by Ana Mardoll
"Is there an emergency? Is Father ill?" Finndís drew to a stop along the other side of Rúni, framing the mare between their two geldings and sparing Torjei the briefest glance of gratitude. Torjei was faithful to a fault, the best shield-brother and companion she could ask for, and always wherever she needed him.
Rúni looked up at her with wide eyes, grinning without the slightest trace of repentance. "What? No, I'm bored. Can I come hunting with you? Pleeeeease? Look, I brought my bow and everything!"
Inarticulate exasperation rattled in Torjei's throat as he bit back oaths he could not utter. Some familiarity was expected between the young nobleman and the royal family in whose keeping he'd been raised as an official companion for the regal children, but swearing at the littlest prince over his antics would cross a subtle line.
"Is that a 'yes'?" Rúni pressed with a dazzling grin, tickled by Torjei's obvious anger.
Finndís stared at the boy, blinking as her heart slowed and she tried to form a coherent response. "No, you can't come hunting with us. Rúni, where is your tutor? You should be at your lessons!"
Her little brother twisted his lips into a sour face, fidgeting in the saddle while Torjei held the mare's rein tight. "Master Gunnulf told me to go play. He's visiting with Father and the clan-lords; they were emptying the wine cellar when I left, and Master was deep in his cups. So if you think about it, I wasn't running away from lessons, I was running to them. You can teach me more than that grizzled old boar, Finn!"
Torjei snorted in derision, glad to have a safe target at which to direct his lingering ire. "Worthless cur! He shouldn't be drinking with lords, let alone sending you off unsupervised so he could join the party. Why your father hired him is a mystery; the only lesson he can teach is how to reach the bottom of a bottle."
"Torjei." Finndís took the rein on her side of the mare with a gentle hand and motioned for Torjei to hand over the other. Rúni fidgeted again at this, not liking the silent implication that he was too much of a baby to hold his own reins, and the high-strung mare danced restlessly in place underneath him. "They fought in the war together. Father was a young man and Gunnulf was loyal to him and Grandmother. Most of our visiting lords were on her side, too; noble or not, he shares a bond with them which we ought to respect. He should not have let you leave the castle alone, however," she added, shooting a stern look at Rúni.
"Well, he didn't actually know I was leaving," Rúni hedged, not meeting her eyes. "He told me to play and I thought you two might like my help! Anyway, he's still an awful tutor, no matter how loyal he is."
"Father didn't hire him for his loyalty," corrected Finndís in a weary voice, shaking her head as she looped his reins around the front rings of her saddle and urged the horses in the direction of the castle. They were wasting precious daylight taking Rúni back, but she didn't trust him to go by himself. If they went at a steady canter, there would still be time to bring down a doe or a brace of rabbits for the lords to sup on.
Torjei matched their pace, riding alongside her with effortless skill. "Though if he had, no one could blame him," he added in an undertone, his dry humor restored. "The quality seems in short supply nowadays."
She ignored him, hoping Rúni would not catch his words and fire off a thousand questions in response; the intrigues of clan-lords were not something she wished to inflict on her little brother. "Gunnulf has witnessed history firsthand, Rúni. He knew our father as a youth and fought beside him in the war; he has seen a side of Father that you or I have never known. There is much you could learn from him, if you tried."
The boy turned sorrowful eyes up at her, though she suspected the root cause of his despair lay in being led back to the castle against his will instead of allowed out on the afternoon hunt. "But he's not a real tutor; not like the ones Father provided for you, Finn. I don't think he likes me at all!"
Torjei snorted again. He had a vast plethora of snorts at his disposal, and Finndís knew each one as intimately as the callouses on her hands; this one mingled amusement with grudging fondness. "Can you blame Master Gunnulf if he doesn't like you? Considering how often you run off, I'd think anyone—"
"Not Master Gunnulf! Father! He doesn't like me!"
Finndís whipped around to stare at the wailing child, her jaw dropping as a thousand false reassurances crowded into her mouth and faltered at the precipice. Father didn't like Rúni, but that was because he rarely thought of him at all. Rúni's existence did not offend the distant king; the boy simply didn't matter to him.
