The Legendary Inge

by Kate Stradling

  She blinked. It made sense, of course, that the bait should be set free once the enemy had been caught and defeated, but she had not expected such an abrupt end to her adventures. She muddled over what this change would mean for her in the coming days.

  Out of the blue, King Halvard said, “I should inform you that my son, Prince Inge, has been extolled to the nation as a divine hero, sent from above to assist the crown and then taken back in a halo of glory when the battle had been won.”

  “What?” Inge croaked.

  “My original idea was just to kill him off,” he continued thoughtfully, “but then Signe, as his betrothed, would’ve been forced into mourning. I don’t like her in black. It doesn’t suit her. So, we canonized him instead. Every year from now on, the nation will celebrate Saint Inge’s Day with a feast and festival.”

  She stared, horrified.

  The king chuckled in response. “The news was very well received, I assure you. Everyone loves a holiday, and a feast day is all the better. You can celebrate in future years, knowing that you yourself provided such joy to all of your neighbors and friends.”

  She wondered that he was not struck dead for creating a fictitious saint and enacting a holy day in that saint’s honor. She was scandalized enough to have her nickname attached to the blasphemous event.

  “You are a saint, you know,” said King Halvard, as though he could read her mind. His mirth had vanished, replaced with reverence. “You appeared at the crucial moment and provided the crucial variable that shifted Fortune’s wheel from Bergstrom’s favor to mine. I did not know, at first, whether you were in league with him, whether that night-walker’s demise had been orchestrated. I did know that he thought when he brought me a scrawny, scrappy young girl instead of a strapping monster-slayer that he was subverting my plans and, ultimately, my authority. He thought I would abort my scheme and give him plenty of time to create more havoc through Osvald. I see now that he never once suspected he was escorting his own downfall to the castle that first morning. I didn’t suspect it either, but I knew, somehow, that you would prove to be an advantage in the end.”

  As he spoke, his words dredged up a most unexpected concept. “Do you mean to say,” Inge started, hardly believing her conclusion even as she spoke it aloud, “you knew from the very beginning that I was a girl?”

  King Halvard lifted his haughty nose in the air. “I told you it’s almost absurd how often I have to play dumb. I didn’t know at first that you were Torvald’s child—that was a pleasant surprise. Your coming marked the turning of the tides, however. Bergstrom would have continued playing the concerned advisor until the gritty end, but you provided the perfect opportunity to eject him from the castle. Your father’s circle spell gave the opportunity, I should say. There’s nothing more unnerving to a warrior than to discover that his weapon can be turned against him. Bergstrom relied on his strength, but his very sword became a liability instead. There’s no way a loyal captain would stop carrying one of Torvald Geirson’s Virtue Swords, though, especially for such a trifling reason as a circle spell.”

  “So he staged his own death to rid himself of the sword?” Inge asked incredulously.

  “To rid himself of the sword and to extract himself from the castle altogether. He enlisted Baron Adelborg to sneak him out of the city in the early hours that morning, determined to become the aggressor instead of the subversive.”

  “But the body at the swamp…” Inge began.

  The king’s expression turned sheepish. “That I do regret. Bergstrom had a bizarre sense of self-righteousness. Even with Dagmar’s divination spell I did not fully recognize his intent until it was already too late.”

  “But who was it? Who died in his place?”

  He looked as though he might withhold the answer. Indecision warred within him, but in the end he chose forthrightness.

  “It was your former landlord, Ulfred Rikardson.”

  A horrible pang wrenched through her. She had not given Ulfred a second thought in ages.

  King Halvard continued. “Leiv had had him arrested and thrown in the dungeons. In the evening of the second night-walker’s attack, Bergstrom smuggled him to his office and, on pretense of helping him escape, dressed him in his own armor. He wrote a letter, telling friends that he was going into hiding. When the clatter of the monster’s attack arose, Ulfred thought it was the promised distraction provided for him to flee. He ran from Bergstrom’s office wearing his disguise. Unbeknown to him, though, Bergstrom had slathered an aromatic salve across the metal, one that would draw the monster directly to him. It was a cruel fate for a corrupt man.”

