by Ann Boelter
“Gentok, your understanding and concern is more than I deserve, and means more to me than I can express, but I will not choose until this is over.”
Gentok leaned back on the balls of his feet and exhaled sharply, responding to her words as if they had come in the form of a physical slap.
“But that will not be long, now,” she continued quietly. “My father will announce tomorrow that the Northman is to face Lothor in single combat. Many things will be settled then, for good.”
After taking a moment to process the significance of her words, Gentok nodded and seemed satisfied. It was clear he also had no doubt of Lothor’s victory.
Nena returned to Jalla’s tent and was thrilled to find it empty. Jalla and Exanthia must be at the baths; she wouldn’t have to explain her actions, but she knew she didn’t have much time before they returned to cook the evening meal. She went straight to Jalla’s shelves and began rifling through the vials and small crocks. She opened a few to smell them, even tasted one with the tip of her finger, before she found the one she was looking for. She grabbed a fresh waterskin, a hunk of leftover bread and a handful of dried salted meat from a net bag hanging in the corner. Throwing everything onto a tray, she took a deep breath and headed back to the cell.
She nodded at the guard who had replaced Gentok outside the door.
“I have brought food for the prisoner,” Nena said and waited, fully prepared to argue with him when he refused her, but the guard only nodded her through. Unlike with Gentok, she doubted she had needed to provide him any explanation at all.
“Are you taking me to see your father now?” Jarl asked as she stepped inside.
“No, he doesn’t need to speak with you after all.”
“Because you told him why I am here?”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone?”
Nena nodded and wondered why he would ask that.
“So he doesn’t want anyone else to hear it and know,” he concluded.
Nena pondered that for a moment. “Perhaps,” she agreed. “My father has decided you will face Lothor in a combat trial.”
“Are there rules?”
“Only to survive.”
He nodded and seemed satisfied. “When?”
“I don’t know. It will be soon.”
He shrugged and seemed unconcerned. “Good.”
Good? How in any way was that good? “If there was a way for you to escape and return to your men, would you take it?” Nena asked him quietly.
“You know I would not.”
“But you are soon to face mortal combat.”
“And consider myself lucky for the opportunity. To be allowed to fight for what I want—to determine my own destiny with a sword in my hand against a single opponent...it is far more than I had dared hope for. You know I would never leave. This is why I came. Perhaps now, I can prove to you, and any who would question it, that I am as worthy—nay, more worthy of you than any Teclan warrior.” He paused. “What did your father say when you told him why I was here?”
“That we are lion and wolf.”
Jarl’s forehead furrowed.
Nena recognized the look and knew he was puzzled. “Both are fierce and strong, but they are not compatible,” she explained, then changed the subject. “I brought ointment. It will ease the pain and swelling in your head.”
He nodded and she picked up the jar from the tray and returned to her position behind him. She knelt and parted his hair, then began to apply the salve.
“He’s wrong you know,” Jarl said. “We are not so different.”
Nena didn’t respond, just finished dressing his wounds before taking the jar to the tray and returning with the waterskin.
“Why did you run?” he asked, his voice low.
“I had to.”
“Do you carry our child?”
Nena looked at him, surprised he would ask that. “No.”
“Did you…ever?” He seemed almost afraid to ask the last part.
“No.”
He seemed both disappointed and relieved at the same time. She offered him a sip of water.
“Why did you think that I might be with child?” she asked.
“Besides the obvious reasons?” He smiled. He wanted so badly to touch her. “Altene said you asked for herb to shed the baby.”
Nena frowned.
“Is that not true?” he asked.
“No.”
Jarl swore under his breath.
“It is not without all truth,” Nena admitted. “It was Altene’s idea for me to choose you to facilitate my escape. If I would do it, she agreed to give me the herb to keep your seed from taking. But when I ran out the day before the battle, she refused to give me any more. She was worried I had changed my mind and would not leave you.”
“Is that why you ran?”
“No. I had already made plans to escape during that battle. You were taking so many of the men, I knew the camp would be poorly guarded.”
“Well, I must thank Altene—if I see her again, at least for giving you that initial suggestion.” He paused and looked deep into her eyes. “Though if I had it to do over again, upon receipt of that gift, I would cancel all further raids and return immediately to the ships.”
“Does Altene await you then, in the camp outside the cliff gates?” Nena asked.
The question seemed straightforward, but something in her tone made Jarl careful with his reply. “Altene travels with the group, but she is not with me.” He could see Nena was unconvinced. Like Tryggr, Nena did not believe a man would travel with a woman, especially a woman like Altene, if not for his comfort. “Even during the great storm that battered us while we tracked you, she took shelter in Tryggr’s tent, not mine.”
Nena looked at him, her eyes searching his face for the truth.
They were interrupted by heated voices outside. The door swung open. A warrior who Jarl recognized as the one who had volunteered to go find Nena when he was first brought to the council tent, stepped inside. He glanced around the room, his eyes first taking in the tray on the table, then the two of them. He stood in the open doorway, not saying a word.
