Smirking defensively, he looked back into the yard and watched his brother hop backwards as the little warrior-in-training brought her sword down just inches from his arm. “I said pretend, Princess!” Finn barked. “Pretend you’re going to cut off my arm.”
“That was pretend.” She snorted a laugh and took two steps back before he could swipe his hand out grab her. He caught the sleeve of her gown and tugged her forward against his chest. She flowed into him without resistance, staring up at him with playful defiance. “You only need one arm to hold a sword.”
“They are only children,” Vilnjar lamented, “caught up in a whirlwind of prophecies and promises, burdened by the expectations of everyone around them. How could anyone possibly believe the two of them are meant to save your people, when they are hardly even capable of caring for their own needs?”
“The only way they will ever learn to care for themselves is if they venture into the world and follow the path the gods have marked for them.” There was no argument in her voice, only a soft sense of unspoken admiration. “We should all be so lucky to have our paths as clearly marked as theirs. Don’t you think?”
Vilnjar didn’t answer, but watched Lorelei’s clumsy footwork when Finn shoved her back and told her to try it again. The unsteady hack of the blade in her hand showed improvement as she advanced on his brother in answer to every one of Finn’s commands. People in the street stopped to watch them, children clutching their mother’s hands as the big warrior taught their little Light of Madra how to protect herself. How could they idolize her so, not knowing anything more about her than what their seer told them she was meant to do? It seemed foolish to put so much stock, to rest the entire fate of everyone in that city on the shoulders of a girl who had allegedly come to their seer in a dream long before she was ever even been born.
“She will be a great warrior one day, Vilnjar the Strong,” Frigga said, “and so will you. Mark my words.”
So will you. No, he would not. He was not a warrior, he never would be. He opened his mouth to respond, but before the words came out her father’s gruff voice sounded from the door behind them. “Frigga, we have other orders to fill.”
When Vilnjar turned to look over his shoulder, the man was glaring at him, dark, angry blue eyes that narrowed in unspoken warning beneath the bush of his golden brow. His message was loud and clear.
Stay away from my daughter, Wolf.
“I am working on one of those orders now,” she said smugly, not even turning around to look back at her father. “The Light of Madra is testing her new blade in the yard, and then I’ve promised to finish altering her armor so she will have it before sundown.”
“Then get to the alterations.” He grunted and turned back into the house, but not without squinting at Vilnjar again before slamming the door at his back.
As if she hadn’t heard a word her father said, she kept her eye on the yard when she asked, “So, will you let me make you a sword.”
“I cannot afford to pay you for your work,” he confessed shamefully. “We came here as exiles, given nothing but the clothes on our backs and the weapons we took from those who meant to kill us before we crossed the borders into Rimian. Even those were confiscated by Lorelei’s brother when he happened upon us.”
“I would not charge you,” she said.
“I’m sure that would please your father to no end,” he smirked.
“Is it my father you are looking to please, Vilnjar?” Her eyes were so round when she turned them back to him, a hint of mischief flaring to life in the depths of those rich blue pools and the itch of a smile tugging at the corner of her soft, full mouth. “Because if that is the case, pleasing my father will get you nowhere with me,” she went on, “in case you were wondering.”
“I…” Her advance took him by surprise, that one word caught in the back of his throat and left to hang in the air between them.
“I will tell you what,” she began, returning her stare to the yard. “You say you like words, books and wisdom, is that true?”
“Yes, but I hardly…”
“Well, I like stories,” she said matter-of-factly. “They entertain me while I work, but I have heard every story to be told in Dunvarak and now I wish to hear new stories I have never heard before. Every day for ten days come to me at sunup and entertain me while I worked the forge.” He started to protest, but she kept talking. “For every story you tell me that is new to my ears I will pay you ten pieces of silver. That is one-hundred silver if you tell me one story a day, two hundred if you can tell me two. You will have enough money then for me to craft you the finest weapon you have ever owned.”
“And your father isn’t going to mind in the least bit, my hanging around here all day telling his daughter stories from afar? Taking pay from her to entertain her won’t bother him at all?”
“I make my own way in this world, my own money,” she pointed out with a clever lift of her brow. “I am a woman grown, and free to hear stories from whomever I choose. I choose to hear stories from you.”
Finn and Lorelei were on their way back to the forge, the princess swinging the sword beside her in short, impressive arcs Finn couldn’t help but criticize as he lowered his arm across her shoulders. “You won’t hit anyone at that angle unless you’re in the middle of a horde, even then you’ll break your damn wrist swinging that way.”
“It’s my sword,” she shot back. “I’ll swing it how I like, thank you very much.”
“Not if you’re going into battle with me, you won’t!”
Frigga leaned into his shoulder and tilted her lips to his ear. “Day after tomorrow, be here at sunup. Do we have a deal?”
It took everything in him not to turn into her face, to nuzzle the tip of his nose down her cheek to feel the softness of her skin as he replied. “I will be here.”