  Inge didn’t know how she should feel. Ulfred had been a terrible person, had preyed upon her family’s weakness, had threatened their wellbeing. She could not mourn for him, but had his crimes been worthy of such an execution? If not for her, if not for her overheard complaints, he would still be alive.

  And, to his nature, he would still be preying upon those who were weaker and more vulnerable than him.

  She could not mourn his death, but yet she regretted the method by which it had occurred.

  “If not him, it would have been someone else,” King Halvard told her gently. “Bergstrom was quick to condemn others even while justifying his own offenses. The fault lies at his feet. Had your landlord been more upstanding, he never would have been in the situation to start.”

  “Had he been more upstanding, I never would have been here either,” said Inge.

  “That’s true. Perhaps I should name a feast day for Saint Ulfred as well.”

  He outright laughed at the revulsion that flashed across her face.

  ***

  “Are you and the others going to be all right?” Gunnar asked.

  Inge might have scoffed at the question, but given how poorly she had managed the family’s affairs the last time she had been left in charge, she supposed her brother had cause enough to worry.

  “We’ll be fine,” she said.

  The wagon beneath them jostled along the road.

  “I’m within a day’s journey. Send for me if you have need. I’ll try to visit as often as I can.”

  She nodded and trained her eyes on the passing scenery. She was wearing the same clothing she had worn when she first arrived at the castle: her brother’s too-large shirt and pants. The only difference in her appearance now was a clean face and an inch of growth on her still-too-short hair. Internally, though, everything had changed.

  The wagon that Gunnar was driving had been loaned by the castle. Right now it was loaded down with the family’s rug and the trove of weapons hidden within. King Halvard had given Inge a pouch of money, too, as she left. He would provide a monthly stipend for living expenses, he promised, as thanks both to her service and to her father’s memory. The house where the children now lived was theirs to keep.

  In other words, she had nothing to worry about going forward.

  And yet, she worried. She wasn’t the same person who had left her family’s home that early summer morning. Deep down, she wondered whether she even wanted to return.

  A sigh escaped her lips. Gunnar spared her a sidelong glance.

  “So you’re basically in love with Colonel Raske, aren’t you,” he said bluntly.

  Inge started, her eyes wide. On impulse she pushed aside her surprise and became defensive instead. “So what if I am?”

  It was Gunnar’s turn to sigh. “You always choose the difficult paths in life, Inge. I’m not going to say a word against him,” he added as she opened her mouth to protest. “A better warrior you’ll never find. He’s loyal and stalwart. He’s also terrifying when he wants to be, but that has its advantages. I don’t know what kind of a husband or father he’ll make—”

  “I haven’t even seen him since that night, Gunnar,” she interrupted, mortified by where this conversation was going. “There’s no guarantee that I’ll ever see him again, either. And just because I have feelings for him doesn’t mean he feels the same way abou
t me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “All I’m trying to say is that you could do worse. But you’re right—you might never see him again. If that’s the case, don’t get so heartbroken that you lose your will to live. There’re plenty of other men in this country, and none of them gets called ‘the Demon Scourge.’”

  Inge’s jaw dropped. “You might possibly be the worst person ever to counsel with when it comes to matters of the heart!”

  He smiled wryly at her. “That’s what big brothers are for. Didn’t you know?”

  A bend in the road revealed their destination. Afternoon sunshine filtered through the trees to bathe the yard in gold-dappled light. Even from a distance, even with the rattle of wagon wheels and the clip-clop of horse hooves, Inge could hear Eirik and Einar shouting insults at one another as they battled.

  Gunnar lifted two fingers to his lips and let loose a shrill whistle. The twins whirled, stared, and immediately broke into whoops and hollers.