Nena looked up at him slowly, her gaze hard. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see him, in fact seemed very annoyed. They exchanged a long hard stare. Jarl wondered if he was some personal bodyguard to her father who had been sent to watch them. It would explain their familiarity and her annoyance.
“You have given him word of his fate?” Gentok asked.
“Yes,” Nena replied.
He glanced at the jar. “And dressed his wounds?” he noted, his jaw tightening.
“Yes.”
“Then you should give him the food and leave.”
Nena glowered at him, but he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not leaving until she did. She moved to the table, picked up the tray of food and set it next to Jarl. “I will return in the morning with more food and water,” she said, then stood and left, brushing past the warrior without acknowledging him.
With a final disgusted glare at Jarl, the warrior turned and followed her.
After a night of fitful dozing, Nena arose early and began preparing another tray for Jarl. She wondered if Gentok would be waiting for her at the cell. Well, if he wanted to sit and listen to them, then so be it; she would not let him run her off again. She pushed the galling memory from her mind and returned her focus back to the tray. She took more care this time to add things Jarl would like: two fresh plums, a pear, and her portion of the venison strips sauteed with mushrooms and onions that Jalla had made the night before—normally one of her favorites, but she’d been unable to eat a single bite.
A courier arrived with the message that her father had called a council to announce his decision on the Northman’s fate. Nena thanked him but didn’t follow. He had not said her father requested her, and she already knew what his announcement would be. Instead she looked around for anything else she might add to the tray.
“What ar
e you doing?” Jalla asked, sleepily. The arrival of the messenger had awakened her, but Exanthia still slept.
“Taking food to the Northman,” Nena replied.
“Why?”
“Because he needs to eat. Or do we not feed prisoners now?” Nena snapped at what she perceived to be Jalla’s criticism—still fuming at Gentok ordering her from the cell the night before, like she was an errant child.
Jalla cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, clearly taken aback by Nena’s hostile response. “I only meant, why you?”
“Who else would do it? I am the most appropriate.”
“Given your history, I would disagree and say you are the least appropriate.”
“It is something I must do.”
Jalla considered that, then nodded. Nena knew Jalla mistook her words to mean she was doing it to face her fears, but she did not correct her. Facing her captor to show she was unafraid and fully recovered from anything that had happened to her was acceptable—even worthy of admiration.
“Will you not attend the council to hear his fate?” Jalla asked.
“I already know his fate. I was with Father last night when he decided.”
“And?”
“He is to face Lothor in trial by combat.”
Jalla nodded. “When?”
Nena frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Then you should go and hear.”
Nena hesitated. She didn’t want to know, but knew that Jarl would. She nodded and draped a thin rabbit hide over the tray to keep the flies from the food while she was gone. Without another word to Jalla, she left the tent. Dread dogged her every step to the council. What if her father announced it was to be today?
By the time she arrived, her father had already made his announcement, and though Lothor was eager to avenge Ruga’s death, he stood on the dais and insisted the fight be postponed until the Northman was healthy. When he killed him, and Lothor was sure of that result, he wanted no smirch on his victory, no whisper, no doubt. The cloud of bitter rage seemed to have lifted from him completely, and he appeared to have regained the restraint that would make him a great chief one day. The fight was scheduled for the next new moon, one week hence.
Nena left without hearing anything more and returned to Jalla’s tent to finish packing the tray. She was ecstatic with the decision, though she told herself it was only because it gave her more time to figure out some other way to prevent the trial completely.
Her step light, she made her way back to the cell. She was surprised to find two guards stationed outside the door now. She took a deep breath, fully expecting trouble, but both nodded at her, and one even moved to hold open the door. Pleasantly surprised at not having to do battle, she nodded back and stepped inside. She was shocked to find a third guard inside seated at the table.
“I will watch him now. You may go and have a break.” Nena said to him in Dor as she set the tray on the table.
He shook his head. “My orders are to remain.”
“I’m sure your orders were to make sure the prisoner was watched at all times. I am here and will do that now. You may go.” She used her most imperious tone.
The guard looked uncomfortable but again shook his head. “My orders were clear,” he said with stubborn determination. “I am to remain inside at all times, even when someone else comes to speak with the prisoner or to care for him. Though why we waste valuable food on him is beyond me,” he muttered. “If anyone insists on anything different, I am to send word to Meln and hear back from him before leaving my post. The only one able to rescind the order is Chief Meln himself.”
“Did my father give you those orders?” Nena asked, curious.
“No.”
“Then who?” she asked, though she knew.
“Gentok.”
“So you mean only my father and Gentok can rescind it.”
“No, Gentok was very clear on that. No one, not even he, himself, is to be allowed time alone with the prisoner.
Nena scowled and turned away.
“What did he say?” Jarl asked as Nena brought him the waterskin, and the guard resumed his seat.