She pushed her shoulder off of his, shifting her attention back to finishing her business with Finn and Lorelei. Even after she moved away, her scent lingered, smoke and amber with a hint of wisteria; her smell would haunt him in his dreams that night.
While they discussed whether or not the blade felt right in her hand, Vilnjar found himself looking toward the house with worry, toward the two cold eyes staring out from the corner of the window above the scowling lips that promised Dunvarak would freeze over before he ever got close to the blacksmith’s daughter.
Gulping down the dread he could feel tightening in his throat, he drew his eyes away, back toward Frigga.
She stretched on the tips of her toes to draw down a small, leather-bound wooden buckler from the rack lining the stand. Vilnjar watched the muscles along the backs of her legs flex and tighten below the curve of her shapely backside. She shook her hair over her shoulder as she came back down and spun around, every movement a display meant specifically for him.
Parts of him he had never been aware of before tightened within his body, muscles below his groin shuddering and clenching deliciously.
Frigga.
She was his. The way she flashed that coy smile of hers at him again when she thought no one else was looking told him all he needed to know. Even more, it said, “I am worth whatever challenges my father has to throw at you, Wolf! Come and claim me.”
“Hodon has promised to pay you for your work,” Finn was saying.
“From the Light of Madra and her mate, I will take no pay,” Frigga refused him. “Your deeds will be payment enough.”
He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking, “And if they fail?”
“Vilnjar,” Logren called from the street. “I have been looking all over for you. I should have known I would find you here.” The other man glanced up at his sister when he approached, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin beneath his mustaches as he watched her slide the buckler onto her forearm and bring it up in front of her in a clumsy block. “Hodon wishes to see you,” he went on. “I told him you were looking for work, and it just so happens he has a job for you.”
“I
hope it is a short job,” Frigga called over her shoulder. “I’ve already hired him on to work for me. He starts at sunup day after tomorrow.”
Tilting his head curiously, Logren’s grin grew smug and playful. “I had no idea you knew how to work the forge, Viln.”
“I…”
“There is much about Vilnjar even he does not know he is capable of.” Frigga crossed her arms as she turned around to face them. “I plan to show him those things.”
Even Finn and Lorelei were drawn to her forthright confession, exchanging curious glances with each other before turning their attention back to the blacksmith’s daughter. The blood rushed to Vilnjar’s face, his cheeks flushing hot, and at first he wasn’t sure if it was because she’d embarrassed him or turned him on with her bluntness.
“Well then, I will be sure to have Hodon send him back to this place when he finishes his work. Come, Vilnjar. He is expecting you.”
He didn’t want to leave, to step away from her company, even after his brother and the princess had finished their business he would want to find a way to linger near her, but then he looked up and saw those eyes in the window again.
“You sure know how to pick them,” Logren said when they were far enough away from the smithy to not be overheard. “You do realize she is one of the most sought after young woman in Dunvarak right now? Night and day, men proposition her father for her hand, offering him the best of what they have to offer. What have you to give?”
Whatever she asks of me, he thought, but kept it to himself. Instead he changed the subject, steering Logren away from Frigga and trying not to think about her being the most sought after young woman in the city. It made him jealous to think of other men courting her, vying for the hand that rightfully belonged to him.
“What job does Hodon have for me?”
“He would like to send word to the council Drekne.”
That was unexpected. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected something more mundane, stable-mucking, perhaps. While they walked in silence, Logren allowing that bit of knowledge to sink in, Vilnjar tried to understand what sending word to Drekne had to do with him and then it all started to come together.
“Is it not better to keep your place here quiet in order to preserve all you have created?”
“And live out the rest of our lives here denying what was born in our hearts?” he scoffed. “I think not.”
“What could Hodon possibly hope to gain by announcing your presence to the council and how am I to help him with this?”
“Who better to help him word such a missive to ensure our proposal is well-received?”
“Your proposal?”
“I suppose there is no harm in the telling,” Logren shrugged. “We briefly discussed these things yesterday, before you rushed out of the hall like a child scorned. The people of Dunvarak would overlook the wrongs of the past and ask the U’lfer to ally with us when my sister returns from her task and our wolf spirits are freed. There are more of us than there are of your people. They should look favorably on our offer.”
“And for what reason would the U’lfer ever have to ally themselves with you?”
“Protection against the world of men, of course,” he said, as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “Even you cannot disagree that Aelfric’s decree is tyranny. No man has the right to restrict a wolf from embracing his true form, any more than he has right to enslave the oldest and wisest races on this planet. He has no right confining your people to that tiny strip of land like prisoners, and he should be made to pay for what he did to our fathers. If we were to combine our forces and strike a strategic alliance with the Alvarii outside of Leithe and beyond Aelfric’s reach we could reclaim our right to freedom.”
Vilnjar didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t deny he agreed in regards to the overstepped rights of mankind, but he also knew the mind of the council in respect to such matters. It was better to be alive and restricted than dead. Despite the hardships the last of his people faced, they would never agree to an alliance or a plan to rise against Aelfric and his men and they would certainly never align themselves with the Alvarii.
