The Legendary Inge

by Kate Stradling

  Her heart quickened. “Is someone looking for them?”

  His response did not calm her in the least. “Who knows?”

  “Ulfred?” she ventured.

  “I sincerely doubt he will ever trouble you again,” said Raske. “You are a target for other sources, though. There’s no reason for them to stop with just you, either.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and stared, her breath suddenly short. “Are you talking about whoever set that trap outside my bedroom?” she inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Raske glanced around, as though checking for eavesdroppers. There were none, of course. The younger children were playing tag and Nea was already inside the house.

  “There was only that one time,” Inge continued. “It’s been almost a month since, and there’s been nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he repeated. “You call the second night-walker’s attack nothing?”

  Blood rushed to her face. “It didn’t come for me.”

  “It dragged you under the swamp.”

  “Because I happened to wade in!”

  “Chasing after a sword that only you could save!”

  A sick feeling twisted in her stomach. She forced her mouth to form the question that leapt to her mind. “You think that was another trap for me?”

  Raske, as usual, dodged answering. “Hurry inside,” he commanded. He crossed the porch to the threshold.

  She didn’t want to believe him. Captain Bergstrom had been the creature’s victim. It had dragged him off, had savaged his body and left his mangled corpse behind as evidence. The sword in the swamp and her ordeal because of it was an ancillary incident to that tragedy. And yet, the sword had been upright, as though thrown or thrust between the rocks, easily found through the circle spell, inviting her to pluck it from the mire.

  Inge darted through the door. “That creature could have killed me,” she whispered, wary of Nea overhearing. “If it really was targeting me, it should have killed me right away.”

  “You were as good as dead trapped in that lair,” he replied in the same quiet tones. “It had already had one meal for the day. Why should it kill when maiming and isolation would keep its next meal fresh and easily accessible?”

  That sick feeling multiplied. “But why me? I killed the first night-walker, that’s true, but it was an accident! I’m a threat to no one!”

  He eyed her up and down, muted regret upon his face. “The position you now occupy says otherwise, Your Highness. I can tell you nothing further on this subject. I suggest you turn your thoughts and attention elsewhere.”

  “You can suggest it all you like,” she muttered. Happy as she was to see her family, interested as she otherwise might have been in the new house and the surrounding village, thoughts of impending doom easily trumped such emotions. Raske, true to his character, would say nothing further, which only left Inge to worry and fret, as was her habit.

  Chapter 17: Lovelorn

  “He’s surprisingly good with children,” Nea observed.

  Inge grunted, unwilling to agree aloud. It was late afternoon, and the two older girls stood on the porch together, watching as their younger siblings mobbed Captain Raske out in the yard. He was almost like a child himself, roughhousing with the boys while still including the little girls in the games they played. Inge and Nea had been sweeping and dusting inside when the fun had started, but the shrieks of laughter had soon drawn them out.

  Nea decided to be more direct with her sister. “Don’t let him slip through your grasp, Inge. Most men think it’s beneath them to entertain a pack of kids.”

  Inge favored her with a sidelong glance. “What would you know about ‘most men’?”

  “More than you do, even if I am four years younger. I know a good one when I see him, at least. I know you don’t have many feminine charms, especially right now, but try to work what you do have with him, would you? For the good of the family, if nothing else.” Her eyes twinkled impishly.

  “Right now, I am a boy and a child,” Inge sternly replied, her arms folded tight. “Can you even begin to imagine how grossly improper it would be for a twelve-year-old boy to work ‘feminine charms,’ as you call them, with a seasoned warrior? Nea, please! This whole conversation is grossly improper.”

  Her sister’s pert nose wrinkled. “But you’re not a boy, and you know it and he knows it. Oh, I get it,” she said irritably. “I don’t like it, but I get it.”

  Out in the yard, Raske laughingly rebuffed one final assault on his person. As he picked himself up from the ground, his eyes looked skyward. The smile on his face faded to a solemn line. He saw Inge and Nea on the porch and called, “Is everything in order? We have to head back, Your Highness.”

  The two girls exchanged a glance. There hadn’t been much to put in order. The house was already furnished, and presumably what few items the family had left behind at the king’s estate would be brought to them eventually.

  “We’re done,” Nea confirmed. “Don’t you want to stay for supper, what meager fare it may be?”

  A bag of provisions—bread, cheese, onions, and such—had come from the manor house along with their clothes. It was enough to cover the family’s needs for a couple of days while they settled in.

  “We can’t,” said Raske. He joined them on the porch and drew from his pocket a small wallet, which he offered to Nea. In answer to her questioning look, he said, “From now on, the king will provide a stipend for your monthly expenses. Use it wisely.”

  “Of course,” she chirped as she received the funds.

  Eirik and Einar witnessed this exchange.

  “Inge’s not staying?” Eirik asked.

  “Nea’s in charge?” Einar added, an eager light in his eyes.

  “You two better behave yourselves,” Inge told them. “Don’t make Nea do all the work, either. You have to help out.”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” said Eirik.

  “We will, we will,” said Einar.

