all that had happened, his comfort wrapped around her like his arm, and the fear faded a bit. Yes, someone had tried to kill her. But she'd faced death in battle and hadn't flinched, so she would meet this head-on as well.

Then, she'd known who the enemy was. Eirik had said that in the Eastern lands, they used poison to kill. That was the way of cowards. Anyone who couldn't look an enemy in the eye had no honor. None of Magnus's warriors would do this, not only because they respected her and her brother was their jarl, but they wouldn't use such a craven, underhanded method. The gods wouldn't favor them, then.

They entered Ingeborg's house. The comforting scent of herbs and potions filled the air. Drying plants hung from the rafters, and shelves and tables were filled with jars. The healer was stirring a liquid in a pot over the fire.

Magnus pointed Asa to a bench. “You're not to eat anything except what comes out of the communal pot and use only bowls and spoons from the same stacks as everyone else. Use your own knife to eat with and keep it with you at all times. Until we figure this out, one of us should be with you always.”

“And drive me mad,” she said, her voice sharp. “Gods, Magnus, you act as though I'm a helpless child. I don't know what any of you could have done to protect me from this. I'll take care about what I eat, but you don't have to shadow me. I'll stay armed. If this happened to any of you, would you want the rest of us around you day and night?”

“Odin's eye, no.” Leif crossed his arms over his chest.

“But it didn't happen to us,” Eirik said.

“Oh, and now I need three big strong men to guard me?”

“Yes.” They all said it at the same time.

She sighed. They were determined, and there was nothing worse than a determined warrior, not to mention three of them. And since when had Eirik been included in their little group? He'd sidled right in there among them as though he intended to stay. But they all knew that wasn't the case. Even now, men were loading the carts to bring their trade goods down to the ships. And Eirik would be going with them.

Ingeborg gave her a mug of steaming liquid and she sipped at it. It was sweet with honey and warmed her, steadying her nerves. She stared out of the open door as the men made their plans to guard her.

Her dragon would also be packed and taken away, eventually to guide a longship to the ends of the world. And with it would go all her memories of the nights spent with Eirik, carving the runes. The magic, the beauty, and the closeness she'd never thought to feel with any man would be gone as well. Together, they had spun something special and sublime.

But in Thorsfjell, once something they'd created left, it never returned.

* * *

“So are you my guard for the night?” Asa would know Eirik's footsteps anywhere. She didn't have to look to see who approached her in the darkness. She stood outside the longhouse, studying the sky. The night was cold, but no wind blew. Spring in the
fjells
would not be far off, maybe only a matter of weeks, though it had come too soon to the coast.

He chuckled as he stopped at her side. “I just wanted to see if you've felt any effects of the mushroom.”

She shot him a glare at his obvious excuse. “The time I should have felt ill has passed, so I must be safe enough.” She looked back up at the night sky. “Sjurd said he saw a flicker of the northern lights a short time ago. I wanted to see if they'll play in the sky tonight. We don't see them often this far south.”

“There.” He pointed at a ribbon of luminescence and she held her breath as more of them writhed overhead.

“The fires that surround the lands and seas on the edges of the world burn bright tonight,” she said. “They reflect in the sky.”

“There are people in the East who say they've known for centuries that the earth is round.” He put his arm across her shoulders.

She turned to him and he trapped her in the circle of his embrace. “That's ridiculous. Then why don't we all slide off? And why don't the seas drain away into the roots of Yggdrasil?”

He looked down at her, his eyes alight with mischief. “Perhaps the gods cause us to stick to the ground. And who's to say the seas don't drain away and are replenished again? I've sailed in places where the tides run so fast, not even the swiftest longship can escape them.”

She studied him. Was he serious, or was he teasing? But his eyes darkened and he strengthened his grasp on her, bringing his hand up under her hair to hold her still. She should be afraid of him.

He lowered his head and kissed her. Any shadows of fear she'd harbored vanished in a burst of light within her mind. As though a small sun was born within her, she grew warm and her thighs weakened. But it wasn't from fear. This was something very different, and she allowed it to spread out within her.

Lifting his head, he searched her eyes. She opened herself to him so he could see what she felt for him. He needed to know, to take with him the truth of her love. She never thought it would happen, that she could love a man. But he had made all the difference, and when he left, he would take that love with him.