Silence was damning so Finndís spoke; in her gentlest tone, she tried to soften the truth. "Father doesn't dislike you, Rúni. He loves you. You should have seen how he held you as a baby." This was stretching the truth a bit more than she ought, but his wide eyes lapped up the lie as he leaned closer to catch her words. "If he neglects us sometimes, it's because he's so busy being king."
Beside her, Torjei nodded with a solemn expression. He was not as skilled as she with soothing words, but on the subject of absent fathers he could commiserate mightily. "That job would turn any man's hair gray, Rúni. He's got to run the kingdom while half the lords consider him a temporary regent at best and an illegitimate usurper at worst. And your elder brothers aren't making his life easier. If he didn't have all that on his plate, you can bet he'd be out here hunting with us and teaching you how to use that bow properly."
Finndís wiped doubts from her face as Torjei's rosy vision coaxed a fresh smile from the little prince. "You think so? Oh, Finn, tell me the story about Grandmother Ásdís and the uncles, and how Father became king! Maybe the three of us can get the lords to stop fighting, and then Father can go hunting with us! Please?"
This was a stalling tactic to slow the ride home, one often used at night to beg one last tale before bed. Finndís gave the boy a skeptical look and glanced up at Torjei in time to see him bite back a smile; her shield-brother was as fond of hearing her tell stories as Rúni was of demanding them. "You'd know our history as well as I do if you listened to Master Gunnulf and paid attention to your lessons."
"But you tell it better than he does," cajoled Rúni, teeth flashing in a flattering grin. "Go on, Finn, please tell the story. If you do, I'll be quiet the whole walk back, and I'll go inside the castle when we get there, and be good. I won't even sneak into the great hall to watch the clan-lords drink with Father, I promise."
"And pigs will sprout wings and fly," Finndís grumbled, giving him a sharp look. She took a deep breath and sat higher in her saddle, feeling like a bard attending a banquet at which she'd not intended to perform yet had been called upon without warning. "Very well, I'll tell the story; but I'm holding you to that oath, Rúni."
Finndís let her voice settle into a warm cadence that rose and fell in time with her horse's gait, the same lulling rhythm used by the traveling storytellers who plied their trade during winter in exchange for a seat by the hearth. "A long time ago, when dragons roamed the land—"
"Dragons still roam the land!"
She turned her head to glare at Rúni. "You said you'd be quiet. And, no, they don't."
Rúni was undeterred. "I can't stay quiet if the story is wrong, Finn! What about the last harvest-hunt?"
Torjei shook his head, chuckling; Finndís had long ago noticed he managed to find Rúni's antics much more amusing when they only inconvenienced her and not him. "That was a scrawny little scrap of a lizard, barely older than you, boy. We chased it north out of the fields. One or two sightings a year isn't the same."
"Well, they do still roam the land!"
Finndís shushed him with a hiss. "Fine. A long time ago, when packs of dragons still roamed the land, you could hardly keep sheep or pigs because they'd be eaten, and sometimes the shepherd too. Better?"
"Go on," Rúni said, the soul of solemn magnanimity, as Torjei turned red biting back a guffaw.
Finndís gave her shield-brother a sharp look, reflecting as she always did how lucky he was to be so handsome. Not being a child of royal blo
od, he had been allowed to participate in his fair share of friendly duels and his face already sported two beautiful scars across his left cheek, the deep craters proof of his bravery. She shook her head at both boys and averted her gaze before Torjei could catch her staring.
"The clans were divided," she continued, finding her vocal stride again. "Dragons and bears and wolves killed herds in the night. Bandits and brigands killed men. The people looked for a hero to lead them."
"Ooh, ooh!" Rúni leaned forward in his saddle, eyes sparkling with eager attention. "Grandmother Ásdís!"
She thinned her lips but didn't scold him for the interruption, deciding that if Rúni couldn't be coaxed into sitting still for his lessons, perhaps he could be tricked into them. "Yes, Grandmother Ásdís and her golden sword. Do you remember the names of her three sons?"
The trick fell flat, passing over his head like an arrow sailing beyond its target. "No. Where'd the sword come from? A great golden sword like that must have come from somewhere."