  As the wagon slowed to a standstill, Nea, Sassa, and Lisbet emerged from the house. The children called in excitement. Smaller bodies flung themselves upon the two eldest as they descended to the road. Joy suffused the scene.

  In the midst of it all, as Inge pulled her younger siblings into a tight embrace, the pleasure of the moment banished the misgivings in her soul. Had she wondered whether she really wanted to return? Although a thorn of discontent remained within her—a vague sense that something yet was missing from her life—still her heart was full.

  She had her family whole and healthy, and, for now, that was sufficient.

  Chapter 26: At the End of the Road

  Contentment could be such a frustratingly short-lived emotion.

  The swish-swish-swish of the broom against the wood floor brought a strange comfort to Inge’s nerves. It was comforting to be back with her family. It was comforting to perform menial housework. It was comforting to pretend that everything was as it had always been.

  It helped quiet the restlessness that nestled within her heart.

  The house was, for the moment, peaceful. Nea had taken the twins and Lisbet out for a walk in the forest. Sassa had stayed home, but she dawdled in the back room, playing with her doll. Inge took the opportunity to sweep, even though the twins would drag in a trail of forest debris behind them when they returned.

  Through the open window she could hear the clip-clop of horses as they traveled along the road beyond the yard.

  Almost a month had passed since she had joined her family here. The village was quaint and its people friendly. Aside from having to explain to everyone that she was Nea’s older sister, she had settled in nicely. No one here knew that, prior to coming, she had played the part of a boy. She could wear dresses again, and the housewife’s handkerchief she tied over her head covered most of her short hair. It was growing back, too. In a few more months it wouldn’t be nearly as conspicuous.

  She had no reason to keep it short any more, after all.

  With a morose sigh, Inge swept the dust pile out the back door and into the grass below. As she beat the broom against the steps to rid it of any clinging dirt, another set of horse hooves clip-clopped up the road.

  “Inge, can I play outside?” Sassa asked from behind her.

  Inge straightened. “Of course you can.”

  A bright smile on her face, Sassa descended into the back yard. She had at last shaken any symptoms of her illness. Inge watched her from the porch while, doll slung on one arm, she plucked a handful of wildflowers. Once she had collected enough, Sassa sat cross-legged and began weaving the flowers into a crown.

  “Do you need any help?” Inge called.

  “I can do it,” said her sister. Nea had taught her the trick. Nea had kept the little girls’ hair in braids and their faces washed and had nurtured them far more skillfully than Inge had expected. Inge’s time at the castle had provided wonderful growth for everyone.

  She sighed again. She should have been glad for her family, that they had fared so well in her absence. But, ultimately, the experience had only proven how unnecessary she really was. In melancholy, she returned to the house to put the broom away.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  She wasn’t expecting anyone, but in this village, people often stopped by out of the blue. Inge stowed the broom quickly and, wiping her hands on her apron, hurried to answer the summons. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. It was probably just some children from down the road selling eggs or wanting to play with the twins and the little girls. It wasn’t anyone for her—it was never anyone for her.

  But this time, after a month of longing and hoping and waiting, she opened the door to a familiar face. Her heart leapt as her eyes traveled upward to meet his gaze. No words would form on her tongue.

  “Hello,” said Raske with a faint smile. He proffered her a small purse.

  The movement snapped Inge from her stupor. In confusion she took the item. “What’s this?”

  “Your stipend. King Halvard asked me to bring it to you.”

  “Oh.” Her heart fell. He was here on orders. She hadn’t even heard that he was back in the country, but of course he wouldn’t come just to find her. Of course he would go straight to King Halvard. She supposed she should be grateful to the king for sending Raske instead of another underling, but instead she only felt forlorn.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  “He sent something else,” Raske replied with a vague gesture behind him. “I wasn’t sure anyone was home, so I didn’t carry it up to the house with me.”