“He said that his orders are to allow no one private access to you.”
“Concern for my safety, I’m sure.”
Nena looked up to correct him, but saw the indents in his cheeks and the hint of a smile on his lips. He was teasing her, something she had never quite grown used to—the Northman way of saying one thing but meaning another. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she agreed instead, hiding her own smile and relishing the comfortable feel of their secret communication.
“You just missed your brother,” Jarl said.
“Lothor was here?”
Jarl nodded.
“What did he want?”
“To tell me personally that he is delaying the trial to make sure that I am healthy and fully returned to form when he kills me. He wants to make sure there are no rumors later that he defeated an injured man. He also said there are Northern swords I will be allowed to choose from—left behind by your previous captives, apparently—or I can choose a Teclan sword. And that there is no Northern armor that will fit me, so that will have to be Teclan, but he will make sure suitable armor is provided. He doesn’t want me to die too quickly.” Jarl smiled. “He’s very serious, isn’t he?”
“As you should be, too.”
“Don’t worry, when the time comes, I will be sure of purpose,” he said darkly. “Though I see no reason to wait so long.”
Nena was exasperated. Her brother’s eagerness she understood, but Jarl could barely sit up without becoming dizzy. And what did he think would happen if he won? Did he think that his past transgressions would be wiped clean, and he would suddenly be accepted and welcomed by the tribe? Nena didn’t even know what would happen. There was no precedent, and if there had been, there was never a captive who wanted anything more than their life and their freedom. Upon victory, they would not have hesitated to leave. Jarl did not want that, nor would he accept it. Her father had given no specifics on that count. She was sure it was because he had no doubt of Lothor’s triumph. But what if Jarl won? What if he killed her brother? Jarl’s life would be spared, that much was certain, but what would happen after that when he refused to go?
“Do not fear for me, Princess,” Jarl said, misunderstanding her troubled pondering. “I have fought the gods for you and pulled you back from the afterlife. I do not fear one man.”
Nena did not respond. If it were only one man, she might agree with him, but it was Lothor.
“And I told you before, there has never been anything in my life that I wanted that I could not win. I only wish there was some way to do so now that did not come at the expense of your brother’s life.”
Even as he said it, Nena could see he was glad for the opportunity to prove himself—to her people, to her, to himself. He had no reservations and seemed to welcome the test of himself as a man. He was clearly confident he would pass it.
“But with this delay, I must get word back to Tryggr and my men. They will be worried about what has happened to me, and I cannot have Tryggr screwing things up now by storming the cliff gates. Even though I gave express orders for that not to happen, I can very well see him doing just that if I do not return.”
“My father will not release you to speak with them, nor will he risk them killing an emissary.”
“There must be some way. If they have no word, I cannot guarantee what he will do,” Jarl warned.
Nena thought briefly about the wild tempered, flame-haired giant and secretly agreed with him. “You said Altene is there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I have an idea.”
Nena went immediately to share Jarl’s concern and express her plan to her father. She was disappointed to find Lothor there.
“It is madness,” Lothor voiced his disapproval when she was finished. “They will kill her, or capture her and demand an exchange. Maybe that was his plan all along.�
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Nena seethed at her brother’s presumption that it was up to him to decide, but controlled herself. She could not allow his words to goad her into an imprudent response. Lashing out at him now would only ensure that her father declined her request. When she spoke her voice was even and steady. “The Northman’s second in command is hotheaded and impulsive, driven by emotion and rash thoughts of revenge.” She looked pointedly at Lothor. “He will not hesitate to endanger his people without thinking beyond that. They have a Dor woman. I will present the banner. She will explain to them what it means,” Nena added.
“The Northmen have no honor. They will not respect the banner,” Lothor exclaimed. “They attacked the Eastern Plains tribe during a tournament The protection banners were flying then. They are savages,” he said, his nose wrinkling with contempt.
“They did not know our ways. They have learned much since then,” Nena countered.
“Do you think they will care if it means getting their leader back? No. I will not allow it,” Lothor said.
Nena turned on him then, her voice icy. “You are not yet chief, Lothor, and I do not require your approval, nor your assent in this matter.” She looked back to her father who had watched their interchange closely. He gave a small nod as he made his decision.
“I think you both allow feelings to taint your judgment where the Northmen are concerned. Your brother has made valid points, but I agree that a messenger bearing the banner should be sent.” He studied Nena for a long moment. “I do not think it should be you—but I will not forbid it. You understand what is at stake, but you also know them better than anyone else, so I will leave that decision up to you.”
“It’s been three days,” Tryggr muttered as he paced in front of the fire. “I say we go in. Even with high casualties, some will make it. We’ll get Jarl—assuming he’s not dead, maybe even get the damn woman for him and get the fuck out of here.”
“That was not Jarl’s wish,” Gunnar said. “To go now would be nullifying his own risk, and defying his direct order. For all we know, things are going according to plan.”