  She was not in the least convinced. “I’m serious, you two.” She added to her sister, “Don’t let them get away with any mischief.”

  Nea scowled. “I know how to handle them. Worry about yourself.”

  Inge allowed the subject to drop, so as not to ignite her sister’s temper. At this point, whatever happened was beyond her control anyway.

  The children gathered around to bid farewell. She gave hugs to Sassa and Lisbet, caught Eirik and Einar in an affectionate headlock, and fondly embraced Nea. Then she crossed the yard to the waiting carriage.

  Raske had already climbed on the box, ready to depart. He looked down from his perch. “You can ride inside or up here with me.”

  She hesitated. A self-conscious glance over her shoulder showed Nea and the others watching from the porch. Inge knew what conclusion her sister would draw if she joined the captain on the box, but she also knew that a ride alone inside the carriage for the better part of an hour would probably bore her to tears.

  “I thought children had to ride inside,” she said pettishly.

  “They do. If that’s your choice, you’re welcome to it.”

  It wasn’t her choice at all. On impulse she hoisted herself up beside him, careless of what Nea or anyone else might think. Her heart fluttered erratically in her chest. “Do you mind the company?”

  He spared her a wry glance. “If I did, I wouldn’t have offered.” Then, he snapped the reins to drive the horses forward. Inge glanced one last time at her family before a bend in the road obscured them from view. The twins had resumed play-fighting in the yard. Sassa and Lisbet stood alongside Nea, who wore a wickedly triumphant grin on her face.

  Inge missed them already.

  She turned her gaze forward and pretended to be totally comfortable, even though her insides churned with a thousand writhing insecurities. Those feelings seemed to claw their way up her throat as though they would choke her. She sought refuge in small talk.

  “Have you had a lot of experience as a carriage driv
er?” As with everything else Raske did, he seemed to be an expert.

  He suppressed an instinctive chuckle. “My first military assignment was driving a supply wagon. Carriages aren’t all that different.”

  She looked him up and down, astonished. “Supply wagon? Do you mean to tell me that the Demon Scourge of the army got his start driving a supply wagon?”

  A dark expression flashed across his face, and a muscle along his jaw tightened.

  Inge instantly regretted her choice of words. “You don’t like that nickname, do you,” she guessed. It surprised her. Her brothers would have been over the moon to have such a title. Most men she knew would have been over the moon. “I’m sorry. If it were Gunnar, he would wear it like a badge of honor, so I just assumed—”

  “The implication being that I’m somehow inhuman,” he interrupted, “no, I don’t particularly like it. It serves its purpose in the military, however.”

  She lapsed into silence then, properly rebuked. He did the same. The carriage trundled along the road, enveloped in that awkward atmosphere.

  “Well, in some ways you do seem inhuman,” Inge blurted. “I mean, you killed off that second night-walker all on your own, and from what I’ve heard, you’re a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield—”

  “How are either of those inhuman feats?” he asked. “I’m a warrior. I’m supposed to fight.”

  She scoffed. “You know you’re in a class of your own when it comes to that.”

  “You judge a man more than a decade into his chosen path and sound surprised that he should be proficient at it.” Raske’s voice held a cynical edge. “Any man could accomplish what I have if he were to put in the same time and effort.”

  Inge trained her eyes forward. “Don’t sell yourself short.” She felt his startled gaze upon her and looked askance. “Not all are given the same opportunities. Not all possess the same innate abilities. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, either, being a warrior among warriors.”

  “I will allow that, thanks to my father, I have had advantages that others did not. That still doesn’t make me inhuman.”

  “I only said you seem inhuman sometimes. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, either, so don’t go getting angry at me.” Her fingers played with the hem of her shirt, her eyes downcast as she waited for his response.

  Raske said nothing.

  Under the oppressive weight of silence, Inge mustered the courage to look up again. She discovered a closed expression on his face.

  “Oh, please don’t be mad,” she wheedled. “I only thought it was impressive that you started out driving supply wagons and rose to where you are now. What do I have to do to coddle you back into a better mood?”

  His eyes slid her direction, and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I don’t need any coddling, Your Highness.”

  The title served as a forcible reminder of the false social hierarchy that always stood between them. Inge scowled. “Now you’re just trying to provoke me.”

  He suppressed another laugh.

  “You don’t have to do that. If you want to laugh, you can laugh. I won’t cringe and think you’re about to slaughter me. I suppose that reputation serves its purpose in the military as well, though.”

  It was a sobering comment. “It does,” he said quietly.

  “Well, we’re not in the military right now,” said Inge. “There’s no one but me, so you can laugh all you want. You were laughing easily enough with the little ones.”

  A wry smile curved along his mouth, but he made no reply.

  “Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters?” Inge asked.

  “No, none.”

  The answer took her off-guard. “Oh. I just assumed, because you played so well with mine…”

  “My mother died in childbirth when I was six years old. The baby died too. There had been another stillbirth before that. I’m the only one of my parents’ children who lived.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Inge, feeling more awkward than ever.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. The closest I ever had to siblings were Signe and—” His words broke off.