  She looked over his shoulder to the lane, where his horse stood tethered to the fence. Upon its back, behind the saddle, was a small chest.

  Inge frowned. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. He told me not to open it. Shall I bring it up?”

  She gave her assent, confused as she was. She hadn’t left anything behind at the castle. King Halvard had faithfully sent the whole of her father’s legacy with her, and she could think of nothing else that he might want to give her. She muddled over this as from the porch she watched Raske remove the ties. The chest was squat and had a flat lid, but it didn’t appear to be heavy. Raske hefted it with ease and carried it back to the house.

  “Where would you like me to put it?” he inquired.

  She scooted to one side. “Just inside—on the table, I guess.”

  Wordlessly he crossed the threshold. Inge decided that she didn’t care what had brought him: she would channel Nea’s philosophy and just enjoy the moment for what it was.

  “I didn’t know you were back,” she said as Raske deposited his burden on the family’s dining table. “How long ago did you return?”

  “It’s been about a week.”

  “Oh,” said Inge. “There must have been a lot of work waiting for you.”

  He turned with a quiet smile. “Not really.”

  Gunnar’s warning played strong upon her mind. She was determined not to get her feelings hurt. Even if Raske had come home to a castle in perfect order, that didn’t mean he was obligated to come visit her. She stiffened her spine and gallantly continued the conversation.

  “Was it a difficult journey?”

  “No. It was mostly tiresome, but we have our treaty and that’s all that really matters. How have you been? I didn’t expect to find you in such a tranquil state as this.”

  Of course he didn’t. He thought she skipped into danger on purpose. He had also met her family before. “Nea took the twins and Lisbet on a walk. They should be home soon. Sassa’s in the yard out back—you can see her through the window.”

  He glanced out. Beside him, Inge observed Sassa still among the wildflowers. A small crown of daisies hung askew from her doll’s head. She was working on a larger one for herself now, her tongue poking from the side of her mouth as she concentrated.

  “So I interrupted a quiet moment,” he mused. “Sorry for that.”

  If he had anticipated a house full of children, maybe he w
as uncomfortable to find her here alone. She dismissed the thought. Sassa could come in at any time, and the others would be home shortly. If he was uncomfortable, it wouldn’t be for long.

  “I don’t mind. I was only cleaning house.”

  A look of enlightenment crossed his face. “Is that why you’re wearing the…” He gestured first to her head and then to his own, lost for what to call the handkerchief that covered her hair.

  Inge tugged the cloth free. Self-consciously she fiddled with the knot. “No. People in the village give me funny looks when they see how short my hair is. It’s easier just to wear something over it. But I guess you’ve seen it shorter than this, so it doesn’t really matter if I cover it right now.”

  He smiled and looked away, back out the window to where Sassa still toiled at her flower-crown. Ever since his arrival something had nagged at the edge of Inge’s thoughts. It coalesced into a realization now: before, he had always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. That weight was gone, somehow. He seemed at ease, unconcerned. He even seemed more slight-of-frame.

  “You look different,” she blurted.

  Her voice jarred him from his thoughts. “Different how?”

  “I don’t know. Like there’s more spring in your step, I guess.”

  He laughed. “You might say that. I’ve been discharged.” In response to her confused frown, he added, “King Halvard released me from military service upon my return. For the first time in more than a decade, I’m not wearing an ounce of armor. It sort of feels like I have springs on my feet, now that you mention it.” He lightly bounced, almost childlike as he tested his recently acquired freedom.

  “But… why?” Inge asked.

  “I don’t know. One of the king’s mad whims, I guess. He’d already appointed a new Captain of the Castle Guard before I returned, so I had to collect all my things and put my affairs in order to be out of the way. King Halvard says that he’ll summon me back into service if ever he has need, but that for now he doesn’t want to see me anywhere near the capital. My last official order was to deliver your stipend and that chest, and now my duties are complete.”