“Has your chieftain so quickly forgotten that the Council of the Nine banished your sister and all she stands for from the Edgelands? That they sent hunters, whom you have captured and executed, to strike her down before she could reach the borders?”
“We didn’t execute all of them,” he confessed. “Hodon insisted we spare one of the wolves to use as a bargaining chip.”
That surprised him, and for a moment they walked on again in silence, Vilnjar’s mind turning over endless thought until he finally grasped something of merit he could use. “And does Hodon really believe Lorelei will consent to an alliance of wolves intent on marching into her father’s kingdom?”
“King Aelfric is not her father,” Logren said stiffly, completely ignoring his original question. “Rognar was her father, just as he was mine, and while the council didn’t agree with the things our fathers did, our fathers fought for their freedom, for all of our freedom.”
“The freedom to take what others had already taken and make it their own,” Vilnjar sneered. “No one seems to see that there was no right side in the War of Silence. Mankind does as they please, and our fathers fought for the right to do the same. Had things ended differently, and it had been King Aelfric betrayed and captured by his own men, driven into the Edgelands and forbidden from warmongering, would that have made our people right? Or would it make us just like them?”
“Be sure to tell Hodon you think we are no better than Aelfric when you sit down with him. He will love hearing that.”
“That is not what I think, Logren, and you know it. You twist my words,” he scowled. “What happened to our fathers… that was a lesson, and yet here your people are plotting to replay their mistake as if it never happened. Aelfric’s men have more power than you could even imagine.”
“Not for long.”
“Not for long? What are you talking about, not for long?” He turned his head to the side, trying to gauge Logren’s meaning.
“Aelfric is on the edge of a very nasty downfall,” he said. “If our people stand together now, united as we should always have been, and with the elves on our side, it would prove most advantageous. All of our people can still be saved, still rise to glory. It has been seen.”
“Bah,” Viln shook his head. “More nonsense from seers.”
“That nonsense you sneer at brought my sister to this place, just as the seers promised. And don’t forget it brought you here as well,” Logren reminded him.
“Don’t you think for a second that I don’t consistently rue the day it did.”
“No one is keeping you here against your will, Vilnjar. You are free to return to the Edgelands anytime you like.” He paused for a moment, his face lengthening in mock pity. “Oh, wait, you were exiled. You’ve nowhere else to go. You could try your luck out there,” he gestured beyond the protective walls that housed the city and made it a comfortable place to live, “but the seers tell us you won’t abandon Dunvarak. I tend to think they speak true.”
Of course that was what the seers said, and as much as he hated to admit it he knew they were right. He had no desire to leave Dunvarak now that he had come; he’d found his mate and had no desire to leave her behind when she could very well be his only chance at contentment, but there was a part of him that wanted to storm out the gates just for spite, to prove to Logren and anyone else that dared challenge him that he made his own choices.
“Has Hodon even spoken to the Alvarii?” he changed the subject.
“Not yet. Brendolowyn will carry word to them and present it to the King Under the City. We have it on good authority they will look favorably upon an alliance with us.”
“Let me guess, more nonsense from the seers.”
“Actually, no.” He offered no further explanation, only furthered the debate with, “Tell me this: if your people were enslaved, c
ollared and forbidden to use the power Llorveth bestowed upon them, wouldn’t you leap at the chance to ally yourself with someone who shared your burden in common?” Then he laughed again, “But wait, I keep forgetting the U’lfer have already been enslaved and collared and forbidden from embracing the beast beneath their skin.”
“We were not collared!”
“But is it not Aelfric’s decree that anyone discovered embracing their beast spirit for more than a simple hunt for food is to be executed on sight?”
Logren pushed the front doors of Hodon’s hall wide open, Vilnjar stalking just two steps behind them as they made their way to meet with the man. He had a good point, but Viln still didn’t agree. Their father’s had risked everything and lost. Why take that kind of chance if failure meant extinction.
“I cannot in good faith advise Hodon on this matter, Logren.”
“You can tell him that yourself then, but I have a feeling you’ll change your mind.”
He doubted that highly, but followed the other man through the hall and into a chamber where Hodon sat upon a stone-carved throne finishing business with two farmers who’d come to settle a land dispute. The man glanced up from the proceedings and hurriedly passed judgment, then told the farmers to return in two weeks to let him know how they fared. They agreed, shaking hands with one another before thanking Hodon and turning to go.
“You’re just in time,” Hodon announced. “Let us retire to the dining hall and talk over bread and cheese. My stomach has been empty since last night and it is time I fill it again.”
“It is late in the morning to break your fast,” Logren scolded, gesturing with his head for Viln to follow when they made for the dining hall.
“So many preparations to be made, and let us not forget that the troubles our people face do not cease simply because hope has arrived.”
“Of course not.”
They were seated at the table and servants brought pitchers of ale and plates of bread and cheese for them to dine on while they spoke. Vilnjar passed on the food, but allowed his cup to be filled before curling his fingers around it and leaning forward across the table.
Edgelanders (Serpent of Time) Page 54