  Inge instantly knew what name he had almost spoken. Her heart quickened. “And Osvald?”

  Raske’s attention jerked to her. “Where did you hear about him?”

  The alarm in his voice set her nerves on edge. “From Signe, but she didn’t say very much. Lind let something slip once, too, by accident. Prince Osvald was banished by King Halvard for some unspoken crime. What did he do?”

  “You’re not to speak of him,” said Raske sternly.

  “Why not? He’s connected with the night-walkers somehow, isn’t he?”

  “Ingrid, you’re not to speak of him!”

  “Why not?” she demanded again. “Why the secrecy? You said my life is in danger! Is Osvald the threat?”

  “Yes!” he cried. “And you’re not to speak of him, ever!”

  Awestruck by such a desperate declaration, Inge could only stare. Raske, meanwhile, schooled away his frantic expression for something more controlled. Only the clip-clop of horse hooves and rumble of wheels filled the void between them.

  He finally spoke again. “Please. This is King Halvard’s command. If it were otherwise, I would tell you.”

  Her instinctive protest died with that solemn request. Uncomfortably she turned her attention to the passing scenery as she searched for something—anything—to say. “Why does there have to be so much secrecy?” she finally muttered, though she did not expect a response.

  “Because King Halvard does not presume loyalty.”

  Inge scoffed. “He doesn’t trust me? Well, that makes sense. I mean, why should he?”

  “He doesn’t trust me,” Raske corrected her. “Anyone he ever did trust is already dead.”

  She thought of Captain Bergstrom and the flame-licked funeral pyre, and her stomach twisted.

  Raske continued. “If I am to earn his trust, I must obey him to the letter. The same goes for you, though I’d expect you have less interest in earning that trust.”

  “If he doesn’t trust you, he’ll never trust me. You’re the most trustworthy person in the castle. He made you his Captain of the Castle Guard—surely that’s proof of trust.”

  He didn’t reply, but the expression that ghosted across his face spoke of skepticism rather than acknowledgement.

  “Really, what possible reason could he have for not trusting you?” Inge pressed. “Your father was Lukas Falk! He won the Ten Years’ War in King Halvard’s name!” She could thank her history lessons for that tidbit of knowledge and thought it a very good point in her argument.

  Raske’s skepticism, however, did not diminish. “My father was a man of valor and determination,” he agreed, “but my mother was a princess of the enemy tribe.”

  Her jaw went slack. She quickly shut her mouth as he favored her with a sidelong glance. Raske’s mother was foreign—she’d heard as much before, but she’d never heard any other details.

  In measured words he explained. “The treaty that ended the war required a tribute as a sign of fellowship: King Halvard sent fifty men and women and received fifty in return, my mother among them. Members of each tribute, along with any children they sire, up until the fourth generation, must live according to the culture of their native land. It’s an outward testament of fellowship that breeds inward distrust. People don’t like when others live differently.

  “Have I startled you?” he wryly added.

  He had, but she would never admit it. “No. No! Of course I didn’t expect it, but… What does that even mean, to live according to another culture? Are they so very different than us?”

  A faint smile cracked his solemn façade. “For one thing, only their sages and old men grow beards. There are other rituals I have to keep, but that’s the most glaring one.”

  She pondered this revelation. “And here I thought you just liked the look of your own face. How difficult
for you to be forced to shave when everyone around you sees a beard as a symbol of manliness!”

  Raske actually laughed. “People in our society value their hair far too much.”

  Her hand instinctively played with her own shorn locks. “Don’t I know it? I sold mine to a wig-maker and now everyone thinks I’m a boy—my crown of beauty, gone forever!”

  “Not gone forever. In fact, it’s probably adorning some noblewoman’s head as we speak. They all wear wigs, you know.” She gaped, and he laughed again. “Just take a good look at Lady Adelborg, if you don’t believe me. Her real hair is almost as dark as mine.”

  She liked the smile on his face and his open, easy manner of speaking. Belatedly she realized that a silly grin had spread across her face as well. She straightened it, focusing her attention again on the roadside to prevent getting carried away with her emotions.

  He noticed the change and, unfortunately, took it as cue to sober as well.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t mind shaving. If anyone wants to question my strength or prowess, I’m perfectly capable of setting them straight.”

  “I’ll bet you are,” said Inge as she slouched back in her seat. She’d watched him take down the castle guards bold enough to question his authority. Only a fool would intentionally incur his anger.

  They traveled on into the late afternoon sunshine, their conversation trivial when they conversed at all. Even the lapses of silence were nice, though. For once they were on equal footing. Instead of worrying about the past or future, Inge took Nea’s advice and enjoyed the present, knowing that it would end all too soon.

  Sure enough, the king’s manor house flashed into view through a break in the trees. Raske pulled the horses to a full stop in the middle of the road.

  “Children have to ride inside the carriage,” he said quietly.

  He might as well have dashed a cup of water in her face. She recoiled, instinctively hurt and embarrassed at being relegated back to a lesser status than the camaraderie they had shared. Her face burned with shame as she turned away. Before she could descend from the box, though, he caught her arm.