"It... came from the gods," hazarded Finndís, offering the official explanation with the slightest pause; Father was devout enough in his own way, but she'd yet to see anything in her own mundane life to convince her that such divine beings existed or cared about the affairs of the tiny humans below.
"Or from an extremely adept wand-wife," Torjei tossed in cheerfully, pushing his long dark hair from his face as the wind picked up behind them. "Or she found it in a dragon's hoard, or stole it from a sage."
Rúni stared at them, frowning as no further explanation came. Finndís swiped at strands of her own fiery hair as they whipped on the breeze and stuck to her lips. "No one knows for sure," she explained, hoping this would satisfy the boy. "Queen Ásdís only ever said it was magic and came to her."
This did not entirely placate her audience; Rúni sagged backwards in his saddle with great drama and sighed loudly. "Okay, okay. She slew dragons with her sword and the clans crowned her queen."
Finndís felt her lips twitch and held back a smile. "Well, it was a little more complicated than that. Master Gunnulf is supposed to be teaching you the names of the clan-lords and the dates they joined under her banner. But, yes, she united our people and made the land a safe place for us to thrive. She took a husband from among the clan-lords and bore him three sons. Do you remember their names?" she pressed.
Rúni fidgeted again. "Nooooo."
"There's a mnemonic," she urged, trying not to sound impatient. "S-O-N, for son. Now do you remember?"
He shook his head and Torjei caught her eye, lifting his chin and looking every inch the dashing son of a clan-lord. "I know!" he volunteered, all exuberant enthusiasm. "Finn, ask me. I know them by heart."
Rúni looked up sharply at Torjei's bragging, sitting straight in his saddle. "I never said I didn't know!" he lied, anxious not to be upstaged. "S is for, um, Uncle Sveinn."
Finndís nodded, smiling warmly. "And you know N already," she encouraged.
"King Njáll!" Their father's name burst from his lips in a proud boast. "And, uh, Uncle Orvur?"
"Orvar," she corrected, her wide grin praising both the boy's triumph and Torjei's clever ruse. "You did know them all. We'll make a scholar of you yet, Rúni."
He blushed at the compliment, but his joy was dampened as they crested a hill and the castle rose into sight. Rúni sighed, the despondent sound almost lost on the wild spring breeze. "I know Father is king because the uncles were killed in the war, but that was a long time ago. Why doesn't he have time for me now? Didn't he have time for you and Magni and Leifur long ago when you were little like me?"
Finndís hesitated, glancing at Torjei for help he could not provide. The problem was that Rúni was right; Father did have less time for the boy than he'd had for his older three children. Rúni ought to have more and better tutors than Master Gunnulf, and he should have an official companion as Finndís had Torjei. The reasons for his neglect lay in the events surrounding the end of the war, and in prophecies which had reverberated through the following years and shaped the politics of their kingdom. Yet these reasons wouldn't lessen Rúni's hurt when he learned them. Finndís took a softer tone, letting her horse slow.
"Grandmother Ásdís turned over control of the kingdom to her eldest son while she still lived, in an attempt to secure an orderly succession," she said, letting her cadence weave a measure of distance around their family's shame. "But Sveinn was a disastrous king, alienating the clans as soon as he was crowned. Orvar gathered western lords to attack him, starting a civil war and nearly destroying the kingdom in the process. Grandmother Ásdís did all she could to halt the war, but when the brothers would not stand down she rode out with Father and the eastern clans. They say her sword bathed the battlefield in golden light."
Rúni sat straighter in his saddle now, eyes wide as he listened.
"Sveinn and Orvar died in combat and bitter grief struck Queen Ásdís. While Father dealt with the clans, she rode into the heart of the Witchwoods and drove her sword into a stone. The lords found her that night at the edge of the woods, bearing grievous injuries on her body. She told them what she had done before she died. On that same night, every wand-wife and sage in the land prophesied a daughter of the queen's lineage would one day pull the sword from the stone and unite our clans under a single banner once more."
The boy tilted his head, frowning slightly. "But we have no daughters in our family, do we?"
Finndís couldn't answer and Torjei smoothed over the pause. "Since your grandmother died, your family has been in a race to produce one. King Njáll married before Ásdís was in the ground and turned out three sons as quickly as his bride could manage before she was taken by a winter chill." He glanced at Finndís, knowing the wound from losing her mother was still sharp. She was grateful for an excuse to turn her head.
He continued, carving space for her to gather herself as he distracted Rúni. "Your brothers Leifur and Magni wedded noblewomen as soon as they came of age, in the hopes that they would sire girls with their brides. Meanwhile, every lord standing in opposition to your father has spent the last three decades searching for a bastard daughter Sveinn or Orvar might have left behind, hoping to break the line of Njáll."
Rúni bit his lower lip, realization settling in at last. "And my mother? Father was trying to make a daughter with her? Not a boy like me?"
"She was a good woman, Rúni," Torjei said, his voice gentle. "Your father picked her from a dozen girls put forward by the clan-lords. She had kind eyes, green like yours, and she was patient with me and Finn. We liked her."
The boy nodded in a distracted way. His small body swayed lightly in the saddle with the movement of his mare and Finndís noticed with a pang that their easy canter had slowed to a walking pace. Precious time threatened to slip away but she was loath now to rush her little brother. "So that's why Father has no time for me? He's finding a new wife to be our mother so he can make a girl?"
Torjei thinned his lips. "Well, that's one of the problems on his plate. Every graybeard in the kingdom wants to be grandsire to the next queen, so they're pushing their daughters forward to compete for your father's hand, or for Leifur's now that he's a widower. Meanwhile, younger sons like you and me are bereft of attention from both our fathers and the ladies alike. You think you have it bad, boy, but Lady Inge was almost engaged to Finn here before her father broke it off in order to shove her at your father. Poor woman."
Finndís turned away again before Rúni could notice her blush. Truth be told, she had only spoken with Lady Inge on a handful of occasions, but the lady had been lovely in every possible way. Her warm eyes seemed to pierce the soul, and her smile always held a gentle little laugh in the corner of her lips. Finndís had been stunned when Inge's father halted the engagement proceedings, and her feelings on the matter were still a tangled skein of sorrow and hurt as she waited and hoped Njáll would not marry her.
"Is that why the clan-lords have come today?" asked Rúni, slipping into the thoughtless exube
rance of youth and insensible to his sister's pain. "Are we going to have a wedding soon?"
She drew a deep breath and shoved thoughts of Lady Inge aside, licking her lips as she considered how to answer; here was departure from history into the intrigues from which she'd hoped to protect her brother. "Father is struggling to maintain control," she explained, picking each word with care. "Some lords regard Leifur as heir because he is firstborn, and wish to rally around him. Others look to Magni, as his wife birthed a daughter over Candletide. Sigdís is only a few months old but Magni is demanding to be made regent, claiming that Father is unlikely to sire more children. The lords are meeting to discuss the future of the kingdom."
Torjei snorted, the soft sound suffused with disdain. "Magni is over-confident as ever, naming her heir-apparent when she won't be old enough to hold a sword for another decade or more. Anything could happen in that time, and there's no guarantee she's the daughter the sages swear is coming."
Rúni frowned at his words, biting at his lower lip in thought. "So Sigdís won't be accepted as queen until she grows up and pulls Grandmother Ásdís' sword from a stone sitting in the middle of the Witchwoods?"
"That's the long and short of it, boy," Torjei agreed, but his attention was on Finndís. He rode beside her, watching her in the gentle way he always had. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, wondering if the gratitude she felt for him showed through the pain he saw in her face.
Her brother interrupted before her mouth could open. "That's not far from here. I want to see!"
His hands tugged on the reins she'd tied off onto her saddle rings before his words penetrated her ears. The high-strung dun mare danced under the squirming boy as he lurched forward on her back. Runi's thrashing heels poked her sides and the mare squealed her displeasure, kicking out at Finndís' gelding. "Rúni, stop! You'll fright—"
With a final sharp tug he freed the mare's reins and settled hard back into his saddle. The mare kicked again and bolted, galloping over the hills towards the castle while the boy on her back fought to turn her towards the woods. Finndís had only a glimpse of this, for her gelding danced with restless distress after being kicked at and Torjei's horse gave an anxious whinny and backed away from the commotion.